There were not many cars on the road, and the sedan traveled along a mountain path with a view of the sea, driving at the minimum speed limit. As they passed a few aging high-rise residences, Li Shanqing noticed that Zhuang Xu seemed quieter than usual.
Li Shanqing tried to tease him, but Zhuang Xu barely reacted, as if he were taking Li Shanqing on this city drive to fulfill a task, with no intention of chatting.
Li Shanqing, with his limited energy, grew tired of trying and quieted down for a moment to rest.
When they reached a large observation platform, Zhuang Xu turned and parked in a space, asking Li Shanqing if he wanted to get out and take a look. The wind was strong on the mountain, and Li Shanqing couldn’t handle it, so he shook his head. They sat in the car for a while.
Li Shanqing was mentally sifting through suitable topics to start a conversation when he heard Zhuang Xu ask proactively, “When are you leaving?”
“The day after tomorrow,” Li Shanqing said, glancing at him and explaining in detail. “My aunt has already found a house for me, and Mary will go with me. My parents even chartered a plane and made lots of preparations, so it should be fine.”
In fact, he was supposed to leave in mid-May, but since Zhuang Xu’s promise to him kept getting delayed, Li Shanqing set a date and postponed it three times. Even his mother teased him, “When it’s really time to go, you can’t bear to leave Bingang, can you?”
“That’s good,” Zhuang Xu said. “Safe travels.”
Li Shanqing found Zhuang Xu’s response dry. Though Zhuang Xu had recently tanned a bit from his busy schedule and looked more mature, he seemed to be sulking with Li Shanqing, acting more childish than the actual minor present.
Could it be that, even after two months, Zhuang Xu still hadn’t gotten over Li Shanqing deceiving him about attending Bingang University when he had no intention of staying in Bingang? Li Shanqing had already accepted that he couldn’t get the medical implant for now.
Who would have thought? Usually, Zhuang Xu barely bothered with Li Shanqing, yet his sense of order was so strong. Li Shanqing assumed he’d forgotten about it.
Li Shanqing looked at him a few times and asked, “Are you mad at me?”
Zhuang Xu didn’t speak at first, perhaps realizing silence might seem like agreement, and then said, “Why would I be mad?”
Li Shanqing felt a bit smug, smiled, and leaned closer, asking, “If you’re not mad, will you come visit me in Fancheng later?”
“Probably not,” Zhuang Xu said calmly, looking at Li Shanqing. “I don’t have that much time.”
Zhuang Xu’s sudden imperviousness made Li Shanqing feel both baffled and deeply uncomfortable. His health had been good lately, and he didn’t want to stay in the car with this stoic gourd any longer. He opened the door and stepped out.
The sun was still blazing, and the wind was much stronger than it sounded from inside the car. Li Shanqing, wearing only a thin T-shirt, felt it cling tightly to his body, and his hat nearly blew off.
The observation platform offered a view of vast gray buildings below the mountain, but Li Shanqing had no heart to admire the scenery. He turned back to look at Zhuang Xu in the car.
Zhuang Xu initially seemed reluctant to get out, hesitating for less than half a minute before stepping out. He approached Li Shanqing, who was clutching his hat brim against the wind. Through his tinted sunglasses, Li Shanqing saw Zhuang Xu raise his hand, take off his suit jacket, and drape it over him.
The jacket was warm, carrying the heat of a perfectly healthy body.
Li Shanqing felt a moment of confusion, slightly lifting his head to look at Zhuang Xu—Zhuang Xu’s face remained impassive, yet he’d put a jacket on him, which was odd. This reignited Li Shanqing’s tenacity to pester Zhuang Xu, and he resumed his relentless mode. “I just thought, what if you sent me off at noon the day after tomorrow? Are you free then?”
But Zhuang Xu rejected him again without hesitation. “No.”
“…”
Li Shanqing wasn’t usually quick to anger. He maintained his emotional health by staying indifferent to most things. But at some point, he’d become easily provoked by Zhuang Xu. In a rush of frustration, he couldn’t help but snap, “You really won’t come? What if I have a flare-up and die on the plane? You won’t see me one last time.”
“When asking for a favor, you can speak nicely,” Zhuang Xu said, his tone colder than Li Shanqing’s. “You don’t have to bring up death every time.”
“When did I ask you for a favor?” Li Shanqing retorted, then realized he had indeed asked, feeling a bit guilty. Not wanting to end the standoff awkwardly, he found a way to step back, softening his attitude and saying honestly to Zhuang Xu, “But if we really don’t see each other for years, I’ll miss you.”
He reached out and tugged at Zhuang Xu, his fingers brushing against Zhuang Xu’s forearm through his shirt, giving a gentle push.
After a moment, Zhuang Xu’s voice finally carried some emotion. “I really don’t have time the day after tomorrow. Want to see my schedule?”
Li Shanqing, being understanding, gave up sensibly and said, “Alright. I’ll send you my departure time. If you don’t come to see me off, whatever you’re doing then, pray for my health in your heart. Got it?”
His hat brim obscured his view, and without looking up, he couldn’t see Zhuang Xu’s eyes. Zhuang Xu said, “I’ll see if I have time,” his voice low, as if he were the one making a concession.
Li Shanqing was someone who loved to reflect and analyze every moment he deemed important, identifying emotions he couldn’t immediately recognize. He believed that once dead, one could no longer think, so he had to think and experience as much as possible while alive, not overlooking any moment.
In his twenties, while attending a friend’s wedding, he suddenly realized why, at seventeen, when his mother said he was reluctant to leave Bingang, he didn’t deny it. Leaving a place was easy for him, and he truly didn’t miss Bingang after arriving in Fancheng. His delays and hesitations were because he was attached to someone who rarely responded to his persistence yet showed up at his hospital room late at night after an argument, adjusted his clothes, and offered to stay with him.
After leaving the observation platform, Zhuang Xu’s attitude finally thawed, no longer icy. Li Shanqing didn’t keep score for himself, feeling his points were too low and unappealing. Instead, he switched to a favorable scoring method, arbitrarily deducting fifty thousand points from Zhuang Xu, then casually adding one.
Thus, a young man who came to Bingang for university drove a native Bingang resident past cable cars, bustling downtown streets filled with traffic, crowded tourist roads, the pier, and a Ferris wheel. They chatted casually, discussing experimental topics they both enjoyed and touching on Creland Company’s headquarters in Fancheng and its sustained-release device.
Li Shanqing joked, asking Zhuang Xu how much he’d pay to keep him from working at Creland’s lab. Zhuang Xu told him to graduate first. Li Shanqing said emotionally, “As long as you call and tell me not to go, I definitely won’t.”
Zhuang Xu gave a faint smile, and the afternoon’s outing ended at sunset. Li Shanqing decided he’d never cut off contact with Zhuang Xu. He wasn’t sure why, but as his own biggest supporter, if he decided not to end it, he wouldn’t.
Back home, Mary was still packing his luggage. The living room was strewn with four full-sized suitcases, as if they were meant to carry Li Shanqing’s seventeen years of life from Bingang to his new home.
“Do we need to bring this children’s drawing too?” Li Shanqing squatted down, picking up a framed picture in surprise.
“Madam said one for Bingang,” Mary said briskly, placing a stack of clothes in a suitcase, pressing down with her elbow. “One for Fancheng.”
Li Shanqing shook his head. “Alright.” He took his phone, drafted a message to Zhuang Xu with his flight time and terminal location, and wrote, “If you don’t come see me off, this is when you pray for me.”
He still hoped Zhuang Xu would show up, but Zhuang Xu didn’t, despite promising to “see if he had time.” Probably didn’t find the time—after all, time is squeezed out, not found. If Zhuang Xu wouldn’t squeeze it, how could he have it? Li Shanqing thought sourly, though this was within his expectations.
Besides, many others came to see him off: classmates, relatives, friends, school teachers, and Bingang University professors. Li Shanqing hadn’t realized he was so popular.
It was his first time flying. When sick, he’d zoomed in on every piece of land on map apps, studying Africa’s sparse vegetation, ocean ripples captured at a moment, and street views from map cars, never missing a detail. He felt he could claim expertise on Earth’s appearance, yet, inexperienced, he was still startled during takeoff.
Once the flight stabilized, Li Shanqing used the plane’s Wi-Fi to send Zhuang Xu a message: “Guess where I am?”
Surprisingly, Zhuang Xu replied quickly, “Stratosphere.”
“You have time to reply but not to see me off!” Li Shanqing complained as usual. “Did you pray?”
“No.”
So heartless he wouldn’t even lie to appease Li Shanqing. Feeling snubbed, Li Shanqing put down his phone and opened the latest medical journal to read.
Zhou Kaiqi, at twenty-eight, joined a small, underfunded lab at the invitation of his most admired and trusted senior, Zhuang Zhicheng. From lab assistant to executive vice president of the group, he met and married his wife, had children, and watched Zhuang Xu grow up outstandingly. Even his senior’s family had always been his role model, and he never imagined that one day, his senior would suddenly pass away.
From October to June, over these months, Zhou Kaiqi saw Zhuang Xu work harder and perform better than anyone, even stronger than he’d thought, a hundred times over.
Because Zhuang Xu was so young, and Weiyuan Biotech was still a developing medical group, intelligence alone didn’t easily earn respect in the industry. He often faced condescension or disregard from older peers at various events, or met with veiled impolite skepticism. Yet he never missed an industry meeting he could have delegated to Zhou Kaiqi, nor showed a trace of negative emotion despite visible challenges, pouring his heart and soul into the company’s operations.
Only a few incidents struck Zhou Kaiqi as odd and memorable.
One was a late March evening when Xu Yuanshuang and Zhuang Xu came to his house for dinner to celebrate his son Zhou Silan’s mock exam results. The family movie had just started when Zhuang Xu left early.
After the movie, Xu Yuanshuang went home, and Zhou Silan suddenly whispered sneakily, “Dad, Mom, did you know? Earlier, Brother Zhuang Xu was arguing with someone on the phone.”
Zhou Kaiqi didn’t believe it, telling Zhou Silan to focus on studying and not speculate about others. Zhou Silan returned to his room, feeling wronged.
Another was on June 5, when Zhuang Xu unexpectedly canceled an afternoon meeting without giving a reason, which was rare.
At noon, Zhou Kaiqi ate with him in the company cafeteria, and Zhuang Xu said he had to leave for something. He returned at three as usual, not mentioning what he’d done.
The last was in July, on the day of Zhuang Xu’s graduation ceremony.
After the ceremony, Zhuang Xu and Zhou Kaiqi were to fly immediately to the military district where General Qian was stationed. Zhou Kaiqi waited in the car. Since family couldn’t enter the ceremony, Bingang University livestreamed it, and Zhou Kaiqi watched for a while.
Soon after the ceremony ended, Zhuang Xu, having changed out of his bachelor’s gown, hurried to the car. As the driver opened the door, Zhuang Xu’s personal phone rang. He was about to get in and answer but paused when he saw the caller’s name, not stepping into the car.
Zhou Kaiqi heard Zhuang Xu speak to the caller in a cold tone he’d never heard before: “What’s up?”
“You chose to stay up late,” he said. “I don’t recall sending you a link to watch the ceremony.”
Zhuang Xu walked farther with the phone, and Zhou Kaiqi couldn’t hear more.
About three minutes later, Zhuang Xu returned, sat in the car, and closed the door. His screen was still on, and Zhou Kaiqi glanced at it, suddenly feeling something was off. After a moment, he realized it was the time displayed.
It was 3:30 PM in Bingang, bright daylight, with sunlight glinting off the concrete. Yet Zhuang Xu’s phone inexplicably showed 00:30, as if it were malfunctioning, its time zone broken, as though part of his life was secretly passing through the night.
