Times of Our Lives - Chapter 19

After the summer break, Zhang Xiujuan’s health worsened. She was so weak that she sometimes fell asleep in the yard, and Xie Meng watched over her to prevent her from catching a cold or suffering heatstroke.

 

Ji Qinyang’s music theory results came out before the start of senior year. Xie Meng didn’t ask, and Ji Qinyang didn’t mention it. The homeroom teacher of Class 6 talked to him a few times, and it seemed that several music conservatories had extended offers to him.

 

The academic workload was heavy, with piles of papers everywhere, making even the time stolen for leisure seem precious. Xie Meng spent a lot of time reviewing Chinese, with Ji Qinyang sitting opposite him, helping guide his studies.

 

“Recite a line of poetry by Nalan Rongruo that expresses longing.”

 

Xie Meng wrote in his notebook, “If life could be as it was at first sight…”

 

Ji Qinyang laughed, “Not that line.”

 

Xie Meng glanced at him, “I’m more familiar with this one.”

 

Ji Qinyang shook his head with a smile. He took Xie Meng’s notebook and wrote in neat, delicate handwriting, just like his own: “A lifetime together, two hearts apart, yearning and gazing but not meeting, who is the spring for.”

 

In early October, Ji Qinyang began preparing for his interview at the Central Conservatory of Music in Beijing. He requested a month-long leave, and Mo Suyuan planned to accompany him for the entire trip.

 

“We can have a good time in Beijing this time,” his mother said as she packed their clothes and luggage. “I remember you went there when you were very young. I wonder how it is now.”

 

Ji Qinyang sat by the window, lost in thought, and responded with a disinterested “hmm,” his headphones hanging around his neck.

 

Mo Suyuan glanced at her son, hesitated for a moment, and then slowly said, “Do you not want to go to the Central Conservatory anymore?”

 

Ji Qinyang turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. “Of course not… don’t overthink it.”

 

Mo Suyuan sighed, “I just feel like you’re not as enthusiastic. When you received the recommendation letter, you seemed quite interested, but now that you’re about to take the exam, you don’t seem to care as much.” She reached out, gently brushed her son’s bangs, and said softly, “I know you also applied to the Shanghai Conservatory of Music… but I hope you can think carefully about what you truly want.”

 

Ji Qinyang put his headphones on, holding onto the handrail as the train car swayed. Shantang Street was always crowded, except during the New Year, and the station was packed with people waiting for the train.

 

On the bridge, there was a stall selling fried stinky tofu. The vendor was familiar with Ji Qinyang and greeted him from a distance, “Want some today?”

 

Ji Qinyang waved with a smile, “No, thanks.”

 

He got off the bridge and walked along the shore, through a narrow alley, and finally stopped at the gate of Xie Meng’s house.

 

Zhang Xiujuan was sitting in a wicker chair in the yard, and the half-closed door hid Ji Qinyang’s figure from her view. She didn’t see him.

 

The boy stood quietly for a while. He heard Xie Meng calling from inside the house, “Grandma.”

 

The old-fashioned radio next to Zhang Xiujuan was playing “Dream of the Red Chamber,” and the old lady was listening intently. After a long pause, she responded, “Yes?”

 

Xie Meng came out, carrying a bowl and chopsticks.

 

“Grandma,” the boy coaxed, “time to eat.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan, like a child, was reluctant, “I’m not hungry.”

 

Xie Meng dragged a chair over, “Even if you’re not hungry, you should eat a little. I’ll feed you.”

 

The old lady muttered something, but eventually, she obediently ate the food her grandson brought to her mouth.

 

“Getting old,” Zhang Xiujuan sighed as she ate, “I’ve been having dreams lately, dreaming of your parents. They said they wanted to take me with them to look after me.”

 

Xie Meng smiled, “Isn’t my care enough for you?”

 

Zhang Xiujuan snorted, “It’s not your turn to take care of me yet.”

 

Xie Meng didn’t reply. He paused feeding her and held Zhang Xiujuan’s hand, “Let me take care of you. I’ll take care of you until you’re a hundred years old. You have to live to a hundred, or it’ll be a loss.”

 

“Silly child,” the old lady laughed, “who can live to a hundred? That’s just a lie from those opera stories.” She smoothed her hair and gently patted Xie Meng’s hand. “Grandma doesn’t want to be a burden to you… You were looking at universities in the capital recently, right? Your father studied there. I’ve never been there in my life. If my grandson could go, that would be something to be proud of.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan looked at Xie Meng, her wrinkles etched with the passage of time, but her eyes were still clear as water. “Grandson, remember this,” she said with a smile. “Grandma is not your future. You will meet someone more important than me. You will walk a long, long road with that person, living a happy and fulfilling life, just like in the stories.”

 

Books always say that young people tend to do impulsive things, choosing love over bread. When they mature, they often regret it. Many years later, when Ji Qinyang was approaching his forties, having experienced career lows and eventually achieving success, someone asked him the same question.

 

“I don’t think so,” he replied. His features, refined by the passage of time, still radiated charm, with a serene wisdom in his expression. Ji Qinyang rested his chin on his hand and looked at the journalist. The young woman blushed under his gaze and hastily glanced at her notes.

 

“Um… so, does that mean you prefer to choose love?”

 

Ji Qinyang raised an eyebrow, “It’s not that I lean towards choosing love; it’s that I would still choose love.”

 

“Don’t you regret it?” the reporter asked.

 

“Why would I regret it?” Ji Qinyang smiled. The camera captured his profile, showing a simple silver earring on his left earlobe.

 

“I’ve lost bread,” Ji Qinyang said slowly. “But I’ve always had love.”

 

However, at sixteen or seventeen, like the books say, Ji Qinyang was impulsive.

 

The young man lay on the stone-paved riverbank with his headphones on, resting by the small bridge and flowing water, letting the evening breeze cool his hot and fervent chest.

 

It was the last wind of that summer.

 

When Ji Qinyang went to Beijing, Xie Meng didn’t see him off. He had a small exam that day and received a message from Ji Qinyang after the exam. It was just four words: “Wait for me.”

 

Qi Fei lay back with his arms under his head, mumbling, “Looks like the boss is going far away… Maybe we’ll only see him during winter and summer vacations from now on.”

 

Xie Meng replied to the message and packed his school bag. Zhang Ganggang watched him, “I also want to go to Beijing. What about you, Xie Meng?”

 

Zhuo Xiaoyuan expressionlessly smacked Zhang Ganggang on the head, “First, get your grades up. Do you think getting into Beijing is that easy?”

 

Xie Meng smiled, flicking Zhang Ganggang’s forehead, “Good luck.”

 

A week ago, Zhang Xiujuan went to the hospital for another check-up. The results were not good. The doctor told Xie Meng to prepare himself mentally.

 

“My grandma has always been healthy,” Xie Meng said calmly with a furrowed brow. “Last year, she still did morning exercises with me every day.”

 

The doctor sighed, “Many people over 80 are like this. I’ve seen it before, too. Elderly people who seemed very healthy, running every morning, suddenly passed away in their sleep one night… It’s not about illness; it’s just the natural course of life and death. When the time comes, it comes.”

 

Xie Meng said nothing. He looked at Zhang Xiujuan, sitting in the corridor, chatting with another patient, her tone full of pride.

 

“My grandson… He’s in his final year of high school and doing very well.”

 

“He’s going to study in the capital after graduation… Of course, he’ll get in!”

 

“Yes, yes, he’s very filial. I’m a fortunate old lady.”

 

Xie Meng called her, “Grandma.”

 

The other patient exclaimed, “Your grandson is so handsome.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan beamed with joy. Xie Meng helped her up and said goodbye to the patient.

 

Outside the hospital, Xie Meng hailed a taxi. The car could only go to the entrance of Shantang Street. When they got off, Xie Meng squatted down in front of Zhang Xiujuan.

 

“Grandma,” he turned back and smiled at her, “I’ll carry you.”

 

The setting sun dyed the clouds red, and the clear river below the bridge shimmered with the glow of the sunset. Xie Meng carried Zhang Xiujuan along the cobblestone road, passing under a black awning boat. On his back, the old lady started to hum the tune of “Purple Bamboo.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan hummed intermittently. Xie Meng remained silent throughout. Halfway through her humming, Zhang Xiujuan suddenly remembered something and asked, “Where’s Xiao Ji? Why hasn’t he been here for a while?”

 

Xie Meng adjusted her on his back, “He went to Beijing for an exam. He’ll be back next month.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan laughed, “You see, he’s already gone to the capital first… You need to work hard too.”

 

Xie Meng didn’t respond. As they neared home, he simply said, “Okay.”

 

That evening, Zhang Xiujuan went to bed early. Xie Meng called Ji Qinyang from his room. Ji Qinyang’s voice was a bit hoarse on the other end.

 

“I’ve been singing a lot these days,” Ji Qinyang explained. “How about you? Miss me?”

 

Lying on his bed, Xie Meng raised his arm to cover his eyes, “What do you think? Don’t waste long-distance call fees.”

 

Ji Qinyang chuckled softly.

 

Xie Meng stayed silent for a while until Ji Qinyang asked, “How’s your grandma?”

 

“She’s alright,” Xie Meng replied. “Same as always.”

 

Ji Qinyang said, “I’ll be back in half a month. Wait for me, and I’ll be with you.”

 

As mid-October approached, the weather gradually cooled. The sun was nice on weekends. Zhang Xiujuan got up early, a rare occurrence. After finishing his morning exercises, Xie Meng helped her set up her wicker chair and radio in the yard.

 

“What do you want to listen to?” Xie Meng fiddled with the radio. The old lady hadn’t been this spirited in a long time, and he felt much more relaxed.

 

Zhang Xiujuan thought for a moment, “Let’s listen to ‘Daughter’s Love’ again.”

 

Xie Meng smiled, “You’ve listened to it so many times. Aren’t you tired of it yet?” Despite his complaints, he still played Wan Xiaoli’s version of “Daughter’s Love.” The old radio struggled for a while before sound came out.

 

“I’m going to do the laundry,” Xie Meng said, smoothing Zhang Xiujuan’s white hair. “Call me if you need anything.”

 

Zhang Xiujuan didn’t respond, squinting contentedly in the sunlight.

 

Xie Meng went inside and soaked the clothes one by one, listening to the somewhat melancholic voice of the male singer from the yard.

 

“The mandarin ducks rest together, and the whole garden’s fragrance intoxicates…” The old radio struggled, “Ask the monk if the daughter is beautiful… the daughter… not beautiful…”

 

The radio suddenly stopped playing music, leaving only the hum of mechanical noise. Xie Meng frowned and called out, “Grandma.”

 

Sunlight filled the courtyard, and the wind rustled the fallen leaves on the ground. Zhang Xiujuan sat motionless in her wicker chair.

 

Xie Meng stood up, “Grandma?”

 

There was no response.

 

The radio clicked as the play button popped up, silent and never to sound again.