The Man I Left Behind

The moment Wei Ren got that plane ticket, she packed her bags and left the home she had lived in for more than twenty years, setting foot alone in a country she had never been to before.

Before the plane landed, she had imagined walking out of the airport countless times.

Maybe the sky would be bluer than it was back home. Maybe the air would feel cleaner. Maybe the streets would be lined with buildings she had only ever seen on television. And there she would be, standing in the middle of it all with her luggage beside her, finally like the heroine of a movie, ready to begin a life that belonged entirely to her.

Instead, the automatic doors slid open and a powerful mixture of perfume, coffee, and some kind of cleaning product hit her without warning.

Already dizzy from the long flight, Wei Ren’s vision went black for a second. She instinctively grabbed the handle of her suitcase to keep her knees from giving out.

She stood there for a few seconds, waiting for the dizziness to pass, then looked up at the crowd flowing around her. Someone was talking loudly nearby. A driver held up a sign with a passenger’s name on it. Less than six feet away, a couple were wrapped around each other, kissing as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Wei Ren quickly looked away.

She checked the map on her phone and followed the arrows toward the exit, dragging two suitcases that seemed to weigh almost as much as she did.

The moment she finally stepped outside, she took a deep breath.

She was here.

One week into the semester, Wei Ren began to realize that life here was nowhere near as effortless or idyllic as the university brochures had made it look.

Her professors didn’t slow down just because she was an international student. They spoke as if someone were chasing them with a gun. Class discussions were even worse. The local students could laugh and casually answer whatever question the professor threw at them, while Wei Ren first had to figure out what had been said, decide what she wanted to say in response, and then make sure the sentence forming in her head was grammatically correct.

Usually, by the time she finished that entire process, the discussion had already moved from point A to point C.

She spent nearly twice as long on her readings as everyone else. Looking up one unfamiliar word somehow introduced her to three more. Sometimes she knew every individual word in a sentence, yet when they were put together, they looked like an encrypted message from an alien civilization.

And academics were only part of it.

There was rent, electricity, transportation, and groceries to calculate. She learned which supermarkets marked down their bread at the end of the day and how to make two dishes and a soup with nothing but two pots and a single induction cooktop.

Whenever her family called, she still had to tell them, as casually as possible, that everything was going well.

The university was great.

Her classmates were great.

She was doing great.

She had become very good at saying those things.

Then the call would end, and she would go back to staring at the assignment on her laptop that still had only two hundred words written.

Even so, Wei Ren knew exactly how hard she had fought for the chance to be here.

She wasn’t going to waste it.

So she went through every event listed on the university website—career talks, volunteer training sessions, club recruitment events, cultural seminars. As long as two things didn’t happen at exactly the same time, she clicked the registration button.

Before long, the few empty spaces left in her schedule had disappeared.

She had no idea whether any of these events would actually be useful.

But Wei Ren believed in one simple principle.

If she showed up often enough, eventually something had to turn into an opportunity.

On Thursday afternoon, her class ran ten minutes over.

The professor had barely finished saying, “See you next week,” before Wei Ren snapped her laptop shut and shoved her charger, notebook, and water bottle into her bag. She didn’t even bother untangling the mess of cables before throwing the bag over her shoulder and rushing out of the classroom.

Her next event was in a building on the opposite side of campus.

On the map, it looked like nothing more than a few paths away.

In reality, it felt like crossing the entire university.

Wei Ren followed the navigation on her phone while trying to distinguish between several nearly identical gray buildings. At one point, she took the wrong staircase and had to make a complete detour around a patch of grass blocked off for construction.

By the time she finally found the seminar room, she was breathing hard and a thin layer of sweat had gathered along her forehead.

Through the glass panel in the wall, she could see that almost every seat was already taken.

Wei Ren stood outside for two seconds.

For one brief moment, she seriously considered leaving.

Then she remembered the words limited seating in the registration email and decided that, after running this far, she deserved at least one of the free drinks.

She pushed the door open as quietly as she could.

The hinge made a small sound.

Small, but apparently loud enough for several people in the front row to turn around.

Wei Ren pretended not to notice.

“Sorry,” she whispered, ducking slightly as though that could somehow make her less visible.

She slipped along the back row until she found an empty seat, carefully placed her bag by her feet, and had just sat down when the sharply dressed moderator at the front of the room spoke.

“It’s a pleasure to have all of you here for today’s seminar. We’re going to discuss an issue that has existed for a very long time—and one that remains deeply controversial.”

He looked to be in his thirties, with a university staff badge pinned to his chest and an easy, polite smile that never seemed to leave his face.

“Throughout history, countries and cultures have experienced exchange, war, and conflict. In that process, culturally significant objects have sometimes left the places they originated from, eventually becoming part of museum collections in other countries.”

His speech wasn’t particularly fast. His pronunciation was polished and clear, with almost no noticeable accent.

Wei Ren still managed to catch only the key words.

Years of learning English primarily from textbooks had not prepared her for the irritating reality of listening to actual people speak it.

She pulled out her laptop, opened a blank document, and began typing down whatever she could understand.

The moderator clicked the remote in his hand.

Several photographs of famous historical artifacts appeared on the screen behind him.

“So what do you think? Should these objects remain in the museums that currently hold them, where they may have access to better conservation, research, and public exhibition? Or should they be returned to the countries or communities they originally belonged to?”

For two seconds after his final word, the room was silent.

Then chairs shifted and quiet conversations broke out around her.

Only now did Wei Ren have the chance to properly look around.

There were more people here than she’d expected. Almost all thirty-something seats were occupied, and the overwhelming majority of the faces around her were white. Apart from a Black woman sitting to the left and two students in the front row who appeared to be East Asian, she could barely see anyone who looked remotely like her.

Something occurred to her then.

For most of the people sitting in this room, this was probably just an interesting academic question.

For others, the objects lying behind museum glass might have come from their homeland.

Maybe even from a past they could no longer recover.

The moderator didn’t call on anyone. He simply invited the room to speak freely.

Within seconds, a clear male voice came from somewhere in the middle.

“I completely understand the emotional connection countries of origin have to these artifacts.”

The man didn’t stand. He merely leaned back in his chair and turned slightly as he spoke, his voice calm, carrying the kind of effortless confidence that drew attention without asking for it.

Wei Ren followed the sound.

All she could see from where she sat was his profile and pale blond hair.

He paused.

“But I think we also have to consider our broader responsibility toward cultural exchange.”

The second he said but, Wei Ren knew exactly where this was going.

Since arriving here, she’d become increasingly familiar with this particular way of speaking.

People would begin by expressing an impeccable amount of understanding and sympathy, then use a single but to quietly erase everything they’d just said. As though acknowledging someone else’s feelings first automatically made whatever followed objective.

“Take the Rosetta Stone, the Parthenon sculptures, or some of the artifacts lost from the Old Summer Palace,” the man continued. “They don’t belong only to one particular country. They’re also part of global culture and human history.”

He paused again, apparently searching for more precise wording.

“If they’re preserved in museums with advanced conservation technology and established research systems, more people can see them, study them, and appreciate them. Instead of restricting them again to museums in a single country, I think the better question is how we can make this heritage accessible to the world. If we determine the location of cultural heritage purely according to its original geography, we may actually limit the spread of knowledge.”

It was a good answer.

At least, it sounded like one.

Professional vocabulary. Coherent logic. A calm, reasonable tone. He had even taken care to acknowledge everyone who might possibly be offended before making his point.

Strip away all the elegant language, though, and what remained was remarkably simple.

It’s better for everyone if we keep your stuff.

His answer clearly resonated with several people in the room.

A few nodded.

Someone murmured, “Exactly.”

The brunette woman sitting beside him quickly joined in.

“I agree. We also have to acknowledge that not every country has adequate resources to preserve these objects.”

Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, and her tone was more direct than his.

“War, political instability, religious conflict, even improper restoration can cause permanent damage. If these objects truly have global significance, then we have a responsibility to keep them somewhere safe.”

As soon as she finished, someone on the other side of the room added, “And many artifacts weren’t necessarily acquired illegally under the laws that existed at the time. We can’t judge everything that happened centuries ago entirely by today’s moral standards.”

“I think they should be kept wherever they have the greatest educational value,” a man in the front row said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Major museums have larger audiences. Tourism and ticket revenue also allow them to continue funding research. That’s not necessarily bad for the artifacts themselves.”

More and more voices joined the discussion.

Legal ownership.

Conservation.

Political instability.

Someone even suggested that calls for repatriation were sometimes little more than a tool politicians used to gain public support.

The orderly seminar gradually dissolved into overlapping voices.

The moderator didn’t stop them.

Instead, he sat back down, folded his hands, and watched with obvious interest, as though pleased that the room had finally produced exactly the argument he’d been hoping for.

Wei Ren, meanwhile, had been furious since the blond man mentioned the Old Summer Palace.

She lowered her head and typed each argument into her document.

Oddly enough, the angrier she became, the calmer her mind felt.

She didn’t speak immediately.

She knew perfectly well that she was at a disadvantage in an English-speaking room. If her anger came out before her argument did, she would only make herself look irrational.

So she reorganized the sentences in her head.

She replaced words she wasn’t confident about with simpler ones.

Then she wrote several key phrases in the corner of her notes.

Eventually, the voices began to fade.

It seemed everyone had quietly accepted that the discussion would end with the majority agreeing that the artifacts should remain where they were.

The moderator picked up his microphone, apparently preparing to summarize the discussion.

Then a clear voice came from the back of the room.

“I don’t agree with them.”

The moderator froze.

Almost everyone turned.

Thirty pairs of eyes landed on Wei Ren.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

She could hear her own heart pounding against her ribs. Her palms were already damp with nerves, but she didn’t look away.

The moderator recovered quickly. He lowered the microphone and gestured toward her.

“Of course. Please, go ahead.”

Wei Ren stood.

Her eyes went first to the blond man who had spoken at the beginning.

Only then did she get her first proper look at him.

“I’d like to ask the first speaker a question.”

The blond man turned toward her.

He was young, probably not much older than she was. He had a straight nose and sharply defined features. A dark shirt covered his broad shoulders, the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows.

And his eyes—

They were an extraordinarily pale blue, almost translucent beneath the lights.

Under different circumstances, Wei Ren might have looked at him a little longer.

Unfortunately for him, at that particular moment, she was far more interested in destroying his argument than admiring his face.

She met his eyes.

“You believe cultural heritage belongs to all humanity, so it should be kept somewhere that allows more people to see it. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “Although I think the important issue isn’t only the number of visitors. There’s also research and conservation—”

“Then according to your argument,” Wei Ren cut in, “if cultural heritage belongs to all humanity, shouldn’t that exchange work both ways? Instead of always flowing from countries that were colonized, invaded, or simply poorer toward countries with more power?”

His hand had been resting casually over the back of his chair.

It stopped moving.

“If the important thing is allowing as many people and countries as possible to see and study these objects,” Wei Ren continued, “then where they’re kept shouldn’t matter.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“So I assume you’d be perfectly happy to see the museums in your own country emptied for the sake of this ‘global appreciation.’ Right?”

The man straightened in his seat.

“That’s not what I meant, miss,” he said. “I’m not arguing that every artifact should leave its country of origin, nor that they should simply be given away. I’m saying each case should be judged according to its circumstances rather than applying an absolute standard of repatriation.”

His response came faster than she’d expected.

More importantly, despite the obvious challenge, his voice remained remarkably even.

Wei Ren raised an eyebrow.

“Given away and taken away are very different things. The first one usually requires the owner’s permission.”

Several muffled laughs broke out around the room.

“You said each case should be judged,” she continued. “Who gets to make that judgment? The museums currently holding the artifacts and benefiting from their reputation and economic value? Or the countries that took them in the first place?”

He was silent for half a second.

“Perhaps an independent international organization could evaluate individual cases.”

“And where would the funding, membership, and decision-making power of those international organizations come from?”

The blond man’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Something close to embarrassment—or irritation—flickered in his eyes.

Wei Ren gave him her friendliest smile.

“By the way, no offense, but where are you from?”

He clearly hadn’t expected the question.

Those pale blue eyes stayed fixed on hers as one hand remained draped over the back of his chair. When he answered, his tone carried the same effortless certainty as before.

“Country A.”

Wei Ren nodded.

“That explains it.”

She paused.

Her smile became even warmer.

“No offense, but perhaps you don’t have quite as much experience with historical heritage.”

She put deliberate emphasis on the word historical.

The room erupted into poorly suppressed laughter.

Even the moderator immediately lowered his head and covered his mouth with one hand.

A faint flush began creeping up the blond man’s neck.

“I got an A-plus in history,” he said. “And I don’t think dismissing someone’s argument because of their nationality is particularly reasonable.”

“I agree.” Wei Ren nodded. “Which is why I’m not dismissing your nationality. I’m dismissing your argument. I only mentioned your country because you’re currently benefiting from the position you’re defending.”

Before he could respond, Wei Ren turned toward the brunette woman beside him.

“I have a question about your argument as well. You believe that being more capable of protecting something gives someone the right to keep it. Is that correct?”

The brunette clearly hadn’t expected the attention to shift to her.

She blinked.

“If a wealthy man discovers that your house doesn’t have a security system, takes something valuable from you, and then says, ‘I can protect this better than you can, therefore it belongs with me,’ would you accept that?”

Wei Ren paused.

“With all due respect, we’ve already seen versions of that argument throughout history. Indigenous peoples in the Torres Strait and Native American communities are only two examples. And we all know how that turned out.”

The brunette frowned.

“That’s not the same situation. Modern museums didn’t participate in those wars, and many collections were acquired through legal transactions.”

“Legal under the laws of the time doesn’t necessarily mean justifiable now,” Wei Ren replied immediately. “Nineteenth-century laws also permitted colonial exploitation. Does that mean we should still behave according to nineteenth-century standards?”

The woman fell silent.

“And not everything can be explained away as a ’legal transaction,’” Wei Ren continued. “When a country has been invaded, when a community has lost its political rights, when people can’t even guarantee their own physical safety, do you really think they have an equal ability to refuse a transaction?”

Her English wasn’t perfect.

At one point, she even stopped for two full seconds because a word disappeared from her mind.

No one interrupted her.

“Sometimes, the only way those who benefited from old rules understand that those rules no longer apply is when they’re required to return what was taken.”

Her gaze swept across the room.

“And I heard someone mention tourism. If I want to see an artifact from my own country, but I have to buy a plane ticket and travel to another country to see it, how exactly is that fair to me?”

She paused.

“No offense, but some of these arguments sound rather absurd from where I’m standing.”

Maybe they finally noticed how angry she was.

Maybe no one wanted their next sentence to make them sound like a defender of colonialism.

Whatever the reason, nobody spoke.

Silence settled over the room.

The moderator’s smile no longer looked quite as effortless as it had at the beginning.

He quickly stood and raised the microphone again.

“Thank you. That’s certainly a very important perspective.”

He paused, visibly searching for a conclusion that wouldn’t offend anyone.

“The purpose of today’s discussion is precisely to allow people from different cultural backgrounds to express different perspectives. I also want to emphasize that our intention is absolutely not to defend historical colonial practices, nor does the university endorse any form of looting.”

His gaze moved between Wei Ren and several people in the front rows.

“The repatriation of cultural heritage is a complex issue involving history, law, conservation, and the rights of communities of origin. Obviously, we can’t reach a complete answer in a single short seminar, but I sincerely appreciate everyone’s participation.”

He glanced quickly at the time.

“That will conclude today’s discussion. Thank you, everyone.”

It wasn’t until the seminar officially ended that Wei Ren realized her legs felt weak.

She had been too angry to notice before.

Now that the anger was draining away, the nerves she’d managed to suppress came rushing back all at once.

She had just argued with an entire room of local students.

In her second language.

People around her began packing their things. A few glanced over with open curiosity.

The brunette woman looked as though she might come over and say something, but Wei Ren suddenly remembered she had another class.

She checked the time.

Her expression changed instantly.

Eight minutes.

There was no time to wonder whether she’d made any grammatical mistakes.

Wei Ren bent down, grabbed her bag, and hurried toward the door.

As she passed the middle row, she thought she heard the blond man call after her.

“Wait—”

She didn’t stop.