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“Su Yudie, you must take your medication on time, stay optimistic, and never give up until the very last moment!”
Doctor Chen Dexiu’s words echoed in her ears.
Su Yudie wandered aimlessly around the campus. She wore a crisp white shirt paired with a deep blue pleated skirt. Her skirt revealed two slender calves, smooth and graceful in form. On her feet were spotless canvas shoes.
The morning sun filtered through the clouds, casting dappled shadows on her through the layered ginkgo leaves. As she stepped onto the red tiles, her movements were light and graceful, like an angel who had fallen to earth.
After returning from the hospital, Su Yudie didn’t head straight back to the eastern campus for class; instead, she strolled toward the western campus.
Doctor Chen Dexiu had mentioned that her time was limited.
In what little time remained, she wanted to revisit the places where she had once studied and lived.
Now, this was where the younger students of the lower grade studied. Their lives were like the rising sun, radiant and full of promise.
The class bell had just rung, and the campus fell silent. Su Yudie arrived at the front of the teaching building, casually finding a step to sit on and basking in the sun.
She watched as ginkgo leaves, caught in the breeze, fluttered down like golden butterflies.
From a nearby classroom, a voice broke the silence.
Zhang Zhiyuan stood at the podium, clearing his throat: “Yesterday, I asked you all to prepare the ancient poem for today. Let’s have a student come up and recite it.”
The students instinctively lowered their heads, knowing better than to make eye contact with Teacher Zhang—whoever did would surely be called upon.
“Is no one willing to volunteer?” Zhang Zhiyuan asked, somewhat disappointed. “Then I’ll have to pick someone at random. Li Huang Xuan, it’s you.”
Li Huang Xuan smacked his forehead and whispered, “Man, I was busy playing Starry Night last night; how could I remember to prepare for a poem?”
Zhuang Zi’ang stifled a laugh and pointed to the text they were supposed to study.
Li Huang Xuan quickly flipped to that page and began reading hesitantly, “Jinse… Jinse without reason…”
Laughter erupted among the students.
Outside, the girl on the steps smiled as well, her expression serene and beautiful.
“It’s pronounced ‘se,'” Zhang Zhiyuan corrected with a stern face before waving his hand, “Forget it, sit down. Zhuang Zi’ang, you go instead.”
Before long, Su Yudie heard a steady, melodic male voice reciting the poem.
“Jinse without reason has fifty strings, each string and pillar evokes memories of youth. Zhuang Sheng’s dream is entangled with the butterfly, and Emperor Wang’s spring heart is entrusted to the cuckoo…”
That must be a diligent student, she thought. He recited the poem with perfect modulation, clearly having prepared in advance.
Unconsciously, she softly recited along:
“The sea’s moon is bright, with tears like pearls; the sun in Lantian warms the jade, producing smoke. This feeling awaits to become a memory, but at that moment, it was already bewildering.”
Inside and outside the classroom, two strangers unknowingly completed a poetic duet.
Such a beautiful poem!
After Zhuang Zi’ang sat down, he found himself staring blankly at the character “蝶” (butterfly).
Chinese characters possess a peculiar quality; any ordinary character, when stared at for long enough, becomes unrecognizable.
The radicals and strokes seemed to transform into butterflies, fluttering up from the page.
As the top student in his grade, he rarely lost focus during class.
Yet this time, he didn’t hear a word Teacher Zhang was saying.
Li Huang Xuan nudged him and asked, “Hey, what on earth did Li Shangyin mean by this poem?”
Inspired, Zhuang Zi’ang grabbed a pen and quickly wrote a short verse:
Lonely butterfly gently roams,
Fluttering with powdery wings spread wide.
It should grieve the bright moon’s glow,
Frequent near the snow to come.
Li Huang Xuan glanced at it and asked, “What’s this?”
“A poem by Li Shangyin, titled Butterfly,” Zhuang Zi’ang replied.
Annoyed, Li Huang Xuan grumbled, “I can’t stand you academic types. You know too much, making me feel like an absolute fool.”
Seeing Zhang Zhiyuan approach, he hastily crumpled the paper and tossed it out the window.
The paper ball landed perfectly beside the girl sitting on the steps.
Su Yudie picked it up, noticing the elegant, flowing handwriting.
The person who wrote this must be handsome, she mused.
She read the quatrain aloud, and for a moment, as if through some unseen connection, she transcended time, resonating with the poet’s sorrow.
Suffering from a terminal illness, her life was drawing to a close.
Like that solitary butterfly, taking its final flight.
“…frequent near the snow to come.”
Su Yudie suddenly felt a deep longing to see the snow in winter.
But Doctor Chen Dexiu had already told her—she wouldn’t live to see it.
Unless she prayed for a miracle.
……
After class, Zhuang Zi’ang and Li Huang Xuan stepped outside.
“Hey, where did you throw my poem?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked.
“It’s just a piece of paper. Why do you care?”
“Didn’t your teachers ever teach you not to litter? What if it hit a little kid? Even if it didn’t, it’s bad for the environment.”
“Come on, are you serious?”
Zhuang Zi’ang looked toward the now-empty steps, a strange melancholy washing over him.
A butterfly, its origin unknown, fluttered its wings, circling twice before landing on his shoulder.
Then, with a graceful motion, it flew away, vanishing without a trace.
As if it had emerged from a dream—only to return to the dream.
……
P.S.: This book started with a mediocre rating and limited readership, yet after two months, its score unexpectedly rose to 9.2. To my dear readers—thank you for your love and support. If my story has brought you even a sliver of emotion or insight, then I am content. Writing is a wonderful experience, allowing authors and readers to transcend time and space, to grow together and uplift one another. Perhaps, in the future, I will write more extras when inspiration strikes.
Until then—thank you once again!