May Chan
Silent Waiting
SILENT WAITING
A Novel by May Chan Contemporary Women's Fiction 100,000 words · Complete manuscript Currently seeking representation
She came back to the city that had swallowed her whole.
Six years later. Same streets. A different woman.
Cheng Yi returns to Z City after six years away — carrying grief she has never named and a past she has never faced. What she finds waiting for her is not the life she left, but the people who never stopped looking.
Set across southern China, Hong Kong, and New York, Silent Waiting follows three women and the men who shaped them — through heartbreak, survival, and the slow work of learning to be truly chosen.
Chapter 1
Back to the Beginning
She had never imagined she would return—yet six years later, here she was.
The city had changed beyond recognition, leaving Cheng Yi feeling both at home and like a stranger. The familiar parts were the memories that clung to her, never letting go. This city had cradled her dreams, witnessed her downfall, and swallowed her whole as she fled.
Sitting in the back of the taxi, she watched the bustling streets and stop-and-go traffic outside the window, while the radio crackled with a rapid stream of traffic updates. It was all too much—the noise alone felt like an assault.
Then a street sign flashed by. That place—once a cluttered, crumbling urban village—was now a gleaming business district. A silent, constant reminder: everything had changed.
Time never waits. And nothing stays the same.
The weight of it all made sleep impossible that night.
The lights outside her window seemed like countless eyes—watching, always watching—silently questioning: Why did you come back?
Yes. Why had she come back at all?
As the hours crept by, her anxiety and unease compounded, growing so heavy she could hardly breathe. She wanted nothing more than to pack her bags and flee all over again. A thousand tangled emotions seeped into every corner of the room like damp air that wouldn't clear. Instinctively, she curled up in the corner of the bed, pulled the blanket tight, and pressed both hands to the dull ache in her chest. Before she knew it, her eyes had filled with tears.
Half-awake, she was jolted back by the sharp ring of her phone alarm—cutting through the dark, dragging her up from the depths.
Sluggishly, she turned it off, then remembered she ought to let someone know she'd arrived safely. She reached for her phone.
I've arrived safely.
She was quietly grateful there was still someone in this world she could say that to. Before she could set the phone down, a reply came through.
Up late? Don't forget your meds.
The tide of sorrow that had been surging all night came to a dead stop. Of course. Why on earth had she sent a message at this hour?
What a foolish thing to do.
She buried her face in the pillow, trying to smother the sudden pang of regret. But the tightness in her chest stirred only briefly—then slowly dissolved into a deep, bone-heavy exhaustion.
And this time, at last, sleep came.
The next morning, Cheng Yi rushed out to meet an agent and start looking for a flat—so early she didn't even stop for breakfast.
By midday, she had found a place she liked in a familiar neighborhood, and with that, a quiet sense of peace settled over her. Only then did she notice how hungry she was, so she wandered down the street in search of something to eat.
Thankfully, this part of the city felt as if time had simply passed it by. The old shops still had their old warmth; the thick regional accents drifting between neighbors eased her homesickness; even the old magnolia trees—fragrant after the rain—continued to release their delicate scent over the pavement, just as they always had.
Some memories need the call of a familiar accent, and the nudge of familiar flavors, to come fully alive.
Years had passed. Much had changed. But the food, at least, was still as good.
The little family-run restaurant across from the park entrance was still there—affordable, delicious, and just as crowded as ever. The owner was as short-tempered as she remembered, but that had never deterred anyone. Customers found their own seats, placed their orders without fuss, and surrendered willingly to their taste buds. Cheng Yi had once been part of that long queue herself, waiting patiently for a bowl of rich, springy beef brisket noodles.
Most people shop around before signing a lease. Not Cheng Yi. She had politely declined the agent's other suggestions, insisting on this neighborhood and only this neighborhood. A few photos were enough. She visited once, signed the contract on the spot, and was done—all within half a day.
The agent couldn't help himself: "Miss Cheng, do you have a particular connection to this area?"
Out of professional courtesy, he also felt obliged to flag that the building could be reclaimed for redevelopment at any time, and suggested she consider a newer complex nearby.
"Miss Cheng, just so you know—the landlord has included a clause stating there'll be no compensation if the unit is reclaimed."
Cheng Yi remained unbothered.
"That's fine. A friend of mine used to live around here. I know the area."
"Well, that's reassuring then."
At that, something dimmed behind Cheng Yi's eyes. She managed a faint smile.
"They moved away a long time ago, though."
The agent, well-practiced in reading people, chose not to press further. He was still worried about potential disputes that could reflect poorly on the company. He gestured toward a cluster of high-rises in the distance.
"Miss Cheng, have you considered the riverside development? A one-bedroom there runs about the same as the two-bedroom you're looking at now—and availability is rare…"
Cheng Yi glanced toward the sleek towers by the river, then turned away.
"No, thank you."
She caught herself and quickly added an apology for her abruptness.
The agent simply nodded—he'd seen every kind of client there was. Customers, in his line of work, were always right. Even the ones with inexplicable attachments to rundown buildings.
But really—why?
Cheng Yi asked herself on her first night in the apartment.
The neighborhood was on the verge of being torn down. The buildings were aging, the facilities outdated, the surroundings unremarkable—a little rough around the edges, even. Getting around was a hassle. And yet she loved it here. She loved the way gossip traveled in thick local accents between floors. She loved the mingling smells of home-cooked meals drifting in through open windows at dusk. She didn't mind the occasional eruption from next door—a mother losing patience with her child—nor the relentless clatter of mahjong tiles from the ground-floor flat on weekends.
And now the World Cup had kicked off. The whole building seemed to wake at the same moment, the walls shaking with cheers, startling her from sleep.
She cherished all of it—savoring every bit of this ordinary, messy, deeply familiar life. Long-forgotten memories surfaced quietly, and a younger version of herself gradually came back into focus.
After years of going in circles, she had finally understood:
Running away could go on forever.
But she no longer wanted to be trapped in that endless loop.
Perhaps it was time to go back to where everything began.
Perhaps, right here, she could start again.
Chapter 2
A Vanishing Trace
Fang Zhiyuan dropped onto the living room sofa and twisted open a half-empty bottle of water he'd pulled from the fridge. He drained it in one long gulp. The icy chill cut straight through him, clearing his head in an instant.
After an all-night video call, he had finally said his goodbyes as his American client's workday drew to a close. He paused, glanced at the flood of messages that had piled up on his phone through the night, and frowned. Without a second thought, he deleted every last one—whatever they wanted, it could wait.
He had thought about catching a few hours of sleep, but the morning light had already slipped past the curtains and crept across his desk—a quiet reminder that the day had begun whether he was ready or not.
He slid open the balcony door and stepped into the morning air.
Warm light settled over him as he looked down at the low-rise rooftops of the old neighborhood below. Everything down there looked still, unhurried, untouched by time. This luxury development was part of the city's urban renewal project—sold on its riverside address and panoramic views. He had chosen this flat for exactly that: the balcony faced the gleaming new district on the opposite bank, the whole skyline laid out before him. But right now, he had no interest in any of that. His gaze drifted downward instead, settling on the patchwork of worn buildings and rust-streaked balconies below.
That old neighborhood.
The place he had once been so desperate to escape—driven by the certainty that his future lay on the other side of the river.
And yet here he was, back again.
No matter how much you long for somewhere, life rarely lets you stay.
That neighborhood, like his childhood home, would soon be torn down and built over.
How much longer could he stand here and look at it?
Since returning to China, he had spent six grueling months moving constantly from city to city. His body eventually gave out. He accepted Xie Yufan's offer to go into partnership and settled back in the city where he had grown up. As life slowed down, the familiar surroundings began to stir something he had buried long ago.
He had often wondered how she had changed over these six years.
Maybe someone else was by her side now. Someone who hadn't run—unlike him.
Run. Yes. That was exactly the right word.
He had left without looking back—swift, deliberate, final. He had always been that kind of man. Once he made a decision, he accepted everything it cost him. Including regret.
But some regrets don't stay manageable. They compound, quietly, until the weight becomes impossible to ignore. He wanted to know how she was. And so, following some pull he couldn't quite name, he began searching for any trace of her.
Maybe—just maybe—she was still there. Still waiting, stubbornly, foolishly, in the same place.
He had turned to Old Guo, a veteran in the private investigation business, confident that news of her would come quickly. But a week passed, then a month, then year after year. Old Guo's confidence slowly gave way to a hangdog silence, and Fang Zhiyuan grew more restless by the day. In their world, it was said there was no one Old Guo couldn't find.
That "maybe" had long since disappeared. In its place—something closer to dread.
He was beginning to panic.
Old Guo never found Cheng Yi. But he did manage to track down her closest friend, Yang Li—enough, at least, to salvage what was left of his reputation.
Yang Li worked as a nurse at a small hospital. Fang Zhiyuan steeled himself, booked a routine physical, and joined the queue for bloodwork. Disinfect, insert, draw, remove, press, next. Each step mechanical, practiced, impersonal. When his turn came, he said her name quietly.
Yang Li looked up. Even behind the thick black frames of her glasses, the shock in her eyes was plain. She drew a sharp breath and went still, hands suspended mid-air. It was only the impatient murmurs from the queue behind him that brought her back—and she drove the needle into his arm with more force than necessary.
It stung. Blood moved quickly through the tube and into the vial.
"Next!"
Yang Li's face was blank again, as if she had never seen him before in her life.
This wasn't the place. Fang Zhiyuan had no choice but to leave, empty-handed and frustrated.
After her shift, Yang Li came out of the changing room to find him standing at the end of the corridor. She wasn't surprised. He had never been someone who gave up easily. When he wanted something, he went after it—directly, without pretense.
"Yang Li. Have you heard anything from her?"
"No."
"When did you last see her?"
"Six years ago."
"And after that?"
"Nothing."
In under a minute, he had exhausted everything a year of searching had produced.
He hadn't come asking for her help—not with any real humility, anyway—and Yang Li found that contemptible. She turned to leave.
Then she heard something she hadn't expected.
"Yang Li… please… tell me she's alive."
A plea? She stopped. Turned back slowly, almost not believing what she'd heard.
And then she saw something she had never thought she would see in him.
Desperation.
She let out a cold, derisive laugh and walked away faster.
This man—cold, ruthless, incapable of putting anyone before himself—had finally gotten exactly what he deserved.
Chapter 3
The Birthday Gift
Fang Zhiyuan had no comeback. For once, he simply accepted it.
In his memory, Yang Li had always been blunt—someone who never held back, whether it was love or contempt. Six years ago, as he stood at the departure gate about to board his flight, she had called him and let loose without so much as a hello.
"Fang Zhiyuan, you bastard! Cheng Yi will find someone a hundred times better than you, and I'll make sure she forgets you ever existed. Just you wait!"
And what had he done?
He had hung up without a word and dropped his SIM card into the nearest bin, without a flicker of remorse. So now, when someone couldn't even be bothered to spit in his face—when all he got was a few cold, cutting words—it was, by his own standards, practically gracious.
Six years on, Fang Zhiyuan was finally tasting what he had sown with his own hands.
Even Yang Li had no news of her. Old Guo, defeated, had left him with one piece of advice: File a missing persons report. Those words lodged in him like a stone.
When the informal channels turned up nothing, the only option was to go through official ones. The results were stark. No loan records. No social security contributions. No updated ID. Not a single lead. His last psychological defenses collapsed entirely when the police saw fit to mention, almost helpfully: If someone has been missing for over four years, you can apply to have them declared deceased.
Her parents were long gone. Her relatives were distant. Her circle of friends had always been small—just Yang Li, Xie Yufan, and himself.
Life had to go on. He couldn't afford the indulgence of drinking himself numb. Work was the only thing left to pour himself into. For the first twenty-four years of his life, Fang Zhiyuan had believed that success meant exactly two things: career and wealth. It took him five more years to understand that success without anyone to share it with only drives you to chase more of it—endlessly filling a hole that never closes.
Half a year ago, on a cold, rainy winter night, Xie Yufan appeared at his door—soaked through, clutching a package.
"A gift."
"Thanks." Fang Zhiyuan's eyes never left his screen. What kind of Spring Festival break did a senior international lawyer get?
"It's from her."
"Firm must be having a slow year if they've got you running errands for Miss Hu over the holidays."
"It's from Yi—for Yang Li."
The typing stopped.
Fang Zhiyuan looked up, his gaze landing on the plain white parcel with a strange blankness. A few seconds passed. Then he lunged for it—pulling it toward him, tearing the packaging apart with trembling hands. Inside, a delicate white necklace lay nestled in a deep crimson velvet box. The red of the packaging carried a festive warmth. The white crystal star pendant was simple and refined—exactly Yang Li's taste. Whoever had chosen it had taken care.
Fang Zhiyuan turned the necklace over in his fingers, again and again, his eyes growing hot. But reality broke through soon enough. The gift had been ordered online. The delivery slip showed only the shop's address. Still no way to reach her.
"How did Yang Li know—how did you—"
Before he could finish, Xie Yufan placed a small card in front of him. Cheng Yi's neat, delicate handwriting filled the paper—not the original, it seemed; she had written it by hand, photographed it, and had the shop print it out.
To my Lili,* *Happy birthday. I'm doing well.* *Yi
"Every year, a few days before Yang Li's birthday, a gift arrives from Yi. No contact. But enough to know she's alright."
My Lili.
Fang Zhiyuan set the necklace down. Picked it up again. Set it down.
He had read the card more times than he could count. Each time, something tightened a little deeper in his chest.
He couldn't deny it—he was jealous of Yang Li. Bitterly, almost irrationally jealous. His email address hadn't changed. Not once, in all these years, had she sent him so much as a single line. Not even a how are you. Surely, even after everything, they could have been friends—childhood friends, at that. That counted for something. Didn't it?
Then again—why should she? He was the one who had failed her.
"How did you know Yang Li had this?"
Xie Yufan didn't answer immediately. He turned toward the window, gazing out at the cold glitter of the city lights.
"Process of elimination. Given Yang Li's temperament, there's no way she'd be indifferent to Yi going missing."
Of course. Why hadn't he thought of that?
The two of them were like sisters. If Yang Li knew Yi had disappeared, she would have been frantic—she was just too proud and too angry to show it. That explained the contempt on her face that day. And the bitter satisfaction underneath it.
The Fang Zhiyuan standing here now bore little resemblance to the composed, measured man he usually was. His eyes were flat, his face worn down, his whole bearing heavy with a grief he hadn't found words for yet.
Xie Yufan knew, of course, that Fang Zhiyuan would pursue the Yang Li lead with everything he had. That was simply who he was.
"I trust Yang Li. There's nothing more I can give you."
If Fang Zhiyuan had walked into a wall with Yang Li, then Xie Yufan was about to walk straight into the fire. Because Yang Li, of all people, was the last person on earth Xie Yufan should be going to see.
Yang Li had grown up with nothing, and that had given her a pride she guarded fiercely. Xie Yufan had grown up with everything. Between them, something had once existed—unspoken, undefined—and then, without explanation, they had simply drifted apart by mutual avoidance, leaving behind a knot neither had ever untied. Thinking back on it now, Fang Zhiyuan felt a quiet shame at how little he had done for either of them back then.
"I believe you."
What right did he have not to?
"Yang Li said—three days. It goes back by then."
Things that were never yours will always find their way back.
As much as he wanted to hold on to it, Fang Zhiyuan would have to return the necklace. Xie Yufan made no move to leave. He stood there, eyes fixed on the delicate chain, and spoke almost to himself.
"When did you fall in love with her?"
Was he asking Fang Zhiyuan—or himself?
When, indeed? Fang Zhiyuan couldn't say. He couldn't even remember the first time they'd met. She had simply always been there.
Aunt Fang was the only person his mother had ever called a true friend. Naturally, the two of them had spent much of their childhood together.
He had grown up with her trailing quietly behind him—undemanding, content just to be near. She would give him the last piece of candy she had. He would sit patiently through her games of make-believe house. They had promised each other, with the absolute certainty of children, that they would never be apart.
He had believed it for a long time. If he could find her again, he used to think, everything could go back to what it was.
At ten, his parents divorced. His mother scraped by on her own. He was taken in by her family, where he stayed for years. Unlike his own home—a place of raised voices and doors slammed in anger—hers was warm and steady. Uncle Ping and Aunt Fang argued sometimes, faced hardships sometimes, but they faced them together. They treated him as their own without ever making him feel like a burden, and in doing so they showed him something he hadn't known existed: that love didn't have to be conditional—it didn't have to be earned through grades or good behavior. That a home could be a place where you set your armor down, not a battlefield where you kept it on.
So this is what a family can feel like, he had thought.
He had wanted to build something like that with her. A quiet life. A steady one. The kind of life that didn't ask too much of either of them.
But somewhere along the way, it had all shifted.
When had "steady" started to feel like "stagnant"?
When had "quiet" come to mean "falling behind"?
The happiness he had once longed for as a boy—he had walked away from it without even realizing it, and it had followed him out the door, and never come back.
What step had he taken—what turn had he made—that cost him her, and cost him everything that had once been his?
Xie Yufan had long since gone. Fang Zhiyuan sat alone in the empty apartment, with nothing but the silence and his own questions.