Chapter 23

I finally got discharged from the hospital, living like a normal college student, attending classes, studying, and taking exams as usual.

I stayed up several nights to catch up on the missed classes.

Then, I stayed up a few more nights to perfect my thesis, preparing for the defense.

On graduation day, I took photos with my classmates, all dressed in our gowns.

They were all smiling happily.

I was smiling happily, just like them.

Ye Shuo came over to take a picture with me.

He made half a heart, and I gave a thumbs-up.

Ji Ming attended my graduation ceremony as a guardian.

When he saw me smiling at him, he returned a long-lost smile.

If I’m happy, he’s happy.

So I’ll keep smiling.

It wasn’t until the tassel on my cap was moved from right to left that “graduation” felt real.

After everything was over, I went to my locker and packed my books and miscellaneous items into my bag.

As I was tidying up, I found an envelope inside.

The envelope was bulging.

As if sensing something, I hesitantly opened it.

Inside was a crumpled piece of paper, a bank card, and a pack of cigarettes.

The same pack I had secretly slipped into his pocket.

On the paper, it was written:

[There’s two million in the card. I told you, I don’t smoke the enemy’s cigarettes.]

A tear fell onto the strong, bold handwriting.

Then came the second, the third…

Finally, tears poured out like a flood.

In the empty corridor, I cried out loud.

The delayed tear ducts finally reacted at this moment, tearing away all my disguises.

The suppressed emotions exploded in the silence of the corridor, spilling out without restraint.

I cried for a long, long time.

Only after the twilight completely faded did I pack my bag and prepare to leave.

As I reached the end of the corridor, I found Ji Ming standing at the corner.

He took my bag and softly said, “Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

I replied, looking down, noticing his slightly damp cuffs, and my heart felt like it was sliced open again.

The hand beneath the sleeve reached out to me.

“Do you want to hold your brother’s hand?”

I dared not lift my head, dared not look at his face.

On his face, surely like mine, was a gentle expression forced out through pain.

But that distinctly jointed hand trembled slightly before my eyes.

I restrained that tremor and held his hand as we walked out of the campus.

No interlocked fingers, just a normal sibling hand-holding.

It wasn’t until the night deepened that I returned home.

The empty apartment surprisingly offered me a bit of comfort.

I took out that pack of cigarettes, sat on the balcony, and smoked one by one.

I allowed the suppressed thoughts to roam through my mind.

Whenever I felt like crying, I smoked a cigarette, and after finishing, continued crying.

But when I wanted to cry again, the cigarettes were gone.

I realized, cigarettes aren’t addictive, but crying is.