Previous
Fiction Page
Next
Font Size:
For the elective course, Zhou Yuqin reserved a front-row seat for Qianye. The professor began discussing a poem from the Book of Songs titled Mang:
“Before the mulberry leaves fall, they glisten lush and green.
Oh, turtledove, do not eat the mulberries.
Oh, young woman, do not fall for a man.
A man’s indulgence is easier to escape,
but a woman’s is impossible to leave behind.”
This poem had been studied in high school, but hearing it again in college brought forth a new wave of reflection. Yet, one cannot avoid love for fear of getting hurt. To evade pain in love is also to forgo its boundless sweetness.
That evening, Qianye had planned to go out for dinner with Han Chao. However, during the last class of the day, the counselor arrived excitedly to inform the class that the university was organizing a choir competition. Every class had to participate, with specialized instructors evaluating the performances.
As soon as the announcement was made, the entire class groaned in unison. Afterward, they had to sacrifice two evenings every week to stand outdoors singing dull revolutionary songs. Qianye kept her phone in her hand, sneaking in a text or two with Han Chao whenever there was a break.
She thought to herself: if not for Han Chao—if not for having someone to love—she wouldn’t like university at all. Qianye had no interest in any activities. Having exhausted so much energy during her three years in high school, she now only wanted to spend the next four years peacefully. To her, all these events were nothing but burdens. Every day, she grudgingly went along with gatherings, competitions, and activities that most people didn’t even want to attend. In university, everyone already had their own world, yet a series of inexplicable, unavoidable events kept tying them together. It was exhausting.
That night, after returning to the dorm, her roommates took turns showering and doing laundry. By the time everything settled down, it was nearly lights out.
In bed, Qianye held her phone, hiding its bright screen under the covers. She exchanged goodnight messages with Han Chao.
The next day, during the class meeting, they heard the news of Xiaoyun’s death. Qianye was stunned.
She fell ill for an entire week. Having always had a weak stomach, she had no appetite for days. Leaving the classroom one day and seeing Han Chao, she clung to his shirt and cried uncontrollably, smearing her tears and snot all over him.
During those days when her stomach illness persisted, Han Chao would get up early to feed her breakfast. He wouldn’t leave for self-study until he watched her finish eating.
Qianye had met Xiaoyun during military training in their first year. They were assigned to the same dorm. A few times, when Qianye forgot to fetch water, Xiaoyun poured hot water for her. She always smiled faintly at people, neither overly intimate nor distant. On the last day of training, they exchanged phone numbers.
Xiaoyun wasn’t exactly a close friend, but for Qianye, it was the first time since her grandfather’s death that she experienced the loss of someone her own age. As a child, she had thought about death but had never acted on it. Qianye firmly believed that as long as life continued, there would come a day when everything she longed for would come true.
But Xiaoyun—how much courage must it have taken to become her own executioner? How deep her despair must have been to plunge into the icy river? One day, when the professor called roll and repeatedly called her name, there would no longer be a response. Her empty spot in the dorm would remain forever vacant.
That fateful night, amidst the lively atmosphere of the welcome party—amidst the bright lights, elegant attire, and celebratory scenes—perhaps Xiaoyun was stung by the contrast. The world seemed so joyful while she found no reason to live. Unable to find even a shred of happiness, death became her only recourse. The sky remained overcast, pigeons continued to fly, but who would bear witness to the love and life that left no gravestones?
No one could accept that a young, beautiful life had ended this way. Too little happiness, too much pain—she had waited too long. The so-called hope and happiness had never arrived, and she stopped believing in them.
The seasons continued their merciless cycle. Few paused to glance at the waters where she had jumped.
“In one instant, there are sixty moments; in one moment, nine hundred births and deaths.“
“Thank goodness we are still alive,” Qianye thought. “Watching the sky gradually brighten, feeling the sunlight move inch by inch across our faces. Tears of gratitude flow freely. There are so many tragedies, yet we were not chosen by fate. How many separations and farewells must one endure in a lifetime? It turns out that every profound encounter is beautiful enough, deserving of our sincere gratitude. Gratitude for the help of all the stars, for the support of all living beings, for the temporary retreat of all suffering.”
The tragedy gradually faded from people’s minds after several counselor meetings and ideological education sessions. With finals approaching, it was time for the library seat rush once again.
Previous
Fiction Page
Next