"Though love may break your heart, blame no one, For beauty graced our meeting's flame. Though tears may fall, and wounds run deep, and heart to ashes turn, Still, no regrets we'll keep..."
Humming this cheerful tune, a song older than herself, Su Yudiel walked happily beside Zhuang Zi'ang on the way back to school. Infected by her optimism, Zhuang Zi'ang seemed to have forgotten his worries for the moment. The tree-lined campus avenue was filled with the faint scent of peach blossoms.
"Little Butterfly, give me your phone number. I can call you next time I want to find you." It took Zhuang Zi'ang a while to work up the nerve to ask for her contact information.
Su Yudiel seemed to have been expecting this for a long time. She immediately reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, a delicate and compact phone that gleamed with a faint blue light in the sunlight.
They happily exchanged contact information. With the emotional groundwork laid over the past two days, there wasn't a hint of awkwardness.
Su Yudiel reminded him, "Contact me during the day. I don't use my phone at night."
"You only ever read those silly jokes of yours, why not at night too?" Zhuang Zi'ang laughed.
"How dare you make fun of me? Unlike you boys, who only know how to play video games," Su Yudiel feigned annoyance and playfully yanked Zhuang Zi'ang's shirt.
The two chased each other down the tree-lined path, their laughter echoing through the air and spilling onto the lush green grass on either side.
Class 9's classroom was on the second floor. The two parted ways at the corner of the stairwell.
"Goodbye, Little Butterfly. I'll text you."
"Okay, I might not check my phone when I'm busy, but I'll definitely reply when I see it."
Zhuang Zi'ang watched Su Yudiel go upstairs before heading towards his classroom.
Halfway there, he suddenly turned around and took a few steps back up the stairs, wanting to see which class Little Butterfly actually belonged to. The third floor, the fourth floor, the fifth floor... but he couldn't find the girl anywhere.
Did she walk that fast?
Zhuang Zi'ang patted the handrail, dejectedly walking back down the stairs. They were friends now, but she still wouldn't tell him her real class. Did she still not trust him?
The afternoon classes dragged on. Most of the students were drowsy and listless. Zhuang Zi'ang remembered that yesterday afternoon, when he was fishing with Little Butterfly by the river, time had flown by. Was this the legendary theory of relativity in action?
The last class finally ended promptly at six o'clock. Zhang Zhiyuan entered the classroom and beckoned, "Zhuang Zi'ang, come with me."
Zhuang Zi'ang quickly packed his bag and followed him.
After they had walked a good distance from the classroom, he carefully asked, "Mr. Zhang, where are we going?"
Zhang Zhiyuan said sternly, "To the hospital. I need to see your attending physician in person and have a talk with him."
"Is that really necessary? Dr. Chen is very busy," Zhuang Zi'ang instinctively refused. He feared the smell of disinfectant in the hospital and the sight of doctors in their white coats. The walls of a hospital had heard more earnest prayers than the walls of any temple. It was a place of too many partings, where life and death were separated by a thin line.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Zhang Zhiyuan was determined. He wouldn't give up any chance to save Zhuang Zi'ang. Even if it was truly a hopeless situation, he needed to hear it from the doctor's own mouth.
He arrived at the parking lot, started his old Buick, and told Zhuang Zi'ang to get in.
As they passed the bus stop at the school gate, the No. 19 bus happened to be pulling in. Zhuang Zi'ang, sitting in the passenger seat, craned his neck, trying to find that sprig of peach blossom in the crowd.
Unfortunately, he was disappointed. Perhaps there were too many people waiting for the bus, or perhaps Zhang Zhiyuan was driving too fast. He couldn't see Little Butterfly.
At the Central Hospital, Zhuang Zi'ang led Zhang Zhiyuan to Chen Dexiu's office.
Chen Dexiu adjusted his glasses, shook hands with Zhang Zhiyuan, and his expression turned grave.
Zhang Zhiyuan introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Zhuang Zi'ang's homeroom teacher. I've come to learn more about his condition."
"You are truly a dedicated and responsible teacher," Chen Dexiu said, his eyes filled with admiration.
"I heard from Zhuang Zi'ang that you are also a very dedicated and responsible doctor. Is there really no hope?" Zhang Zhiyuan pleaded earnestly.
The two then discussed Zhuang Zi'ang's condition. Chen Dexiu, a meticulous and skilled doctor, used a lot of professional medical jargon, essentially conveying the same eight words: the illness was terminal, beyond any hope of recovery.
The last spark of hope in Zhang Zhiyuan's eyes quietly died out. Sadness washed over him like a tidal wave.
"He's only eighteen. Why did this happen?"
"I had a girl with the same illness before. She was even younger!" Chen Dexiu sighed.
While they were talking, Zhuang Zi'ang sat quietly to the side, as if the topic of their conversation had nothing to do with him. It had been two days, and he had gradually emerged from the initial shock and sadness, accepting his reality with a sense of resignation.
He thought about his classmates. What would they be like when they were old? Gray hair, missing teeth, age spots, a shaky gait. He wouldn't have those worries.
I, Zhuang Zi'ang, will forever be eighteen.
When they left the hospital, Zhang Zhiyuan's mood was particularly heavy. He didn't speak for a long time.
"Mr. Zhang, don't be so glum. Cheer up," Zhuang Zi'ang said lightly, trying to comfort his homeroom teacher in Little Butterfly's tone. No matter what, it was better to live each day happily.
"Zhuang Zi'ang, is there anything you want to eat or drink?" Zhang Zhiyuan asked, his voice filled with sorrow.
"I don't want to be pitied or treated with sympathy," Zhuang Zi'ang said.
"No, that's not what I meant," Zhang Zhiyuan quickly explained.
"Just drop me off at the school gate, and then go home early to be with your wife and children," Zhuang Zi'ang said generously. Though he really wanted to mooch off Mr. Zhang for a meal, he had eaten a lot at the mini hot pot during lunch. It was better to eat simply at night and not overburden his stomach.
At the school gate, Zhuang Zi'ang said goodbye to Zhang Zhiyuan and went home alone. He stopped by a food stall and bought a simple hot dog fried rice.
When he got home, he noticed that the owner, for the sake of easy identification, had written the words "dog food" on the takeout container. He instantly lost his appetite.
Following his doctor's instructions, Zhuang Zi'ang took a handful of colorful pills. He had some doubts about whether these pills were actually useful. Would taking them let him live for three months, and not taking them only ninety days?
He picked up the fish food and fed the two goldfish. It was once widely believed that fish only had a seven-second memory. If only he were a fish, he could forget all his sadness and just swim around carefree.
Next to the fishbowl was a bamboo flute with a bright red tassel. This was the only thing Zhuang Zi'ang had brought from his father's house.
He had learned to play the flute for a while when he was younger, but he had gradually neglected it due to his busy studies. Now, when he picked it up again, even playing the simplest tune, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," sounded like a strangled cat.
Suddenly, a melody popped into his head. It was the music he had heard yesterday when he met Su Yudiel. It was very unfamiliar, pleasant to the ear, yet a bit strange.
La so so si do si la, so la si si si si la si la so...
Zhuang Zi'ang tried to play it a few times, but it didn't sound like a proper tune. He finally gave up in frustration.
Night had already fallen. If he continued to play, the neighbors would probably come knocking on his door.