Chapter Seven: Yukimura's Confession - Side Story

I always feel that there is a memory in my life that doesn't belong to me.

It was late one night during my first year of junior high school when I first fell into that bizarre and fantastical dream.

The colors in the picture are warm and inviting, like a quilt soaked in the afternoon sun, but the words in my ear are as unfamiliar as whispers from another world, with a tone that is both tough and intimate, keeping me from waking up.

I consulted many materials and browsed interviews from many countries. Until later, I happened to meet a tourist from afar in the shade of trees—yes, the person from my dream, speaking a Chinese dialect.

In my dream, the girl called out her name repeatedly. When the adults called her name, the last syllable always had a cheerful tone, like the wind sweeping across a wheat field in autumn.

She truly deserves this name; even the faint sound in her dreams is as clear as a mountain stream.

I often saw her sitting on a small stool in the yard, helping the white-haired old lady pick chives, constantly muttering to herself, saying that the dough should be a little softer today, and that the neighbor's dog had stolen another steamed bun.

She loves to talk more when she's alone, saying "Go for it!" to the dough on the cutting board and "It smells so good!" to the freshly cooked noodles, as if the whole world is her audience.

To understand her, I began to teach myself Chinese. The horizontal and vertical lines of Chinese characters are like the boundaries on a tennis court—dry yet full of ritual.

I practiced the pronunciation over and over again with the recorder. Even though I still couldn't understand the dialect in my dream, I felt closer to her.

I know she likes to eat freshly steamed white flour buns, and can often eat two with pickled vegetables; I know she loves her mother's hand-pulled noodles, topped with tomato and egg sauce, and can always eat a whole bowl; I know she unconsciously bites the pencil tip when she draws sketches, unaware that there is lead dust on the corner of her mouth; I know she is afraid of thunder, and every time there is a thunderstorm, she will shrink in the corner of the sofa, hugging a rabbit doll and trembling.

Her life unfolded slowly in her dreams, like a watercolor painting that was gradually being painted.

I watched her go to art class with her sketchbook on her back, and when she came back, she held up a small trophy, her eyes crinkling into crescents with laughter; I watched her hunched over her desk watching cartoons, the screen light reflecting on her face, her expression focused and fascinated, but I could never quite make out the moving images; I watched her sit on the balcony in the quiet of the night, chin in hand, lost in thought, the moonlight shining on her like a thin veil.

Later, she grew up, shed her childishness, and put on her university uniform. On graduation day, she wore her graduation gown, held a bouquet of sunflowers, and smiled exceptionally brightly.

Later, she became a children's illustrator, and her picture book was successfully published with her name printed on the title page.

At the department's celebration banquet, the lights were dazzling, and everyone raised their glasses.

She didn't like to cry, but one day she suddenly leaned weakly against the doorway of her house and burst into tears. That day, her parents left her forever. In my dream, I stood beside her, reaching out to embrace her, but my fingertips only passed through nothingness.

From then on, her smile disappeared, and the light in her eyes gradually faded, like a candle flame blown out by the wind.

The last time I dreamed of her was on a drizzly morning. She was curled up in bed, her face pale, and I heard her softly say in her dialect, "I really want to eat another bowl of my mother's handmade noodles..."

When I woke up, my pillowcase was soaked. I sat on the bed, my heart feeling like it was being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, the pain making it hard to breathe.

She's just a character in my dream, a fictional life, yet the sadness I feel is so real it takes my breath away. I don't even know if she ever really existed; perhaps she was just a character created by the gods in a dream.

I went to the shrine and knelt devoutly beneath the statue, praying that if she truly existed, she would be happy and joyful.

Days passed, and tennis became my whole life. The national championship trophy and the goal of a three-peat filled my thoughts, while the girl who used to call out to me seemed to be gradually buried deep in my memory.

Until that day, Mom received a package containing a picture book, which she said was published by her best friend's daughter.

I was holding Yukino, reading her a bedtime story, when I casually flipped to the book "The Rabbit's Story" and my fingertips suddenly stopped.

The rabbit in the picture book is round and chubby, with exceptionally soft ears, and the background is filled with fields of sunflowers. The brushstrokes are warm and delicate—exactly the same as the one in Mengli Shengsheng's painting.

I asked my mother about the author of the book almost immediately. My mother said that the girl's name was Momozawa Hanyu, and she was the daughter of her friend. She had visited our home when we were little and played with me under the apple tree at my maternal grandparents' house.

“She even gave you a big apple back then,” Mom said with a smile.

My memory was suddenly awakened. In the blurry image, a little girl with pigtails reached out and handed me a bright red apple, her smile revealing two tiny tiger teeth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling warmly on her face.

It's her.

I asked Renji Yanagi to collect information about Hanyu Momozawa, down to details such as what she ate every day, what her favorite color was, and where she went on weekends.

Liu's report states that she likes to eat freshly steamed white flour buns, loves hand-pulled noodles with tomato and egg sauce, likes to bite the end of her pencil when drawing sketches, is afraid of thunder, and enjoys listening to Chinese stories in her spare time.

Each one echoed the sounds in my dreams. A bold idea sprouted and spread in my heart—Momozawa Hanyu was the sound of her voice. She hadn't disappeared; she had come to my side.

But at that time, I was lying in a hospital bed. The tennis elbow injury was more serious than I had imagined, and the doctor said I might never be able to pick up a tennis racket again.

Liu's report also stated that she liked looking at handsome men and beautiful women, and when she looked at Tezuka Kunimitsu and Fuji Syusuke, her gaze would linger for three seconds longer, especially when she looked at Tezuka.

I looked out the window at the sky and suddenly felt powerless. Someone who might even give up on me because of tennis—what right do I have to even approach her?

During that time, it was her voice that sustained me. She would read stories and sing on a Chinese app called "Ears," her voice as clear and bright as in my dreams.

I put my phone next to my pillow and listened to her read "The Story of the Rabbit" over and over again, and listened to her sing gentle nursery rhymes. The pain seemed to lessen a little.

I know she went to watch Seigaku's match, and I know Tezuka went to Germany for treatment due to injury.

The rehabilitation period was long and painful, but the thought of her gave me the courage to persevere. I told myself that once I won my third consecutive national championship, I would go find her and let her know me.

But fate loves to play tricks. Rikkai University ultimately failed to achieve a three-peat. After that match, I stood on the field, watching the Seigaku players cheer and jump for joy, my heart filled with mixed emotions.

On the day of the Haiyuan Festival, I finally met her. She was strolling through the fair with her friends, wearing a light-colored dress, and smiling radiantly.

I stood not far away, watching her eat the takoyaki she had just bought, oblivious to the sauce smeared on her lips; watching her gasp in surprise when she saw Echizen Ryoma dressed as a woman; watching her hair fly as she played around with her friends. My heart pounded in my chest, but I hesitated to approach her.

Later, I went to the United States for recuperation, far away from everything familiar, but I never stopped paying attention to her. Liu would email me regularly to tell me about her recent situation.

Then one day, an email was attached with a photo—she was wearing Rikkai University's uniform, standing in front of the teaching building, smiling brightly. Renji said that she had transferred to Rikkai University.

I knew my chance had come.

After returning to China, during a family dinner, I casually mentioned the name Hanyu Momozawa. My mother paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "Hanyu, she was your childhood sweetheart, arranged when you were little."

After careful consideration, I went to my parents and had a serious talk with them about it. I told them I wanted to marry her. Perhaps my attitude was too resolute, or perhaps it was fate, but they agreed.

When we first met formally, her eyes widened in surprise as she saw me. I tried to remain calm, walked towards her step by step, and softly asked, "Don't you want to see me?"

Her cheeks flushed slightly, she shook her head, and whispered, "No... I just didn't expect..." Her gaze lingered on my face for a long time, her eyes filled with a mixture of shyness and curiosity. I breathed a sigh of relief; my palms were already soaked with sweat. Thank goodness, she didn't dislike me.

We got married.

As she walked towards me in her wedding dress, I felt like the happiest person in the world. She took my surname, and from that moment on, she was my wife, Yukimura Hanyu.

She was always shy around me, blushing when she spoke and avoiding eye contact. But I knew she was slowly accepting me.

During the Chinese recitation competition, she was very depressed, often lost in thought, her eyes red. I knew she was homesick, missing her small northern town, her parents, and her mother's handmade noodles.

All I can do is stay with her, learn to take care of her, take her to see the sunrise at the beach, run around with her, act silly to make her angry, and make her happy.

I will spend my whole life telling her that the regrets of the past are in the past. From now on, I'll be there for you.