"Even if Qianluo hadn't been in trouble, would we still have ended up together?" I asked hoarsely, my throat feeling dry and sore as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper.
Every word I spoke felt like swallowing shards of glass. Tears finally streamed down my face, landing on the back of my hand, burning hot like fire.
My chest felt tight and suffocated, as if a huge rock was pressing down on it, making it hard to breathe, and my temples were throbbing.
Those images kept popping up uncontrollably: Under the streetlight at the alley entrance, she stuffed her frozen red hands into my pocket, her fingertips icy cold but her grip on my hand tightly.
She said, "Ah Yun's hands are colder than mine, let me warm them for you," and her breath fell on the back of my hand, as warm as the spring sunshine.
On a winter night, she ran over with a freshly bought hot milk tea in her hands. Fine snowflakes clung to her eyelashes, and her breath steamed in the air, making her eyes and brows appear hazy. When she smiled, she looked like a little sun.
When she handed me the milk tea, she said, "I specially asked the owner to add extra sugar. A-Yun likes it sweet, so it won't be cold after drinking it."
And then there was that time after we argued, I stormed out in a huff, and she chased after me with red eyes, clutching my clothes and refusing to let go, her voice soft and trembling with tears.
He said, "Ah-Yun, I was wrong. Let's stop arguing. I'm afraid you'll ignore me, and I'll be sad by myself. What will I do without you?"
Tears dripped onto the back of my hand, mingling with my own tears, making it impossible to tell whose they were.
Those heart-fluttering moments, those times when we walked side by side in the wind, our shadows pressed tightly together.
Were all those promises made to hold each other's hands and grow old together, from youthful days to old age, just empty words?
Those moments when my heart raced because of her, those moments when my eyes welled up with tears, those nights when I would cling to her arm and whine, and only fall asleep when I could smell the scent of her shampoo.
The overwhelming sweetness that welled up in my heart when she called me "A-Yun," and the future we planned together.
There's a small house, a cat, and endless things to talk about—is it all just a self-deceiving illusion?
"Yes." Xin Ziming answered without hesitation, but her voice trailed off with a hint of barely perceptible pity.
Like watching a blade of grass about to be broken by the cold wind, with a sense of helpless regret.
"Man can conquer nature" is just four words, light and easy to write on paper, but it sounds powerful when read aloud. However, it is too difficult to actually go against the gears of fate.
The gears turn very slowly, yet they carry immense force. We mortals are like dust on those gears, only able to follow them, without even the strength to resist.
In this world, there are very few people who can turn the impossible into the possible. Most people are not like that, and they can't defy the ending that has already been written.
Just as you can't hold onto the flowers of spring, the leaves of autumn, the passing wind, or the falling petals that are destined to leave.
I felt a splitting headache, my temples throbbing as if countless tiny needles were pricking them, and even my vision started to blur.
Xin Ziming in front of me, the teacup on the table, and the moonlight outside the window all became blurry, as if viewed through frosted glass.
Those memories that were once so clear that the details could be seen clearly suddenly seemed to have been ripped out of their essence; Qianluo's face, her voice, the warmth of her fingertips all became distant and blurry.
Like sand in your hand, the harder you squeeze, the faster it slips away, leaving not a trace.
Like a reflection in a river, it shatters into pieces with the slightest breeze, never to be pieced back together.
I even began to doubt whether those days with Qianluo really existed, or if I was just imagining things because I missed her so much.
I don't want to think about it anymore, I don't even dare to think about it in detail—I'm afraid that if I keep thinking about it, those precious moments that I thought I could cherish for a lifetime will shatter like bubbles.
There wasn't even time to say "goodbye," and her name would become unfamiliar.
I suddenly raised my head and stared intently at Xin Zimo, my fingernails almost digging into my palms, not even noticing the blood seeping out.
The pain in my palms mixed with the pain in my chest, turning into a dense, dull ache.
His voice trembled uncontrollably, and his shoulders swayed slightly, like a sapling in a storm.
"Then who are you? And how do you know about these old, trivial matters? These sounds like made-up nonsense, like stories to fool children. Why should I believe you?"
Are you lying to me? Do you want me to forget her? Is Qianluo's death related to you?
She stared at me intently, her eyes seemingly holding the entire night sky of stars, so deep they could draw your gaze and leave you unable to see the bottom.
It was impossible to guess what emotions were churning within her—was it sympathy? Regret? Or was there a deeper secret at play?
Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed it back and just sighed softly.
That sigh, like a feather, gently landed on my heart, yet it made me feel even worse.
Silence descended upon the study once more, thick as an impenetrable fog, with only the occasional rustling of the wind through the bamboo curtains outside the window.
It sounded like someone sighing softly in the shadows, or like the sound of Qianluo gently stroking the back of my hand when she couldn't sleep—so tender it hurt, yet filled with endless regret.
She suddenly chuckled softly, the smile spreading across the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, like the first pebble thrown into a still lake, first rippling out in a shallow arc, then reaching her eyebrows.
Even the stray hairs hanging down by her temples trembled slightly, their ends still glistening with the moonlight, like scattered pieces of silver.
That smile held a knowing understanding that seemed to see right through me—as if it were the awkwardness hidden in my eyes, the wavering in my hands.
Even the subtle movement of my Adam's apple when I uttered the words "female soldier of the Republic of China" that I hadn't even noticed myself was clearly seen by her.
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