Qiu Yun had a dream.
She dreamed she was walking through a vast desolation. There was no sun, no direction, no buildings, and no people. Beneath her feet lay scorching gravel. The entire world seemed to have died, leaving her as the sole survivor. She trudged through the wasteland like a clockwork robot, aimless yet unable to stop. Her throat was parched, her lips cracked and bleeding. She didn't know where she was going; she could only keep walking, step after agonizing step.
She walked for what felt like an eternity until, suddenly, the sound of laughter drifted from ahead.
A girl and a boy were playing. They ran and frolicked, then gradually began to lift off the ground, swimming through the sky as if it were water.
The girl said, "Come and catch me!"
The boy chased after her with all his might, but the girl dodged and hid, appearing one moment and vanishing the next. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reach her.
The boy pleaded, "Don't go."
The girl laughed, teasing, "Come and catch me! Come and catch me!" She playfully swam upward, hovering directly above the boy's head.
The boy remained at his original height, unable to see her. Growing anxious, he shouted, "Where are you? Stop playing and come out! I can't find you!"
But she remained high in the air, giggling. "Come and catch me! Come and catch me!"
Beads of sweat broke out on the boy's forehead. Qiu Yun couldn't bear to watch any longer. She screamed at him, "Look up! Look up! She’s right above you!"
The boy couldn't hear her.
Qiu Yun turned and shouted at the girl, "Stop teasing him! Come down, now!"
The girl heard her. She didn't speak; she only giggled at Qiu Yun. As she laughed, tears of crimson blood began to stream from her eyes.
Qiu Yun gasped in horror. While she was still frozen in shock, the girl vanished into the sky like a mirage.
The boy continued to swim there, searching back and forth like a trapped fish. Suddenly, the sky unleashed a torrential downpour—a red rain, a rain of blood, shocking and macabre. The boy was soaked to the bone, as if submerged in a pool of gore, until even his eyes were filled with red. His expression was one of agonizing despair. He kept calling out, name after name, but no sound came from his throat.
A sharp pang of grief suddenly wrenched Qiu Yun’s heart. It was as if her heart were directly connected to the boy's, the pain transmitting straight from his soul to hers. Qiu Yun convulsed with the intensity of it; even breathing became a burden. The boy opened his mouth, and though there was no sound, Qiu Yun heard him clearly: *Do you know how much I hurt?*
Qiu Yun bolted awake.
The indicator light of the air conditioner was the only speck of light in the darkness. It was set to a pleasant 22 degrees Celsius, yet Qiu Yun’s forehead was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
She reached for her phone on the nightstand and pressed the lock screen. The sudden brightness was blinding in the dark. Squinting, she struggled to make out the time: 2:40 AM.
She opened WeChat. The top entry was her message thread with Liang He: *Voice call, cancelled.*
It was a stark reminder—she couldn't find him.
Insomnia claimed her completely. It wasn't until the first light of dawn that she suddenly sat up. Ignoring the fact that it was only five o'clock, she grabbed her bag and headed out. She thought she must be going mad. Yes, she was already insane, her heart a battlefield of contradiction and pain. Since the moment she had woken up, she had lived a life of suppression. She struggled to live, submissively following the path laid out for her, like a soulless zombie. Countless thoughts would surface only to be forcibly shoved back down; countless impulses were met with an immediate "no" the moment they flickered in her mind. She had to be good, she had to accept things, she had to act as if nothing were wrong, she had to meet moral standards, and she had to repay her debts of gratitude. She couldn't be an ungrateful person.
But those conversations, those scenes, played on a loop in her mind.
He sang: *"Why is there only a crescent moon left in my sky? After tonight, all news of you will be severed..."*
He said: *"There's a good place on Phoenix Street..."*
He lectured her: *"This is only because conditions are better now. If this were a year of famine..."*
He hesitated: *"I feel... like I've seen you somewhere before..."*
He held her: *"I spent a fortune to buy this house for you. You can't run away now..."*
...
The more time passed, the clearer these scenes became, repeating over and over. Sometimes, Qiu Yun felt that living was worse than being dead.
She was the one who should have died. She was the one who had betrayed their trust, the one who was fickle and broke her word. It was all her fault.
Why was it Liang He whom heaven chose to punish?
When Qiu Yun arrived at Donghu Liyuan, it was only six o'clock. This was the only low-density villa district in the city center, inhabited by the wealthy and the powerful. The saplings planted back when they had first looked at the property had grown into lush, green trees. Birds chirped brightly from within the shade. Qiu Yun told the security guard she was visiting a friend and accurately provided the building number and the owner's name. The guard gave her several long looks and verified her ID before allowing her inside.
She had only been here once, yet she quickly found the house located in the heart of the estate's scenic area.
On the terrace, a sun umbrella was unfurled—just as they had once dreamed, envisioning a small garden built right there.
Qiu Yun’s eyes instantly welled with tears.
She approached the house step by step. Thirty years had passed, and the estate's infrastructure had been mostly updated. Even the surrounding houses had changed their renovation styles several times; windows had been replaced, and terraces had been converted into sunrooms. But Liang He’s house—its exterior looked exactly as it had thirty years ago. Even the color of the stone cladding hadn't changed.
She waited at the door. The sun rose higher, and the clock ticked away, measuring her patience minute by minute.
Six-thirty.
Seven.
Seven-thirty.
Seven-forty-five.
Eight.
Qiu Yun stood up and pressed the doorbell.
When Liang He saw Sima Qiu Yun, his eyes were filled with astonishment.
He had received her WeChat messages and calls, but he didn't want to be disturbed further, so he had intentionally ignored them. He hadn't expected this young girl to be so persistent, nor did he know how she had discovered this house. He had never mentioned to anyone that he had purchased a property here. Though he had finished the renovations years ago, he had never lived here until he moved in two months ago; only then did the building finally gain a sense of life.
Liang He quickly regained his polite and formal composure. He gestured for Qiu Yun to sit and then instructed his nephew, He Bowen, to pour some tea.
"How did you find this place?" he couldn't help but ask.
But from the moment she entered the room, Sima Qiu Yun had been staring at him intently, as if she could see a flower blooming on his face. He called her name again, and a flicker of tears suddenly shimmered in her hollow eyes.
Qiu Yun remembered the last time she had seen Liang He with agonizing clarity. It was December 1st, 1988, at the A-City Airport. Liang He was boarding a flight to France for a year of advanced studies. She had secretly rushed to the airport that day and waited until ten at night before he finally appeared. He was wearing a dark wool overcoat—the one he wore often—his figure tall and elegant. He had very little luggage, carrying only a heavy leather suitcase. She assumed his easels and art supplies had been checked in. Under the guidance of an attendant, Liang He handled the boarding procedures, bowing his head to fill out forms, then took off his coat for security.
Qiu Yun saw it all clearly. She was grateful that Qiu Xiaoyun’s eyes weren't nearsighted, allowing her to catch this final glimpse of him so vividly; yet she hated that those eyes were so sharp, making every detail of that parting hurt with such precision.
After passing security, Liang He put his coat back on and began walking toward the shuttle bus outside the gate.
Qiu Yun’s eyes reddened as she whispered in her heart: *Goodbye, Liang He.*
As if sensing something, Liang He suddenly turned around and looked in her direction. She instantly ducked behind a wall, her heart pounding. By the time she peeked out again, the boarding gate was empty.
*Goodbye, Liang He.*
She never imagined that "seeing him again" would be like this.
The world had changed, and a lifetime had passed in the blink of an eye.
He was thinner.
He was also older.
No one could truly remain young forever for thirty years, especially in the face of illness.
That young, sunny, healthy man had ultimately sat down quietly in a wheelchair. Although he was still handsome and his body had never grown frail or stout—looking much younger than others his age—time never truly spares any mortal. Perhaps "young" or "old" were too shallow to describe him now. What Qiu Yun saw was a face tempered by the years, one that had seen through the vicissitudes of life. Every fine line, every eyelash, every breath quietly conveyed the power of time, reminding her of an invisible yet impassable chasm.
Had he lived well these thirty years?
Did he still remember a person named Qiu Xiaoyun?
Oh, perhaps Qiu Yun already knew the answer. From her first day at school, she knew: Liang He, Dean of the Oil Painting Department at A-City Academy of Fine Arts, creator of numerous masterpieces, winner of countless awards, an expert in Buddhist art... and his wife was named He Ying.
They had lived their lives as DINKs.
"Sima Qiu Yun?" Liang He waved a hand in front of her. "Sima Qiu Yun, what's wrong?"
Qiu Yun snapped back to reality as a hand offered her a tissue.
This hand had once held hers, pulled her along, and even mischievously pinched her cheek. It was still long-fingered and well-defined, but the skin had lost the luster unique to youth.
"Wipe your face," Liang He gestured.
Only then did Qiu Yun realize a tear track was running down her cheek.
"Did I scare you?" Liang He smiled faintly. "You students always call me the 'immortal demon' of the Academy. Now that you've seen the 'demon' in his true form, you must be terrified." He actually cracked a joke at his own expense.
He spoke so lightly, yet it only made Qiu Yun want to cry more. She covered her face with the tissue, adjusting her breathing and struggling to control her emotions. "I just... I just feel that time is too fast, too fast... I only took a nap, and when I woke up..."
"Birth, aging, sickness, and death—no one escapes them," Liang He said. "One simply has to accept it calmly. How are you? You look like you've recovered well."
Qiu Yun nodded and replied, "I woke up in February this year. I've been doing rehabilitation for over half a year. My body is much better. I heard that while I was sick, you came to see me every month, Professor Liang. I'm truly grateful. Actually, I wanted to contact you as soon as I woke up..."
"After sleeping for over a year, it takes time to get used to the world again," Liang He smiled. "However, every time I went to see you, I saw your boyfriend. True feelings are revealed in times of hardship; he truly treats you well. Don't let someone like that go." His smile widened. "It seems a happy occasion is near. Congratulations."
His gaze fell upon Qiu Yun’s ring finger, where a sparkling diamond ring sat.
Qiu Yun jerked her hand back, covering the ring like a criminal hiding evidence. How could she wear another man's ring to see Liang He? She was mortified, frantically trying to explain, "This... this..." She stammered twice before the tragic realization hit her: she was already wearing another man's ring. Other than being his student, what other identity did she have to see Liang He?
"Remember to invite me on the big day," Liang He said, naturally giving her a way out. A faint smile appeared on his pale face. "I'll prepare a large red envelope for you."
Qiu Yun looked up sharply, staring at him in a daze.
—*"What if I said he and I are in love?"*
—*"Then I'd wish you a long life together and many children!"*
The words were still ringing in her ears. The joke she had used to tease him back then seemed so absurd and ironic now.
Just then, He Bowen came over to remind Liang He it was time for his daily tests. Liang He nodded to Qiu Yun in apology. "Wait for me a moment."
He Bowen pushed Liang He toward the bedroom.
The room fell silent, leaving Qiu Yun alone.
The villa was very empty. The decor was extremely simple, even dated, reminiscent of the 1980s style. Qiu Yun stood up, greedily and carefully examining the interior furnishings. They had been the very first visitors to this villa. Back then, facing the empty rooms, Liang He had enthusiastically described his blueprint for the future, his strong arms gesturing here and there.
*"This is the foyer; I'll put a row of cabinets here later..."*
*"This is the living room; facing south, you can see the lake. It's quite nice..."*
*"This is the dining room; when the time comes, I'll go to my relative's wood factory and get a large redwood round table..."*
...
The foyer had cabinets. An armchair faced the lake. The dining room held a large redwood round table that didn't belong to the current era's trends...
Everything he had said, he had done.
Qiu Yun closed her eyes, and tears flowed freely.
Her legs felt weak, and she reached out to steady herself against the wall. The wall was cold. She remembered that behind this stairwell, there was a large, blank wall.
*"This... this wall is perfect. It's just right for hanging the Diamond Sutra we write every year..."*
She groped her way there timidly and slowly opened her eyes. In an instant, her tears surged forth like a landslide.
The wall was hung with thirty-two meticulously framed pieces of calligraphy. They were the thirty-two sections of the *Diamond Sutra*, from 1988 to 2019—one section per year, one year per section.
Thirty-two years, never interrupted.
Strangely, only the first piece bore a signature and a seal. It was written in small regular script: "Wuchen Year of the Dragon," accompanied by a seal that read "Blade and Wood." All the other pieces were blank at the end, without a single word or seal.
They were empty, still waiting...
Still waiting for the unfinished vow.
***
