I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 7

An Chuxin shifted her gaze and began to announce the content for the morning self-study session. Her voice remained as steady as ever.

Cheng Sutong lowered her head, her finger unconsciously brushing against the gauze on the back of her hand that was about to fall off. The wound underneath had already scabbed over and felt itchy. She carefully lifted the edge to take a look; that small scrap of paper was still there. The handwriting had become somewhat blurred, but the words “Do not get it wet” were still legible.

She did not throw the paper away. Instead, she carefully tucked it into the flyleaf of her physics textbook, placing it alongside the medicine blister pack from 2023. They were two keepsakes from different points in time.

During the morning physics class, the lesson covered the applications of electromagnetic induction. While An Chuxin was performing a demonstration experiment, a coil suddenly short-circuited and emitted tiny sparks. A soft gasp of surprise echoed through the classroom.

An Chuxin cut the power swiftly with practiced movements. She inspected the equipment with a slight frown, then looked up at the students. “Was anyone splashed by the sparks?”

Her eyes landed on Cheng Sutong first.

Cheng Sutong shook her head. An Chuxin’s gaze lingered on her face for two seconds, moving away only after confirming she was truly unharmed.

This minor interlude passed quickly, and the class continued. However, Cheng Sutong noticed that during the rest of the lecture, An Chuxin unconsciously rubbed the back of her right hand. There was a small red mark there from the sparks; it was very faint and almost invisible.

She feels pain too; she just does not say it.

When class ended, An Chuxin called out to Cheng Sutong as she was preparing to leave.

“After school this afternoon,” she said, “go to the library and help me find a few reference books. The list is in my office.”

Cheng Sutong nodded. This was the third time this week that An Chuxin had used various reasons to call her to her side: extra tutoring, organizing data, or, like today, “helping find books.”

She knew this was not a coincidence.

At 4:50 PM, Cheng Sutong knocked on the door of the physics teaching and research office. There were two other teachers inside huddled together discussing something. When they saw Cheng Sutong enter, they exchanged a subtle look.

Cheng Sutong pretended not to notice and walked straight to An Chuxin’s desk. An Chuxin was on the phone, her voice kept very low. “Yes, that medication cannot be stopped. Fine, I will bring it over tonight.”

She was talking to her mother’s caregiver. Cheng Sutong stood to the side and waited. Her gaze fell on the items spread across An Chuxin’s desk next to her lesson plans: a half-eaten box of biscuits in simple packaging, a small pillbox by the computer containing white tablets labeled “Ibuprofen,” and a thick stack of medical bills. The number on the top sheet made Cheng Sutong’s heart tighten.

An Chuxin hung up the phone and looked up to see Cheng Sutong. She quickly flipped the stack of bills over to hide them on the desk.

“The list is in the drawer,” she said, her voice sounding a bit hoarse.

Cheng Sutong opened the drawer. There was indeed a book list inside, but there were other things as well: an unopened roll of gauze identical to the one on her hand, a small bottle of waterless hand sanitizer, and a pack of individually wrapped tissues.

She has a small first-aid corner in her drawer, Cheng Sutong thought. Prepared for me.

She picked up the list, which featured three physics competition reference books. “I will go to the library now.”

“Mhm,” An Chuxin responded. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard as her eyes remained fixed on the screen. But as Cheng Sutong turned to leave, she heard her say softly, “The library closes at six o’clock. Do not stay too long.” Her voice was very quiet.

After Cheng Sutong left the office, An Chuxin stared at the medical bills on her computer screen but could not process a single word.

She is going to the library alone… it should be fine, An Chuxin tried to convince herself, her fingers unconsciously drumming on the tabletop. Three minutes later, she closed her laptop and picked up her trench coat.

I am just going to return a book I borrowed. It is on the way. She found an irreproachable reason for herself.

The school library on Saturday was empty and quiet. Sunlight slanted in through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows, and the faint rustle of a librarian tidying shelves could be heard in the distance.

Cheng Sutong intended to find some books she liked first before checking them out along with An Chuxin’s books.

Cheng Sutong was not short, but even with her height of 168 cm, she had to stand on her tiptoes in front of the philosophy section. Her fingertips could barely reach the spine of Being and Time on the top shelf, missing it by just a bit.

She gritted her teeth and prepared to jump for it when a hand suddenly reached over her head and easily pulled the book out.

Cheng Sutong turned around and saw An Chuxin’s calm face.

“Heidegger?” An Chuxin looked at the title, her eyebrows arching slightly. “You read this?”

Her tone was curious. Cheng Sutong nodded, unsure how to explain why her twenty-three-year-old soul needed such heavy philosophy.

An Chuxin did not press further. She handed the book to Cheng Sutong, scanned the shelf, and pulled out another book: Sartre’s Being and Nothingness.

“This one is also worth reading,” she said. Her voice sounded exceptionally clear in the empty library.

The two of them sat down at adjacent reading tables. An Chuxin did not handle work as she usually did; instead, she actually opened the Sartre book and began to read.

Cheng Sutong stole glances at her. She read very intently, her right hand propping up her chin while her left hand unconsciously turned the pages. Occasionally, she would pause at a certain sentence and let her finger lightly trace the line of text.

Cheng Sutong suddenly realized that she had never heard anyone mention An Chuxin’s marriage or relationship status. She was like a complete enigma, consisting only of work, her mother, and a home where she was always alone.

An hour later, An Chuxin closed the book and sighed softly.

“Sartre said, ‘Hell is other people,'” she suddenly spoke, her eyes looking out the window. Her voice was light, as if she were talking to herself.

Cheng Sutong looked up.

An Chuxin did not look at her but continued speaking, as if she were merely stating a philosophical proposition unrelated to herself. “He believed that conflict always exists between people because everyone is trying to objectify the other, turning them into an object in their own world.”

The plane trees outside swayed gently in the wind, their leaves revealing their silvery-white undersides.

“But… sometimes I think that ‘other people’ might also be the only salvation.”

She still did not look at Cheng Sutong when she said this, but Cheng Sutong saw her fingers gripping the edge of the book tightly.

What is she saying? Cheng Sutong’s heart gave a heavy thud. Who is she talking about?

The library clock struck 5:30 PM. An Chuxin seemed to snap awake suddenly and stood up quickly to return the book to the shelf.

“It is time to go. Take those books I asked you to get,” she said, her voice returning to its usual coldness. “The library is closing.”

Cheng Sutong stood up to pack her things. The two of them walked out of the library together, met by an evening breeze carrying the rich, sweet scent of lilacs.

When they reached the fork in the path by the teaching building, An Chuxin stopped.

“Can you get back by yourself?” she asked, her eyes watching the sky as it gradually grew dark.

“I can,” Cheng Sutong said as she handed the books to her.

An Chuxin nodded, took a small box out of her bag, and handed it over. “This is for you.”

Cheng Sutong took it and opened it to find a box of imported health supplements beneficial for the heart. The foreign labels on the packaging had hand-written Chinese translations pasted over them.

“A friend brought it from abroad,” An Chuxin said casually. “I have no use for it, so you take it.”

She turned and left immediately after speaking, her pace quick. The hem of her trench coat cut a sharp arc in the twilight.

Cheng Sutong stood in place holding the box, watching An Chuxin’s back disappear around the corner of the teaching building. The evening breeze blew past, lifting the stray hairs on her forehead.

Inside the box, besides the supplements, there was a tiny, folded slip of paper. She unfolded it to see An Chuxin’s neat handwriting:

“Take them on time. Do not stay up late.”

There was no signature and no extra words.

Cheng Sutong carefully folded the note and placed it in the innermost pocket of her school uniform. Then, she clutched the box and walked slowly toward the school gate.

The streetlights flickered on one by one. Her shadow on the ground stretched long, then shortened, then stretched long again.

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