Root cause

The weather was fine and sunny, with bright sunshine.

Humming a song, Jiang Moyun first strolled around the flower room in a good mood, and then ate some snacks prepared by her aunt. More than half a year has passed, and the injuries she suffered in the car accident have finally healed completely. She no longer needs to sit in a wheelchair every day, but can move around freely as she pleases.

Yesterday, Jiang Moyun finally received a reply from Xi Hui. Although it was only a few short sentences, the doctor said it was an excellent breakthrough. The nanny who was taking care of him would send him photos of Lin Xi Hui from time to time. Jiang Moyun looked at each one over and over again, but he never saw Lin Xi Hui's smile.

Mingming is a very cheerful child.

Jiang Moyun couldn't help but feel sad whenever she looked at the photos.

But thankfully, things are starting to get better.

She wandered around the room for a while.

Ci Qing is incredibly capable, and she's been ordered to focus on recovering from her injuries. She's not allowed to handle any company matters now, leaving her incredibly idle. All she can do every day is stay home, admire the flowers, and drink tea—it's incredibly boring. It's especially dull right now. Today is Wednesday, and Lin Bairan goes to the psychologist every week at this time to discuss Xi Hui's condition, each visit lasting four or five hours.

She had wanted to go together for a long time, but Lin Bairan always used the excuse of needing to recover from his injury to decline.

"Then why don't we call the doctor to our house?"

"Anyway, I don't have anything else to do. It's just a trip, so I won't bother anyone else." Lin Bairan brought out a small bowl of pig's trotter soup from the kitchen and let it cool on the table. He casually wiped his hands on his apron and replied without looking up, "Let the soup cool down first, it's very hot right now."

The pig's trotter soup was perfectly stewed, milky white in color, and fragrant. You could even see a few soft, cooked soybeans. But no matter how delicious it was, it was still a problem to see it every few days. After drinking it for more than a month, Jiang Moyun couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't help but look away, trying to suppress her slight nausea by diverting her attention. "Have you talked to the doctor who arranged for Xi Hui abroad?"

"Yes, we can talk about everything." Lin Bairan slowly stirred the soup with a spoon to help it cool down, then scooped up a spoonful to test it. "The temperature is just right now, drink it."

As Jiang Moyun watched the soup being pushed towards her bit by bit, she struggled to keep from showing any bitterness. She couldn't help but change the subject, "Did the doctor you saw communicate directly with Xi Hui? Is it really necessary to see him every week?"

Lin Bairan paused slightly, scooped a spoonful of soup and fed it to her lips with a smile, saying, "Before Xi Hui went abroad, he was the one who handled everything. Besides, having another doctor won't hurt. Every time he goes, he video chats with the doctor abroad to discuss the treatment plan." He looked at Jiang Moyun's expression, which suddenly broke down, and couldn't help but laugh, "Alright, drink it quickly, it'll help you recover faster. How about I switch to fish soup tomorrow?"

Jiang Moyun reluctantly drank it.

...

As she wandered around, she arrived at Lin Xihui's music room. Inside, there were numerous sheet music pieces Lin Xihui had practiced and all the violins he had used since childhood—nine in total. However, Jiang Moyun counted them and found there were only seven. Upon closer inspection, she realized that one of Lin Xihui's two most frequently used violins was missing, along with the first violin he received when he was four years old, which she had personally helped him choose. She hadn't expected him to stick with it for so long, considering Lin Xihui had always been someone who only had a short attention span; back then, she had only picked out a very ordinary one for him, costing a little over a thousand yuan.

"Why are these two missing of all the weapons?" Jiang Moyun wondered. She had thought Lin Xihui would take the two most frequently used weapons with her. "Could it be that she needs something as a souvenir while she's in a foreign country?"

Jiang Moyun was completely baffled, so she simply stopped worrying about it. Suddenly, she felt that looking at things like this was too dry, and she really wasn't used to it without Lin Xihui's violin music. Remembering that there was also a phonograph in the room, she went to hers and excitedly picked out her favorite record. While listening to the music, she carefully looked at the photos on the wall—it was a photo wall she had made for Lin Xihui, recording countless moments in his growth.

The walls covered in memories gradually filled Jiang Moyun's heart, and the music just happened to play her favorite melody. Without realizing it, she began to dance along.

First, a clean turn, then a raised hand, followed by a few light dance steps to a stop, a light tap of the right leg, then support with the left leg, naturally transitioning into a spin, and then—

It came to an abrupt end.

She collapsed to the ground, the lingering pain in her left knee and the uncontrollable trembling indicating that what had just happened was not a dream. The momentary helplessness and excruciating pain instantly ripped her from her blissful state.

Yes, I can't dance anymore...

For no apparent reason, I recalled my youthful, ignorant boast—"I was born to dance!"

Jiang Moyun felt dazed at that moment. She couldn't help but gently touch her left knee. A little warmth, better than nothing, penetrated her skin and flesh, but it was no match for the bone-chilling cold.

"It's still left a lasting health problem," she thought in a daze.

The phonograph was still working dutifully, playing her favorite cheerful tunes.

Jiang Moyun sat there for a while longer, until one side of the record had finished spinning and the music stopped. Only then did she endure the pain, slowly get up, and quietly pack up all her records. Facing the empty shelves and several cardboard boxes next to her, she stood there in a daze for a while before walking out and calling to the cleaning lady, "Please help me put these boxes of records away properly. I shouldn't need them for a while."

"It's just a hobby, I can easily switch to something else."

She thought to herself that.

——

Lin Bairan gazed quietly at Jiang Moyun's sleeping face, gently stroking the gray hairs that had crept up her temples and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Lin Bairan himself, too, was no longer as upright as before.

Twenty-five years and thirty-three days after Lin Bairan fell in love with Jiang Moyun, the marks of time were left on both of them.

Over these twenty-five years and thirty-three days, Lin Bairan has been growing old little by little, and his love has gone from being grand and imposing to now being silent and still—"I love you in silence, as if you have disappeared, distant and sorrowful, as if you have already died."

Since that car accident...

Since that car accident, Xi Hui stayed abroad for five years without returning. In the past two years, they have been contacting each other more and more by phone, and it is no longer just a few letters. So even though she has too many concerns in her heart, she is reluctant to force things any further.

He increasingly saw Jiang Moyun staring blankly at the trophy that had suddenly been brought back to the study; she would always sit by the window, holding that bead in her hand, watching it for the entire afternoon; the television was on all day, but no one watched it, just to have some sound in the quiet emptiness; occasionally, he would still hear familiar music, but the skirt that had swayed with the rhythm had fallen, leaving only the barely perceptible movement of her right index finger...

If Jiang Moyun in the past was a river winding through a secluded valley, now that river has gradually dried up and become increasingly barren, and the gurgling sound of water can no longer be heard in the valley.

In Lin Bairan's eyes, Jiang Moyun was withering away day by day.

But he was powerless to do anything about it.

Lin Bairan gradually dried up on the increasingly barren land.

He was beyond saving.

The cruel erosion of fate reached its peak one day—

A letter from a departed friend from afar

besides……

A necklace.

Due to limitations in raw materials, even with the best technology, the purity of the gold was still not high. Compared to the numerous jewels Jiang Moyun owned throughout her life, the gemstones set in the necklace could only be described as "inferior."

To be objective, if it were for personal collection purposes, Jiang Moyun would never have had the opportunity to come into contact with such a necklace in her lifetime.

This seemingly "cheap" necklace actually represents all the gold medals a person has ever won in their lifetime. The person, who was criticized for his lifelong pursuit of fame and fortune and insatiable greed, was actually just trying to make a necklace that might not even be accepted.

"I know my life"

There will never be another chance to give you a ring.

Please feel free to toss this necklace around.

To my one and only partner in this life and…

The ink blot here is very conspicuous, revealing the complex thoughts of the letter writer that no one else can know.

"My one and only love."

Lin Bairan recalled the four neat and solemn characters on the envelope: "To be opened by Mo Yun personally."

The letter was too short; Lin Bairan glanced at it a few times and read it easily.

The messenger was also quite responsible, clearly explaining the origin of the necklace.

Lin Bairan clearly etched the expression on Jiang Moyun's face and his trembling hands into his heart, savoring them in countless midnight dreams—shock, emotion, sadness, nostalgia, or perhaps regret.

Or...love?

"Love?" Lin Bairan couldn't help but laugh.

He sat by the window, looking at the gloomy sky. Glancing sideways, he saw the flower room Jiang Moyun had built for him, a place where spring seemed to last all year round, where all kinds of roses and hydrangeas grew day after day, year after year. But Lin Bairan couldn't remember how long it had been since he had stepped into this flower room... so long that others mistakenly thought it was Jiang Moyun's favorite flower.

Every time Lin Bairan stepped into that flower room, he would think of the unresolved issues between him and Jiang Moyun. Everything was like this meticulously maintained flower room—carefully veiled in an air of peace. The care remained the same, the sweet words were as before, the affectionate calls every day, the exquisite gifts every month and year… and then the topic was subtly avoided.

Perhaps, our love is just a bouquet of flowers.

The day this thought popped into Lin Bairan's head, she was wrapping flowers to pick up Jiang Moyun at the airport.

The bouquet was as beautiful as ever, but Lin Bairan rarely went to the flower room after that.

All I could give you in my entire life were flowers that would wither sooner or later. I didn't even know what your favorite flower was, or whether you liked flowers at all. But what he gave you was the dream you had pursued your whole life.

If the relationship between Wen Yushen and Jiang Moyun is love...

So, which word should be used to describe Lin Bairan and Jiang Moyun?

The day after receiving these two items, Jiang Moyun set off alone to attend a belated funeral in a foreign land. She took the earliest flight, and she took very little with her—the necklace around her neck, a trophy that had been repeatedly polished, a beautiful red dress, and… the ring on her ring finger.

A ring that Lin Bairan had never seen before.

Jiang Moyun was always beautiful, including the day she left; she looked almost like a happy bride.

She left in a hurry, only having time to leave a few text messages, and naturally didn't have time to check if Lin Bairan was awake.

Lin Bairan stared at the ceiling in bewilderment.

Then I thought—

No one dresses like that for a funeral.

Unless they had an agreement beforehand.

Should I be glad that you didn't wear the ring on your left hand?

The long, rainy month of April...

Lin Bairan seemed to have turned into a gloomy, rainy day.

It's a rainy day now.

Will the sun come out again?

If there is no sun,

Will the moon ever return?

The flowers are blooming along the path; may I slowly return home now?

Lin Bairan has flowers that bloom red all year round and leaves that never turn yellow, but he doesn't know if Jiang Moyun has long been tired of this mundane scenery that has remained unchanged for more than twenty years.

He guarded the spring flowers that had not yet faded.

I wonder when Jiang Moyun will be back.

Five days later, Lin Bairan finally waited for Jiang Moyun to return.

She was dressed the same way she left, but looked much more haggard. Lin Bairan observed her discreetly; all she had brought back was the necklace.

In the past few days, Lin Bairan has not taken the initiative to contact Jiang Moyun. Apart from sending her daily text messages to let her know that he is safe, the two have not had any other communication.

"It's so different from usual," he thought.

"No, actually Jiang Moyun isn't that different from usual..."

It turns out that as long as he doesn't speak, he and Jiang Moyun are always quiet.

Lin Bairan waited for Jiang Moyun to return, just like countless times before, and gave her a big hug, hoping to drive away her exhaustion and travel-worn look.

He asked again, just like before, "How have you been these past few days?"

"It's alright," Jiang Moyun replied as usual, adding a faint smile.

But instead of giving him a gentle kiss like before.

"Go and rest. Would you like something to eat? I've been keeping the soup in the kitchen warm on a low flame; it's your favorite..."

"Bai Ran," Jiang Moyun interrupted him gently, "I'm a little tired and want to take a nap first." Her voice was full of exhaustion.

"Okay, have some hot water and get some rest. You go back to your room first, I'll get you some." Lin Bairan quickly replied, his smile unchanged, and put his arm around her shoulder as they walked forward.

As Lin Bairan gently closed the door behind him, carrying his empty water glass, he suddenly felt—

Perhaps he and Jiang Moyun are like fish and water; fish will die without water, and water will only find peace and tranquility without fish.

Approaching fifty, Lin Bairan became more persistent in pursuing those unsolvable questions than ever before.

Do you still love him?

Will you love me?

Lin Bairan did not know the answer to the previous question.

Lin Bairan could not get the answer to the second question.

Lin Bairan's jealousy was fruitless, and his love was hopeless.

He didn't even dare to ask for an answer.

"If the purpose of life is to pursue happiness, then why are we becoming more and more miserable?"

One, two, three... Lin Bairan had lost count of the white hairs on Jiang Moyun's head; it had only been five years...

It has only been five years, but the word "aging" has been described by time countless times.

"Sister." He gently kissed Jiang Moyun's forehead, twirled a small strand of hair around his index finger and played with it, a sweet smile on his face. He looked at her so intently, just like countless times before.

Jiang Moyun's eyelashes fluttered slightly in her sleep as he moved.

Lin Bairan looked at the warm water on the bedside table, and then remembered the sleeping pills he had hidden in the corner of the drawer. One by one, they had accumulated to almost half a bottle.

Although he sees a doctor every week, he knows he is already terminally ill, and everything he does now is just a facade to cover up his frail and sickly body.

The root of this illness had been planted long ago, but Lin Bairan had been searching for the right medicine in vain.

Since you can't love me while I'm alive, could you cry for me if I die?

"Sister, I love you." Lin Bairan reached under the covers, gently took Jiang Moyun's hand, and closed her eyes contentedly.

Today is just an ordinary day, and tomorrow will be the same.

—The End of "A Chronic Illness and a Guest in the Human World"—