Amazing
His emails were always meticulously written, including photos and detailed expense lists. Sometimes it was a group photo of the children in front of the new school building, sometimes a list of purchased school supplies. Zhiwei would reply briefly, raising practical questions such as how to control transportation costs and how to ensure the stability of local teachers.
Six months later, Tianming, through a foundation staff member, expressed his wish to report on the progress made in person to the donor. They met at a café near the foundation, and Tianming realized that she was the woman who had impressed him that day, and that a woman who could donate such a large sum of money in her personal capacity could not be an ordinary staff member. Tianming brought a photo album containing thank-you notes and drawings from the children.
"This girl's name is Xiaohe," he said, pointing to a photo. "She almost dropped out of school last year, but now she's doing very well."
Zhiwei took the photo album, her fingertips lightly tracing the rough surface of the photographic paper. The girl in the photo smiled shyly, but her eyes were bright.
"She's lucky," Zhiwei said.
"It's fortunate that the project has your support," Tianming said sincerely.
After that, he would occasionally invite her for coffee, always citing the reason as reporting on his progress in person. How could Zhiwei not notice the growing admiration in his eyes during their interactions? The radiance in his eyes when he talked about the children in the mountains, and the occasional glimpse of innocence and persistence he revealed—so different from the worldly sophistication of her circle—were like pebbles thrown into a still lake, creating ripples in her heart.
One rainy day, he walked her to the door, his umbrella unconsciously tilting towards her, leaving his own shoulder soaked. Zhiwei noticed this detail and a strange feeling stirred within her.
Back at the elegant garden, she stood by the window for a long time, watching the raindrops trace messy lines on the glass. That slight stirring of emotion, like a faint spark in the darkness, was alluring yet dangerous. She knew all too well that her identity was an insurmountable mountain, and any thought of overstepping that boundary could be utterly annihilating for Tianming.
She began deliberately taking longer to reply to emails and making excuses to avoid future meetings. During their last phone call, her voice was more distant than usual: "Mr. Song, follow-up progress reports can be sent via email; there's no need for a special meeting."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone before Tianming responded politely, "Okay, Director Shen. Sorry to bother you." He finally learned who she was: Shen Zhiwei, the wife of Li Fuqiang, chairman of the Fumao Group, who ranked high on the rich list.
Just when Zhiwei thought this unwanted interlude would fade away, devastating news struck like a bolt from the blue. It was a dreary summer afternoon, and Zhiwei was revising a design in her studio. Xiaoyu walked in, pale-faced, her voice trembling, holding her phone: "Madam... the foundation called, Mr. Song, Mr. Song Tianming... he..."
Zhiwei looked up, a sudden tightness gripping her heart.
“Mr. Song was visiting schools in the western mountains when he encountered a rainstorm on his way back… He accidentally… fell off a cliff… He’s been found, but…” Xiaoyu’s voice choked with sobs.
The pencil in Zhiwei's hand fell to the ground with a "thud," breaking in two. She stared blankly at Xiaoyu, as if she couldn't understand what she was saying. That young man with clear eyes and boundless enthusiasm, that Song Tianming who had excitedly told her in an email not long ago that several more girls could continue their studies... gone?
"When did this happen?" Her voice was surprisingly calm.
"Three days ago," Xiaoyu said softly, "because of poor signal in the mountains, the news only got out today."
Zhiwei slowly stood up and walked to the window. Large raindrops began to pound against the glass, making a pattering sound. She watched the rainwater leave messy marks on the window and suddenly remembered the last time she saw Tianming. He had also walked her to the door on a rainy day like this, his umbrella unconsciously tilting towards her, his own shoulder getting soaked.
"You can go now," she said to Xiaoyu. "I want to be alone for a while."
The studio door closed gently. Zhiwei remained standing by the window, motionless.
The rain poured down harder, turning the world into a white blur. Her gaze was unfocused, fixed blankly on the scenery outside the window. After what seemed like an eternity, the rain gradually subsided. Zhiwei went to her workbench, opened a drawer, and took out a printed copy of the last email Tianming had sent. The letter was short, just a routine report on the project's progress, ending with: "The wild roses here are blooming beautifully. I remember you once said you liked this flower; I've attached a photo."
In the photo, a cluster of pink wild roses stubbornly blooms beside the dilapidated school building.
She clutched the paper tightly in her hand, her nails digging deep into her palm. Then, she suddenly swept all the design drafts off the workbench like a madwoman, paint bottles rolling all over the floor, splashing vibrant colors everywhere.
"Why?" she finally asked, her voice hoarse. "Why is it always like this?"
A few days later, she received a thin letter from that small western town. Opening it, there was no letter, only a flower—a rose that had completely dried, its color dulled, yet its petals still held their blooming form. A small card was tied to the stem with a thin thread, bearing Tianming's familiar handwriting, with only a few brief words:
I saw this by chance and thought it looked like you. I hope you are well.
The date was two days before his accident.
Imagine him on a rugged mountain path, or perhaps by an abandoned courtyard, seeing this tenacious wild rose, carefully picking it, drying it, and then sending it with a feeling that perhaps even he himself did not fully understand... But when this sentiment that crossed thousands of miles reached her hands, the sender had already passed away.
The composure she had maintained was shattered completely at this moment. Clutching the withered rose tightly, Zhiwei collapsed onto the cold floor. All the sorrow she had suppressed for nearly a year—sorrow for her mother, for Tianming, and for the true self she had so deeply imprisoned—burst forth like a flood. She wept uncontrollably, her cries echoing in the empty room, filled with endless desolation and despair.
Xiaoyu and Wang Jingnan, who rushed over upon hearing the news, stood outside the door, listening to the heartbreaking cries inside. They looked at each other speechlessly, only able to shed silent tears.
That withered rose became the only keepsake Tianming left for Zhiwei in his short life, and like a key, it unlocked the tightly closed gates of her emotions. She finally understood that some things cannot be pretended not to exist simply by deliberately avoiding them. And some losses, once they happen, leave an emptiness that can never be filled. Her mother's departure took away where she came from, and Tianming's passing seemed to extinguish the faint glimmer of light that had just appeared in her life, a light she had failed to grasp.
Zhiwei cried for a long time, until her voice was hoarse and she could no longer shed a tear. She stared blankly at the darkening sky outside the window, suddenly recalling a line of poetry she had read many years ago: "I must spend this long night alone before I can greet the dawn with a pure heart and soul."
She stood up and walked to the mirror. The woman in the mirror had red and swollen eyes and a pale face, but her gaze was unusually clear.
At that moment, she suddenly understood.
Her entire life was spent living for others—marrying Li Fuqiang to pay for her mother's medical expenses, becoming his wife to fulfill a contract, and running around for various responsibilities and obligations. Even her slight attraction to Tianming was deliberately suppressed because of her status.
But now, her mother is gone, and Tianming is gone too. All the shackles that bound her have suddenly vanished.
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