When Wen Qianshu came to her senses, she had already followed them into the elevator. Wen Zhengde was much younger than she remembered. Seeing her approach, he even helped hold the ‘open’ button.
“Visiting a patient?”
Wen Qianshu shook her head, held up the bag in her hand, and smiled, “A friend of mine is a doctor here. I was just passing by and came to see her.”
Wen Zhengde: “Oh, I see.”
Wen Qianshu glanced at the floor they had pressed and pressed a button two floors above it.
The elevator was narrow and oppressive. The small space enclosed a pocket of silence, with only the humming sound of the elevator’s operation audible.
Wen Qianshu took two steps back. In her peripheral vision, she saw the woman looking down at her phone, absorbed in it. Wen Zhengde glanced at the woman’s screen and frowned, but said nothing.
The elevator reached their floor, and the two of them got out, leaving Wen Qianshu alone. The elevator doors closed, and it felt as if all the oxygen had been consumed in an instant, turning the space into a hollow tombstone.
With a “ding,” the elevator arrived at the floor Wen Qianshu had selected. However, Wen Qianshu just watched the doors open and then close again, remaining where she was.
Wen Qianshu lowered her gaze, staring at the column of number buttons, and finally pressed their floor. She walked out and wandered aimlessly in the hallway. After turning around, she saw Wen Zhengde push open a door and hurry towards the elevator.
Wen Qianshu was silent for a moment, then took two steps towards that doorway and looked inside.
She saw the person on the hospital bed, in a cast, their face pale and their expression gloomy.
Wen Qianshu.
Or rather, the fifteen or sixteen-year-old Wen Qianshu.
The woman was holding a bottle and speaking: “Qianshu, just take a sip. This is good stuff. I got it from a great master. It’s for restoring your muscles and bones from the inside, helps you grow bone—”
The person on the bed turned their head away and clamped their mouth shut.
The woman leaned closer, stubbornly trying to pour it into her mouth. “I know it hurt a lot last time you drank it, but I asked the master, and that proves the medicine is working! It’s detoxifying you. Really, listen to Mom, just take a sip. If it tastes bad, have some candy and then drink it.”
“You won’t even have candy? Oh, just listen to Mom for once—this is good stuff, take a sip—”
She didn’t want to drink it.
She clearly didn’t want to drink it.
That wasn’t medicine prescribed by a doctor at all.
Stop.
I’m begging you, stop—
Wen Qianshu wanted to reach out and push the door, but found she couldn’t move. A familiar electronic voice sounded in her ear: “What are you doing here?”
Wen Qianshu: “2333?”
2333: “You can’t go any further.”
2333: “Wen Qianshu, different worlds can intersect—”
“This world might have overlapped with a time and space you once existed in. You absolutely must not go in and change it, or no one knows what will happen.”
Wen Qianshu didn’t answer. She just watched the room. The woman finally succeeded, forcing the “miracle medicine” down, her face filled with joy, the frown on her brow smoothing out.
2333 said a lot, but when it realized Wen Qianshu wasn’t responding, it followed her gaze and saw that the person on the bed had closed their eyes, a single tear falling from the corner.
2333 was stunned.
It had almost never imagined that Wen Qianshu would cry.
Wen Qianshu suddenly spoke: “You said—”
2333 asked cautiously, “What?”
Wen Qianshu: “Nothing. Undo this, whatever it is. I want to leave.”
You tell me, who did her mother love?
A frail, sickly shell?
Or a vessel to contain a mother’s love?
And who was it lying on that hospital bed?
A person?
Or a symbol that existed as a daughter?
2333: “Aren’t you going to stay—”
“Stay for what?” Wen Qianshu sneered. “To watch a show?”
2333 was taken aback by her retort. “I, she, but she—”
“Didn’t you say I can’t make any changes?” Wen Qianshu said. “Then what’s the use of me staying here?”
2333 didn’t understand either. Logically, spacetime overlaps were rare occurrences. Unless something very important had happened in this period of time that affected the Main God.
And all of Wen Qianshu’s files from this period were sealed. 2333 had a feeling that something had happened.
But since it involved the Main God, 2333, as a mere system, couldn’t say much more. It released the physical restriction on Wen Qianshu. Wen Qianshu turned and left, walking quickly towards the elevator. As the doors opened, she noticed the elevator next to it was also approaching this floor. Wen Qianshu thought, It’s probably Wen Zhengde. Her father, who was always arguing but never did anything.
Wen Qianshu entered the elevator and watched the doors slowly close. At that moment, the doors of the other elevator opened. Jiang Mingyue looked down, put away her phone, and raised a hand to pull up her mask.
2333: “I’m really leaving this time. I have to go back and write a report. You—”
Wen Qianshu: “I’m fine.”
She walked out of the hospital, smiled, and took out her phone. She saw a message Jiang Mingyue had just sent her—“Got it, see you at dinner.”
2333 saw it too: “You two?”
Wen Qianshu: “We’re still together.”
2333: “Aiya, you should have told me you liked girls earlier—you had me worried for so long back then.”
Heaven knows how shocked it was when it discovered Wen Qianshu and Jiang Mingyue were together.
Wen Qianshu laughed. “Don’t worry about such small details.”
“If I had told you, wouldn’t you have worried that I liked Shen Ting?”
2333: “…”
2333: “Farewell.”
Wen Qianshu laughed.
It had rained a few days ago, and the wooden benches outside the hospital were still a bit damp. Wen Qianshu found an empty one, wiped it with a tissue, and sat down.
She stretched out her legs, leaned her head back against the bench, and gazed at the sky above.
She thought about what came after.
She thought about after graduation, how her mother insisted she stay in this city for university and work. She remembered her mother saying she was too fragile, that this was to protect her.
She remembered applying to a school far away, she remembered when they started arguing, she remembered their countless arguments thereafter.
She remembered her mother’s tears: “I’m so good to you, and this is how you treat me?”
“Wen Qianshu, you’re heartless and ungrateful!”
Heartless and ungrateful—
Yes, Wen Qianshu was heartless and ungrateful—
She began to question all deep affection, suspecting it was just harm in the name of love; she began to refuse to reveal her true feelings, began to tell one lie after another…
2333: “Are you really okay?”
Wen Qianshu: “You haven’t left yet?”
2333: “I was just worried about you, wasn’t I?”
Wen Qianshu closed her eyes and said with a laugh, “What’s there to worry about? I can save Shen Ting—”
“Can’t I save myself?”
Wen Qianshu knew what would happen next. She knew.
She knew her mother would start buying health supplements, and not wanting to burden her, would secretly borrow money. She also knew that after she found out, she would give her a portion of money every month, but no more. She knew those relatives were cursing her, knew they were gossiping about her parents…
She knew that later on, she would insist on moving out, and then, after a sudden onset of illness, she would die in her own room.
She would meet 2333, she would meet—
Jiang Mingyue.
Wen Qianshu opened her eyes, let out a breath, and sat up straight, only to see a person standing in a corner outside the hospital—Wen Zhengde.
The ground at the man’s feet was littered with cigarette butts. He smoked with his eyes lowered, taking fierce drags, his brow furrowed into deep ravines. How much of those ravines were because of his wife, and how much because of his daughter?
When people are young, they are always unwilling to live an ordinary life, yearning for earth-shattering achievements, wanting to become a great figure.
Only later do they discover that living an ordinary life is so difficult.
Wen Qianshu had originally thought that she and Jiang Mingyue wouldn’t last long.
But unexpectedly, they really did keep going.
Wen Qianshu spent less and less time at home, running here and there, engrossed in scenery, painting sunsets, deserts, vast white snow, and rolling green mountains. She traveled both at home and abroad, drinking mulled wine at Christmas markets, and passing Butterfly Spring in the Ten-Mile Gallery.
Jiang Mingyue, on the other hand, was busy saving people, busy training apprentices, performing one surgery after another, so busy she lost track of day and night. Her reputation gradually grew. Anyone who mentioned Jiang Mingyue would have to praise Doctor Jiang’s skill.
A few years later, Moonlight passed away. Wen Qianshu wanted to get another cat, but Jiang Mingyue refused. Jiang Mingyue gathered its favorite toys, packed them neatly into a box, and sealed it away in a corner: “No more pets. It’s too sad when you have them.”
It’s too sad when you have them.
Later still, the people they knew disappeared one by one.
First, one morning, Grandma Shen never opened her eyes again, leaving only a box of mung bean cakes she had made the night before for Shen Ting.
Their formidable head teacher, who had been impressive her whole life, had to have a funeral that was more impressive than others. So many students came and went, from all walks of life. If you asked, who among them hadn’t been scolded by her?
Zhang Zisheng collapsed at her desk from overwork. An ambulance was called, and she was hospitalized. A checkup revealed all her indicators were off. Frightened, she stopped working to recuperate properly, but in the end, she still passed away. Luo Qing, Wen Xue, Shen Ting…
One by one, photos turned black and white, becoming empty seats at class reunions.
The day of Jiang Mingyue’s baishou【1】 was a bright, sunny day.
Wen Qianshu had ordered a cake for her early, arranging for it to be delivered at lunchtime. Jiang Mingyue, wearing reading glasses, watched her boil water to cook noodles. Wen Qianshu, having run around so much in the past, was still nimble on her feet. In contrast, Jiang Mingyue, who had worked overtime and performed surgeries for years, always had a sore back that ached even when she was sitting.
Wen Qianshu: “Aren’t you going to invite those students of yours?”
Jiang Mingyue shook her head.
She sat on the sofa, watching Wen Qianshu get dried noodles from the refrigerator, and suddenly asked, “Do you believe in the next life?”
Wen Qianshu laughed. “Aren’t you a doctor? You believe in this stuff?”
“I believe in it sometimes,” Jiang Mingyue said. “For some people who can’t be cured, who pass away, I just wish for them to be healthy in their next life.”
“It makes me feel a little better.”
Wen Qianshu: “That’s true.”
Jiang Mingyue: “Do you believe?”
Wen Qianshu: “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t a matter of belief or disbelief, just not knowing. The next life, reincarnation—they always seemed to involve long-term promises, and Wen Qianshu remained wary and skeptical of anything involving the long term.
But Jiang Mingyue still said, “It would be nice if there was.”
“If there is a next life—I want to meet you sooner.”
Wen Qianshu saw the water boiling, poured the noodles in, and asked with a smile, “Hmm? Didn’t we meet in high school?”
“That’s true,” Jiang Mingyue said. “But I only fell in love with you later.”
“It was too late, still too late.”
Not enough, still not enough.
I want more time, I want it to last longer.
Jiang Mingyue’s back was aching badly, so she couldn’t help but shift and change her sitting position: “If there’s a next life, I want to meet you sooner and fall in love with you sooner.”
Wen Qianshu was taken aback for a moment, then smiled. “Why—”
She wanted to ask Jiang Mingyue why she had suddenly started saying such cheesy, romantic things, but she paused and just said, “Okay.”
If there’s a next life, we have to meet sooner, and fall in love sooner.
Jiang Mingyue: “You promised.”
Wen Qianshu: “Yes, I promised.”
The doorbell rang. Wen Qianshu glanced at the clock and walked towards the door. “It’s here already?”
“I thought it would be another hour.”
Jiang Mingyue called out again, “Wen Qianshu.”
Wen Qianshu stopped and turned around. “Yes?”
The doorbell rang again, more urgently this time. Jiang Mingyue just sat there, on the leather sofa. She still wore her hair long, her silver-white hair coiled up, neat and dignified. The corners of her eyes were covered in wrinkles, but her pupils were still light, like amber.
Jiang Mingyue: “I love you.”
Another urgent ring of the doorbell, followed by a knock: “Anyone home?”
Wen Qianshu: “Coming.”
She said to Jiang Mingyue, “Wait a moment, I’ll just go get the cake and be right back.”
Jiang Mingyue: “Okay.”
Okay.
Wen Qianshu hurriedly opened the door and said, “Just put it on the floor.”
After signing, she closed the door and hurried back with a smile. “Your cake is here. I specially asked for extra cream, it’ll be very—”
The word “sweet” was never spoken.
Her moon had closed her eyes, her head slightly bowed.
The back that was usually held so straight was finally slumped, leaning against the sofa as if she had fallen asleep.
She was dead.
Author’s Notes:
【1】Baishou (白壽), the character for ‘hundred’ (百) with one stroke removed, which means a ninety-ninth birthday.
A bit of selfish indulgence, letting Wen Qianshu still be alive and kicking at ninety-nine.
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