I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 27

The summer of the fifth year.

Cheng Sutong’s birthday fell in the summer. Her roommates at the university prepared a surprise party for her with cake, balloons, and gifts. She smiled as she blew out the candles and made a wish: that the six-year term would arrive early and that An Chuxin was doing well.

Once the festivities ended, she sat alone on the balcony. her phone remained silent, containing no message from that person. They had agreed not to contact each other voluntarily, but on her birthday, she allowed herself an exception. She opened the encrypted audio file which contained fragments of her humming that specific melody, recorded over countless late nights. The earliest recordings were hoarse and intermittent, but they gradually became steady over the years. She selected the clearest segment but hesitated for a long time before eventually deciding not to send it.

She knew where An Chuxin was. She could even imagine her during a night in that small western county town, perhaps grading assignments, looking at the stars, or perhaps thinking of her as well. Longing has weight, especially during holidays intended for reunion.

During the Mid-Autumn Festival, the dormitory was empty as local students went home. Her father, Cheng Xia, asked if she wanted to return home, but she declined, saying she wanted to study in the library. Instead, she went to the sports field and sat under an old plane tree, mimicking the spot where An Chuxin used to accompany her during physical education classes. The moon was perfectly round. She took out her sketchbook to draw the outline of the moon and then drew a small ring beside it, connecting the two with a dashed line.

She initially thought she was enduring loneliness, but she gradually realized that was not the case. She was not merely enduring it; she was learning to coexist with it, even transforming it into an internal strength. Club activities, group projects, and late-night chats in the dormitory were all part of fulfilling her promise to An Chuxin to experience a full university life. However, the long periods of solitude following those lively moments were what truly allowed her to grow.

She suddenly recalled her university life from her previous existence. It had been lonely and hollow every day. She had not known what she was living for while being tormented by illness. Back then, she had desperately wanted someone to hold her because she felt she was breaking apart. Now, there was a woman willing to cherish her and build a relationship with her, even if it required waiting. This gave her heart faith and expectation. It felt as though the heavens had deemed her too pitiful and deliberately sent An Chuxin as an angel.

Their longing was silent yet deafening. Both women were equally restrained and cherished one another. Each knew the other would occasionally click on the familiar profile picture or browse through social media updates, just like friends would. In her solitude, Cheng Sutong read, painted, and reflected. Bit by bit, she reassembled, polished, and reshaped the “Cheng Sutong” who had been shattered by disease and her rebirth.

She began to understand An Chuxin’s true intention: these six years were not meant to turn her into a social butterfly, but to make her a complete, self-sufficient, and internally rich person, even when alone. Only in this way, when she finally walked toward An Chuxin, would what she offered not be dependency or demand. Instead, it would be the most precious gift a mature soul who had completed its self-construction could give: a choice.

The choice to stand by her side was not because she needed her, but because in her already complete world, she could still clearly see a position for An Chuxin that no one else could replace. The sketch from that Mid-Autumn night was later included in her graduation portfolio. In the artist’s statement, she wrote: “Loneliness is not the opposite of love, but the testing ground for it. Only those who can cross their own loneliness peacefully are qualified to embrace another equally complete soul without consuming or exhausting them.”

Below this passage, her mentor drew a heavy red line and added a note: “This is mature love.” Cheng Sutong looked at the annotation and gently gripped the ring hanging at her chest. She could finally say without guilt: Teacher, I have finished all the lessons you assigned. Now, I am here to submit my final exam.

In the autumn of the fifth year, Cheng Sutong went to the Northwest alone to paint from life. Nominally, she was following the college’s field trip team, but upon arriving at a remote town famous for its starry skies, she quickly detached herself from the group. She carried a massive art supply bag and her bamboo flute. Her destination was a mere dot on the map: Star-Gazing Cliff. Locals said it was the place closest to the sky and also the most desolate.

The journey was not easy. She trekked through the mountains for half a day. At one point, she slipped and rolled down several meters, resulting in cuts and bleeding on her knees and arms. Fortunately, she had brought bandages. She lay on the ground in pain, seeing stars for a long time before slowly crawling up to dress her wounds. Once bandaged, she checked her flute and art supplies. Finding no significant damage, she breathed a sigh of relief. She thought to herself that it was fine if she was hurt, as long as her flute was safe.

She suddenly felt a desperate urge to send a message to An Chuxin. she wanted to tell her that she had accidentally fallen and that it hurt very much. She wanted to say that she had been thinking of her every moment for these 1,800 days. But she could not. They had promised never to contact each other except for major emergencies. She questioned her heart repeatedly, reminding herself that she was not the only one enduring loneliness and pain; her Teacher An was also waiting. Her heart began to ache as she wondered if An Chuxin also had moments of helplessness where she needed someone to care for her.

She pulled herself together once more. She told herself that she must use her actions to make An Chuxin believe that love can withstand any test. When she reached the top of the cliff at dusk while enduring the pain, she immediately understood why she had come. This place was so much like Mount Qingwu. The immense sense of silence and the loneliness that could swallow a person whole were identical. The cliff looked as if it had been split open, and the wind roared up from the valley floor.

She put down her luggage but did not set up her easel immediately. Instead, she sat cross-legged facing the open valley. In the distance, the village where the field trip team was stationed began to flicker with scattered lights. Directly ahead of her was the Southwest, the direction where An Chuxin was located. Cheng Sutong had learned to be strong from a young age and only cried in two situations: once in front of An Chuxin, and second, like right now, when there was no one around and she felt safe enough to show vulnerability. Her longing broke through the dam at that moment.

Without warning or reason, the hand holding her flute began to tremble. She missed her too much. She missed her voice, the temperature of her fingers, the scent of cold white tea on her body, the slight furrow of her brow when she was silent, and her occasional soft smiles. For the past five years, Cheng Sutong had done very well. She studied, painted, made friends, took her medicine on time, and went for regular check-ups. She lived very actively. Yet, only now on this desolate cliff did she have to admit that all her forward progress was for the purpose of returning to her side.

She raised the flute and pressed the cool bamboo tube to her lips. The jumping pain from her wounds stimulated her. If anyone were there, she would have endured it, but there was no one. She began to cry without restraint, sobbing softly: “An Chuxin, I miss you so much. I miss you so much.”

The first note she blew was dry and trembling, immediately torn apart by the gale. She stopped to take a deep breath and closed her eyes, summoning that face in her mind until the image was fixed. Cheng Sutong opened her eyes again as a hot tear slid down. She blew once more.

The sound of the flute was steady this time. It was no longer the mournful “Beautiful Myth” she had played by the river years ago; instead, she played “If Heaven Had Feelings.” Five years of time and two lifetimes of longing and waiting were refined into her breath. She let the melody flow with her emotions. The high notes seemed to question fate for such a long separation, while the low notes were lingering and tender, like a private whisper tracing every detail in her memory. The mountain wind brushed away her tears but could not smooth her furrowed brow. It lightly tugged at her clothes, but only served to strengthen her resolve.

The final note slowly faded, leaving only the sound of the wind howling through the cliff as if the world were responding. Cheng Sutong slowly lowered the flute, panting, her face streaked with tears. She looked up at the night sky, which had fallen completely. She suddenly remembered a conversation they had about the universe and physics. They had said that light needs time to reach us, so the starlight we see is how the stars looked in the past. Some stars might even be extinguished, yet we can still see their light.

Her gaze sharpened. “Chuxin, longing can also travel through time. I will definitely go to see you, no matter the distance or the cost.”

She took out her sketchbook and charcoal from her bag. Using the starlight and the faint lights of the distant village, she began to draw. She sketched the outline of the cliff and the vast galaxy. Then, she drew two small dots in the center of the scene. One dot by the cliff represented herself, while the other dot in the far bottom-right corner represented An Chuxin. Between the two dots, she used the charcoal to lightly smudge a hazy trail, as if light were flowing there.

She wrote the date and location beside the drawing and added a line below:

Tonight, I played the flute at the place closest to the sky. The wind is strong, and the sound does not travel far.

But I think perhaps the vibration of the universe can carry a message to you for me.

“I am here, and I am still walking toward you.”

Fifth Year, Autumn, Star-Gazing Cliff.

She closed the notebook and carefully packed away her flute. The night wind was bone-chillingly cold. She wrapped her coat tightly around herself, took one last look at the southwestern sky, and turned to walk down the mountain. Her steps were steady as she descended.

It was late night by the time she returned to the village guesthouse. Her roommate asked sleepily, “Sutong, where did you go? You came back so late.”

Cheng Sutong smiled in the dimness and said softly, “I went to talk to the stars for a while.”

The girl muttered something about being a “literary youth,” turned over, and went back to sleep.

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