Chapter 14

I kept nervously counting the days, and the date of June 5th, 2017 on the other side weighed on my mind. Even though I knew that perhaps that fire would never happen again, and Chen Yabai would never go to Miss Little Yuan’s house at all.

Because on the very night when the fire was supposed to happen, it happened to be the Campus Arts Festival.

Chen Yabai’s piano solo, “The Wind Rises,” was on the program list, so it was impossible for him to leave. Yet I was still anxious and uneasy, as if trapped in the darkness before dawn, unbearably restless.

I took the initiative to write on the letter paper, carefully penning my words, pretending to be casual: “Godmother wants to ask, your performance is well prepared, right? You’ll go on stage, won’t you?”

I waited a long time before receiving a reply: “Of course. After practicing for so long, not going on stage would be a waste of effort, wouldn’t it?”

I was relieved, calmly accepting the fact that Chen Yabai was willing to go on stage not because of Miss Little Yuan, but simply because he didn’t want to waste his time and effort. He didn’t even ask me why Miss Little Yuan didn’t come.

That day, I took a day off, quietly stayed at home, with the windows and doors wide open, the white gauze curtains fluttering in the night breeze. I waited quietly for my own ending, whether it be death or being forgotten by Chen Yabai. These two endings were much the same to me, but I was truly happy.

Chen Yabai, more than anyone, I hope to see you alive, always under the sunlight.

I leaned against the sofa and suddenly fell asleep, as if caught in a whirlpool of time.

I dreamed again, though perhaps this time it wasn’t a dream, but something truly happening.

I saw the fire reignite in my home in the dream, and I was at a loss, with Ah Hua no longer by my side. I cried in despair, but was embraced by a clean, gentle hug. This time, he had no connection with me; to seventeen-year-old Miss Little Yuan, Chen Yabai was just a somewhat unfamiliar classmate.

But he still came. Chen Yabai lifted me out the window, no longer wearing the blue and white school uniform, but the black suit he wore for the performance.

The hot wind was scorching, but he stood tall and smiled through the pain. He said, “Miss Little Yuan, don’t be afraid, the fire rescue will be here soon.”

He said, “Someone kept stopping me from coming to see you, but I overcame her obstacles to get here. She made sure I was busy today and couldn’t get away, so I guessed you were in trouble. Turns out I was right, and luckily I came.”

I saw his black hair singed by the flames. Chen Yabai said, “Do you want to hear ‘The Wind Rises’? I think you’d really like it.” He had prepared the song for two months, and now, enduring the pain of the flames, he sang it, his voice trembling low.

Chen Yabai was in agony, yet his heart was full of tenderness.

“The evening wind blows your hair at your temples / Smooths the scars left by memories / Light and shadow mingle in your eyes / A smile blooms like a flower.” When he handed me steadily to the firefighters, I suddenly burst into tears. Seventeen-year-old Miss Little Yuan didn’t know why she was so sorrowful; she had a premonition that the scar in her heart could never be smoothed, not even at thirty, not even when she was old and gray.

You want me to heal, but without you, how can I ever heal?

The moment Chen Yabai leaned back and fell into the fire, he used all his strength to shout: “Live on, walk toward your future!”

Miss Little Yuan, hello.

Miss Little Yuan, goodbye.