I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 11

In the week following the zoo trip, An Chuxin seemed to vanish.

It was not a physical disappearance; she still appeared in the classroom on time to deliver lectures, grade assignments, and maintain discipline. However, Cheng Sutong could sense a profound tension in the teacher’s eyes.

An Chuxin began receiving more phone calls. Each time, she would hurry to the end of the corridor and speak in a hushed tone, returning with a face that grew paler by the minute. Twice, Cheng Sutong saw her in the office, pressing her fingers against her temples with her head bowed, remaining motionless for a long time.

During Friday’s Physics class, An Chuxin made a mistake. She wrote a simple formula incorrectly and stared at the blackboard for several seconds before realizing it, then silently erased and rewrote it.

The entire class was stunned because An Chuxin never made such errors.

When the bell rang, Cheng Sutong lingered until she was the last to leave. As she passed the podium, she saw An Chuxin looking down at her lesson plans, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Teacher An,” she said softly, “are you alright?”

An Chuxin looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, and heavy dark circles sat beneath them.

“I am fine. You should head home,” she replied.

But Cheng Sutong did not leave. She stood there watching An Chuxin organize the same stack of test papers three times, yet the order remained wrong.

“Teacher An,” she called out again, helping her straighten the papers. “The day after tomorrow is the weekend.”

An Chuxin’s hand stopped moving.

“I know a place,” Cheng Sutong continued, her heart racing. “There is a small mountain in the western suburbs. It is not high, and the path is easy to walk. I go there whenever I am in a bad mood.”

She paused and added, “The doctor said that spending time in nature is good for one’s emotions.”

She had made that last part up.

“Is it far?” An Chuxin asked.

“Not far. We can take the bus; it takes about forty minutes.” Sutong knew how to drive and even felt that since An Chuxin was so exhausted, she should take the wheel instead. However, she knew the teacher would never agree, especially since her seventeen-year-old self did not yet have a driver’s license.

“What time?”

“Any time that is convenient for you,” Cheng Sutong said, her heart beating even faster. “I checked the forecast, and it will be sunny the day after tomorrow.”

“Nine o’clock,” An Chuxin finally said. “Meet me at the school gate.”

The Sunday morning was shrouded in a thin mist. Cheng Sutong arrived twenty minutes early, carrying a backpack filled with water, tissues, adhesive bandages, compressed biscuits, and chocolate.

An Chuxin appeared exactly on time. She wore a simple navy blue tracksuit that looked somewhat old but was washed very clean. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup.

Sutong wore a crisp white shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. Her flowing hair gave her a vibrant, youthful, and refreshing appearance.

“Morning,” Cheng Sutong said softly.

“Morning,” An Chuxin replied, her gaze lingering on the girl’s face. “Did you have breakfast?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Good.”

After their brief exchange, they boarded the bus. The early weekend bus was nearly empty, and they sat side by side in the back row. An Chuxin leaned against the window with her eyes closed as if she were sleeping, but Cheng Sutong could see her eyelashes trembling slightly.

They did not say a word during the forty-minute ride.

The mountain in the western suburbs was indeed not very high, with an elevation of only a few hundred meters and well-maintained stone steps. Because it was the weekend, there were scattered groups of hikers, mostly the elderly and children.

“Let us go this way,” Cheng Sutong said, leading An Chuxin onto a side path. “This route is quieter.”

The side path was a dirt road but very level, flanked by tall pine and fir trees. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and the air smelled of earth and foliage mixed with a faint scent of pine.

They walked one after the other. An Chuxin walked slowly with heavy steps. Cheng Sutong looked back at her frequently, wanting to say something but repeatedly swallowing her words.

After about twenty minutes, they reached a small platform with a stone bench. The edge of the platform was a cliff with a wide-open view where the distant outline of the city shimmered through the mist.

“Let us rest here for a bit,” Cheng Sutong suggested.

An Chuxin nodded and sat on the bench. Cheng Sutong took a bottle of water from her bag and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” An Chuxin said as she took it and took a small sip.

They sat side by side looking at the distant city. The mountain breeze carried a chill, fluttering the stray hairs on An Chuxin’s forehead.

“My mother,” An Chuxin suddenly began, “was sent back to the emergency room yesterday afternoon.”

Cheng Sutong’s heart tightened.

“It is cerebral edema. The intracranial pressure is too high,” An Chuxin continued, her eyes fixed on the distance. “The doctor said it might be just a matter of days now.”

The wind grew stronger, making the pines rustle like the sound of ocean waves.

“I stayed at the hospital all night. I watched her breathe and counted her heartbeats. I thought that if she leaves, I will truly be alone in this world. My father is long gone, and I have drifted apart from my relatives. My mother and I have relied on each other for years.”

An Chuxin’s voice began to tremble.

“Since she got sick, all I have thought about is how to earn money, how to find the best doctors, and how to make her live one day longer. I thought I was strong enough. I thought I could hold on.”

She lowered her head and buried her face in her hands.

“But when the doctor asked me to sign the critical illness notice yesterday, my hand shook so much that I could not even hold the pen.”

Her shoulders began to shake, and broken sobs escaped through her fingers.

Cheng Sutong froze. She looked at An Chuxin’s trembling back, seeing the woman who was always upright and invincible now completely breaking down before her. All words of comfort felt hollow.

Sutong opened her arms for a wide embrace. An Chuxin could no longer restrain herself and threw herself into the girl’s arms, her crying growing louder. She buried her face in Cheng Sutong’s shoulder, and her hands clutched the girl’s clothes tightly.

Sutong raised her other hand and gently patted An Chuxin’s back.

“It is okay, Teacher An. If it is about the money, I have some in my card. I can lend you sixty thousand,” she whispered, having no intention of ever being paid back.

An Chuxin refused the offer. “Thank you, but keep it for yourself.”

The mountain wind howled past, drying their tears only to bring new ones.

An Chuxin cried for a long time, releasing the months of anxiety, fear, exhaustion, and despair. When she finally looked up, her eyes were red and swollen, and her face was tear-stained.

“I am sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I lost my composure.”

Cheng Sutong shook her head, feeling only heartache. She took a tissue from her bag and handed it over, then helped the teacher wipe away her tears.

An Chuxin took the tissue and slowly dried her face. The morning light shone on her, revealing the small wrinkles and traces of fatigue, but she looked much more real.

Sutong pulled out a pair of wired earphones and began playing music. She tentatively placed one earphone into An Chuxin’s ear, and the teacher did not refuse. She played the songs “The Summer Wind” and “Your Arrival,” which she was thankful to have downloaded on her phone.

“Cheng Sutong,” the teacher said suddenly, “why did you bring me here?”

Cheng Sutong was startled. “Because you looked like you needed a rest.”

“No,” An Chuxin said while looking at her with a complex light in her eyes. “You know about my mother and the pressure I am under. You could have pretended not to see it. You could have kept your distance like the other students.”

She paused and asked, word by word, “Why do you keep coming closer to me? Why do you care about me?”

It was a sharp question.

Cheng Sutong fell silent. She looked at the undulating mountains in the distance and the clouds moving slowly across the sky. After a long time, she spoke.

“Because I know what it feels like to hold everything in by yourself.”

An Chuxin’s expression shifted.

“My father loves me very much, but he is busy earning money to support the family. When I was sick, I went to the hospital alone, got my medicine alone, and remembered my follow-up appointments alone. I got used to carrying everything by myself. I got used to never telling anyone that I was in pain or that I was afraid.”

She turned to look at An Chuxin.

“But Teacher An, do you know? Just because you are used to something does not mean it is right. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I am looking at another version of myself. You are desperately keeping your back straight, desperately pretending everything is fine, and desperately telling yourself that you can do this.”

“But look,” she continued, pointing at An Chuxin’s swollen eyes, “tears will fall, and breakdowns will happen. Humans are not machines. There is a limit to how much one can endure.”

The mountain breeze blew again, carrying the fragrance of pine needles. A bird flew past the treetops with a crisp chirp.

An Chuxin looked at her and then smiled gently. The smile was weary but carried a sense of relief.

“You are right,” she said. “Humans have limits.”

She stood up, walked to the edge of the platform, and took a deep breath while leaning against the railing. The mountain air was crisp and full of life.

“Cheng Sutong,” she said with her back to her, “if my mother really passes away, will you stay with me?”

Cheng Sutong stood up and walked to her side. They stood together looking at the rolling forest below and the city where they lived in the distance.

“I will,” she replied without hesitation. “Whenever you need me, I will be there.”

“Good,” An Chuxin said. “Then I promise you that if you need me, I will be there too.”

It was an exchange of promises.

“Let us keep going up. I want to see the view from the summit.”

“Okay.”

They resumed their journey. This time, An Chuxin’s steps were lighter. Cheng Sutong walked beside her, occasionally pointing out wildflowers or strangely shaped trees, engaging in light conversation.

As they neared the summit, the path became steeper. An Chuxin reached out to pull Cheng Sutong up, and their hands intertwined briefly. The warmth of that touch remained in their palms.

The view from the summit was indeed much broader. The entire city was laid out before them, and the distant river sparkled in the sunlight.

“It is beautiful,” An Chuxin whispered.

“Yes,” Cheng Sutong said as she stood beside her, the wind blowing her hair. “Every time I come here, I feel that the world is huge and my troubles are very small.”

An Chuxin turned to look at her. “What are your troubles?”

Cheng Sutong fell silent. She could not say that she would not live past twenty-three, or that she was from the future.

Finally, she only said, “I am afraid of being abandoned, afraid of being alone, and afraid that I will not make it to tomorrow.”

An Chuxin’s gaze softened. She raised her hand and touched the girl’s face.

“That will not happen. At least for now, I am here.”

On the bus ride back, An Chuxin actually fell asleep. Her head rested against the window, her breathing was steady, and her brow was completely relaxed.

Cheng Sutong sat next to her, stealing glances at her sleeping profile. She thought to herself that the teacher was very beautiful. The thought jumped out without warning, making Cheng Sutong’s cheeks flush. She quickly looked away toward the passing streetscape.

An Chuxin woke up when the bus reached the stop. She rubbed her eyes, looking a bit embarrassed. “I fell asleep.”

“You were too tired. Go home and get some rest,” Cheng Sutong suggested.

“Yes.” An Chuxin stood up and looked back at Cheng Sutong before getting off. “Thank you for today.”

“You are welcome.”

“See you on Monday.”

“See you on Monday.”

Cheng Sutong stood there watching her figure grow smaller in the distance until she disappeared. Then, she took out her phone and sent a message.

“Teacher An, let me know when you get home!” she wrote, followed by a puppy winking emoji.

The reply came quickly.

“I will. You too,” An Chuxin wrote, followed by a cat smiling emoji.

One night, while An Chuxin was keeping watch at the hospital, she received a long text message from Cheng Sutong. There were no words, just a single photograph.

The photo was taken from the mountain summit. The view was vast, with the city shining under the sun. In the corner of the photo, there was a hand belonging to An Chuxin, which was holding the railing with long, well-defined fingers.

Below the photo, Cheng Sutong had written, “Teacher An, this is the best photo I took today. It is not just because the scenery is beautiful, but because your hand is in it. Look, your hand is holding the railing as if it is supporting the world. Because you are in it, this world has become something I can rely on.”

An Chuxin saved the photo and set it as her phone wallpaper.

The city lights flickered on one by one, and in the hospital room, her mother’s ventilator made a rhythmic sound. An Chuxin held her mother’s hand and whispered, “Mom, I met someone today. She makes me feel that perhaps after you leave, I will not be completely alone.”

Her mother’s finger moved slightly in her coma, as if to signal that she could rest easy. An Chuxin’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time she did not cry out loud. She simply held her mother’s hand and looked at the photo on her phone, looking at her own hand in the image and the distant city they shared.

The string in her heart that had been pulled tight for so long finally loosened by an inch. That single inch was enough to let her breathe.

At the same time, Cheng Sutong lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. She thought about what An Chuxin had said on the mountain about being there for her. Those words echoed in her heart.

She was no longer just the Cheng Sutong who needed to be saved. She was also An Chuxin’s Cheng Sutong, the person who would offer help during a breakdown, lead her up a mountain when she was lost, and tell her she still had someone when she felt she had nothing left.

Outside, the summer air grew thicker.

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