I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 26

The winter of the fourth year.

The classrooms of the medical school always carried a faint scent of disinfectant. Cheng Sutong sat in the last row by the window, watching Shen Shu explain “Electrophysiology of Myocardial Cells” at the podium.

She was attending this elective course, Introduction to Basic Medicine, not out of interest, but as a form of observation. She wanted to see how those cold terms from her medical records were discussed in a healthy academic context.

Shen Shu was a second-year graduate teaching assistant who had been pulled in to substitute. His lecture was clear and even brilliant, using animations to demonstrate the conduction of action potentials. As Cheng Sutong watched the simulated heart cells throbbing on the screen, her fingers unconsciously traced a simple outline of a heart on the edge of her notebook.

“Therefore, students,” Shen Shu concluded, scanning the room, “the precision of the heart lies in the fact that billions of cells must work in synchronization. A disruption in any single link can lead to the collapse of the entire system.”

A student raised a hand. “Senior Shen, are congenital structural abnormalities like having the wrong factory settings?”

Shen Shu adjusted his glasses and thought for a few seconds. “You could understand it that way. But the greatness of modern medicine lies in our ability to rewrite some of those factory settings through surgery. More importantly,” he paused, “even if the structure is imperfect, as long as it is properly maintained, many hearts can still function well for many years. It is simply a special machine that requires more careful maintenance.”

The classroom rippled with soft laughter of understanding. Cheng Sutong, however, lowered her eyes and lightly tapped her pen on the heart she had drawn.

Careful maintenance, she thought. He makes it sound so simple. Does he know how many pills one must swallow for every maintenance check, or the side effects one must endure? Does he know the feeling of waiting for a verdict while monitoring data? No, he only knows the theoretical “functioning well for many years.”

The bell rang, and students swarmed out of the classroom. Cheng Sutong packed her things slowly, preparing to leave through the back door.

“Cheng Sutong?” Shen Shu’s voice came from the podium.

She looked back. Shen Shu had stepped down, holding a class roster and smiling at her. “I noticed you were listening very intently. Do you have any questions?”

“No,” she replied shortly, turning to leave.

“Wait a moment.” Shen Shu walked over quickly to block her path. “You are from the College of Culture and Tourism, right? Why did you take an elective in medical introductory?”

Cheng Sutong looked up at him. Shen Shu was tall, wearing a crisply ironed light blue shirt under his white lab coat. He radiated a very wholesome energy.

“I was curious,” she gave the most perfunctory answer.

Shen Shu did not seem to mind her coldness. He looked at the notebook in her hand, his gaze falling on the heart she had sketched. “That is a good drawing. It has the precision of a medical illustration. Are you particularly interested in the heart?”

The question was too direct. Cheng Sutong’s fingers tightened.

“I suppose,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Senior Shen, I have another class. I should go.”

“Alright.” Shen Shu stepped aside but spoke softly as she passed. “If you are truly interested, you can find me at the medical library. They have many excellent anatomical atlases and pathological collections that might inspire your art.”

Cheng Sutong did not respond and hurried out of the room.

After that, Shen Shu began to appear more frequently.

The first time was three days later at a campus café. Cheng Sutong was staring at her sketchbook, wondering how to use lines to represent the “density of waiting,” when a warm latte was placed gently by her hand.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Shen Shu stood by the table holding his own coffee. “I saw you sitting here for a long while. Is art school homework that exhausting?”

Cheng Sutong looked at the latte. The foam art was a perfect heart; it was too deliberate.

“Thank you, but I already bought one.” She pointed to the cold Americano on the table.

Shen Shu sat across from her without any embarrassment. “Then I will drink it.” He took a natural sip of the latte. “Actually, I came to apologize.”

Cheng Sutong looked up.

“I was too direct in the classroom last time. I checked the schedule and found out you are Cheng Sutong, a sophomore in the Academy of Fine Arts who enrolled with the highest score in your major last year. I also heard,” he paused, his voice softening, “that your health is not great and that you had a major surgery.”

Cheng Sutong’s back stiffened slightly.

“I do not mean to pry into your privacy,” Shen Shu added immediately. “It is just that my mentor mentioned you. He said you are special—an art student who can understand professional papers and ask insightful questions.” He looked into her eyes. “So, when I saw your drawing of the heart, I just thought that maybe we would get along. After all, there are not many people who combine medicine and art in their thinking.”

The speech was flawless: polite, sincere, showing he had done his research without being overbearing.

Cheng Sutong looked at him, her twenty-three-year-old soul analyzing the situation. This was a standard procedure: show interest, express apology to create a sense of debt, throw out a common topic, and request further contact. It was a textbook opening for a pursuit.

She had seen too many “standard answers” in her time.

“Senior Shen, are you this meticulous with every student you are interested in?”

Shen Shu blinked, then laughed. “No, only with someone special.” He did not dodge; he met her gaze directly. “I think you are very special, Cheng Sutong. There is something in your eyes that goes beyond your age. It is not just because of the illness; it is a…” He seemed to search for the right word. “A clarity from having seen the back of the world.”

The observation was accurate so accurate that it sent a small tremor through her heart.

But she immediately realized that what Shen Shu admired was exactly what she wanted to escape: the weariness born of an early encounter with death and loss. The “clarity” he saw was the post-traumatic residue she had paid for with half her life.

She closed her sketchbook. “You flatter me, Senior. I am just an ordinary student. Besides, I already have someone I love.”

She threw down her card directly. This was the most efficient way for an adult to reject someone.

Shen Shu’s expression froze for a moment, but he recovered quickly. He did not ask who it was or act defeated. He simply nodded. “I guessed as much. Someone like you would surely have someone living in their heart already.”

He paused and took another sip of coffee. “But I still want to say, Cheng Sutong, you deserve a life that is light and free of burdens. Being with someone who understands your body and can give you professional support would make you more free. You would not have to worry constantly if the other person understands your limitations. You would not have to explain why you cannot stay up late, why you cannot exercise vigorously, or why you need regular check-ups.”

Shen Shu’s future was clear and bright: a top-tier hospital, research, and a stable family. He said gently, “I can give you a secure future.”

He looked at the faint silver chain beneath her collarbone—the ring hidden inside her clothes—and his voice was warm and earnest. “Love is not just a heartbeat; it is the support for practical life. I can give you that support. You can safely rely on me.”

Who doesn’t want things to be easy? Who wants to carry a time bomb forever and be in a relationship where they don’t even dare to think about the future?

Shen Shu was offering a perfect life plan. He could provide professional medical security, stable emotional support, and a safe, flat path through life.

And what about An Chuxin, whom she was waiting for? Between them was the pressure of crossing teacher-student ethics and the agony of a six-year separation. That path was overgrown with thorns.

But in the next second, the image that flashed before her eyes was An Chuxin on Qingwu Mountain, her eyes red but smiling as she put the ring on her. It was the absolute trust when An Chuxin said, “I want your full six years.” It was the steady heartbeat of An Chuxin as she carried her through the campus on a rainy night.

What An Chuxin gave her was “possibility.”

It was the breathtaking possibility of growing a flower together on the edge of a cliff.

Cheng Sutong let out a soft breath. For the first time in front of Shen Shu, she reached into her collar and pulled out the ring. The plain silver band glowed softly in the dim light of the café.

“Senior Shen, you are right. An easy life is very tempting for an ordinary person.”

Shen Shu’s eyes darkened as they fell on the ring.

Cheng Sutong looked up and met his gaze. “But someone taught me one thing: true love is not about giving you a harbor to hide in forever. It is about believing you have the strength to cross the storm and waiting for you at the other end.”

She paused, her fingertips tracing the engraving on the inside of the ring.

“The relationship between her and me has never been one of ‘dependency.’ It is a choice. It is me choosing to walk toward her even though I know the road ahead is difficult. And she chose to believe that I could walk these six years alone and return to her whole.”

She pressed the ring back against her chest and stood up. “So, thank you for the coffee. I have already chosen my path. It might be hard, but every step will be my own footprint.”

Shen Shu remained frozen in place, watching the girl with eyes as steady as stone. He finally understood where he had lost. He had offered a perfect life plan for “Cheng Sutong, the heart patient.”

But she never wanted a “standard answer.”

She wanted a “bonus question” with no solution that existed only for her and An Chuxin. And she had already used her entire life to write her answer.

That night, Cheng Sutong drew the scene from the café in her sketchbook. She did not draw Shen Shu. She only drew her own hand resting on the table next to the cold Americano, with the reflection in the coffee faintly showing the outline of the ring on her chest.

Beside the drawing, she wrote:

“Someone offered me a proposal for an easy life today.

I politely declined.

Because I found that walking that difficult road with you has become the most inseparable habit of my life.

In this habit, there is pain, there is waiting, and there is uncertainty.

But there is also a sense of being alive that no amount of ease can replace.”

After finishing, she closed the book and pressed her fingers gently onto the cover.

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