‘SEE YOU MORNING’ 049 Long-Distance Driving

Life after a brief separation flowed like water for the two of them over the weekend—deeply in tune, inseparable. But before the weekend had even run its course, a new assignment arrived. Just past noon on Sunday, word came that support was needed for a new product marketing campaign on the southern West Coast. He had to be there by Monday morning, which meant leaving immediately.
This time, Qin Wenjing did not seem sad. Perhaps those two days of tender anticipation and closeness had soothed her worries and longing. The task itself was somewhat unusual: Li Haojun was to reach Boise, then drive one of the company’s specialized transport vehicles—refrigerated—carrying designated products to various campaign sites to provide technical and material support. Li Haojun wondered how such a hasty plan had been arranged.
On the plane, Li Haojun had already checked the supplies with Kesiya—so much that it required five box trucks. All of them were to wear the company’s standard technical-support uniforms, and everything from meals to materials was prepared by Kesiya.
Time was tight. After arriving at the Eagle Factory and picking up Kesiya, they set off at once. There were five electric box-type specialty transport vehicles in all, bright silver with pale blue striping—very high-tech. Entering the lead vehicle’s cab, he found it spacious, with three seats across the front; behind them, no rear seats—only cargo space.
Though he had never driven one before, the smart-assist systems made it manageable: full self-check, navigation setup, convoy formation—he only needed to drive the lead vehicle, and the others would follow. One by one, they pulled out of the factory grounds. Was this meant to make a splash? Through the wide windshield, Li Haojun glanced left and right: reporters and photographers were already waiting to shoot. He wondered who had tipped them off. It seemed the company’s overall operation had filtered down to every executing unit—and he was part of it.
Traffic in the county seat was congested. Even with autonomous driving available, Li Haojun preferred to keep his hands on the wheel. For him, being in control felt safer. As they crept along, he turned now and then to glance at Kesiya beside him. They smiled at each other—caught in life’s currents yet accompanied by someone who truly understood—a rare fortune indeed.
The technical uniform consisted of a silver-gray blazer with a notched lapel, skinny pencil pants, and a matching boat-shaped cap embroidered with the silver company logo and decorative lines. Kesiya had paired hers with a white shirt featuring a ruffled collar, still tied at the neck with that black silk scarf.
Soon the convoy left the bustle of the city and merged onto Highway 95, heading southwest—straight into the sun. The golden sunlight was brilliant but harsh on the eyes. Li Haojun pulled down the sun visor and turned to look at Kesiya, who was leaning back against the seat, watching him.
“Sorry to drag you out on your day off,” Li Haojun said.
But Kesiya didn’t seem to mind. “Why not think of it as a trip?” she replied.
“Ah, yeah—a chance to see the scenery along the way.” As he spoke, Li Haojun took in the landscape. Since leaving the waterways and wetlands around Boise and crossing a ridge, they had entered rolling hills and river valleys. The brown earth bore sparse vegetation; the land stretched vast and open. The undulating slopes along the horizon didn’t block the view so much as lend a sense of boundless freedom.
It struck Li Haojun then—what made a journey meaningful wasn’t just the road, but having someone you cared about along for it. Was that what Kesiya meant? He turned to look at her again; she was still gazing in his direction. He activated the autonomous driving system, watched the vehicle respond, confirmed it was staying in lane, then checked the rearview mirror—the other four trucks were still following. He placed his freed right hand over hers where it rested on her thigh and asked with a smile,
“How was your weekend?”
“Good,” Kesiya said, turning her hand over to hold his. “Malaya—is she okay? Did she say anything about what she’s studying?”
“No. I called her. She told me not to worry—just that the training will take a while longer.”
“Oh… So you’ve been alone at home these past few days.” They kept talking, Li Haojun glancing at the road now and then.
“Not really—it’s only been two days, and here we are again,” Kesiya teased, giving his hand a little shake.
“Yeah. If knowing me brings you some happiness, I’m honored. Life is like a road you’ve never traveled—you never know what scenery waits around the next bend,” Li Haojun said softly, shaking his head with a faint, wry smile at the thought of this encounter in life’s long journey.
“Isn’t that good?”
“Good? What do you mean ‘good’?” Not sure if he’d said something wrong, Li Haojun asked quickly.
“You said you don’t know what the scenery will be. Isn’t an unexpected surprise a good thing?” Kesiya explained.
“Oh—of course. It keeps things fresh.”
“Exactly.”
“But what if we run into trouble?”
“Heh.” Kesiya laughed at that. “You’re a bit of a pessimist, aren’t you?”
Li Haojun realized then that unloading such weary worries on someone so young was unfair—it might dampen her spirit and blunt her drive. He forced a bitter smile and mocked himself.
“Haha… forgive my pessimism. I’ve lost all my memories, you know. Hopefully, I just hit a low-probability streak of bad luck, and it won’t happen again.”
“So what if you do? Why worry about something that hasn’t happened? Whatever lies around the next bend, from now on, we face it together—until…”
“Until what?” Li Haojun pressed when she trailed off.
“Until we leave it to fate.”
A flicker of sadness touched him. He hadn’t expected someone as young as Kesiya to speak so resignedly, as though submitting to destiny. Had wounds from her childhood shaped this outlook?
Sunlight poured through the windshield, illuminating the cabin—and Kesiya’s hair and cheeks. A sudden fear gripped Li Haojun: what if she, too, vanished like this fleeting light? He cupped her face with both hands, holding on to the present her, and kissed her gently—as if, without that moment of love, she might be taken by fate itself.
“What’s wrong, Ethan?” she asked afterward, puzzled. She had never seen him look at her with such intensity.
“Nothing… I just suddenly felt afraid of losing you.” He drew her close so she leaned back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.
“Probably just my pessimism,” he added quickly, not wanting to weigh on her young heart.
The sun ahead dipped lower, its glare softening. Watching the road while she leaned against him, Li Haojun said, “Remember that time in Ellensburg, when I fell out of bed in my sleep?”
“Mm,” Kesiya murmured.
“I keep dreaming about a little girl, four or five years old. I don’t know if she’s my daughter… In the dream, I always lose her. Maybe someone implanted false memories in me. Who knows.”
“Do you have a biological daughter?”
“I don’t even know my past. Haha—I forgot it all.” He gave a self-conscious laugh.
“Oh—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bring up your past.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got nothing to hide from you. Think of me as your confidant—talk about anything you like, okay? And if you want to know something about me, just ask. An old man like me doesn’t have many secrets anyway.”
“Okay,” Kesiya answered softly, almost to herself. “I’ve never dreamed of Mom or Dad. I don’t want to think about them—it just makes me sad. But I’m always walking in my dreams. So much walking, and I don’t know where I’m going. Sometimes I get lost. I don’t remember why I’m on that road. It’s always cold and dim, like night. No one else around—just me, alone.”
“You’re not alone anymore,” Li Haojun said, tightening his arm around her shoulders, her back, her waist.
When the road grew uneven, Li Haojun had Kesiya return to her own seat and fasten her upper safety belt. They had entered a riverside stretch—winding and twisting.
He switched back to manual driving and slowed down to handle blind curves. The four trucks behind gradually closed the gap. With speed reduced, tension eased. Teasing Kesiya, Li Haojun said, “See? The road ahead is uncertain. If we ever went our separate ways, would you be sad?”
Kesiya didn’t answer. She took out their dinner, bit into her burger, then held it to his lips. One word: “Eat.”
Li Haojun looked at the bite mark, said nothing, and took a bite of his own.
Chewing, Kesiya asked, “Did it taste good?”
Mid-bite, Li Haojun couldn’t laugh. He smiled and said, “Yes.”
“So much fuss over being fed,” Kesiya muttered, staring straight ahead, expressionless.
Li Haojun sensed she was upset—or maybe just being playful. He quickly owned up. “All right, I know I was wrong.” He fiddled with the steering wheel as he spoke. “Dad’s getting old, can’t see well, can’t drive or work to support himself anymore. Good daughter, sweet daughter—won’t you feed your poor father a bite?”
At his exaggerated act of senility, Kesiya shook with laughter but still ignored him, finishing the burger herself. Then she pressed her oily fingers to his lips and said coldly, “Here—eat.”
“Oh.” Li Haojun looked down, smiling as he played along, opening his mouth to take her fingers in, even running his tongue over them now and then.
“Enough,” Kesiya said, pulling her hand back and handing him another burger.
They made it through the winding river valley while the sunset still offered some visibility. Now the road ran due south. Only a fading crimson glow lingered in the southwestern sky. The headlights flicked on automatically. Beyond the pavement, darkness had swallowed everything. They were in a valley; only the ridge to the left still caught the sunset—a dark weave of red and ochre sketching its outline against the night.
In the deep gloom, the headlights felt weak. Li Haojun switched the windshield projection to infrared vision. The convoy kept its visible running lights on, moving in single file along the highway.
He glanced at Kesiya. Night driving was dull. She had checked the cargo hold monitors, then sat propping her cheek with one hand, elbow on the armrest, gazing idly around—checking the navigation, the convoy status.
“You could listen to music or catch the news—kill some time,” Li Haojun suggested.
“No. I don’t want noise getting between us,” Kesiya answered simply.
“Maybe I should message Qin Wenjing, let her know I’m safe,” Li Haojun said, half to himself, half looking at Kesiya.
She grinned at him, plotting something. “Let me send it for you. You just watch the road.”
“Sure.” He handed her his device.
Kesiya scrolled through his chat history with Qin Wenjing, mimicked his tone, and sent a greeting. A reply came soon after. She showed him the screen and asked, “Can I pretend to be you and ask her what she thinks of me?”
“Stop fooling around. She doesn’t know you better than I do—just ask me.”
“Fine.” Disappointment edged her voice. She returned the device and asked, “That time in Ellensburg, when I stayed over at your place—did she hate me for it?”
“No. She said seeing you—young, with me—reminded her of her own early days with me. She misses that. So she doesn’t mind you being close to me.”
“Oh… I see.” Her expression was hard to read in the dim dash lights, which lit only the edges of her hair and cheek.
“Have you ever liked a boy before? Sorry—I’m asking about your privacy. But since we’re talking about the past, I’m curious about yours.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I never had much in common with them. I don’t like immature guys.”
“Probably has to do with how you grew up,” Li Haojun offered, trying to cushion the thought.
The flat road, the surrounding dark, and the low hum of the electric motors made everything feel drowsy. The mood was contagious; they both began yawning.
“Why don’t you lie down and rest? I’ll keep an eye on the autopilot,” Li Haojun said.
Kesiya tried stretching across both seats, but there wasn’t enough width. “Ethan, can I use your thigh as a pillow?”
He chuckled inwardly—she’d break his leg before the trip ended. “How about this: you lie with your head toward the door and rest your legs over here? Your head’s too heavy—we’ll strap your hips and torso in with both seats’ belts.”
In the dim cabin, Kesiya settled as he suggested. But her legs kept moving—kicking the door now and then, brushing against him—until, unable to resist the quiet of deep night, she drifted off to sleep.