I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 5

The drive from the county hospital to the school took forty minutes. An Chuxin drove her white sedan while Cheng Sutong sat in the passenger seat. The two of them remained silent throughout the journey.

Outside the car window, the scenery shifted from the dusty gray streets of the county town to the open fields of the outskirts, finally transitioning into the familiar city skyline. Cheng Sutong watched the receding landscape, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of her seatbelt.

An Chuxin focused on driving. Her profile appeared exceptionally sharp in the morning sunlight. When waiting for red lights, she would occasionally tap the steering wheel with her fingertips. Cheng Sutong noticed faint dark circles under her eyes.

The car entered the campus during the morning exercise break. The music for the eighth set of radio gymnastics broadcasted across the grounds, accompanied by the sight of students in matching uniforms moving in unison on the field. An Chuxin parked the car in a faculty spot and turned off the engine, but she did not exit immediately.

“After you return to class, if anyone asks, tell them you had acute gastroenteritis. I have already handled the matters regarding the research trip,” An Chuxin said.

Cheng Sutong nodded. She understood the meaning behind those words. An Chuxin was teaching her how to handle potential rumors and how to protect her privacy within the collective group.

“Also,” An Chuxin paused, “take your medicine on time. If you feel unwell during class, do not worry about raising your hand. Just stand up and walk out.”

This was a privilege granted in An Chuxin’s typical style; she used the sternest phrasing to offer the softest concession.

Cheng Sutong nodded again.

“Go on,” An Chuxin said, turning her head back to look forward.

Cheng Sutong unfastened her seatbelt and pushed the door open. The April breeze drifted in, carrying the slightly bitter scent of trodden grass from the playground. She stood outside the car, hesitated for a second, then leaned in and said, “Teacher An, please remember to rest as well.”

An Chuxin did not look back; she simply waved her hand.

Cheng Sutong closed the door and walked toward the teaching building with her backpack. She could feel a gaze lingering on her back. An Chuxin was surely watching her through the windshield with an expression she could not quite decipher.

The white sedan did not drive away slowly until her figure disappeared around the corner of the stairs.

The classroom for Class Seven, Grade Eleven, was located on the east side of the fourth floor. As Cheng Sutong climbed the stairs, her heart began to race uncontrollably. This was not the dangerous palpitation of her heart condition, but rather an emotion closer to tension and shame.

She stood at the back door for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and finally pushed the door open.

The morning exercise had just ended, and the classroom was noisy. When Cheng Sutong appeared at the door, the volume dropped significantly. Dozens of gazes shifted toward her simultaneously.

Cheng Sutong lowered her head and walked quickly to her seat. She could hear whispers spreading behind her.

“I heard she fainted.”

“Teacher An carried her down the mountain.”

“For real? Teacher An actually holds people?”

“She is probably just acting pathetic.”

Every word felt like a needle prick. Cheng Sutong sat down, stuffed her bag into her desk, and stared at the dense letters in her English textbook, though she could not process a single word.

Her seatmate, Song Qingqing, leaned over and whispered, “Sutong, are you okay?”

“Yes, I am fine,” Cheng Sutong replied, her voice dry.

“That is good,” Song Qingqing said, patting her shoulder. She was the only friend who knew about Cheng Sutong’s heart condition.

The bell rang for the start of class. The first period was Physics.

When An Chuxin entered the room carrying her lesson plans and laboratory equipment, the entire class fell into a strange silence. Everyone sat upright, their eyes darting subtly between the teacher and Cheng Sutong.

An Chuxin acted as if nothing had happened. She walked to the podium, set down her things, and opened the register.

“Class is in session.”

“Stand up. Good morning, Teacher.”

Cheng Sutong stood up with the others, her gaze fixed on her desk. She felt An Chuxin’s eyes sweep over the class, lingering on her for a brief moment.

“Sit down,” An Chuxin said in her usual calm voice, devoid of extra emotion. “Open your textbooks to page eighty-seven. Today, we will discuss electromagnetic induction.”

She turned to write on the blackboard, the chalk making crisp clicking sounds. Cheng Sutong looked at her back; the teacher seemed like a completely different person from the exhausted woman she had seen in the hospital yesterday.

This is An Chuxin, Cheng Sutong thought. She always knows which mask to wear.

The class proceeded according to plan. An Chuxin asked questions, and students provided answers. When students made mistakes, she corrected them with concise language; she was never sarcastic, yet she left no room for error. Everything seemed normal until she called on Cheng Sutong.

“Cheng Sutong,” An Chuxin’s voice rang out, “provide the mathematical expression for Faraday’s Law of Induction.”

Cheng Sutong stood up, her mind a complete blank. She had missed a full day of school yesterday and had not previewed the material. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest with a sense of foreboding.

“I…” she started, but no sound came out.

The class’s attention focused on her once again. She could feel the weight of their gazes: anticipation, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of schadenfreude.

An Chuxin looked at her without speaking or rushing her.

Five seconds passed, then ten.

Just when Cheng Sutong thought she might faint again, An Chuxin looked away.

“Sit down,” she said, before calling another student’s name. “Li Xiang, you answer.”

Cheng Sutong slumped back into her chair. She did not understand why An Chuxin had not criticized her. Typically, failing to answer a question resulted in being told to stand for the remainder of the lesson.

However, An Chuxin simply continued the lecture as if the interlude had never happened.

When the bell rang and An Chuxin was packing her materials, she stopped at the door and looked toward Cheng Sutong.

“Cheng Sutong, come to my office after school,” she said in a business-like tone. “We need to make up for yesterday’s lesson.”

She turned and left, the sound of her high heels clicking against the floor fading away.

Whispers broke out in the classroom again. Cheng Sutong leaned over her desk, buried her face in her arms, and closed her eyes.

The office was located at the end of the third-floor corridor in the Physics department. Cheng Sutong lingered for a long time after school before finally going. Her palms were sweaty as she knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

An Chuxin’s voice sounded slightly softer than it did in class, though it might have been an illusion.

Cheng Sutong entered the large office. There were six desks, but only An Chuxin was present. She sat by the window with test papers and reference books spread out before her. Her computer screen was on, displaying a complex list of medical expenses.

Upon seeing Cheng Sutong, An Chuxin quickly minimized the window.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the empty chair opposite her.

Cheng Sutong sat down with her bag on her lap and her fingers interlaced. An Chuxin took a printed handout from a drawer and pushed it toward her.

“This is what we covered yesterday,” she explained. “The basics of electromagnetic induction. Read it first, and ask me if there is anything you do not understand.”

Her tone was calm and purely educational. Cheng Sutong took the handout and began to read. Despite the dense formulas and diagrams, she actually understood most of it; to her twenty-three-year-old soul, high school physics was common knowledge.

Still, she pretended to read carefully, occasionally taking notes. The office was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock and the distant sound of whistles from the physical education class on the field.

As An Chuxin graded papers, Cheng Sutong stole a glance at her. The teacher was focused, her brow slightly furrowed. Occasionally, she would unconsciously rub her right wrist with her left hand, a habit developed from years of writing.

“Finished?” An Chuxin suddenly looked up, meeting Cheng Sutong’s eyes.

Cheng Sutong looked down in a panic. “Not… not yet.”

“Then continue,” An Chuxin said, her voice unreadable. However, as she returned to her grading, Cheng Sutong noticed that the tips of the teacher’s ears were slightly flushed.

Was it a blush, or just an illusion caused by the light?

Twenty minutes later, An Chuxin capped her red pen and looked at Cheng Sutong. “How is it? Are there any parts you do not understand?”

Cheng Sutong pointed to a few sections, intentionally choosing slightly complex concepts. An Chuxin pulled her chair closer and began to explain.

“Here, the rate of change in magnetic flux is the key,” she said, drawing a diagram on a piece of scratch paper. Her fingers were long and her knuckles were well-defined.

They were close—close enough for Cheng Sutong to smell the faint scent of laundry detergent mixed with the lingering odor of hospital disinfectant. She was close enough to see a tiny, light-brown mole near the teacher’s collarbone.

An Chuxin’s voice was low and steady as she explained, which was entirely different from her powerful classroom tone. This was a much more personal, one-on-one voice.

Cheng Sutong listened, but her attention drifted from physics. Her gaze landed on An Chuxin’s wrist, which featured a simple silver watch with a worn strap and a tiny scratch on the bezel.

“Do you understand?” An Chuxin asked.

Cheng Sutong snapped back to reality and nodded.

An Chuxin looked at her with a scrutinizing gaze. “Then summarize it for me.”

Cheng Sutong did so, speaking fluently and accurately. An Chuxin’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“You understand very quickly,” she remarked, pausing briefly. “Have you studied this before?”

Cheng Sutong’s heart skipped a beat. “No… it just did not seem that difficult.”

An Chuxin did not press further. She nodded, stood up, and went to the water dispenser to fill two cups. she placed one in front of Cheng Sutong and leaned against the desk while sipping the other.

Outside, there were sounds of people leaving school, the ringing of bicycle bells, and the laughter of teenagers. Inside the office, however, it was silent.

“That is all for today. You may head home.”

Cheng Sutong packed her bag. As she reached the door, she stopped.

“Teacher An.”

“Is there something else?”

“You should also rest early,” Cheng Sutong said before opening the door and leaving.

An Chuxin stood by the window and watched Cheng Sutong’s figure cross the playground, exit the school gate, and disappear into the twilight of the street.

She raised her hand to rub her temples as exhaustion washed over her like a tide.

Her phone vibrated on the desk. It was a message from the caregiver: “Miss An, your mother’s condition is stable today. The doctor at the new hospital said there will be a consultation tomorrow.”

An Chuxin replied, “Great, thank you. I will head over tomorrow evening.”

She put her phone down and looked at the chair where Cheng Sutong had just been sitting. The cup of water remained on the desk, its surface still.

She noticed that Cheng Sutong had left her scratch paper behind. In the gaps between the physics formulas, the girl had used a pencil to write a very tiny line of text on the edge of the page:

“I hope she can get a good night’s sleep today.”

An Chuxin stared at that line for a very long time.

It was not until the twilight completely swallowed the sky and the office fell into darkness that she reached out to gently touch the penciled words. The sensation was faint, yet it felt like an electric current traveling from her fingertips to her heart.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

By the time Cheng Sutong walked out of the school gates, it was nearly dark. Streetlights flickered on, casting yellow circles of light onto the asphalt. She walked slowly with her backpack on her shoulder; it was not heavy, yet she felt an indescribable exhaustion.

The bandage on the back of her hand felt loose. As she reached up to tighten it, she felt something unusual.

There was a small, hard object underneath the bandage. Cheng Sutong stopped under a streetlight and carefully peeled back the gauze. Tucked between the gauze and her skin was a small piece of paper.

She pulled it out gently. It was a neatly trimmed note, no larger than a fingernail, with very tidy handwriting that said:

“Do not let it get wet.”

There was no signature, but Cheng Sutong recognized the handwriting immediately. It was exactly like the red ink An Chuxin used to grade papers.

She stood under the streetlight looking at the tiny scrap of paper. As the night wind blew, the paper trembled slightly in her fingers like a resting butterfly.

Then, she smiled.

She tucked the paper back under the gauze. A warm sensation spread from that small spot on her hand, traveling up her arm and reaching her heart.

The streetlights lit up one by one, and Cheng Sutong resumed her walk, this time with a lighter step.

Back at the fourth-floor office window, An Chuxin stood with a red pen in her hand, twirling it unconsciously.

A roll of gauze sat next to her lesson plan on the desk. She had originally intended to give Cheng Sutong a new one, but at the last moment, she had inexplicably written that little note instead.

She turned back to her desk, turned off her computer, and packed her things. Before leaving the office, she took one last look at the chair Cheng Sutong had occupied, then turned off the lights and locked the door.

The voice-activated lights turned on as she walked and extinguished behind her in sequence.

An Chuxin walked out of the teaching building into the April evening breeze.

She raised her hand and looked at her palm. It seemed as though the incredibly light weight of the girl and the warmth of her body still lingered there from when she had held her.

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