Jiang's Mother pulled back the white cloth in disbelief until she could clearly see her son's face.
She grabbed Fu Shize, her voice hoarse with grief: "Didn't you tell me he was perfectly fine? Didn’t you say you saw him take his medicine?"
Fu Dongsheng and Chen Jinping pulled Fu Shize behind them, doing their best to console her.
Fu Shize hung his head. The events of the entire night weighed on him like a hammer, crushing his bones, leaving his body so fragile it might collapse at the slightest touch.
Jiang's Mother collapsed to the ground, wailing uncontrollably.
Fu Shize watched them, murmuring, "I'm sorry..."
Seeing the overwhelming emotions on the other side, Fu Dongsheng quickly pulled Fu Shize outside. He sighed, the sound echoing faintly in the damp, dim corridor. In a low voice, he reassured him, "A-Ze, this isn’t your fault. Jiang Yuan was a good kid. Everyone has their limits."
"He tried his best. You tried your best too."
Fu Shize’s eyes were open, his lashes trembling slightly, but he gave no response.
Hearing the cries, Fu Dongsheng covered Fu Shize’s ears.
He could still hear the sound of Jiang Yuan’s parents pounding the floor in anguish, each thud striking deep into his own heart.
Fu Dongsheng stayed at the hospital to assist Jiang Yuan’s parents with the funeral arrangements.
Worried about Fu Shize’s condition, Chen Jinping half-dragged him away from the hospital. The moment they stepped outside, the harsh morning sunlight made him squint.
The rain had stopped.
Chen Jinping guided him into the passenger seat. Once inside the car, she tightly grasped Fu Shize’s hand.
He curled in on himself silently, his father’s oversized coat hanging limply over his shoulders, his rain-dampened hair disheveled.
Then, drop by drop, tears fell onto the back of her hand.
The police also found an old, open notebook on Jiang Yuan’s dormitory desk.
The first few dozen pages contained research ideas from his undergraduate days, the handwriting neat and elegant, occasionally interspersed with absent-minded doodles.
Later, the writing grew increasingly erratic.
As if flipping randomly to a blank page, Jiang Yuan had written his final diary entry.
It was completely different from Fu Shize’s memories.
In this long diary entry, Jiang Yuan recorded his inner turmoil during this period.
...
Lately, things have been really bad. I used to think my abilities were unquestionable, that my excellence couldn’t be outmatched. But pursuing a Ph.D. has made me realize my true level. Every day, I stare at the garbage research I’m doing. Every day, my advisor drags me into side projects that eat up most of my time. Every day, I struggle on the brink of failing to graduate.
A while ago, I finally had a paper ready for submission, but Che Wu took it and gave it to a senior student, saying the senior needed it to secure a postdoc position. But that was my paper. I agreed, on the condition that I could graduate on time. Che Wu called me cheap labor and insisted on delaying my graduation by at least a year to keep me working for him. We argued, and he said my temperament was unstable, threatening to report me to the school and have me expelled.
I never imagined my Ph.D. journey would turn out like this. Back then, I came to this institute full of passion, eager to do research. But the reality is, day and night, I’m just helping Che Wu make money.Having a meal with Shize, I heard he got the Rising Star Project, which would sponsor him 1 million. He asked how I’ve been lately, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, feeling utterly useless. Back when we first arrived at West Science and Technology University, we were almost the same. But now, downstairs, I see nothing but news and posters about Shize, and our group chats are flooded with updates about his recent awards. Why is the gap between us growing wider? He’s still the same as when we first came here, while I’m on the verge of collapse. I don’t want to compare myself to him, but… I really envy him.
I remember how, at every family gathering, relatives would ask how my studies were going, telling younger cousins to learn from me—their doctoral brother studying at the best university in the country. They’d flatter me, saying I’d earn millions every year in the future.
But I can’t even graduate. If it were Shize, even with depression, he’d still manage everything effortlessly. He wouldn’t fight with his advisor over a single paper like I did. But I can’t. I don’t have that ability.
I hate thinking this way, but seeing him fills me with such pain. So many times, I’ve wished he’d just stop coming to see me. Maybe if I didn’t compare myself to him, I’d feel better. It’s my fault—I’m too weak to admit my own incompetence. When Shize gives me his papers, does he see me as nothing but a burden? Without his help, would I have achieved nothing at all? Does he think I’m useless when he watches me take my meds, believing I’m weak for letting such small things trigger my depression and anxiety? He used to look up to me when we were kids. I don’t want him to look down on me now.
My ears are ringing, the noise pushing me to the brink. Everyone says I’m incapable.
I hate this powerless version of myself.
I hate how my parents worry endlessly because of my illness.
If only I weren’t here…
…
For Fu Shize, his memories held almost no discord. Even when Jiang Yuan was at his worst, Shize believed things were moving in a positive direction.
He always thought he’d see Jiang Yuan recover.
He never imagined that much of Jiang Yuan’s suffering stemmed from him.
At the police station, Jiang’s Mother grabbed a notebook and struck Fu Shize with it, shoving him, slapping him with all her strength. He stood motionless, like a kite with its string cut, letting her push and hit him.
“You promised you’d make sure Jiang Yuan took his medicine.”
“You told me he was doing fine.”
“You succeeded on your own—fine. But you knew he was sick! Why didn’t you take better care of his feelings?”
After her husband pulled her away, she buried her face in the notebook and sobbed uncontrollably. “It’s all because of you. If I’d known it would come to this, I never should’ve let you two be friends…”
Shize was shoved into a corner, his hair covering his eyes, his face streaked with red marks from the slaps.
He hung his head lifelessly. Aside from Jiang’s Mother’s hysterics, the only sound in the room was his faint whisper.
“I’m sorry…”
The rain washed the streets clean, as if nothing had ever happened. The news was suppressed quickly, appearing on the school forum for only a few minutes. Fu Shize went to Jiang Yuan’s lab and took the drone—their first competition piece.
Jiang Yuan’s parents refused to let Shize pack his belongings or help with the funeral arrangements, bluntly telling him not to show his face.The funeral was held in Nanwu. Even in spring, the temperature remained below freezing, and the rain turned into silver needle-like hail, pelting the earth relentlessly. Fu Shize wore a black raincoat. Not wanting to upset Jiang Yuan’s parents, he kept his hat and mask on, watching from afar as the ceremony took place in that quiet corner.
When it was time for the burial, Fu Shize removed his hat.
He often dreamed of moments spent with Jiang Yuan—the two of them growing up together, copying each other’s homework in the classroom, rushing to the sports field after school to claim a spot, stopping by the snack shop after meals to buy treats, Jiang Yuan shielding him from bullies when he was younger.
The person he had called “brother” since childhood now lay motionless on the cold concrete, his body still trembling slightly.
Fu Shize’s emotions underwent a stark transformation. At first, he was bewildered. He had given Jiang Yuan his essay, just as Jiang Yuan had bought him milk tea.
He hadn’t known that his actions would backfire, placing an unbearable weight on Jiang Yuan’s shoulders.
Later, all other emotions faded away, leaving only an endless tide of guilt that drowned him day and night. If only he had checked whether Jiang Yuan had taken his medication. If only he had been perceptive enough to notice Jiang Yuan’s distress. If only he hadn’t been so fixated on his own ambitions. If only, on that night, he hadn’t been tinkering with that robot but had instead stayed by Jiang Yuan’s side.
Or better yet—if he had never entered Jiang Yuan’s life at all.
This was all his fault.
Jiang Yuan had walked this path because of him.
He had promised to make sure Jiang Yuan took his medicine.
If only he had realized sooner.
Jiang Yuan wouldn’t have died.
He became withdrawn, avoiding contact with others, terrified that another Jiang Yuan might appear.
His insomnia worsened. He couldn’t stay asleep past the early hours of the morning. It was as if, by staying awake, he could still knock on Jiang Yuan’s door as he always had, and none of this would have happened.
The scene that played over and over in his mind—the sound of that impact—haunted his nightmares.
Jiang Yuan’s parents refused to see him ever again.
He was a sinner—in their eyes, and in his own.
Perhaps to atone for his guilt, he gathered years of evidence against Che Wu—exploitation of students, academic fraud—and wrote reports in both Chinese and English, sending them directly to major media outlets, the university president’s mailbox, and domestic academic ethics committees.
Che Wu was punished.
But what about him?
What punishment did a sinner like him deserve?
The school arranged psychological counseling for the students who had witnessed the incident.
Fu Dongsheng hired a renowned therapist for Fu Shize, but he refused to cooperate, only agreeing to move back in with his family.
At the urging of his grandmother and parents, he returned to school.
Every corner was a trigger for memories. His focus shattered—experiments, code, papers, all riddled with mistakes. His sleep and eating habits became erratic.
He despised this broken version of himself, feeling he had failed the expectations of his elders and mentors. Yet he couldn’t face what had happened in that building, nor the turmoil and guilt inside him.
The thought of dropping out took root. One evening, he brought it up to his advisor.
“Fu Shize, have you lost your mind?” Shi Xiangzhe, the professor who had known him for years, nearly kicked over a trash can as they walked across campus. His hair had turned gray, and his face flushed with anger. “I’ve mentored you all this time. Jiang Yuan’s death had nothing to do with you. The school has already dealt with Professor Che. Dropping out is out of the question.”Shi Xiangzhe believed he had boundless prospects and a splendid future ahead.
Fu Shize glanced up at the crescent moon, his thoughts scattered.
He had once harbored countless ambitions, had wanted to forever preserve his pride and disregard the world. Yet, beyond the exceptional and unique image others saw, he was merely an ordinary and fragile person.
He couldn’t overcome the obstacles as others expected, couldn’t walk that broad, smooth path. The weight of guilt had already crushed his ability to live normally.
Fu Shize remained silent. Shi Xiangzhe studied him for a long moment before finally sighing heavily. "Take a break for now. Come back when you're ready."
He took a leave of absence from school.
Before returning to Nanwu, he stopped by Jiang Yuan’s workstation. Most of the belongings had already been cleared away. On the desk, he spotted a torn photograph—a group photo of the team when Unique had won for the first time.
Leaving the office, the end of the corridor stretched into endless darkness.
In a daze, he heard the sound of a drone by his ear.
It was as if he had returned to that summer.
Flowers in full bloom filled his vision, the boys cheering and laughing as they ran forward.
And him—
Amidst those vibrant blossoms, quietly withering away.
After returning to Nanwu, Fu Shize spent most of his time at South River Garden.
He wanted to accompany his grandmother in her final days. Later, when she was hospitalized, Fu Dongsheng and Chen Jinping arranged for him to work at EAW, hoping to reintegrate him into society.
Fu Shize complied, though during sleepless nights, he often smoked, drank, and stared blankly on the balcony.
Eventually, he returned to West Science and Technology University. He suppressed the pain inside, forcing himself not to think about Jiang Yuan. It almost seemed as if, just as others believed, he had shattered his own fragility.
He even deceived himself into thinking he had moved past the shadows of that year.
Jiang Yuan’s birthday was approaching.
It served as another reminder—the guilt he carried toward Jiang Yuan and Jiang Yuan’s parents remained an obstacle he couldn’t circumvent, no matter how much he tried to rebuild his life and return to normalcy.
"After Zhou Tiao found out about Jiang Yuan, he came to see me many times. But I couldn’t face it." Fu Shize didn’t want anyone comforting him about Jiang Yuan, not even his old friends.
"Many people have urged me to move on." Fu Shize lowered his head, the light in his dark eyes completely gone. "I can’t stop blaming myself. He was my brother."
"There were many times I wanted to tell you about this." He habitually kept his tone flat, concealing all emotion. "But conversations like this make those scenes replay in my mind over and over."
"Lili, can you not blame me?" A hint of involuntary bitterness seeped into his voice. "There are many things I don’t want to remember."
The twilight was thick, his features barely visible. Even in such a moment, Fu Shize’s first concern was ensuring Yun Li wouldn’t feel hurt by any perceived concealment.
After hearing the whole story, Yun Li looked at his slightly hunched shoulders, wounded and helpless, momentarily at a loss for words.
She shook her head. "I don’t blame you."
As an outsider, Yun Li understood clearly—what happened to Jiang Yuan wasn’t Fu Shize’s fault. He had already done everything within his power.
"You’ve met him before," Fu Shize suddenly said.
Yun Li froze. "When?"
"I was sitting in the audience seats nearby. Jiang Yuan gave you that soccer ball."
"..."Yun Li recalled the person she had met back then. Against the backdrop of those memories, his passing left her feeling sorrowful and shocked. She remained silent for a long while before finally speaking: "You did your best back then. That older brother—he tried very hard, and so did you."
"I don't know how to say this, and I'm not trying to persuade you to forget what happened." Yun Li thought of when Yun Ye had suffered from pancreatitis—how she had nearly broken down completely. Her lips felt dry as she continued: "If something like that happened to Yun Ye, I would rather trade my own life for his. I would blame myself terribly, and I might never forget it either."
"When something happens to a loved one, most people blame themselves, feeling they didn't do enough. But..." Yun Li thought of Jiang Yuan, her nose tingling with emotion. "Our loved ones would want us to live well. He would have wanted that too."
She remembered the canvas shoes on the red running track, and looking up—
She could no longer recall his features, only that on that afternoon, his smile had been warmer than the sunlight.
"You told me you'd known each other for nearly twenty years, and that in all those years, he was always kind and gentle. Someone so kind and gentle—even if he endured a lot of suffering himself—would want you to live well. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself so much."
Yun Li didn’t believe Jiang Yuan had truly blamed Fu Shize or wished he had never appeared.
She was more inclined to think that, in his final days, Jiang Yuan had been ill.
Fu Shize didn’t respond.
Yun Li looked at him. From their very first meeting, his figure had been strikingly thin and frail, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame. She felt he carried too many burdens in his heart, weighing him down until he had lost the vigor of his youth.
After a brief pause, Yun Li asked, "Is there anything I can do?"
She wasn’t seeking grand words of comfort—only hoping that, within her power, she could ease his sorrow even a little.
Fu Shize closed his eyes, then opened them again. Wearily, he gazed ahead, his hand holding Yun Li’s feeling slightly cold.
"Stay by my side."
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