It had bееn two yеars sincе thеу lаst sаw еach оther. Among them, only Lin Наiyаng had nеvеr lеft thеir homеtоwn; thе оthеrs had аll ventured out tо mаke thеir way in the wоrld. Life had its bittеr and sweеt mоmеnts, аnd thе wоrld hаd changеd сomрlеtеly frоm what it wаs in thеir youth.
Тhе cеmetery wаs in the suburbs. Lin Haiуаng, whо workеd there as а саretаkеr, hаd bееn wаiting for thеm sinсe еarlу morning, knowing thеy wеrе сoming.
Тhе sun wаs bright thаt day, cаsting light everywhere. Yеt, how quickly timе had pаssed—thеу werе already in their thirties. When they met and smiled, fine lines had already appeared at the corners of their eyes. All these years had quietly slipped away.
Only Jiang Du in the photograph remained unchanged through the shifting seasons and the passage of time. She was still sixteen, her lips slightly pursed in a smile as she gazed at them, her voice and appearance as they had always been.
The group stood there, placing the freshly bought white chrysanthemums.
The cemetery was quiet and serene, with only a handful of visitors paying respects to their loved ones. Most were silent, and so were they, standing there for a while with Jiang Du without saying much.
Birds chirped in the gentle breeze, and the sky was bright and clear—just the kind of weather she had loved.
Over the years, Lin Haiyang had taken good care of her. Her gravestone was always the cleanest and tidiest. During the worst of the pandemic, when her elderly parents couldn’t visit, they called and asked him to pay their respects. At that time, the entire cemetery was nearly empty, desolate and quiet. He took the opportunity to sit by her side and tell her about all the changes that had happened over the years.
When they all sat down for a meal together, Lin Haiyang treated them, and the atmosphere finally warmed up as they began sharing updates about their lives. Lin Haiyang sighed about his constant failures in blind dates, worrying that he might end up alone for life. The others smiled and comforted him, saying not to worry—after all, apart from Wang Jingjing, none of them were married either.
Amid the lighthearted conversation, he casually asked, “So, is Wei Qingyue still unwilling to come see her?”
The table fell silent again.
Zhang Xiaoqiang was the first to speak. “He’s never believed it happened. There’s no way around it—no one can convince him. If you push too hard, he gets upset and refuses to talk about Jiang Du at all.”
Lin Haiyang had grown rougher over the years, eating heartily and speaking loudly. He didn’t stop his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully as he said, “You just don’t know how to persuade people. If it were me, I’d tell him, ‘Hey, kid, do you know? Jiang Du has been waiting for you to come back and see her since the day you left. It’s really not right of you—knowing she’s here and not even coming to visit.’”
Zhang Xiaoqiang and the others were stunned.
After a few seconds of silence, Zhu Yulong said, “That wouldn’t work either. He’s ill. He treats illusions as reality, living in a world of his own making, where he decides what’s real and what’s fake. To him, we might even be unreal, nonexistent. He won’t come. Coming here would confirm that Jiang Du is dead, and he can’t accept that truth.”
Lin Haiyang was baffled, completely lost. “That sounds so mysterious?”
“It’s not mysterious. He’s just not normal anymore.”
“Will he ever get better?”
“People only get better if they’re willing to be treated. He won’t give anyone that chance. It’s like,” Zhu Yulong paused quietly, “no one gave him a chance either.”
Lin Haiyang had nothing to say. Their former top student, the boy who graduated from a prestigious university and shone with brilliance, had ended up not even being normal anymore. Jiang Du had defined the best years of his youth, leaving them with endless sighs.
The topic drifted away as quickly as it had come up.Everyone turned to ask Wang Jingjing when she planned to have children. They had become quite worldly too, their concerns shifting—asking old classmates if they were dating, when they would get married, when they would have children... And the girl who lay eternally asleep here had never even had the chance to experience such worldly matters.
No one cared anymore about monthly exam scores, which class dropped trash in the hallway, which students the homeroom teacher caught for early romance, or how to lie to skip a morning run... If they did care, it would only be about their own children’s futures, just as it had been for them back then.
Wang Jingjing said, "Come to my mom’s place for a visit. They moved to a new neighborhood recently, and she threw away a lot of my old things, but Li Suhua kept Jiang Du’s books for me. She had the moving truck bring them over and placed them in the study."
Yes, it was that move—an ordinary, unremarkable move.
The wind was strong, the weather not very good. The young mover accidentally dropped a stack of Book City magazines, and from one of them, a thin, folded piece of paper slipped out, falling far, far away—so far that the person who picked up the books didn’t notice its existence.
Wang Jingjing never noticed it either, because these books were meant for remembrance, not for reading. She placed them in the study, high on a shelf, for the sake of nostalgia.
That thin piece of paper began its journey.
It first fell beside the grass near the apartment building, next to a large green trash bin, fluttering lightly. The wind blew it open, revealing traces of the past.
If anyone had seen it, despite its age, they would have sensed the emotions of a certain young person—so vivid, so full of life.
Only the wind saw it.
It lay open and alone in the wind, pouring out its feelings.
"Zhuo Dao Ke,
You always refuse to write me more letters, so I have to write to you instead.
Don’t be surprised by this address, because I know it’s you. Why did you lie and say you didn’t know what ‘Zhuo Dao Ke’ meant? You might not realize it, but eyes and micro-expressions are the easiest to give someone away, no matter how you try to hide. Besides, you’ve never been very good at pretending—always so shy, always blushing. Your acting is just too poor.
Let me make this clear: this letter is written to you, and no one else. I truly don’t understand why you won’t admit that you’re the one who really wrote the letters. Is it to avoid awkwardness for your friend? There’s no need. No matter what, I only want to read your letters and reply to yours. No one else is worth my time.
Lately, too many things have happened to you. I’ve never been good at comforting people, but if I had to say something, I’d say it’s not your fault. No matter how others see you, I’ll always believe in you. No one is better than you. To me, you are the most precious. If I had to compare, you’re even more precious than sunlight.
I also don’t understand why such hateful things have to happen to you. If possible, I’d rather they happened to me, because I’ve been through countless hardships—I can endure any suffering. But I don’t want you to suffer, so wait for me. Don’t be afraid, and don’t lose your joy in life because of this. I believe you won’t. You’re actually stronger and braver than I imagined. I trust your words, and I hope you trust them too. As long as a person still has health and a sharp mind, they should never lose faith in life."Parting is imminent, yet as I pick up the pen, words fail me. I cannot promise anything now, only that I will return, without a doubt. Before, I thought perhaps I might stay in America—this place was originally a barren land with nothing to hold me back. Now, I know I will definitely come back. I hope we don’t lose touch. I don’t mean to ask anything of you right now—of course, your studies come first. But after your college entrance exams, if your feelings for me haven’t changed, and if I am still the Wei Qingyue you recognize, let’s be together. I don’t even know what I’m saying, or what being together would entail—truthfully, I’m not entirely sure. By then, you probably won’t need me to explain problems or anything like that, but being with you would be interesting—of that I have no doubt. I hope I won’t bore you.
I know nothing about what you usually like. You can write and tell me, or if there’s anything from America you’re interested in, I can buy it and send it to you. Don’t be distant with me.
By the way, if you have difficulties with your studies and find it troublesome to contact me, you can ask Zhang Xiaoqiang for help. She’s a very warm-hearted person. Don’t always feel like you’re bothering others—that’s not the case. Don’t keep things bottled up inside. Even if I can’t solve anything for you right now, at the very least, I can be your loyal listener. If there are things you find hard to say, write them to me. I want to hear all your thoughts. And don’t easily think you’ve done something wrong or fall into self-blame. You are fine just as you are—no need for apologies. You must believe me.
I’ll end the letter here. I’ll wait for your reply. What I mean by “I’ll wait for your reply” is that I look forward to it—I need your reply, I need you. I don’t know what kind of new environment I’ll be facing, and there’s no need to hide it from you. My relationship with my mother is similarly distant—I don’t feel how much she loves me. It’s not too important; I’ve always solved problems on my own. But that doesn’t mean I’m unbreakable. Write back to me. I’ll be waiting.
I don’t know what to write for blessings, so I’ll just wish you progress in your studies—constant progress.”
The letter was dated June 2007, but there was no name, only four bold, elegant characters: Known but unnamed.
It was a tacit understanding between the youth and her, a shared smile.
The wind continued to blow, lifting the thin sheet of paper upward, letting it fall, then lifting it again. It brushed against the steps, caught in the honeysuckle bushes, and finally, the wind swept it up once more, tossing it high into the air. It was so light, yet it carried such weight.
It lay quietly, sleeping in solitude for over a decade, unread, unknown to anyone. Now, the wind carried it away, about to embark on a distant journey. And at some moment, it would never have a second chance to appear on the earth again.
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