Chapter 20
When the emergency room light went out, Qi Zihao's world went dark as well. The doctor's words, "We did our best," were like a dull knife, repeatedly cutting into his nerves until he couldn't even cry out. He could only clutch the stack of negatives tightly, his knuckles turning white. The wounds embedded in his palms tore at the sharp edges of the negatives, and beads of blood seeped out, blurring the outline of the factory in the photos.
Song Mingye supported the limp man, his fingertips able to feel his trembling body. The emergency room door was pushed open, and a stretcher covered with a white sheet slowly emerged. Qi Zihao suddenly broke free and rushed over to pull back the sheet—Chu Xiaoche's face was as pale as paper, his lips still damp with blood, his usually gentle eyes tightly closed, never to smile at him again, never to call him "Zihao" again.
"Chu Xiaoche..." Qi Zihao's voice broke in his throat. He leaned down, his forehead pressed against Chu Xiaoche's cold cheek, "You lied to me... You said you would watch the sunrise with me for the rest of your life..."
His fingers traced the deep, long wound on Chu Xiaoche's arm, a wound left to protect him. Memories suddenly flooded back: the way Chu Xiaoche helped him organize his camera bag at the guesthouse, the way Chu Xiaoche held his hand and said he liked it at sunrise on the mountaintop, the way Chu Xiaoche bent down to pick up seashells on the beach, and the way Chu Xiaoche threw the film to him with all his might at the dock... Every scene was burning hot, making his heart ache.
In the days following the funeral arrangements, Qi Zihao was like a lost soul. He locked himself in his room, staring blankly at the camera Chu Xiaoche had left behind. The crack in the lens was still there, like the gaping hole in his heart, impossible to mend. He looked through the photos again and again, from the roses at the guesthouse to the sunset at the beach, every single one bore Chu Xiaoche's image—smiling, gentle, earnest…
Until that day, he felt a hard object in the lining of his camera bag—a small metal box. Opening it, he found a solo photo of Chu Xiaoche and an unmailed letter inside.
Zihao:
As I write these words, you are still fast asleep beside me. I knew all along that those people wouldn't let me go; the negatives from back then were their Achilles' heel, and also my Achilles' heel. I'm not afraid of death, I'm only afraid that after I'm gone, you'll be sad alone.
You always say I'm gentle, but I wish I could be a little tougher on you, protecting you even more tightly. You like taking photos, so from now on, take my camera with you to places we've never been before, and take many more beautiful pictures, just as if I'm keeping you company.
Don't cry for me, your tears are too precious to waste on happy things. If there is an afterlife, I still want to meet you. This time, I want to confess my love first, hold your hand first, hide you under my wings first, and never let you suffer any more grievances.
"I will always love you, Xiaoche."
The letter was soaked with Qi Zihao's tears, the handwriting blurred, like Chu Xiaoche's gentle gaze. He suddenly remembered that Chu Xiaoche was never as gentle and harmless as he seemed; his gentleness concealed a resolute heart, and his protection carried a solitary courage—from the very beginning, Chu Xiaoche had protected him behind him, supporting him in his own way.
After that night, Qi Zihao changed. He stopped being depressed all day and picked up his camera again, but the scenery in his lens had a more serene power. He went to every place Chu Xiaoche wanted to go, photographing sunrises, sunsets, mountains, lakes and seas, and in the corner of every photo, he wrote "To Xiaoche".
He became increasingly composed, even possessing a subtle, almost imperceptible sharpness. The remnants of the business alliance were still causing trouble, attempting to seize the negatives. Qi Zihao did not back down. He carried the evidence left by Chu Xiaoche, and together with Song Mingye and others, step by step brought those people to justice. In court, his eyes were firm, his tone calm, much like how Chu Xiaoche had protected him years ago.
On the day he won the case, Qi Zihao went to the beach alone. The sun was setting, and the sea was dyed a golden red, much like the evening they confessed their love. He took out his camera, pressed the shutter, and the photo only showed the waves, the sunset, and a lonely figure.
"Chu Xiaoche, we won." He said softly, his voice carried away by the sea breeze. "Look, I can protect myself now, and I can fulfill your wish."
He sat on the beach, took out the seashell left by Chu Xiaoche from his pocket, and held it to his ear, as if he could hear Chu Xiaoche's gentle voice. The waves crashed on the shore, like Chu Xiaoche's response, and the salty wind brushed against his hair, just like Chu Xiaoche's caresses in the past.
"I will live on with your love in my heart." Qi Zihao gripped the seashell tightly, tears welling in his eyes, but he smiled and said, "After I've traveled all over the world, I'll come find you. When that time comes, you can't lie to me anymore. You have to hold my hand tightly and never let go."
As the evening breeze kissed the old windowsill, Qi Zihao was organizing photos. Chu Xiaoche's photo was placed in the most prominent position. Looking at the person in the photo, a gentle smile appeared on his lips. He knew that Chu Xiaoche had never left. His love and his courage had transformed into the strength that propelled him forward, like the warmth hidden beneath a frost-covered blade, forever warming the rest of his life.
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