I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 17

An Chuxin was a woman of her word.

Starting from the Monday morning following that rainy night, the physics class for Class 7 of the second year had a new teacher. A gray-haired, deliberate veteran educator stood at the podium, explaining test papers in a voice that was slightly monotonous.

Cheng Sutong sat by the window with her head down, her pen moving mechanically across her notebook. She did not look up at the podium, nor did she look out the window. Her gaze was fixed on the empty corridor, the place from which An Chuxin used to walk into the classroom.

Everything seemed to have returned to the right track.

There was no private tutoring, no remedial sessions in the office, no “chance encounters” at the library, and not even the daily weather text that used to arrive punctually every morning. An Chuxin had completely vanished from her life. Aside from the occasional distant glimpse of her back in the hallway or the sight of her sitting silently in a corner during faculty meetings, their relationship had reverted to the most standard and safest teacher-student dynamic.

Technically, they were not even teacher and student anymore; An Chuxin was no longer her physics teacher.

Initially, Cheng Sutong thought someone was targeting her, intentionally stirring up trouble right before final exams to distract her and cause her to fail. She also thought she would feel a sense of relief. She assumed that as the rumors died down due to their estrangement, Teacher An would finally feel safe. Instead, she felt only a hollow sense of loss, as if a piece of her heart had been scooped out, leaving a hole where the cold wind howled through.

To make matters worse, her body began to protest. Her insomnia worsened. Every night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying that rainy night on a loop. She remembered the image of An Chuxin thrusting the umbrella into her hand and turning into the rain. It was a departure so resolute and crisp it felt as though every warm moment they had shared was merely an illusion.

Then, heart palpitations began to strike frequently. There was no obvious trigger; she could be sitting quietly in class or walking home when a sudden, tightening pain would seize her chest. Her breathing would grow labored, and her vision would darken. She secretly increased her dosage. On the blister pack of medicine brought from 2023, the bubbles in the foil were disappearing day by day. She knew this was wrong, but she could not control it.

She could not stop herself from missing the way An Chuxin looked at her, missing her warm care, and missing that afternoon in the library and the phrase, “Other people can also be one’s only salvation.”

Salvation.

Cheng Sutong leaned her head on her desk and closed her eyes. She wondered, “What if the price of salvation is dragging the savior into the mire as well?”

An Chuxin’s life was not easy either. In fact, it was worse.

Her mother’s surgery date was finally set for early July. The cost of the procedure was even higher than she had anticipated. Even after borrowing from everyone she could, and pooling all available medical insurance and subsidies, the deficit remained like a bottomless pit, a gaping black maw waiting to swallow her whole.

She began taking on more part-time work. She taught at training institutions on weekends, provided online tutoring for competition students at night, and even translated medical literature. She had minored in Medical English in college, and she never expected it to come in handy now. Every day, she rushed between the hospital, the school, and her various jobs. Her sleep was compressed to three or four hours a night, and coffee became a life-sustaining necessity. In the mirror, her face was pale and her eyes were shadowed with dark circles. Only a coat of lipstick allowed her to maintain the professional decency expected of a teacher.

But the physical exhaustion was not the heaviest burden. It was the way a certain head would quickly drop every time she walked into the Class 7 classroom. It was the sight of a retreating back hurriedly avoiding her whenever they crossed paths in the hallway. It was the knowledge that the girl was barely holding on, that she was suffering from insomnia and secretly increasing her medication. The information she gathered indirectly from other teachers felt like needles pricking her heart, causing a dense, localized ache.

But she could do nothing. Any extra attention could render their previous efforts to distance themselves futile, potentially reigniting the rumors that had finally begun to settle. She had to endure it. When Cheng Sutong’s voice trembled while answering a question, she had to suppress the urge to comfort her. When she saw how pale Cheng Sutong looked, she had to stifle her concern. When she saw the familiar handwriting while grading assignments late at night, she had to resist the desire to send a text saying, “Go to sleep early.”

She was walking a tightrope. On one end was her responsibility as a teacher; on the other was her true impulse as an ordinary person who cared for Cheng Sutong. Beneath that wire was a bottomless abyss.

The First Inquiry: Cheng Xia

The first family confrontation came from Cheng Sutong’s father. On a Wednesday evening, Cheng Sutong was sent to the hospital by the school nurse due to another bout of palpitations. After an examination, there was nothing life-threatening, but the doctor suggested notifying her parents.

When her father, Cheng Xia, rushed to the hospital, his face was stained with machine oil from the factory workshop, and his expression was a mix of worry and irritability.

“What happened?” he asked. “Is it your condition again?”

Cheng Sutong lay on the emergency observation bed and nodded without speaking. Cheng Xia frowned and turned to find the doctor. A few minutes later, he returned with the payment slip, and his expression was even grimmer.

“The doctor said your state has been very poor lately.” He sat by the bed and pulled out a cigarette, then remembered he was in a hospital and irritably stuffed it back into his pocket. “Is the academic pressure too much?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I told you, that key high school is too stressful.” Cheng Xia rubbed his face. “If it is really not working, let us transfer. Go to a regular high school where things are easier.”

Cheng Sutong snapped her eyes open. “No.”

“Why not? If you keep pushing your body like this, do you even want your life?”

“I…” Cheng Sutong opened her mouth but could not find a reason. She could not say it was because An Chuxin was here. Even if An Chuxin ignored her now, and even if only silence remained between them, as long as they were on the same campus and she could catch a glimpse of that figure from afar, she felt she could keep going. She could not voice a reason like that.

Cheng Xia looked at her pale face for a long time, then sighed, his tone softening. “Tongtong, I know you are a good kid and want to get into a good university. But health is the foundation of everything. Your mother… well.”

When he mentioned her mother, his voice noticeably dropped. Cheng Sutong knew her father had always brooded over her mother’s departure, but he brooded even more over the feeling that he had failed to give his daughter a complete home.

“Dad,” Cheng Sutong said softly, “I am fine. I just have not been sleeping well lately.”

“If you are not sleeping well, take some time off to rest.” Cheng Xia stood up and walked to the window. “I will go talk to your homeroom teacher tomorrow and see if—”

“Don’t!” Cheng Sutong practically shouted.

Cheng Xia turned around and looked at her in confusion. Realizing she had overreacted, Cheng Sutong quickly lowered her head, her voice shrinking. “I do not want the teachers to think I am a bother.”

“What is bothersome about it? Are teachers not supposed to care about their students?” Cheng Xia walked back to the bed. Watching his daughter’s evasive eyes, he suddenly narrowed his own. “Tongtong, tell me the truth. Did something happen at school?”

“No.”

“Then why are you afraid of seeing the teachers?”

Cheng Sutong bit her lip and remained silent. Cheng Xia stared at her for a long time, but ultimately, he just sighed and patted the back of her hand.

“Fine, if you do not want to say, then do not,” he said, his voice carrying a sense of helplessness and exhaustion. “But Tongtong, you have to remember that if anything happens, you must tell me. I might not be very capable, but if anyone bullies you, I will give my life before I let them get away with it.”

Cheng Sutong felt a sting in her nose and nodded.

“Alright, get some rest.” Cheng Xia tucked her in. “I will stay here with you.”

Cheng Sutong closed her eyes, feeling her father’s rough, warm palm. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes and soaked into the pillow. She suddenly remembered when she was very young, after her mother left. Her father had been both mother and father to her, clumsily learning how to braid her hair, cooking for her, and comforting her in his blunt way whenever she cried.

He hasn’t had it easy, Cheng Sutong thought. I cannot let him worry anymore.

The Second Inquiry: Mrs. An

The second confrontation happened to An Chuxin.

Her mother’s condition had suddenly improved. It was not a remission, but more like a terminal lucidity. She recognized people, spoke clearly, and could even sit up to drink half a bowl of porridge. An Chuxin took the afternoon off to sit by the hospital bed and feed her mother. The sunlight outside was beautiful, shining on her mother’s emaciated face.

“Xiaoxin,” her mother suddenly spoke.

“Hmm?”

“Lately, have you lost weight?”

An Chuxin’s hand faltered for a second before she scooped another spoonful of porridge. “No, Mom, you are seeing things.”

Her mother did not argue. She just watched her daughter with cloudy yet tender eyes. After a long while, she gently took An Chuxin’s hand. That hand had slightly enlarged knuckles and thin calluses from years of holding chalk and typing.

“Xiaoxin,” her mother said each word slowly, “Are you hiding something from me?”

An Chuxin’s heart gave a heavy thud. She struggled to maintain a calm expression. “Mom, you are overthinking. What could I possibly be hiding?”

“You are my daughter.” Her mother’s fingers lightly brushed the back of her hand. “Whether you are happy or exhausted, I can tell.”

An Chuxin lowered her head to look at the half-finished porridge. The rising steam blurred her vision.

“Is it about the money?” her mother asked. “If it is too difficult, let us not do the surgery. I have lived many years; it is enough.”

“Mom!” An Chuxin snapped her head up, her eyes instantly reddening. “What are you talking about? You have to have the surgery. Do not worry about the money; I have a way.”

Her mother looked at her, her eyes full of heartache. “What way do you have? Your salary is not even enough to cover the mortgage. Xiaoxin, I know it has not been easy for you, supporting this family alone for so many years.”

She could not continue and began to cough. An Chuxin quickly set the bowl down and patted her back. Once the coughing subsided, her mother gasped for breath and gripped An Chuxin’s hand tighter.

“Xiaoxin,” she looked into her daughter’s eyes and said word for word, “If there is someone who can make things easier for you, someone who can be with you, do not let me hold you back.”

An Chuxin’s tears finally fell, splashing onto their joined hands. “Mom, stop talking.”

“I have to say it,” her mother persisted stubbornly. “This illness of mine will not get better. Whether the surgery succeeds is up to fate, but you are still young. Your life is long. Xiaoxin, promise me, if you meet the right person, do not hesitate. Do not let a burden like me—”

“You are not a burden!” An Chuxin practically roared, her voice thick with tears. “Mom, you will never be a burden!”

Her mother said no more. She just watched her daughter cry, her own tears falling as well. Mother and daughter wept together in the afternoon sun, like two trees leaning on each other in a storm. After a long time, An Chuxin wiped her tears and picked up the bowl again. “Mom, eat. The porridge is getting cold.”

Her mother nodded, opened her mouth, and swallowed slowly. Every bite was a struggle, but she tried her best to eat. After the last bite, as An Chuxin was tidying the utensils, her mother spoke again.

“Xiaoxin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember that student named Cheng Sutong?” Her mother’s eyes were fixed on her.

The spoon in An Chuxin’s hand hit the floor with a clatter. She froze in place. Her mother smiled; it was a weak smile, but a warm one.

“Ever since the first time you brought her here, she started coming by frequently to take care of me. I told her it was not necessary, but she insisted. But she has not come lately. Did something happen between you? Last time, you talked in your sleep, and you called out that name.”

An Chuxin’s mind went blank.

“When you mention her, your voice is very gentle,” her mother continued, her gaze peaceful.

“Mom, I…”

“Xiaoxin,” her mother interrupted, reaching out a withered hand to gently stroke her cheek. “I do not understand the things you young people deal with. But I know that someone who can occupy your thoughts like that must be very important.”

An Chuxin’s tears surged again, falling uncontrollably. She grasped her mother’s hand, burying her face into that palm covered in needle marks and wrinkles, her shoulders shaking violently.

“I am sorry,” she choked out. “Mom, I am sorry.”

“Silly child, what are you apologizing for?” Her mother patted her back gently, the way she used to coax her to sleep as a child. “As long as you can be a little happier, a little more at ease, I can be at peace.”

The sun outside slowly dipped, painting the hospital room in a warm golden hue. An Chuxin cried in her mother’s arms for a long time, weeping away all the exhaustion, pressure, struggle, and endurance of the past few months. When she finally looked up, her mother had fallen asleep, her breathing steady and her brow relaxed, with a faint smile still on her lips.

An Chuxin lightly wiped her tears and tucked her mother in. She walked to the window and watched the sky outside gradually darken. The city lights were beginning to glow, and the lights of thousands of homes flickered on one by one in the dusk. Behind every window was a family, a story, and hidden joys and sorrows.

She thought of Cheng Sutong. She thought of the girl’s trembling figure in the rain, the way her eyes had been red when she said, “I cannot stand you being talked about like that,” and her increasingly pale complexion over the past two weeks, along with her frequent zoning out in class.

She was suffering, too.

This realization cut through An Chuxin’s heart repeatedly. She had thought she was protecting her with distance, with coldness, and by drawing a clear line. But perhaps she was just hurting her in another way.

The phone in her pocket vibrated. An Chuxin pulled it out; it was a bank notification indicating that another medical expense had been deducted. She stared at the cold string of numbers for a moment, then looked up at the deep blue night sky and the newly risen moon.

At the same time, Cheng Sutong sat at her desk at home. Her homework was spread out before her, but she could not write a single word. Her father was working the night shift. Before leaving, he had cooked a bowl of noodles for her and left it in the kitchen. She had no appetite; the noodles were cold now, with a layer of congealed oil floating on top. Eventually, she slowly forced herself to eat them.

Her phone screen was lit, resting on the last text message record with An Chuxin. They had not contacted each other since that rainy night. Young people are prone to impulse; every day, Cheng Sutong would click on this chat box and stare at the two words, “I am sorry,” in a daze.

She wanted to reply. She wanted to say, “I am the one who should apologize,” “I regret it,” or “Teacher An, can we talk again?” But she lacked the courage. She was afraid An Chuxin would not reply, and even more afraid that if she did, she would say, “This is better for everyone.”

The sound of a neighbor’s television drifted in from outside. The laughter from a variety show coming through the wall felt particularly piercing. Cheng Sutong turned off her phone, leaned on the desk, and closed her eyes. Her chest began to feel tight again. She reached for her medicine, only to find the blister pack empty. She had taken the last tablet of Alprazolam this morning.

The medicine from 2023 was gone. This left her feeling empty inside. She was now completely the Cheng Sutong of 2018. Seventeen years old, with a heart condition, a father working himself to the bone for her, and a “Teacher An” whom she could never return to.

Tears fell silently, soaking into her homework. Qingqing sent her words of comfort on her phone, saying, “Sutong, you have to grit your teeth and get through these final exams. Get a good score, and then go talk to Teacher An properly. You cannot break down; we are the best!”

Sutong replied with a “Yeah.” Yes, she had to pull herself together, finish the exams well, and then worry about the rest.

What she did not know was that under the same night sky, in a hospital room on the other side of the city, An Chuxin stood by the window and made the decision that would change both of their fates.

In the days that followed, Sutong did not lose heart; instead, she worked even harder. She was being idealistic; she believed that as long as she performed well on the exams and apologized to An Chuxin, there might still be a chance to save what they had.

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