FIG CHAPTER 48.2

The morning after the Lantern Festival, Zhu Lianzhen was dropped off at the school gate by his manager.

Pei Qiao grabbed him by the collar, flashed a quick smile at the security office, then turned and scolded the boy, “You never do your homework! Now the homeroom teacher’s calling me!”

As soon as she finished, the boy fired back confidently, “Then send me away if you dare. There are plenty of companies fighting over me anyway.”

Pei Qiao was so furious, she hauled him back into the classroom.

Zhu Lianzhen let out a huff and sat stiffly at his desk. He didn’t listen to the teacher during morning study. Instead, he tilted his head toward the window and counted the birds outside for fun.

What did it feel like to fly?

Sliding from the rooftop of the school building toward the sports field must feel really cool.

Why did birds always cry out when they flew?

He was spacing out when the teacher called on him from the podium, “Zhu Lianzhen, recite the first part of The Ballad of Mulan.”

Zhu Lianzhen stood up. “Sigh after sigh, Mulan weaves by the doorway.” But that was all he knew. He kept repeating the first line while everyone started to laugh. His face turned red as he admitted shyly, “I haven’t memorized it yet.”

The teacher said, “Copy the entire text five times at home. Hand it in the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow?” Zhu Lianzhen’s eyes lit up. “Not tomorrow? You’re being so nice to me?”

The teacher raised an eyebrow in surprise and accepted the offer. “Fine, then give it to me tomorrow.”

“No, teacher! I was wrong!”

He had missed a lot of classes last semester, and the school had already given a gentle warning. Pei Qiao didn’t dare delay his education any further, so this year, no matter what, he had to prioritize his studies. But unfortunately, he and Koty went to the same school, and the two of them often schemed to skip class together.

Koty sometimes brought a few classmates to the middle school building to watch Zhu Lianzhen and ask for his autograph. Zhu Lianzhen always complained it was a hassle, but deep down, he enjoyed the attention. In private, he had even designed several signature styles—each one dramatic and flamboyant, looking incredibly cool.

At lunch, Koty said haltingly, “Fan Gerong went out for a private dance lesson. Looks like he’s still fighting for the center spot.”

“Let him fight, it’s not like he’s got a chance.” Zhu Lianzhen was chewing on a jelly drink, legs hanging over the railing as he sat on the flag-raising platform. “The center has already been set for Ting-ge. No one else fits.”

“But the leader doesn’t want it.” Koty turned to look at him. “Why don’t you want it?”

“I want a dance solo. That’s way better than standing in the middle.” Zhu Lianzhen sucked hard on the jelly, nearly choking himself.

“Oh right, I just remembered something,” Koty said. “There’s this boy from No. 7 Middle School that Pei-jie’s got her eye on. She’s planning to recruit him into the company. He might even be our new teammate.”

Zhu Lianzhen replied absentmindedly, “We’re already full. Someone would have to get kicked out.”

“I swear it’s true. I was in Pei-jie’s office copying trainee rules as punishment,” Koty said. “She had someone pull out all the application forms. Said she was looking for a few hidden gems.”

“Isn’t it just picking pretty faces again? Just like Fu Rong.” Though honestly, Zhu Lianzhen was more surprised that Koty even knew the phrase “hidden gems.”

“What do you mean ‘like Fu Rong’? If he’s just a pretty face, he’s the prettiest one!” Koty argued. “But I did sneak a look at that guy’s ID photo, and he’s really handsome. His name’s easy to remember too: Tan Qing.”

“Tan Qin? Like ‘playing the piano’?”[mfn]He is asking which characters are used in Tan Qing’s name. 弹琴 tán qín (meaning ‘play the piano’) sounds the same as 谈情 tán qíng (meaning ‘love’)[/mfn]

“Tan Qing,” Koty said, struggling to pronounce it, “like the idiom, playing piano and speaking of love.”[mfn]He says 弹琴说爱 but means 谈情说爱, which is an idiom that means to date/romance[/mfn]

Zhu Lianzhen understood and curled his lip in disdain. “That name’s way too flirty.”

Pei Qiao had contacted Tan Qing twice based on his trainee application form, but he had refused both invitations.

It seemed the boy had absolutely no intention of entering the entertainment industry, which truly surprised her. Pei Qiao couldn’t force him. She just felt that finding a boy whose temperament matched expectations wasn’t easy.

The boy group the company was currently focused on developing was still far from debuting, mainly because they hadn’t yet chosen a center.

The center was supposed to play a balancing role, and in a group like Acemon, with such a sharp-edged style, the company wanted to bring in a relatively gentle personality to even things out.

The five selected members each gave her headaches; every one of them had an intensely dominant presence. It was like the company was deliberately raising a few restless beasts in a cage. Choosing any one of them to lead the stage as center would make things feel too overpowering.

“What time do you think it is? Still sleeping?” Pei Qiao yanked Zhu Lianzhen out of bed and shoved him into the bathroom. “Hurry up and wash up!”

Zhu Lianzhen, hair all messy and fluffy, stared at his manager sleepily and mumbled, “What for? My alarm hasn’t even gone off.”

“Class starts at 7:30, and you set your alarm for 7:20—were you expecting a ghost to come wake you up?”

Zhu Lianzhen stood there pouting for a moment, then suddenly widened his eyes and retorted, “Who said we have class today! There’s a sports meet at nine, you didn’t know? And you’re scolding me when you don’t even know?”

Pei Qiao checked her phone. “I didn’t get any notice.”

“Go ask the homeroom teacher if you don’t believe me.”

Pei Qiao called, and sure enough, he was telling the truth.

Her tone softened. “Well, getting up early isn’t a bad thing. You should make it a habit.”

But as soon as she said that, Zhu Lianzhen became unreasonable now that he had the upper hand. He flopped back on the bed and declared dramatically, “No investigation, no right to speak! I knew you’d scold me without knowing the full story! To tell you the truth, I didn’t tell you about the sports meet on purpose! I wanted to see how you’d react! And sure enough, you totally fell into my trap!”

Like a firecracker, he was making Pei Qiao’s temples throb. She yanked him up by the collar again. “Even if there’s a sports meet, you’re getting up now. Wash up, go run two laps first, then come back for breakfast.”

Zhu Lianzhen’s rebellious instincts kicked in, and he tried to cling to the headboard like a brat. But before he could whine for more than a couple of seconds, Pei Qiao used brute force to flip him off the bed. He didn’t dare provoke her any further, dragging his slippers and sulking as he went to wash his face.

Originally, Zhu Lianzhen had planned to use the sports meet as an excuse to slack off all day. But there weren’t many boys in his class with good athletic ability, and even the track and field event slots couldn’t be filled. The class sports rep had begged him multiple times, which got on his nerves.

He didn’t attend often, so naturally, he didn’t really care about class pride. But since everyone seemed to need him so badly, he reluctantly signed up for a few events.

Long-distance, sprints, relays… As long as he showed up, he instantly drew the most attention. Waves of cheers and encouragement surged around him. Zhu Lianzhen quite enjoyed this feeling of being supported. Before each race, he would deliberately roll up his pant legs and sleeves to act cool.

After the races, though, he couldn’t show off anymore. Dancing usually took a lot of energy, but he knew how to pace himself. When it came to running, he lost all rhythm and had no strategy, so he could only grit his teeth and sprint with all his might. After the long-distance race, his throat was filled with the taste of blood.

So many eyes were watching him that he couldn’t show any discomfort. He forced himself to maintain a cool, composed demeanor and, under the admiring gazes of all the girls in school, slung his jacket over his shoulder and left early. He didn’t even stay to collect the award.

As soon as he got into the taxi, he rasped out, “Hospital,” his breath weak and shaky.

Zhu Lianzhen lay on the hospital bed and slept for most of the day from exhaustion. When he woke up, he saw Pei Qiao sitting at his bedside. She asked how he was feeling.

Zhu Lianzhen said, “I don’t feel well.”

Pei Qiao: “Take some medicine later. You were experiencing oxygen deprivation earlier, did you know that?”

Zhu Lianzhen noticed his lips were a bit dry. “I meant I don’t feel well inside.”

“Who upset you this time?”

“I didn’t get first place in everything.”

“So what?”

“If it’s not first, it’s meaningless,” Zhu Lianzhen said in a low voice.

Pei Qiao figured he was having a chuunibyou moment. At thirteen, just hitting puberty, he was innocent and clueless, and his attitude swung wildly between being overly competitive and acting like nothing mattered. No real sense yet of who he was or what he stood for.

She said, “You’re not on the track team and haven’t ever had any professional training. Why would you expect to win first in everything like they do?”

Zhu Lianzhen was clearly unhappy.

He had gotten so much encouragement and cheering at the time, but in the end, his performance hadn’t been perfect. It felt a little embarrassing. He wasn’t like Koty, shameless enough to drop out mid-race and get someone else to substitute. Since he had promised the sports rep to win glory for the class, of course he felt he should’ve placed better.

“I’ve decided. I’m going to shut myself away for three days,” Zhu Lianzhen said. “No school, just self-reflection.”

Pei Qiao: “Is it self-reflection, or just hiding out to play video games?”

Zhu Lianzhen really had overexerted himself today. He was having mild stomach cramps and needed proper rest. But he felt uncomfortable staying in the hospital. Once the soreness in his legs subsided a little, he tied his school jacket around his waist and slipped out on his own.

His skin was very pale, and now, looking so drained, he gave off a sickly vibe, with a touch of defiance that warned people not to mess with him. Just as he leaned into the corner of the elevator, the person next to him suddenly turned and looked him over.

Zhu Lianzhen glanced back and saw that this person was very good-looking. He thought he had seen him somewhere before and assumed he was a trainee from the same company. But on second thought, he didn’t recall seeing this person and started to suspect he might just be bad at recognizing faces.

The elevator ride was short. As soon as the doors opened, Zhu Lianzhen walked out right away.

Tan Qing didn’t have time to pay attention to him either. He walked through the first-floor hallway, trying to find his way to another building.

His mother’s throat had been acting up again recently, and this time it was worse. She had difficulty swallowing, and a small lump had appeared on her neck. Suspecting a relapse, she rushed to the hospital for tests. Tan Qing waited outside the examination room, not planning to go in, but this time, Ling Ni called him in herself and told him to stay by her side.

Tan Qing realized something was seriously wrong.

The doctor said a biopsy was needed. Ling Ni’s breath caught at that, and Tan Qing held her hand tightly.

The days that followed passed unbearably slowly. When Ling Ni went back to get the results, she took Tan Qing with her. The doctor told them the results pointed to metastatic neck cancer. A laryngoscopy was needed to locate the primary tumor. If it turned out to be in the piriform sinus of the hypopharynx, the chances of surviving five years were very low.

That was the result Ling Ni found hardest to accept. For a moment, her vision darkened like in a dream. When she came to, Tan Qing was already helping her sit down steadily. They stayed silent for a long time. The doctor had moved on to see other patients. There weren’t many people on the floor, and they could clearly hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Tan Qing said, “Let’s go to another place for more tests.”

Ling Ni didn’t respond.

Tan Qing’s mind was blank, and he felt a bit panicked. But soon he calmed down. He needed to come up with a way for her to accept the situation with peace of mind.

After that, they completed the hospital admission procedures and waited for a series of tests. Ling Ni told Tan Qing to go back to his studies and not come to the hospital again.

Tan Qing agreed to everything she said. But when he came to visit her, he saw that her eyes were so swollen he could barely recognize her. It wasn’t hard to imagine how many times she had cried herself to sleep in those days.

Tan Qing clasped his hands together and didn’t look her in the eye. Ling Ni took deep breaths over and over. After an unknown amount of time, she finally broke down in front of him.

“The doctor said the safest choice is to take out my whole larynx. Why does it have to be the throat? If they take it out, how am I supposed to speak or sing?”

Tan Qing sensed her emotional state spiraling out of control, which would only worsen her physical condition. He quickly stepped forward, took her hand, and tried to comfort her. “It’ll be okay. With how fast technology is advancing, there will definitely be a way for you to sing again. You just need to hold on until then.”

Tan Qing gently wiped her tear-streaked face, knowing exactly what to say to console her now. “And if it doesn’t work out, then I’ll speak for you. I’ll sing for you… Didn’t you always say I had talent?”

He gripped her dry hand tightly, trying to prove his determination.

Unfortunately, those words didn’t put Ling Ni at ease. She continued to cry day and night, consumed by panic, often raising her hand to cover her neck, terrified that one day a hole would appear there.

This was the first time Tan Qing had ever felt so lost.

He knew that Ling Ni had been suffering for years, because of the past, the present, and the future. Every turning point in her life had built up layers of resentment, and perhaps the most irreversible decision she had made was becoming a mother.

In order to raise a child who had arrived unexpectedly, she had been forced to sacrifice most of her freedom. But at least, throughout all these years, she had still been able to sing. That had kept her life from feeling like the worst it could be.

And now, even that last piece of support was slipping away. She could no longer sing for herself, nor could she express those half-true emotions to anyone else.

In this world, some people lived by instinct, always chasing desires and gratification; others spent their entire lives searching for the meaning of their existence. Tan Qing knew his mother belonged to the latter.

So then, what else could he do for her?

He had looked into what life was like after a total laryngectomy, and for Ling Ni, it would be akin to trading her dignity for a single thread of hope. Maybe, if enough time passed, she could come to terms with it and move on. But only… if she made it through the present. She was already caught in a whirlpool of grief and pain, and Tan Qing wasn’t someone who could save her.

After the heavy rain, a heat warning was issued in Ronggang.

Tan Qing cooked meals himself and brought them to the hospital every day. His cooking suited his mother’s tastes better than the hospital cafeteria’s, helping to keep her from losing even more weight.

Ling Ni kept hesitating over the decision to have surgery. Tan Qing was still a minor, and even if he signed the consent form alone, it wouldn’t be legally valid unless acknowledged by a legal guardian.

And so, the days dragged on. Even the doctors began to grow anxious. Tan Qing no longer tried to persuade her. Over time, he came to understand that his mother simply would not give up her voice. She was terrified of a future that felt worse than death. Mentally, she was nearing her breaking point.

Even if Tan Qing couldn’t fully understand her, he still spoke to her in the gentlest tone he could manage. “What matters most is getting your body healthy first.”

He couldn’t find any other relative who could sign the paperwork. His mother had apparently cut ties with her family years ago. The man who had once been his father hadn’t been seen in over a decade. To that man, Tan Qing’s existence was nothing but a disgrace. Tan Qing had no other choice but to quietly ask Ling Ni, “Can’t you keep living for me?”

—You brought me into this world, but you haven’t told me why I’m here.

—So you can’t leave me yet.

Ling Ni no longer spoke; even opening her mouth caused her pain. She used paper and pen to communicate with Tan Qing in simple phrases. On the last sheet of paper, Tan Qing had to study the crooked handwriting for a long time before he could make it out.

What she had written was: It’s always been meaningless.

She couldn’t remember when it had started, but at some point, every detail of life had stopped feeling worth cherishing. In her youth, she had made too many impulsive decisions, and just like that, she had fallen into the life she was least satisfied with.

There had been moments when she was determined to fully take on the role of “mother,” but this child had always seemed far more mature than she was, and that had only given her more justification to avoid her responsibilities.

When she reexamined herself, she was struck by the realization that none of it was worth holding onto: feelings, obsessions, responsibilities, the future… The moment she felt the impulse to abandon everything, a sense of relief washed over her. Yes, nothing had ever truly held meaning. Once she understood that, she wanted even more to disappear completely.

That day, she lay in the hospital bed, holding Tan Qing’s hand, her eyes calm and clear. Tan Qing met her gaze for a long, long time, and he realized she was saying goodbye.

In their memories, they had never looked at each other this honestly before. In his mother’s eyes, Tan Qing saw a sense of letting go.

He didn’t know what kind of expression he wore at that moment.

He vaguely understood that he had never been her emotional support, nor could he be the reason for her to go on living.

She had simply had no other choice but to tolerate him, and now, at last, she wanted to let go of that burden. And in doing so, she had finally formed a real kind of love for him, just enough to say goodbye.

Then what was he supposed to do? It seemed he had no choice either.

A bitter weight wrapped around him, pressing into his chest, crushing him. He had no time to find a release for it. Only one thought kept looping in his mind: So there had always been something in this world I truly cared about. Turns out I was capable of fearing loss after all.

But unfortunately, he had realized it too late, and for too short a moment.

–

The hospital hallway was bustling with people, each preoccupied with their own concerns. Even if anyone noticed the quiet boy with his head lowered, they only passed him by with a look of sympathy or indifference. In the end, it was a nurse who grew worried about his condition and took him to a more comfortable place, offering him words of comfort.

The boy who usually seemed calm and composed in the face of anything was just as quiet in sorrow, as if he were suppressing tears, displaying a strange kind of strength.

Tan Qing spent the entire summer break in the hospital. The blow of his mother’s passing hadn’t affected his physical health. He had only needed two IV drips in that first week. After the funeral, he didn’t know where to go, so he returned to the hospital wearing a mask and watched the patients, letting himself slowly adjust to grief in that death-filled atmosphere. That way, when he eventually returned home and faced his mother’s portrait, he would be able to speak to her with calm composure.

There was a vase on his desk holding a fresh pink avalanche rose. After school, when passing the flower shop, he had stopped by out of habit. He had never liked flowers, so he didn’t even know why he bought one.

He often spaced out halfway through his homework, staring at the vase for a moment. His fingers would brush over the petals, feeling the different textures. By the time he came back to his senses, he had already absentmindedly plucked a petal and put it in his mouth.

That astringent taste helped him focus. He knew it was definitely a psychological effect, so he only did it occasionally to avoid developing a bad habit of eating things he shouldn’t.

In early autumn, Ronggang was neither too hot nor too cold. That evening, there was a sunshower outside.

Tan Qing walked out of the school and saw fiery clouds spreading across the sky—intense and magnificent, lighting up the horizon.

People on the roadside were all raising their phones to take pictures. It was lively. Tan Qing didn’t join in, but he couldn’t help pausing to admire the rare and beautiful sunset.

Recently, after school, he would wander aimlessly through the liveliest parts of the city, observing all kinds of people and how joy, anger, sadness, and laughter appeared on their faces.

It wasn’t exactly an interesting thing to do, but it was slightly better than being alone. People passed by him, each seemingly headed toward a clear destination, while he was the only one drifting without purpose.

Passing through the city center, he saw a street dance crew performing.

Tan Qing had never deliberately searched for that person in this city, but in a world full of strangers, recognizing a familiar face would give him a strange sense of comfort.

He arrived late, and the performance on stage was already nearing its end. The dancers had received many bouquets of flowers, far more than they could take back and handle. So Zhu Lianzhen pulled them apart one by one, bending down to offer them to the audience still watching.

“I wish you success in your studies!”

“I wish you all the best at work!”

“I wish you great wealth!”

Zhu Lianzhen handed out blessings like it was New Year’s. When he ran out of things to say, he added, “Happy birthday… So what if today isn’t your birthday? You’re going to have one eventually.”

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Tan Qing still hadn’t left.

Zhu Lianzhen noticed him, but all the bouquets were already gone, and his hands were empty. All he could do was say, “Sorry, I’m out of flowers.”

Tan Qing gave a small laugh, not minding at all.

Zhu Lianzhen glanced around, then asked, “Are you in a hurry?”

Tan Qing shook his head.

“Then wait for me for a sec!” Zhu Lianzhen immediately stood up, ran off the stage, and disappeared from sight.

The other dancers left the area together. Tan Qing wasn’t sure if that boy had left, but since the other had told him to wait, there was probably no need to worry about being stood up. He leaned against a bicycle, and after a moment, heard footsteps running back onto the open-air stage.

Zhu Lianzhen had returned from a nearby flower shop, holding a single flower.

“Hey, since you’re already here, I can’t just let you leave empty-handed. I think this one looks pretty good, so here, take it.” Zhu Lianzhen crouched down and handed it to him.

It was a white camellia wrapped in transparent protective paper. The petals were perfectly white, layered like a piece of art, full and tender.

Tan Qing stared at the flower for a few seconds, then looked up and asked him, “Why do you have to give it to me on the stage?”

“I was performing on the stage, so of course I should give the flower on the stage,” Zhu Lianzhen explained with a serious expression. Tan Qing didn’t really understand the logic behind it.

Under the fiery clouds, Zhu Lianzhen’s fair face was slightly flushed, his eyes bright. “I wish your dreams come true. Bye-bye!”

The boy left with ease and decisiveness. After watching him disappear into the distance, Tan Qing lowered his head and kept his eyes fixed on the camellia, the corners of his mouth lifting in a self-mocking smile.

He realized he seemed to have received the most useless blessing.

Perhaps the boy thought it was the most beautiful wish, but what did he have that he wanted to pursue?

Tan Qing quietly looked at the round petals, letting it wither in his hands. Somehow, he felt a little unwilling to let it die like that.

He could’ve preserved it as a memento, but before that thought even took shape, his hand moved on its own. He tore off a single petal and placed it on his tongue.

His teeth easily pierced it. A bitterness spread across his tongue, calming him down considerably. Tan Qing slowly brought an end to the flower’s last remaining meaning in this world, letting it become one with himself.

Maybe one day he would find a true dream. When that time came… he would wish for it to come true then.