Оn Julу 26, 2007, Wеi Qingуuе lеft his hоmetown аnd bоаrdеd а flight to the United Stаtеs, while Jiang Du trаveled nоrth tо Веijing tо sеek mediсal treatment.
Theу wеnt their sеpаrаtе wаys.
Drifting furthеr араrt with nо word bеtween them.
Аftеr much hеsitation, Jiang Du brоught along thе Tweеtу Вird shе hаd bееn reluctаnt tо use. Whеnеvеr she missеd Wei Qingуuе, she would lооk at thе Tweetу Bird.
In 2007, there wеrе nо high-spеed trains, onlу dirесt eхрrеss trаins.
Тhе train wаs а micrоcоsm of life—thе aislеs wеrе pасkеd with migrаnt workers sitting on thе floor, large wovеn plastic bаgs piled uр at thе сarriаge junctions, people sitting on them eating steamed buns, children wailing loudly, and drowsy passengers barely lifting their eyelids before falling back asleep with their mouths agape.
Jiang Du kept herself busy by jotting down scenes she observed on the train. She couldn’t afford to be idle—idleness would lead to wandering thoughts, allowing fear and sorrow to catch up and consume her.
But she couldn’t write more than a few words before stopping, overwhelmed by discomfort.
Upon arriving in Beijing, no hospital was willing to admit her. To save money, the family of three squeezed into a shabby, moldy motel. Grandpa knelt down with a thud, pleading, "Doctor, please save this child. Even if you can’t cure her, just take a look at her—treat her as a last resort." The doctor helped him up and said, "Old sir, it’s not that we don’t want to admit her, but at this stage, treatment is futile. Take her back home, provide routine care at a local hospital, and fulfill whatever she wishes to eat or do. We advise this because we don’t want your family to lose both the person and the money."
Grandpa wept, his words broken and incoherent.
He begged everyone he could, casting dignity aside. Dignity is conditional—for ordinary people, when all options are exhausted, what does dignity even matter?
Eventually, a hospital agreed to admit Jiang Du. Every other day, blood was drawn. As soon as chemotherapy began, her hair started falling out in clumps. A peripherally inserted central catheter ran from her arm to her collarbone. She stared at the fluids—fiery red and peacock blue—blending into strange colors as they flowed into her body.
If something is beyond understanding, it’s better not to dwell on it.
Jiang Du said to Grandma, "Please shave my head." Her tears no longer flowed from her eyes. Grandma cried, but Jiang Du gently comforted her, saying, "The hair is falling everywhere and will be hard to clean. Look at the cleaning lady—she comes so early every morning, and hair is the most difficult to sweep."
After her head was shaved, Grandma bought her a hat.
But soon, she could no longer eat—her mouth slowly became completely ulcerated.
After a month in Beijing, the doctor said, "You should return to your hometown." Jiang Du was relieved. She stopped Grandpa from begging the hospital again and said, "I want to go home. Let’s go home."
By late August, as her classmates prepared for the new school term, Jiang Du was transferred back to the provincial hospital to manage infections.
Zhang Xiaoqiang learned about her illness entirely by chance.
That day, she went with her mother to visit her granduncle in the oncology department. The atmosphere was unbearably heavy. As a teenage girl, she found it hard to join the conversations in the ward, so she slipped out to the restroom and then went to the stairwell for some air.
The hospital stairwell, unlike the perpetually crowded elevators, was occasionally occupied by people crying alone, smoking silently, or making hushed phone calls.
Zhang Xiaoqiang overheard a faint argument—an elderly man and an exceptionally beautiful, elegant woman. She peeked around and caught sight of several figures."You tricked me into coming just to see her?" The woman struggled to contain her fury. "I won't go in to look at her. She disgusts me. She's pitiful? Then what about me? What about me? This is the mess you made yourselves. She never should have been born in the first place. Retribution has come, you know? This is what you call retribution."
"Nannan, the child is dying. Please, just take pity on her. Even if you only glance at her, let her see you just once, so she can say she's seen her mother..." The old woman's words were sharply cut off. "Don't mention that word to me. You've gone too far. Why are you doing this to me? How have I lived all these years? I don't want to argue with you. I've said all I need to say. If you want to cut ties with me over this, I have nothing more to say."
With that, the woman slung her bag over her shoulder, turned, and headed downstairs, the crisp click of her high heels echoing behind her.
Zhang Xiaoqiang then saw the face marred by tears—aged, withered. She recognized it as Jiang Du's grandma.
The old woman leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the steps.
Hesitantly, Zhang Xiaoqiang approached and greeted her, and then she learned everything.
In the hospital bed, Jiang Du drifted between lucidity and confusion. When Zhang Xiaoqiang and her mother came to visit, Jiang Du was wearing a hat and looked so changed that Zhang Xiaoqiang didn't recognize her at first.
Her fever wouldn't break; she truly had ice packs tucked under her arms. As Zhang Xiaoqiang's mother drew near to greet her, Jiang Du's eyes suddenly flew open—those eyes, feverish, wild, and disordered. Jiang Du mistook her for someone else. She smiled at Zhang Xiaoqiang's mother, her lips pulling taut. She thought, My mother has come to see me.
My mother has come to see me.
She was so overjoyed that Jiang Du suddenly propped herself up halfway, the IV line shifting with her movement. She clutched the aunt's arm, staring straight at her. This is what Mother looks like, she thought, just as I imagined—so beautiful, so young, utterly familiar.
Her lips trembled. Two scalding words consumed her thoughts, churning tumultuously in her mind, twisting and turning, yet never escaping her thin lips. She thought, I mustn't make her sad. It's enough just to see her. This is already more than enough.
How could anything be this wonderful?
She kept her eyes wide open, smiling at Zhang Xiaoqiang's mother—tenderly, fervently. She didn't utter a single word, but her gaze was like that of worshiping a deity.
Zhang Xiaoqiang couldn't bear to watch any longer. She turned and ran out, covering her face as she wept.
When her mother came out, Zhang Xiaoqiang asked through her tears, "Mom, did you recognize Jiang Du? You met her at my birthday party. I've mentioned her to you before."
Her mother's eyes were red as she replied, "I recognized her."
"She's dying, Mom. I just didn't see her for one summer. I thought she transferred to Third High. She always replied to my messages saying she was fine. How can she be dying?"
Zhang Xiaoqiang cried and cried. Her mother held her close, stroking her head, and whispered, "Come visit Jiang Du more often."
The first week of school was hectic.
By the time Zhang Xiaoqiang returned, Jiang Du had already left the hospital and gone back home. Zhang Xiaoqiang had wanted to tell their teachers and classmates—they could have raised donations for her—but the two elderly grandparents gently declined. Jiang Du didn't want anyone to know she was sick.
Zhang Xiaoqiang found her house.
Grandma answered the door. She had aged even more, worn down to the bone, but she still made an effort to maintain courtesy in front of a guest. She said with delight, "Child, you've come to see Jiang Du? Come in, quickly."
The home was somewhat messy—this house that had once been so tidy and clean.Jiang Du's grandpa had gone out to buy groceries. "Don't leave at noon, stay for lunch," Grandma said, trembling as she bent down to fetch slippers for her.
Zhang Xiaoqiang told herself not to cry. She had bought some oranges and carried notes in her backpack.
Jiang Du stood by the window, gazing at the osmanthus tree. The flowers were about to bloom. Hearing a knock at the door, she turned and saw Zhang Xiaoqiang. Her face, pale and dusted with fatigue, broke into a smile.
"Class Monitor, last time you came to see me, I was so feverish I don’t remember a thing. Grandma told me about it later." Jiang Du still used the old title—before they were divided into different academic tracks, Zhang Xiaoqiang had been their class monitor.
Zhang Xiaoqiang smiled, revealing her signature dimples and a row of small white teeth. "You look much better today. Don’t worry, Grandma told me not to say anything, and I haven’t told anyone."
She took out the notes and gently placed them on the desk. "I borrowed these from Zhu Yulong to make copies. I told her, 'Jiang Du transferred to No. 3 High School and is too shy to ask you herself. You know how she is—so timid—so she asked me to help.' And you know what? Zhu Yulong might seem aloof, but she’s actually really kind. She went with me right away to make the copies."
Zhang Xiaoqiang chattered on, her tone light and cheerful.
Jiang Du’s voice was even weaker than her complexion. She had little strength left and smiled faintly. "You’re all so good to me. When I get better, I’ll treat you all to KFC, okay?"
Zhang Xiaoqiang’s heart trembled. She forced a bright expression. "Of course! When you’re better, you’ll have to thank us properly. I’ll help you catch up on the lessons you missed, and Zhu Yulong can too. She ranked third in your class on the final exam."
"Zhu Yulong’s grades are really good," Jiang Du murmured, lost in thought for a moment before smiling again. "Class Monitor, I saw my mom. She came to visit me."
Zhang Xiaoqiang froze, tears nearly bursting from her eyes without warning. She held them back fiercely and quickly asked, "Really? You’re so pretty—your mom must be gorgeous too, right?"
"Yes, she’s much prettier than me," Jiang Du said contentedly. "She’s busy with work and couldn’t stay with me, but Grandma said she’ll come again when she’s on vacation."
Jiang Du didn’t know whether she was saying this to Zhang Xiaoqiang or to herself.
"Yeah, adults are always busy with work," Zhang Xiaoqiang replied, unsure what else to say. She began peeling an orange for Jiang Du. Though Jiang Du couldn’t eat much, she took a segment anyway. Her mouth was full of ulcers, and the sweet-sour taste stung sharply. Jiang Du chewed slowly, very slowly, and whispered, "The oranges you bought are so sweet. You really know how to pick them. My grandma often buys bad ones."
The air filled with the fresh scent of oranges.
Zhang Xiaoqiang held the orange peel, hesitating for a long time before finally saying, "Jiang Du, about your illness… can I tell Wei Qingyue?"
Jiang Du suddenly froze.
Tears streamed down her face instantly. She had held back for so long without crying—in Beijing, during the agonizing chemotherapy, she had bitten through the hospital sheets in pain but never cried over her illness, not even when she fainted.
But when that name, his name, was mentioned again, spoken aloud beside her, she could no longer hold back.
The atmosphere grew quiet. The two girls sat in silence for a long while, with only the scent of oranges filling the air.
Finally, Jiang Du shook her head gently. Her tears flowed like an endless river, flooding her face.
"Don’t tell Wei Qingyue. When I’m better, let’s go to America together next summer to visit him, okay?"No one knew how difficult his journey had been. Jiang Du knew that he had just set sail and absolutely could not turn back to port.
Zhang Xiaoqiang lowered her head, repeatedly picking at an orange peel. "When he left, he was very worried about you. He asked me to help you if you ever faced difficulties. I have to keep my promise. Now that you're sick, you should tell him."
She set the orange peel aside, turned around, and pulled an old phone from her backpack. She logged into her QQ account and pulled up the chat history.
"My departure abroad is imminent, but I can't stop worrying about Jiang Du. We've been classmates for several years, so there are some things I don't need to hide from you. Perhaps you've already noticed something without me having to say more. After I leave, I ask that you spend some time chatting with Jiang Du when you can. If she encounters any difficulties, lend a helping hand so she doesn't feel too lonely. Once I'm in the U.S., I'll share my address and contact details with you again. Please stay in touch. For now, let this remain between us. Don't tell anyone else. Thank you."
A message from June, from Wei Qingyue in June.
In the blink of an eye, the world had changed, and she no longer had a chance at life.
Jiang Du stared at the phone. She saw his face, his hair, the way he smiled... Wei Qingyue, my blessings for you will never change. You are the person I like the most. In her hazy world, she lifted her face, smiling faintly, and told Zhang Xiaoqiang:
"He said we are friends. He's such a good person. I'll get better too, definitely, I will definitely get better."
She would live, waiting to see him again.
For a moment, Jiang Du even felt that the illness had been conquered. Everything became unreal—this thing, this sickness, had never happened. She was fine. To prove she was fine, during lunch with Zhang Xiaoqiang, she endured the pain in her mouth and forced food down her throat.
When she was little, whenever she fell ill, Grandma would always say, "As long as there's food in your belly, it's nothing serious."
The desire to survive had always been burning within her, but now it was even more intense—so intense it felt unbearable. It was as if life was truly beginning from this moment. Never before had she been so certain that she would recover.
Now, she only wanted to follow one path: to regain her health. At the same time, she knew that Wei Qingyue, now in America, was slowly paving his own path in life—one that would lead in all directions. He would live a good life, just as firmly as she believed she would recover.
There was still plenty of time. No need to fear.
Jiang Du began writing letters in a state of high excitement. She started writing to him again.
She wanted to preserve her longing for him with precision. This was her most important task. She focused entirely on it, day and night, with nothing else on her mind but writing letters.
As soon as she picked up the pen, she could feel herself together with Wei Qingyue.
But by the next day, Jiang Du would become dissatisfied with the letters she had written the day before. They weren't good enough. She would burn them and start writing a new one.
The scent of osmanthus grew stronger and stronger. The moon rose, as if a cold toad were crouching within it.
Jiang Du's spirits were surprisingly good.
Grandpa and Grandma thought a miracle might be happening.
Sometimes she slept with Grandma, curled up in the old woman's arms, listening to stories about her own childhood. Other times, she sat in a wheelchair as Grandpa pushed her out for a walk.She insisted on not going any further towards Mei Zhong, as if going there would be a final farewell. She was waiting—waiting until she got better, then she would go to Mei Zhong. She didn’t want to go to San Zhong anymore; it wasn’t a big deal. She would return to Mei Zhong to study, to be with her dear teachers and classmates.
She would meet Wei Qingyue again at Mei Zhong, and Jiang Du became incredibly happy.
I will live until Mid-Autumn Festival, then until National Day, then until the solar New Year, then until the Lunar New Year. Jiang Du circled one holiday after another on the calendar.
Apart from studying, she wrote letters. Time was never enough because her body still endured all kinds of pain. To reward herself, she allowed herself to flip through two or three pages of the magazine Book City every day.
The 25th was Mid-Autumn Festival, and she made it.
The moon was big and round. Jiang Du opened the window, familiar with every scent—the coolness of autumn, the fragrance of osmanthus, the clarity of moonlight.
She ate mooncakes and, while watching the Mid-Autumn Festival gala, told her grandparents that she felt particularly good today. She truly looked exceptionally well.
On the desk, the desk lamp was turned on. Grandma knocked on the door and asked if she wanted to sleep with her tonight. Jiang Du smiled and shook her head, saying she wanted to sleep alone tonight.
Grandma saw the paper and pen on the table and said, "Sweetheart, don’t stay up too late. We’ll be in the living room."
Since she returned home, the two elders had been sleeping in the living room because it was spacious and had no door, making it easiest to check on her from there.
Jiang Du said, "Okay, I won’t stay up late. I’ll go to bed early."
She began writing to him again.
"Hope this letter finds you well.
Today is Mid-Autumn Festival. I wonder if you can see a bright full moon where you are. Here, the sky is clear and the air is fresh. During the day, there wasn’t a single cloud—the sky was high and distant, a vast and expansive blue. I was actually on edge all day, worried that the weather might suddenly change in the afternoon and the moon wouldn’t be visible tonight. But when dusk arrived and the sunset blazed across the sky, I knew the moon tonight was safe.
Zhang Jiuling’s poem is truly wonderful: 'Over the sea, the moon rises bright; we gaze at it far apart, yet share the same light.' Every Mid-Autumn Festival, I think of these two lines and feel how beautiful they are. Will you celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival with your mom in the U.S.? I hope you’re together. I forgot to tell you some good news—my mom came to see me a while ago. It’s just a shame that my mind wasn’t very clear at the time (because of a cold and fever). I only remember her eyes being especially bright and gentle. She didn’t come back for Mid-Autumn Festival, but I think I’ll see her during the New Year. I hope we both have the chance to spend holidays with our mothers.
There’s a reason I haven’t been in touch with you.
And partly because of my own selfishness—I prefer writing letters to you. It doesn’t matter if you laugh at me for being old-fashioned; I love writing letters.
Please forgive me for a while. When we meet again, I’ll tell you the reason."There's something I think I should tell you. Last time Zhang Xiaoqiang came to visit me, I kept pestering her, asking if she had been in frequent contact with you. I accidentally saw the message you left for her in June—thank you for caring about me so much. You once said we were friends, but I never knew you could give so much for a friend. I truly cherish our friendship. After all, even though you haven't taken a knife for me (just a little joke), you were seriously injured because of my situation. Speaking of which, I wonder if you've fully recovered. You must take good care of yourself. Also, I know you're a loyal and devoted friend, but I hope you won't take such risks in the future. Nothing is more important than your health. You must stay well, truly, and take good care of yourself.
You won't stay away forever, will you? What I mean is, for example, during the New Year, will you come back once? If you do, will you come to Mei Zhong to gather with our classmates? You like my Grandpa's cooking, right? If you're alone during the New Year and have nowhere special to go, come to my home. Grandpa will prepare a big feast. Whatever you like to eat, don't be shy—just say it, and Grandpa can make it for you.
After the meal, you can watch the Spring Festival Gala with us. Actually, I can even ask Grandpa to take us back to our hometown, because we can set off firecrackers there—crackling and super festive. There's a kind of firecracker that isn't very loud, like iron sparks, and kids love swinging it in circles, like a shower of golden shooting stars—so beautiful. Maybe you played with it when you were little. In our hometown, you can also see big, bright stars, cold and clear. When people speak, their breath turns into puffs of white mist, rising gently, like Kongming lanterns floating upward—wait, Kongming lanterns are for the Lantern Festival, aren't they? Do you know how to make Kongming lanterns? We could set them off together. It's fine to do it during the New Year too.
I hope you don't think I'm childish like a kid. It's just that whenever I think about the New Year, I get so excited and can't help but chatter away. Once the New Year passes, spring will come, and it'll be 2008.
I've never been abroad. When you come back, please tell me about your experiences there—the weather, what people eat, how students attend classes and what they study. I really want to know.
The moon outside is so bright and clear. Have you seen it? If you're busy with something, take a break and come to the window to look at the moon. I believe the students and teachers at Mei Zhong are all seeing the full moon of the Mid-Autumn Festival right now. Look, we can all see this clear, silvery light. If you're feeling homesick, come and look at the moon too. That way, it'll be like you're with us.
Now that you're studying abroad, you might face many discomforts and troubles. If you're feeling down, it's okay to cry quietly. No one says boys can't cry. You can also talk to me when we meet. I'll be your best listener. Don't worry that I'll think you're weak or not strong enough. People don't have to be strong all the time. I can understand you. Trust me, I'll do my very best to understand you, because we're good friends.
I look forward to seeing you again. I'll keep waiting for you. Finally, I wish you a happy Mid-Autumn Festival, health, and peace.
The letter was finished. To the very end, she kept her affection hidden beneath the guise of friendship.She sat quietly for a while, recalling the last time they had met. If she had known earlier, she would have properly said goodbye to him.
After folding the letter, she placed it into the candy box. Jiang Du thought, maybe tomorrow I’ll feel the letter isn’t well-written again?
Then I’ll write another one tomorrow.
She caressed her beloved candy box, took out Tweety Bird, and climbed into bed. Tweety Bird was held close against her warm chest. Jiang Du whispered to the moon outside the window, "Goodnight, Wei Qingyue," before gently lying down.
The night was cool as water, the moonlight pale as frost.
She had a long dream. In it, Wei Qingyue returned. He had grown taller, winking mischievously as he smiled at her, saying, "I know you’ve been waiting for me all along." She smiled back and asked him, "Then will you come with me to my hometown for the New Year?" They really did return to her hometown. Pushing open the door, they found Grandma, Grandpa, and her mother sitting inside.
Later, the sky began to drift with a fragrant misty rain. She said she was so cold, growing colder and colder, until she returned to the longed-for womb. Distant memories awakened as she clenched her tiny hands in the dark, silent, gentle waves. In her hand was an adorable Tweety Bird. Here it was warm enough, safe enough—she could sleep peacefully.
The dream ended within the dream, and she never woke again.
In the desk drawer, buried beneath a stack of Book City magazines, lay a thin letter tucked inside the bottommost issue. Unread, it remained forever unknown.
On September 26th, the sun rose as usual, and the earth carried on unchanged.
OpenNovel