Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 121 Wishing You Peace
It's three o'clock in the afternoon and the sun is shining brightly.

Sevastopol has comfortable temperatures in June.

Zhou Yi stood in front of that familiar old building, not in a hurry to go inside.

Twenty years have passed in the blink of an eye, yet everything seems unchanged.

If there is any difference, it is that this place looks more dilapidated than before.

The peeling cement layer revealed the ash stains in the brick joints.

There was an iron hook stuck on the windowsill on the first floor. It used to hang flags in the past, but now only a few faded plastic ropes remain.

Zhou Yi stubbed out his cigarette and pushed open the rusty iron gate.

What comes into view is that familiar gray-green cement wall.

The stairwell was narrow, and there were some broken empty wine bottles piled up in the corner.

He counted his steps as he walked up to the fourth floor, stopping only at the end of the corridor.

The door remained the same as before.

The wooden structure was covered with sheet metal, and a mailbox was nailed next to it, covered in a layer of dust, clearly indicating that it hadn't been opened for a long time.

Zhou Yi raised his hand and knocked three times.

There was no movement inside.

He waited a few more seconds, and just as he was about to knock again, the door creaked open.

A woman peeked out from the gap, revealing half her face.

His hair was gray, his cheeks were sunken, and his expression revealed an undeniable weariness.

She stared at him warily for a while before asking, "Who are you looking for?"

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Zhou Yi said gently. “I’m doing a survey on the old railway system, and someone mentioned this address to me.”

"Excuse me, does Mr. Ivan Sergeyevich Morozov still live here?"

The woman frowned but remained silent.

"I am not a government official, nor do I represent any company."

Zhou Yi explained, "I conduct oral history research myself, which is funded by projects. I can pay you for the information I provide."

The woman hesitated for a moment, then finally opened the door a crack: "Are you an academic?"

“Yes,” he smiled, “It mainly records the changes in the work and life of grassroots technical personnel before and after the collapse of the Soviet Union.”

The woman nodded and stepped back.

"Please come in."

The room was quiet and the lights were off.

There were only four pieces of furniture in the living room.

A round table, a cabinet with peeling paint, an old television, and a sofa, half of which was collapsed by the cushions.

The woman poured a glass of water and handed it to him, then sat down on the sofa with her arms crossed, without saying a word.

Zhou Yi wasn't in a hurry.

He took a sip of water and waited for her to begin.

After a long silence, the woman finally said, "You've come to inquire about my father?"

"Yes. He's the dispatcher?"

"Correct."

"He worked at Kamine Station for over forty years, then fell ill and passed away in 1999."

She spoke calmly, without any emotional fluctuation, as if she were recounting someone else's past.

"sorry."

“There’s nothing to apologize for; it’s all in the past.” The woman stared at the corner of the table. “Everything is still in the last century.”

Zhou Yi did not rush to break the silence.

After a few seconds, he asked, "Are you his family member?"

"I am his daughter."

The woman paused, seemingly feeling that such a brief answer was impolite, so she added, "Now, I'm the only one left in the family."

"Please forgive my intrusion."

"No, it's nothing."

Her lips twitched slightly, as if she wanted to laugh, but she couldn't manage to.

"I'm used to it."

"My mother died in 1978 in a car accident."

"My brother died in Afghanistan in 1980."

The woman looked at the water glass on the table, then lowered her head and fiddled with her fingers before slowly saying:
"And my only son, Parov, died in 1993 from illness."

"The medical system collapsed that year, and many medicines could not be delivered."

“The doctor said it could be cured, and they said it couldn’t.” Her gaze wandered somewhat. “Anyway, it’ll all be the same in the end.” “Do you still have your father’s records?”

Zhou Yi didn't know what words of comfort to say, so he could only try to awkwardly change the subject.

"Some booklets are from work notes, and there are also a few old blueprints."

"I didn't touch it after he left; I put it under that cabinet over there."

The woman raised her chin and pointed to the peeling paint on the wooden cabinet by the wall.

"Take them all if you need them; I have no use for them."

"I will read it carefully." Zhou Yi got up and walked over, carefully opening the cabinet door.

A strong smell of old paper and dust wafted over.

Inside the cardboard box were five notebooks with badly worn covers, with a few loose sheets of paper sandwiched between them.

"Have any other people come to our door over the years because of your father?" Zhou Yi asked casually.

"You are the first one."

"First?"

“Over the years, no one has cared about what he did back then, nor has anyone cared about how these platforms and train services operate.”

"What you see now is an empty station and closed tracks."

"But when you come back in a few years, even these things may not be there anymore."

"At that time, this city might even have to be renamed."

She spoke softly, but Zhou Yi looked up in surprise.

The woman didn't continue; she merely glanced at the sunlight outside the window through the curtains.

His face showed no sorrow, no anger, not even the slightest desire.

Like the fog that has just receded from the harbor, it drifts away without leaving any trace.

Zhou Yi picked up the box.

"In short, thank you," he said. "These documents are very important, and I will keep them safe."

The woman nodded and said nothing more.

After a moment's thought, Zhou Yi took an envelope out of his pocket and placed it on the table: "I can't take this away empty-handed. It may not be much, but it belongs to you."

The woman's instinctive reaction was to refuse: "No, these are worthless."

“For me, that’s enough,” Zhou Yi said.

She hesitated for two seconds, then gave up trying to persist.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi did not linger any longer.

The door opened, and a gentle breeze blew in from the hallway.

"I wish you peace," he said softly, before disappearing completely from sight.

The house fell silent again.

The woman sat there, motionless for a long time.

The swaying curtains on the window cast long shadows on the floor.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she reached out and picked up the envelope, and opened it.

Dollar.

Several stacks of new banknotes were neatly arranged, the ink was green, and there were no messages.

The woman's hand froze in mid-air.

One minute.

Two minutes.

three minutes

Finally, she pulled them out, sorting and counting them one by one, her lips trembling uncontrollably.

A few seconds later, a tear slid down her cheek.

Then two drops, three drops, one line, two lines.

She didn't wipe it.

I just sat there, letting it stream down my face.

Before I knew it, the clouds had covered the sun.

The room darkened.

Outside, a car is starting up.

The woman seemed to say something, but her voice was too soft and was drowned out by the roar of the engine.

It could be "thank you," or it could be "it's too late."

(End of this chapter)