At dusk, Lin Mushi came after school to visit Zhuang Zi’ang. Following close behind her was his homeroom teacher, Zhang Zhiyuan. The meeting between teacher and student was filled with sorrow.

  Seeing the frail figure of Zhuang Zi’ang in his hospital bed, Zhang Zhiyuan’s eyes reddened. “Are you all right?”

  Zhuang Zi’ang managed a smile. “Teacher Zhang, thank you for coming. I’m really fine. Can you ask the doctor to let me leave right now?”

  “No. You can’t be so willful—you must listen to the doctor,” Zhang Zhiyuan replied firmly. Then his expression grew grave. “As your teacher, I have a responsibility toward you. This matter can’t be hidden any longer. I’m going to inform your parents tonight.”

  “Teacher Zhang, please, no!” Zhuang Zi’ang anxiously protested.

  Lin Mushi interjected, “Zhuang Zi’ang is here because his father spped him. What use is it to inform his parents now?”

  Hearing this, Zhang Zhiyuan sighed deeply, clearly torn.

  Zhuang Zi’ang expined, “It’s not that I’m afraid of my dad finding out—it’s my grandfather I worry about. You’ve met him; he’s over seventy. I’m afraid he won’t be able to bear it.”

  Zhang Zhiyuan recalled Zhuang Jianguo—a kind, unpretentious old man. If he learned that his grandson’s life was hanging by a thread, his grief would be unbearable.

  “Then how long do you pn to keep this a secret?”

  “Doctor Chen said there’s still a chance for me to be discharged. When the final judgment comes, I’ll expin everything to everyone.”

  The atmosphere in the ward was unbearably sorrowful. At only eighteen, Zhuang Zi’ang was entrusting his final wishes to a forty-six-year-old teacher—a heart-wrenching pain that only those who have experienced it can understand.

  Lin Mushi had already cried until her face was streaked with tears.

  Before leaving, Zhang Zhiyuan grasped Zhuang Zi’ang’s hand and urged, “You must cooperate with the treatment. Believe that miracles can happen. No matter what, don’t ever give up.”

  Zhuang Zi’ang nodded vigorously. “Teacher Zhang, I feel so lucky to be your student.”

  “Having you as my student makes me proud too,” Zhang Zhiyuan said as he wiped away his tears and left the room. He then spoke with Chen Dexiu—after all, all we can do is our best and leave the rest to fate.

  Zhuang Zi’ang urged Lin Mushi to go home, but she insisted on staying a while longer to keep him company. Having been sick and hospitalized before, she knew all too well how tedious and lonely it could be to lie in a hospital bed watching drips fall.

  “Zhuang Zi’ang, tell me your story!”

  A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he gazed at the stark white ceiling and began his tale:

  It was a bright, sunny morning. The ginkgo trees on campus were lush and vibrant. A boy, diagnosed with a terminal illness, was overwhelmed by an endless fear of death—so much so that all he wanted was to find a quiet corner and cry his heart out. Then, as if by magic, a strange piece of music began to py. From atop one of the ginkgo trees came a melodious female voice: “Hey, you big guy, always crying—aren’t you ashamed?”

  He turned around, and in that fleeting moment their eyes met—a look that seemed to st an eternity. Together they got into mischief, instantly bridging the gap between two strangers. They feasted at the snack street, fished by the river while sharing jokes, fed stray cats, flew kites, and shared both ughter and tears. Until one day, with trembling courage, one of them decred, “I miss you so much—”

  They never explicitly said “I love you.” True love, after all, is the magnetic pull between two souls—a bond that binds them inseparably. To miss you is the truest confession of all.

  Listening to Zhuang Zi’ang’s quiet recounting, Lin Mushi couldn’t help but weep. Though she had once been the admired campus beauty with countless suitors, she had never truly tasted love. Now she understood that love isn’t about taking—it’s about giving. It’s about willingly being influenced by the other person and becoming a better version of oneself.

  A few days ago, Lin Mushi had even doubted whether Zhuang Zi’ang and Little Butterfly had truly experienced love given how brief their acquaintance had been. Now she realized how ughable that thought was. He was like Zhuang Zhou, and she was his butterfly. In each of them resided the other—there was no room for anyone else.

  Late into the night, Lin Mushi had no choice but to leave. Before stepping out of the ward, she turned back and asked softly, “If, in these st two months, she’s willing to be with you until the very end, would you agree?”

  Zhuang Zi’ang bit his lip and remained silent for a long time. Without waiting for his answer, Lin Mushi slipped away. Yet in his heart, he clearly heard his own inner voice: of course I would—a thousand times yes, ten thousand times yes. To die in Little Butterfly’s embrace would be the greatest blessing. But he couldn’t be so selfish as to indulge in two months of fleeting joy while leaving Little Butterfly with a lifetime of unending sorrow. He couldn’t let himself sink any deeper.

  Over the next three days in his hospital bed, Zhuang Zi’ang spent most of his time scrolling through his phone. With tremendous willpower, he resisted the urge to contact Little Butterfly, though his fingers would often unconsciously tap on her messages—only to close the page in disappointment. Little Butterfly, too, wisely refrained from reaching out. This conflicted state of mind tormented him, leaving him on the verge of colpse. He longed to act rashly—to pull out his IV and flee from this pce. Anywhere would be better than lying in a hospital bed waiting to die.

  During his stay, Li Huangxuan did call, asking why he hadn’t attended css. Zhuang Zi’ang casually made up an excuse, saying he was at a week-long training camp for a competition. Having heard simir stories before, Li Huangxuan didn’t press further and wished him well. Before hanging up, Zhuang Zi’ang couldn’t help asking, “Has anyone come looking for me in css these days?”

  “No, why?”

  “Never mind. Hang up.”

  Finally, on the evening of the fourth day, Chen Dexiu delivered his final opinion: “I recommend that you remain hospitalized for treatment. If you insist on leaving, then go ahead and complete the discharge procedures!”

  Those words granted Zhuang Zi’ang a measure of freedom—but also announced, in effect, that no miracle was forthcoming. Even the earlier three-month prognosis had been overly optimistic; the final moment might come sooner than expected. His freedom, in the end, would be paid for with his life.

  After being discharged, it happened to be the weekend, so he didn’t have to attend csses. For two consecutive days, Zhuang Zi’ang sat on the grassy riverbank, watching the drifting clouds and setting sun, listening to the gentle murmur of flowing water and rustling pines. It even seemed as if a butterfly-shaped kite was still soaring in the sky, while echoes of youthful shouts reverberated from beneath the bridge.

  “Big Dummy.

  Little Butterfly, you silly girl,” he murmured to himself.

  On Sunday afternoon, out of concern for him, Lin Mushi returned to keep him company. Seeing his haggard face, her heart ached. “Mushi, all the good you’ve done for me—I can only repay you in my next life,” Zhuang Zi’ang said quietly as he stared at the flowing water.

  Lin Mushi’s eyes welled with tears as she asked, “If… if you truly aren’t here anymore, what should I say when she comes looking for you?”

  With his voice thick with emotion, Zhuang Zi’ang replied, “Please tell her that I never really liked her. I did so well in my studies that I naturally left this pce behind to pursue a better future.”

  “Must you be so cruel?”

  “Maybe that way she’ll only be in pain for a few days, which is better than a lifetime of suffering.”

  A gust of wind blew, rippling the surface of the river. The water grew a bit more turbulent as it crashed against the bridge piers, and the echoes beneath the bridge sounded like low, mournful sobs. It was as if even the flowing water was menting.