Chapter 40

The warm sun shone down as I sat by the school pond, taking deep breaths while others were in class.

In its most frantic moments, I thought I would faint, tumble down the slope into the water, and never be heard from again. But it wasn't going to end that way. My heartbeat gradually calmed down, and accompanied by the rustling of willows and the fluttering of wild ducks, I even felt a peace I hadn't felt in a long time.

I sat on the bench, my schoolbag beside me. The sun shone golden on the water, its gentle ripples revealing its graceful beauty. The reeds bent low, their backs straight, and every now and then, little ducks would peek out from within. The reed flowers looked incredibly soft, fluffy, like light feathers. On the opposite bank, the calamus once bloomed with yellow flowers, now gone, but its vibrant life had not faded with them. Duckweed, lotus leaves, and fish darted about in the shadows. The sunlight crept down inch by inch, lengthening their shadows, enveloping everything within its reach. The wind made them sing, soft country tunes, folk songs.

Fortunately, it's not late autumn yet, so I can pretend it's still full of life.

Looking at this scenery, no one could remain in a state of weeping and sorrow, and I was no exception. I think I need to try to reconcile with myself—this world doesn't depend on me, but I depend on it. It is already the world I live in, and every flower blooms in my life. Even if it's just for that one flower, I must abandon my self-pity. I can't feel that I should go back to the past just because I don't remember. People with amnesia certainly have the right to start a new life. Besides, my past was indeed not filled with happiness. To start a life in this world raising a younger brother who doesn't need my care, having very reliable seniors and friends, and dealing with one or two odd-behaving people who might just be bad at getting along with others—that kind of life sounds quite harmonious.

A small gray butterfly fluttered among the withered grass blades, rising and falling with a wingspan as fast as Frosty Jade devouring an egg tart. I like this feeling of connecting a fleeting glimpse of a story with people I meet in real life, as if I can build good relationships with anything in the world. I don't know why I'm so fixated on this, but it's no longer a big deal.

I gently placed my hand on a small patch of grass in front of me, and the plants quickly straightened up, their vibrant green not so striking in the dry air, yet it seemed to be spreading to the surrounding vegetation. I smiled, feeling an indescribable sense of ease once again.

“You can’t do that,” I said. “You all have to go back to the way things were.”

They scratched my palm, a different feel from the snake. That snake was actually quite cute, with its jet-black scales, soft body, and pointed tail. When it looked at me with its beady black eyes, it wasn't fierce at all, but rather showed an innocent approach. Perhaps it liked me too, not much different from a plant.

Did the squirrel take those few fruits in the end? Fruit doesn't keep well, and squirrels can't eat too much fruit. Hopefully, it was just trying them out, or perhaps it was a clever squirrel that planted the fruits in the soil.

Today was just an accident; no one did it intentionally. I should relax. I reflect on what's happened lately—the help I've received, the beautiful kindness, the inexplicable sense of well-being. Things aren't so bad, at least.

The wisps of hair on my forehead swayed, and I realized that the wind was passing by.

I turned them back to normal. A butterfly landed on my fingertip, its gray wings adorned with patterns. I stroked it, and it trembled slightly.

I am certain that my own idea is to live in harmony with this world, and I have the most sincere love for it since I was born from the black fog, which will not change no matter what happens.

Composing myself, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, the boxes clattering. I didn't resolve my emotions, because they couldn't simply disappear in a moment. I just accepted them and let them slumber or do something else—like planting a seed within myself.

I got up to leave, but an unfamiliar plant stopped me. I hadn't even noticed it before. It grew atop a small hill, the only one on this land sitting proudly on its throne. It had leaves that were so slender and smooth-edged they were hardly leaves at all, and tiny blue-purple flowers with petals that resembled overlapping verses in a song, each petal's tip concave, as if it had been mercilessly trimmed with scissors. Around its tiny flower center was a beautiful ring of patterns, with white waves surging on it, like milky sap squeezed from a tree trunk.

It's not that unfamiliar.

In my childhood, I saw it countless times in the fields and along the gravelly roadsides. It was such a common wildflower that it could grow tenaciously anywhere until it revived the following year or produced a few seeds.

I have never smelled its fragrance, though I have passed by it many times. Its branches and leaves sway in the wind as I rush past, its petals seem to be calling out, and its seeds grow around it with unimaginable efficiency, eventually becoming a sea of ​​flowers.

Countless of them breathed in the low-lying air of that land, finding it refreshing and delightful. They were grateful for the sweet rain that fell from the sky, for the sun's eternal light, for the wispy clouds that made the moon's clear glow even cooler, and for the butterflies and bees that brought them a life in a distant place they could never reach.

It's called cornflower, no matter where it is. The first time I knelt down to smell it, its fragrance was very faint, and its appearance was serene, which is why I wasn't initially attracted to it.

I said goodbye to it, and it nodded slightly to me with a resolute gesture. I walked on the cobblestone path, my shoes getting stuck on the stones, and my feet ached slightly, but I walked faster and faster.

Anyway, there's no one else around! Let the passersby laugh if they want! I believe no one would harbor ill will towards someone who's simply running, and even if they did, I could understand. Everyone has the right to express their opinions, and even if they tell me directly what they mean by being mean, I won't be angry. I started running, my eyes fixed on the sun. It cast double images on my eyeballs, and I raced against it with the wind, competing to see who would get home first.

Where does the wind live? I wonder. The sun sets its destination behind the snow-capped mountains, while I set my destination in the place I've always lived. The wind twirls and dances in my hair, its attitude affectionate and lovely. It is a wandering child, destined for freedom; it has rain, dust, sunshine, laughter, and tears. Whoever can make it stay, that is its home.

I held onto a sycamore tree planted by the roadside, and its bells drooped down on their own. The wind carried them into the ground, causing a shriek from a passerby who wasn't wearing a mask.

I was breathing heavily, yet I couldn't help but laugh. I felt incredibly happy. No one looked at me, no one noticed me; the world was shrouded in a silent stillness, pedestrians walked in their own worlds, and I remained in mine. Our paths didn't connect; no matter how many twists and turns we took, we couldn't enter into anyone else's experiences.

Fortunately, we all have our own lives to live and don't need to rely on others.

I glanced at my phone; it was almost time. Does this count as entering ten minutes early?

A voice claiming to be the world suddenly rang out, its tone flat and monotone except for the necessary emphasis: "You've finally arrived! Do you know, I now possess extraordinary power!"