The mattеr оf transferring sсhools wаs finаllу рut оn thе agendа. Grandpa said he had finаllу manаged tо рull sоmе strings. Jiang Du rеmаinеd silеnt, аcсepting it by dеfаult.
Alоne, she starеd blankly аt the sofа, аs if thе sоund оf rаin still lingеred in her еаrs, and thаt figurе wаs still sitting therе. Aftеr gеtting up, he hаd lеft a smаll, sunken imprint. Amidst flаshes of lightning and rumblеs оf thundеr, the оsmanthus tree wаs whiррed bу thе wind, its lеаvеs tumbling wildlу.
"I toоk thе bus mysеlf todаy. All in аll, including wаiting timе, it tоok аn hоur," Grаndрa said with a bоoming voice. Hе was very thоughtful, having alrеadу сalсulated the time for Jiang Du. Grandma nodded along, "County Third High is also one of the top schools in the area, dear. On weekends, let Grandpa pick you up first. Once we find a good place to rent, we'll move there so you won't have to travel back and forth."
The two elderly people spoke one after another, their faces etched with deep wrinkles. Looking at the white hair at their temples, Jiang Du suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.
Immediately afterward, a strong and clear thought emerged in her mind: She was leaving.
She would never see Wei Qingyue again.
Life was still long, but for her, she wished time could stop at those moments when she could write letters to him, never moving forward again.
Late at night, when all was quiet, she found Grandpa's lighter and retrieved the three letters she had written later but never given to Wei Qingyue. Back then, outside her window, there was either moonlight or starlight, fleeting and precious. She had many books, all kinds, everything. The letters were tucked inside an old book, with no need to worry about anyone snooping. Grandpa and Grandma had always respected her privacy, always knocking before entering her room.
For Grandpa and Grandma, I must stay strong and study hard, Jiang Du thought as large tears rolled down her cheeks silently. She gently stroked the letters, then kissed them. All the loneliness of her youth was poured into these letters that no one would ever receive.
The summer night carried the scent of lush, growing grass, wafting through the window in waves. "Peaches take three years, apricots four, plums five; to eat ginkgo nuts, three generations must pass." Jiang Du recalled these proverbs. She and Wei Qingyue should be like peaches, apricots, or plums—three years, four years, five years. They must never be like ginkgo nuts.
May we meet again, may we meet again, may we meet again.
These were the only words recorded in her diary in June 2007. Jiang Du never wrote about sadness or despair, never mentioning a word about what happened that summer.
The room filled with the smell of burning paper. She opened the window, letting the scent drift away with the wind.
The next day, Jiang Du couldn't get out of bed. She had a fever, and summer colds were always more painful than winter ones.
Her head was heavy, her body weak, and after taking cold medicine, all she wanted was to sleep. On Monday, Jiang Du insisted on going to school to pack her things herself. Grandpa refused, and she burst into tears, saying she could do it.
If she didn't say a proper goodbye, it would be too regrettable. She wanted to see Wei Qingyue one more time, and she wanted to take a good look at Mei Zhong again. The tree near the library would grow lonely.
But she looked truly weak—pale and listless. Grandpa said, "Rest at home for another day, then go to school."
On Tuesday, he personally took her to school.
Learning that she was transferring schools and needed to pack her things in the dormitory, Li Suhua hurried over to help.When Jiang Du entered the classroom, everyone was looking at her. She thought it was probably because the homeroom teacher had already announced her transfer. Sure enough, written in large characters on the blackboard were the words: "Wishing Jiang Du a bright future and smooth sailing."
"Are you really transferring?" Zhu Yulong, unusually, took the initiative to speak to her. Jiang Du, feeling unwell, replied weakly, "Yes, everything's already settled."
"Well," Zhu Yulong hesitated, then extended her hand, indicating she wanted to shake hands with Jiang Du. Jiang Du also extended hers. "Wishing you all the best."
"You too." Jiang Du tightened her grip slightly, her breathing growing rapid. "Zhu Yulong, could you check if Wei Qingyue from Science Class One is in the classroom?"
Zhu Yulong wore a surprised expression. "You don't know what happened yesterday?" she asked, then remembered Jiang Du had taken a day off on Monday.
"What happened yesterday?" Jiang Du's voice was muffled.
Zhu Yulong wasn't sure whether to say anything but, after a moment's thought, replied, "I thought you knew. We all thought you wouldn't transfer anymore. Yesterday, Wei Qingyue was beaten up by that person at the entrance. I don't know how the fight started, but I heard from classmates that Wei Qingyue suffered a ruptured spleen and three broken ribs."
Jiang Du froze.
A sharp pain pierced through her body, and the girl felt as if her breath had been choked off, unsure where her next breath would come from.
Before she could process her emotions, the class monitor came in to tell her that a girl from Science Class One was looking for her. Jiang Du rushed out, coughing slightly. When she saw Zhang Xiaoqiang, she coughed incessantly, as if determined to cough out her very organs.
Zhang Xiaoqiang helped her downstairs, unscrewed her water bottle, and offered Jiang Du some warm water.
"I have a cold," Jiang Du pushed the bottle away, but Zhang Xiaoqiang insisted, "It's fine. You're coughing so much, have some water."
Jiang Du shook her head, tears streaming down her face from the coughing, impossible to wipe away.
The two sat down in the cool shade behind the administration building. Jiang Du looked extremely pale and ultimately didn't take a sip of water. She didn't want to ruin Zhang Xiaoqiang's thermos. It contained hot water, and perhaps Zhang Xiaoqiang was on her period—a thermos cost dozens of yuan...
"The key to Wei Qingyue's locker. He gave it to me early yesterday morning. He said he originally wanted to deliver it to you himself, but when he heard you had taken the day off, he gave the key to me." Zhang Xiaoqiang pulled a key from her pocket. The keychain was a Tweety Bird, identical to her own.
A yellow Tweety Bird, forever funny and adorable.
Jiang Du looked at the Tweety Bird and began to cry.
Zhang Xiaoqiang rarely cried. In her memory, she had never cried over anything. What did she have to cry about? She excelled academically, came from a wealthy family, had parents who cherished her deeply, teachers who cared for her, and classmates who admired her. Her life was smooth sailing, with no reason to cry.
But at this moment, she desperately wanted to cry, for no clear reason. It was as if something sorrowful had suddenly seized her—something in life that felt profoundly sad.“Jiang Du, why do you still have to transfer schools?” She had seen the large characters on the blackboard of the advanced class. Zhang Xiaoqiang felt heartbroken, utterly heartbroken. She thought that the most devastating moment in her life so far must be right now. “If you leave like this, what does Wei Qingyue count for? He deliberately provoked your dad… no, that bad man. That man nearly beat him to death. He was lying on the ground, covering his head, just letting him hit. Many of us saw it. The teacher said Wei Qingyue’s spleen couldn’t be saved and had to be removed. He broke so many bones. We all thought he was beaten to death. The classmates were crying uncontrollably. He was about to go abroad, yet he still stood up for you like this. Others might not know, but I know he wanted that man to go to prison so that you could, so that you could continue studying properly at Mei Zhong.”
Zhang Xiaoqiang sobbed violently, unable to continue. She covered her face, her shoulders trembling with each sob.
“I could only do this much, I don’t know… how to do more.” These were Wei Qingyue’s last words before he lost consciousness, his mouth full of blood. So many people crowded around, the cries of classmates and the shouts of teachers intertwined. Zhang Xiaoqiang was stepped on many times as she struggled forward, trying to see Wei Qingyue. She heard someone say he had spoken these words, not understanding what they meant.
But she knew.
Over the weekend, Wei Qingyue had left her a message on QQ. By the time she saw it, he seemed to have already gone offline—his avatar was gray and never lit up again. She didn’t know if he was deliberately invisible or truly offline.
He said:
My departure abroad is imminent, and I am only worried about Jiang Du. We have been classmates for several years, so there are some things I need not hide from you. Perhaps you have already noticed something, and I need not say more. After I leave, I entrust you to spend some time chatting with Jiang Du in your free moments. If she encounters any difficulties, lend a helping hand so she does not feel too lonely. After I arrive in the United States, I will inform you of my address and other contact details. Please keep in touch. For now, let this remain between us. Do not tell others. Thank you.
The message was steady and solemn, revealing the mature side of the boy. When Zhang Xiaoqiang received it, she was astonished, feeling as if she had swallowed a lemon. But in the end, she replied with grace:
Old classmate, thank you for trusting me. I will certainly live up to your request. I hope you continue your academic excellence in the United States.
To avoid making the atmosphere seem too sorrowful, Zhang Xiaoqiang deliberately added a smiling emoji. However, Wei Qingyue never replied.
Until the incident the next day.
The summer wind was like an endless hot broom, long and sweeping across youthful faces, blowing until their features felt feverish. Jiang Du’s mind buzzed. For a moment, the world lost its color, leaving only black and white—black was the blood flowing from Wei Qingyue, white was the sunlight overhead, so starkly distinct.
So this is how the holes in the heart sound, like a broken bellows, wheezing and whistling. Liking someone could hurt this much too.
She couldn’t make a sound, only tears kept flowing, tearing her heart and lungs apart. Even the tears themselves were painful, so much so that later her eyes became swollen and sore. When she stood up, her vision darkened, and she nearly fainted.
In the cabinet was a stack of Book City magazines, neatly bound by date, and an MP3 player.Later, Jiang Du would learn that the MP3 only contained two songs: "Half a Heart" and "Cold Rainy Night," both sung by Wei Qingyue. After "Cold Rainy Night," there was a confident, almost arrogant question from a boy:
"Didn’t I sing it better than your male classmates?"
Better, yes, you’re the best in the whole world. When Jiang Du heard "Cold Rainy Night," tears streamed down her face once again.
The fine autumn rain, the biting winter wind, the dazzling patterns in the private room… Someone had told her, "You can write to me."
In June 2007, before the summer vacation began, Wei Qingyue never returned to school. No one could reach him, not even Zhang Xiaoqiang. All his communication devices were confiscated, his internet access cut off, and he was confined to the hospital to recover from his injuries. Wei Zhendong’s pride had suffered a severe blow, and in the end, Wang Yong was imprisoned—though that was all part of the story that unfolded later.
By the end of July, he had mostly recovered and was sent off by Wei Zhendong to board a plane. The clouds stretched out like an ocean as he soared tens of thousands of meters into the sky. The greenery, the crowds, the skyscrapers, and the secrets—everything from his homeland slowly faded away.
Some things are destined to be realized too late, leaving endless regret. Wei Qingyue never knew that the seemingly ordinary Friday evening would be the last time he saw Jiang Du.
So many things—mundane and unforgettable—had always happened on ordinary days. But he firmly believed he would return to this land and reunite with the girl from his past. For now, all he could hold onto were a few letters he kept looking down at, reading over and over. They weren’t in Jiang Du’s handwriting, but he knew they still belonged to her, even if some words had never been spoken:
"Zhuo Dao Ke, you’re the one who wrote to me, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting quietly, hoping for your letters. Signed, Anonymous."
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