Chen Hui
The second autumn after Zhou Yu left, a chilly chill began to fill the air. The ginkgo leaves, still not yet completely yellow, were already showing a crispy golden hue around the edges.
One ordinary afternoon, I was staring at a difficult-to-mix gray-purple color on the canvas that represented dusk when the doorbell rang.
Few people come directly to my studio. Perhaps it's the management, or perhaps a wrong delivery. I casually open the door in my slippers, my hands wet with paint.
There was a woman standing outside the door.
He was very tall, wearing a neatly cut khaki trench coat, and had a thin and upright figure. His long black hair was casually tied back, revealing a smooth forehead and an extremely handsome face.
Her features were sharp and refined, her eyes calm, like the surface of a frosted lake in autumn. She was pulling a low-key yet high-quality suitcase, and though dusty and exhausted, she didn't look the least bit tired.
My gaze fell on her face, and my heart skipped a beat. Those eyes... they were so similar to Zhou Yu's. Not in the shape, but in that calm, all-seeing look.
She was also looking at me, her eyes darting over my paint-stained apron and messy hair, without showing any surprise or judgment.
"Zhang Chenzhi?" She spoke in a low voice with a barely perceptible hoarseness and a steady tone.
I nodded in surprise.
"I'm Chen Hui." She paused and added, "Zhou Yu's childhood friend."
The fragments of memory were instantly pieced together.
Zhou Yu did mention this childhood friend, two years his senior, who had been a top student since childhood and had gone abroad to study at an early age. He didn't have a deep impression of her; he vaguely remembered her as extremely intelligent, but with a somewhat cold personality. It seemed she had been engaged in some kind of cutting-edge scientific research abroad, so busy she hadn't even made it back for Zhou Yu's funeral.
"Hello," I stepped aside, "please come in."
She nodded and walked in with her suitcase in a quick and decisive manner. Her eyes quickly scanned the studio filled with paintings, paints and books, and finally landed on the completed "Path", lingering for a few seconds.
"I'm sorry for coming so late." She turned and faced me. Her tone remained steady, but there seemed to be a subtle, elusive hint of something. "We ran into some trouble finishing the project, and it's been delayed for a long time."
"It's okay." I shook my head and poured her a glass of water. Her hands were clean, her nails neatly trimmed, and her fingertips were cold when she took the glass.
For a moment, we were all silent.
There was an unfamiliar, slightly scrutinizing air in the air. She and Zhou Yu had been friends since childhood, so theoretically, she should know a lot about him, including what happened between him and me. But at this moment, she was like a sudden observer, with a calm sense of distance.
"I just got off the plane and booked a hotel nearby. I came here after dropping off my luggage." She explained, as if to break the silence, "There are some things Zhou Yu asked me to pass on to you."
My heart suddenly tightened. "You?"
"Yeah." She put down her water cup, opened her briefcase, took out a thick, sealed file bag, and placed it on the table. "About a year ago, when he had a bad feeling about things, he left it with me. He said that if... if he didn't make it, I would hand it to you personally when I returned home."
A year ago... that was before his condition took a turn for the worse. It turns out he'd even calculated this step. A sour taste rushed into my nose, and I pursed my lips tightly.
Chen Hui looked at my reaction, a slight wave of emotion flashing across his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. "He said, 'You'll understand after you read it.'"
I stared at the brown paper bag like it was a Pandora's box. What was inside? More property documents? Or... something else?
"Do you... want to take a look?" I asked in a hoarse voice, not knowing whether it was out of politeness or some inexplicable urge to share with others.
She shook her head gently, her movements subtle. "This is for you. My job is just to deliver it." She stood up. "I won't bother you anymore. I'm staying at the hotel around the corner from this street, room number XXXX, for about a week. If you have any questions about these things," she handed me a simple business card with just her name and phone number, "you can contact me."
She left, like a quiet breeze, suddenly arriving and leaving just as quickly. The door slammed shut, and I was alone in the studio again, with the heavy file bag on the table.
I stood there for a long time, not moving. The sun was setting, and the light filtered through the window, falling right on the bag, leaving a furry sheen around the edges.
Finally, I took a deep breath, walked over, and carefully unsealed the seal.
There are no cold documents inside.
The first thing that slid out was a stack of photos.
Some are already yellowed, from high school. There's a candid shot of me frowning at my sketchpad, a snap of him snapping me handing him a glass of water at the basketball court, and our first date, on a park bench, both of us grinning a bit silly, the background a blur of light and shadow. Many of these I've never even seen myself.
Beneath it lay a thick, hardcover notebook. Opening it, it revealed not financial notes but... a diary.
I have been writing this book intermittently since the day we got together. My handwriting is sometimes flying, sometimes tired, but it records the trivial daily life.
"October 3rd. Chenzhi played with paint again today, smearing his hands with all sorts of colors, like a calico cat. So cute."
"December 25th. I gave him a necklace and he seemed to like it. It was worth it."
"March 15th. We had a fight. My fault. Seeing him cry was like a screw loose inside me. But that project was really crucial..."
"June 20th. The medical report wasn't good. I didn't tell him. We have to speed things up."
"September 1st. Another school year begins. I remember the time I bumped into him in the corridor. If only time could stop there." "November 5th. It hurts. But thinking of him, I can bear it." "..."
On the last page, there was only one line of text, written in handwriting so weak it was almost illegible: "Spring is coming soon. Sadly, I won't be able to see it."
Beneath the laptop, several USB flash drives were pressed. Trembling, I plugged them into the computer. Inside were organized video clips. Some were blurry, shaky cellphone records of his daily life, while others were fragmented messages he'd left to the camera later, when he was still feeling better.
In the video, he sometimes wears a hospital gown and looks extremely thin, but he still tries hard to smile: "Chenzhi, the weather is so nice today. There's a bird outside the window that's been chirping all morning. It's so noisy. Are you still sleeping in?"
"As for the rest, I've discussed it with Assistant Lin. Don't worry, he understands..."
"I looked again at those little portraits you drew of me before... they were really good... I looked much more handsome than I actually am..." "It's just... I missed you a little..."
In the last video, he was silent for a long time, just looking at the camera with gentle and tired eyes, and said softly: "Don't be afraid. Live well. Watch every spring in the future for me."
“Don’t ever trap yourself in the fall.
I sat in front of the computer, looking at his weak but smiling face on the screen, listening to his tone that was trying to be relaxed, tears silently and madly flowed out, dripping onto the keyboard, leaving a wet mark.
It turns out he knew everything.
He knew my fear, my longing, and how difficult it was to face it all alone. So in this way, clumsily and meticulously, he prepared so much for me in advance... so many memories to chew on, so much evidence of his existence.
He didn't just leave money behind.
He transformed his last time and strength into these subtle and long-lasting companionships, spanning life and death, and delivered them precisely to me.
I held the diary in my arms, sitting for a long, long time in the darkening room. I cried until I had no more strength left, but the barren, frozen ground in my heart was slowly soaked by a vast, gentle sadness, as if something was quietly loosening in the pain.
The next afternoon, I called Chen Hui.
The phone was quickly picked up, and her voice remained calm: "Hello."
"Ms. Chen," I said, my voice still a little hoarse, "thank you for the gift. I've... finished reading it."
"Yeah." She responded without asking any more questions.
"I'm wondering...if you have time, could we have dinner together?" I mustered up the courage to ask, "I want to...hear about his past. About his childhood, or other...things I don't know."
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then someone said, "Okay. You decide the time and place."
We met in a quiet private room of a Japanese restaurant.
When I arrived, she was already there, looking down at her phone, her profile looking a little soft in the dim light.
After they sat down, there was another brief silence. She didn't seem to be good at small talk either.
"He..." I began with difficulty, "What was he like before? In your eyes."
Chen Hui put down his phone, thought for a moment, and spoke in a flat tone, as if he were giving a report: "Very smart, but a little dull. He has a strong mind, and once he's determined, no one can change his mind. He looks calm, but he's actually very sentimental, he just doesn't like to express it."
She took a sip of barley tea and continued, "When his parents were still alive, their relationship was always bad, and the atmosphere at home was cold. So he matured very early and was used to doing everything on his own. He felt that only things that were in his hands were the most reliable."
She paused and looked at me, "Until I met you."
I clenched my teacup.
"The first time he mentioned you to me was in high school. He said there was a transfer student in their class who was great at drawing and a little silly. When she bumped into him, her eyes lit up like stars." There seemed to be a faint, almost imperceptible smile in Chen Hui's tone. "After that, every time we contacted, he would talk about you every three sentences. 'Chenzhi today...', 'Chenzhi again...', 'Chenzhi he...'"
She raised her eyes and looked at me clearly. "He's rarely this emotional. But you made him become... very much like himself. Or rather, more like who he should be on the inside."
I lowered my head, my nose aching. These words, spoken by the calm and rational Chen Hui, carried a special weight.
"When he contacted me after he fell ill, he was very calm, as if he was arranging something for someone else." Chen Hui's voice deepened. "He only asked me for two things. One is the file bag, and the other is... if possible, to check on you and see if you're doing well."
She paused and added, "I saw the report on your art exhibition, and I'm also aware of the 'Overdue Spring' Foundation. You're doing a great job."
This simple recognition, coming from her, gave me a slight jolt of emotion.
We sat down for a long meal. Most of the time, I was asking questions, and she was answering. Her words were concise, yet they always managed to accurately depict another side of Zhou Yu—the Zhou Yu who was silent and patient in front of his family, who worked tirelessly in his studies and career, and who only revealed his clumsy and gentle side in front of me.
Through her description, I seemed to know him all over again, more complete, more three-dimensional, and more heartbreaking.
When we said goodbye, it was already late at night. The streets were bustling with traffic and neon lights were flashing.
"Thank you for coming." I said sincerely.
Chen Hui nodded, her silhouette blurred in the night. "He wants you to be happy," she said finally, then turned, swiftly hailed a taxi, and disappeared into the city lights.
I stood alone on the street, the cool autumn night breeze blowing on my face, bringing a sense of clarity.
Holding the extremely heavy file bag in his arms, inside it was a boy's most sincere thoughts, a young man's most silent protection, and a man's most clumsy and long-lasting farewell.
Tears still flow, but this time, they are no longer out of pure despair.
I know that the long winter may not be completely over yet.
But some things have already broken through the ground with pain.
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