Dawn of changing trains
The fluorescent lights in the waiting room emitted a soft hum, mingling with the intermittent snores and the dull thud of suitcase wheels scraping the floor, fermenting into a thick, viscous weariness in the three-minute air. Ah Yu curled up on a plastic chair in the corner of the waiting room, using his suitcase as a makeshift pillow. The back of his head pressed against the raised brand logo on the hard surface, a painful but insignificant pressure, yet it couldn't outweigh the immense weight weighing on his eyelids.
He still clutched the white medicine box in his hand, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the blue capsule image printed on the box. He had bought it at the pharmacy downstairs before leaving; the clerk had recommended it, saying it was fast-acting. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, grabbing two boxes and running towards the station, not even bothering to pick up the change that had rolled to the ground. Now, the medicine box was damp from the sweat in his palms, the edges slightly wrinkled, like his clenched heart.
His phone screen lit up briefly in his pocket. It was a message from Lin Wanqing, asking where he was. Ah Yu wanted to reply, but found his fingertips stiff, almost too weak to unlock it. The last message he saw was from Zhong Hua—just three words, "Fever," accompanied by a grinning emoji, as if to say it was nothing serious. But Ah Yu knew all too well that Zhong Hua was always like this. When he was in so much pain he couldn't straighten his back, he would say "It's an old problem." When he stayed up all night and his eyes were dark, he would say "My thoughts are clear." Even when he had acute appendicitis in college, he insisted on helping Ah Yu organize the photos from his exhibition before going to the hospital.
The word "endure" is practically ingrained in Zhong Hua's bones.
Ah Yu's consciousness began to blur. The lights of the waiting room turned into a shimmering halo before his eyes, gradually merging into the sunset over Qinghai Lake. They had just finished taking their last set of photos. Ah Yu was squatting by the lake adjusting the settings when he turned around and saw Zhong Hua crouching on the ground, clutching his stomach, his forehead covered in cold sweat. He was startled and tried to take him to the hospital, but Zhong Hua waved his hand, saying it was nothing, he had just missed breakfast. Later, he learned that the man had fallen asleep on the table while helping him repair his camera the previous night, and had caught a chill, leading to gastroenteritis.
"Comrade, comrade, wake up."
Ah Yu felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder and her eyes snapped open. Her heart pounded in her chest; she thought something had happened to Zhong Hua. Before her was the smiling face of the train attendant, a small railway badge gleaming faintly in the morning light on her dark blue uniform.
"Your train has arrived. Get ready to have your ticket checked." The flight attendant pointed to the crowd that had started queuing not far away. "You're sleeping so soundly, I was afraid you'd miss it."
Ah Yu then noticed that the sky outside the window was already turning a pale white, and the originally dark glass had turned into frosted glass, through which he could vaguely see the outline of the platform ceiling. He hurriedly stood up, his legs so numb that he almost fell, and frantically grabbed the suitcase handle, causing the medicine box to fall to the ground with a "thud".
"Hey, be careful." The flight attendant picked up the medicine box for him and handed it back. She glanced at the words on it and joked with a smile, "Are you going to visit relatives in the mountains? You brought medicine with you."
Ah Yu took the medicine box, his fingertips touching the warmth of the flight attendant's palm, and suddenly felt a lump in his throat. He lowered his head and rubbed the corner of his eye, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded: "It's not a relative, it's just picking up a friend."
Is your friend sick?
“Hmm,” Ah Yu nodded, her Adam’s apple bobbing before she finally managed to utter the words that had been stuck in her throat, “He’s forcing himself to keep working and won’t rest.”
As he spoke, the wind outside lifted a corner of the curtain, bringing a cool morning breeze to his face. The wind seemed to carry the scent of the mountains—in Zhong Hua's photos, there were lush green hills, smoke rising from mud-brick houses, and children barefoot trudging through the mud. Ah Yu imagined Zhong Hua wrapped in a thin coat, trudging through the mountains, wondering if he would huddle under the covers, shivering, like he had in college when he had a fever. Her heart ached as if something were tearing at it.
He dragged his suitcase toward the ticket gate, his figure appearing somewhat frail in the empty waiting room. His phone vibrated again in his pocket; this time it was a text message from an unknown number, containing only one line: "Teacher Zhong said he's fine, and told you not to worry and not to run too fast."
Ah Yu recognized the number; it belonged to a local volunteer for the charity project. He could almost picture Zhong Hua talking to people—he must have been smiling and waving, his tone relaxed, as if he'd only caught a minor cold. But the more relaxed he sounded, the more anxious Ah Yu became.
The ticket inspector glanced at him as she took his ticket, probably noticing the dark circles under his eyes, as if he'd been up for several sleepless nights. Ah Yu ignored her, clutching his ticket stub as he hurried toward the platform. The cold morning wind rushed into his collar, making him shiver, but also clearing his head a bit.
The train had already stopped at the platform, its dark green carriages gleaming softly in the morning light. Ah Yu found her seat, stuffed her suitcase under it, and just as she sat down, she heard the middle-aged woman next to her talking on the phone. She was saying that her grandson was teaching in the mountains and insisted on waiting until the children finished their final exams before coming home. "That child, he's just as stubborn as his father," she said.
Ah Yu gazed at the railway tracks rushing past the window and suddenly remembered Zhong Hua before he left. He'd gone to the studio to deliver documents and seen Zhong Hua packing his bags. His backpack was stuffed with his old camera, explaining that the signal was bad in the mountains and a film camera was more reliable; it also contained a thick notebook filled with local place names and customs, compiled over three sleepless nights of research. Ah Yu had laughed at him then, saying it wasn't a scientific expedition, but Zhong Hua just smiled, pointing to a circled spot in the notebook and saying, "There's a bamboo grove here. It would look beautiful in the morning fog; perfect for a charity exhibition cover."
He's always like this; he thinks of others in everything he does, but forgets about himself.
The train slowly started moving. Ah Yu leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes to rest for a while, but her mind was filled with Zhong Hua's image. She thought of him in a white shirt shooting hoops on the basketball court in high school, of him helping her carry heavy photography equipment in the dormitory hallway in college, and of him probably sitting on a heated brick bed in the mountains right now, wrapped in a blanket, trying to look at the photos she had taken.
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