A thunderstorm had raged through the night, leaving the morning air exceptionally clear. The temperature was no longer as stifling as the previous days of midsummer heat; instead, an unexpected autumnal coolness had settled in. Qiu Yun glanced at the calendar. The "End of Heat" solar term had passed a few days ago, meaning summer was drawing to a close and the sweltering days would soon be over.
Perhaps due to the pleasant weather, Liang He’s spirits seemed better than they had been recently. He wanted to get out of bed and move a little, so Qiu Yun helped him into his wheelchair and pushed him to the large floor-to-ceiling window in the living room to soak in the sun.
While helping him up, Qiu Yun caught a glimpse of the bruising on his ankles—likely just the tip of the iceberg, with more hidden beneath his trousers. Subcutaneous bleeding was the most common clinical symptom of leukemia, yet it remained a harrowing sight. Qiu Yun suppressed her emotions. She did not cry, nor did her eyes even redden. She turned around with a smile and wheeled Liang He toward the window, acting as if she hadn't seen the bruises at all.
"The weather is lovely today," Liang He remarked.
"It is. It rained yesterday, so it’s not as hot."
"The breeze outside must be very refreshing."
"Yes, it was when I came up this morning."
"Then open the window for me," Liang He said.
"Open the window?" Qiu Yun hesitated.
"Go on, it’s fine. The air after the rain is very clean."
Qiu Yun didn't move immediately. Since Liang He had fallen ill, He Bowen had installed the latest fresh-air ventilation system in the villa. Leukemia patients have very weak immune systems and are highly sensitive to bacteria; a simple cold could be a death sentence. Consequently, the villa's windows were usually kept shut.
"Go on, just one. You don't have to open them all," Liang He urged again, his voice carrying a hint of a plea.
Unable to resist, Qiu Yun opened the smallest window.
"Open the one in front as well," Liang He added.
"Didn't you say just one?"
"One is already open, why fuss over another?" he reasoned.
Qiu Yun wanted to refuse, but seeing Liang He in such rare high spirits, she gave him a playful look and opened the front window as well.
A cool breeze swept through the room, bringing with it the fragrance of damp earth.
Liang He took a deep breath.
"In a little while, the osmanthus will bloom," he said suddenly.
"Osmanthus?"
"Around September, there’s a small grove of Golden Osmanthus in this complex. The scent fills the entire neighborhood."
"Oh, that must be... very fragrant," Qiu Yun replied somewhat flatly. She didn't have much of an affinity for flowers, but she was curious how Liang He knew about the September fragrance when he hadn't lived here before.
"I only moved in after I got sick," he explained, as if reading her mind. "The house was empty before that. But I still came here once a year, usually between September and October. Every time I came, I was drawn by the osmanthus. I heard they planted many flowers here, for all four seasons. By the way, do you like flowers?"
"I like them well enough," Qiu Yun said perfunctorily. Her focus was on his previous statement. "You came here once a year? Just once?"
"Mhm," Liang He responded softly.
"...To do what?"
Liang He glanced at her and offered a slight smile. It seemed he didn't intend to share that with her.
"He Bowen said you write a volume of the *Diamond Sutra* every year?" Qiu Yun asked tentatively.
Liang He turned his head, not denying it. "Yes."
"So, every year, you come here to hang that scroll?"
"You really are a clever child." Liang He’s smile widened. "When I was teaching you, I knew you were bright. It’s just that you have too many knots in your heart. Life is long; the past will pass. You are still so young."
Qiu Yun looked at him wistfully. "Is that so? The past will pass. Is that truly what you think, and what you’ve done?"
"I’m just a withered old man; I’m not like you." Liang He looked out the window. "If I remember correctly, you’re only twenty-six this year."
"...Yes."
"So young."
"You aren't old either," Qiu Yun blurted out.
Liang He smiled faintly but said nothing, as if he couldn't be bothered to refute a compliment that sounded so insincere.
"Professor Liang, what were you doing when you were twenty-six?" Qiu Yun asked.
"Me?" Liang He narrowed his eyes. Twenty-six. That was 1992, the fourth year after Qiu Yun had left him.
"I was already teaching at the A-City Academy of Fine Arts back then," he said.
At that time, He Ying’s mother had come to A-City for medical treatment, and he had helped find a doctor. But every time he interacted with his family, he couldn't escape being nagged about his personal life. In their eyes, Liang He had never been intimately involved with any woman his age since Lu Xialan. And by then, Lu Xialan had already crossed the ocean, married, and would never return. They all feared Liang He was heartbroken over Lu Xialan, which was why they were so anxious about his future. This was the version of the story Qiu Yun had heard from Wu Liu many years later.
"Back then... there must have been many girls who liked you?"
"Perhaps. People said so," Liang He said, without a hint of boasting. "I didn't pay much attention."
"Why? Was there no one suitable?"
Liang He smiled thinly and took a sip of water from the glass beside him.
"Or was it because you already had someone you loved in your heart?"
Liang He looked at Qiu Yun again, seemingly surprised by her directness. But he didn't find it offensive; perhaps because his end was near, he no longer cared about many things. He set down the glass and looked at the vibrant greenery outside, giving a lazy smile. "Yes."
Qiu Yun walked over and knelt before him. Carefully controlling her emotions, she asked in a soft, cautious whisper, "Is this person... the one you mistook me for that time? Is the *Diamond Sutra* you write also for her? Have you... been waiting for her all this time?"
Liang He turned his head, his gaze quietly becoming profound. He studied Qiu Yun, the student he had once taught—no, it was impossible. They weren't alike, not at all. They didn't look alike, their personalities were different, and the age gap was immense. The only similarity was the character 'Yun' in their names. Furthermore, he knew Qiu Yun’s background well; she was Sima Feng’s daughter, born in the nineties. These were indisputable facts. Yet, despite these thoughts, a crack opened uncontrollably deep within his heart, and something began to seep out silently.
"Have you ever thought that maybe... maybe this person has already come back, but... she changed? She became someone else, someone you can't recognize."
Time stood still.
That crack suddenly yawned wide, and a tempestuous wave surged through.
Liang He stared fixedly at Qiu Yun, the emotions in his eyes rolling like summer clouds.
All his life, he had been a staunch materialist, but in this moment, he felt himself waver.
☆☆☆☆☆
After a long silence, he looked into Qiu Yun’s eyes and spoke slowly.
"She said she would definitely come back to find me."
"If she hasn't, she must have her reasons."
Outside, the automatic sprinklers on the lawn suddenly hummed to life, and a small rainbow appeared over the grass. Liang He felt an inexplicable sense of relief, like a long-distance traveler who had finally sighted the finish line.
"Perhaps you are right. But whether she returns or not, I want to tell her that I never gave up waiting. Yet, I never squandered my life in that vast wait—everything I promised her, I have achieved."
He gave a serene smile, followed by a sigh. "I once thought that if she didn't come soon, I would give up. But as I thought about it, somehow I arrived at today. Looking back on this life, it feels like a fleeting Yellow Millet Dream. And this life was my own choice. If she knew, she should understand me, know me, and she must never feel guilty."
"If she really did become someone else and started a new life..." He paused, his amber eyes suddenly clouded by a layer of mist. "That... that would be good, too."
☆☆☆☆☆
Tears had long since carved two silent rivers down Qiu Yun’s face. Her limbs felt cold and numb, her mind a chaotic blur.
"I’m a bit tired." Having said all this, Liang He let out a long breath. "The breeze is making me sleepy. Could you get me a blanket?"
However, Qiu Yun remained motionless. She stared blankly at Liang He, tears dripping one by one from her chin. She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out.
"Why are you crying? I’m still here, aren't I?" Liang He pulled out a tissue for her, teasing her gently. "Go on, I’m a little cold."
Qiu Yun swallowed hard and said through her sobs, "Then... I’ll just wheel you back to the room to rest."
"No need. This is perfect. I’ll rest right here. Just get me a blanket." As soon as he finished, he added, "Oh, and in the first drawer of my nightstand, there’s a blue notebook. Bring that as well, please. Thank you."
Qiu Yun moved like a robot. By the time she returned with the items, Liang He had already fallen asleep against the back of the chair.
She gently draped the blanket over him and gazed at him for a long time. Then, she pulled up a chair and sat beside him.
☆☆☆☆☆
Qiu Yun had seen this blue notebook before. In Datong, Shanxi, in 1988, she had discovered it among a pile of serious books like a hidden treasure. It looked unremarkable; it wasn't a diary or a record of passwords, but rather a collection of figure sketches.
They were all sketches of a young woman—front views, profiles, hair down, hair tied up, frowning, lost in thought, laughing, dazed. A few strokes brought her vividly to life. Turning toward the back, there was a three-quarter profile sketch that was more detailed than the others. Beneath it was a signature:
*Yun*
*1988.08*
Qiu Yun’s tears began to fall in heavy droplets again, wetting the yellowed paper like rain. Because the paper was old and had been flipped through many times, it was very fragile. Qiu Yun hurriedly wiped her tears, terrified of damaging the notebook. She still clearly remembered the way she had triumphantly signed her name for Liang He back then. These scenes played out before her eyes like a grainy, sepia-toned film, forcefully reminding her that all of this was real. Liang He was real, she was real, and *they* were real!
It also forcefully reminded her that the passing of years was real, the shifting of the world was real, and thirty years of waiting and longing were also real.
Qiu Yun clutched the notebook tightly, her heart aching intensely.
Through her tear-filled eyes, she saw Liang He sleeping peacefully, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. Perhaps he was having a beautiful dream. What would he dream of? Would he dream of her?
His features were still so handsome—the deep-set eyes, the high bridge of his nose, the slightly upturned corners of his mouth. He looked like a perfect statue. His pupils were amber, but his eyelashes were black and long, resting against his eyelids, occasionally stirred by the gentle breeze.
Qiu Yun suddenly realized that in all the time they had been together, they didn't have a single photo together.
She quickly found a pen and, beside that signed sketch of herself, she added Liang He’s face.
He was smiling, handsome and spirited.
☆☆☆☆☆
After finishing this, Qiu Yun was also exhausted. She lowered the back of her chair and lay down peacefully. The tear stains on the notebook were not yet dry as she left it open across her chest. The temperature and the scenery today were too perfect; the sun was bright but not scorching, the wind gentle and mild. Qiu Yun stayed quietly by Liang He’s side and eventually drifted off to sleep as well.
She didn't know how long she slept before she suddenly startled awake. Turning her head, she saw that Liang He was already awake, watching her quietly. The notebook that had been on her chest had, at some point, been moved to Liang He’s side.
Liang He had never looked at the modern-day Sima Qiu Yun with such an expression. His gaze was deep and tender, filled with an inexplicable reluctance and sorrow. Qiu Yun was dazed for a moment, and by the time she finally realized something was wrong, Liang He had already begun to close his eyes, slowly and wearily.
Qiu Yun scrambled up and grabbed his hand, calling out, "Professor Liang?"
Liang He’s eyes forced themselves open a fraction. Those eyes, a beautiful amber in the sunlight, seemed to be struggling to capture one last image of the world. The corners of his mouth curled into a faint smile as he whispered, "Xiao Yun..."
Qiu Yun’s heart jolted. She cried out, "Liang He! You... you..." Countless thoughts flooded her mind, but a shred of rationality remained, telling her what was most important. Sobbing, she said, "Hold on... I’m calling 120..."
But Liang He ignored her panic and grief. He gently squeezed her hand back and whispered, "...Xiao Yun... I..."
Qiu Yun leaned in close, but his voice grew fainter and fainter until it was nothing more than a silent movement of his lips.
Then, he slowly closed his eyes.
*I... I what?*
*I know it’s you? I’ve been waiting for you? Or, I’ve finally found you?*
In that moment, Qiu Yun’s head spun. It wasn't until the hand she was holding suddenly went limp that she snapped out of her daze like a dreamer awakening. But the person before her could no longer answer her questions. That smile still lingered on his lips, but those beautiful amber eyes would never open again.
Tears burst from Qiu Yun’s eyes. She screamed his name, the words she hadn't had time to say finally pouring out: "Liang He! Liang He! Wake up! I’m Qiu Xiaoyun! I’m the Qiu Xiaoyun from the Class of '87 Oil Painting department! Do you remember me? Weren't you waiting for me? I’m back... How could you... I... I’m sorry..."
Tears blurred her vision until even Liang He’s smile became a haze. Suddenly, time rewound and space shifted. Day became night, the city became the countryside. In that scorching summer of 1988, in the cool waters of the Shili River in Datong, Shanxi, they had held each other tightly, and he had said to her with deep affection:
"I love you, Xiao Yun."
☆☆☆☆☆
*I love you, Xiao Yun.*
*I love you.* Could those three words have been what he failed to finish?
But she hadn't even had the chance to say "I love you" to him.
***
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