In these past months, Aunt Shen had shown me more care than my own mother. How fortunate I was to be surrounded by such warmth.
When Chen Qiao Luo emerged from the study, his expression was serious. But when he saw me, he managed a small smile.
After breakfast, my father drove us to the airport.
The journey was steeped in the bittersweet weight of farewell. No one spoke, and as I watched the scenery speed past outside the window, a faint melancholy filled my heart.
As I embarked on this journey, I couldn’t be certain whether I would ever return. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance to see this familiar city. The thought that I might only come back as ashes in a cold, lifeless urn, carried by Chen Qiao Luo, terrified me.
Our first stop was Shanghai. We acted like an ordinary couple, visiting the Oriental Pearl Tower, the Bund, and Nanjing Road. Chen Qiao Luo set alarms on his phone to remind me when it was time to take my medication, preparing everything for me when the time came. I cherished his care, but it also made my heart ache.
We avoided discussing the future—what mattered most was the present. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how he would cope after I was gone. Would he crumble entirely? The thought filled me with dread.
From July, we traveled together, and by September, we had reached Berlin. By this time, my condition had worsened. My stomach had grown increasingly fragile; sometimes, I would vomit my medication almost immediately after taking it. I still remember looking into the bathroom mirror one morning and realizing that the person staring back at me no longer resembled me. Her face was deathly pale, devoid of vitality.
In that moment, I felt genuine fear.
I crouched down and buried my face in my hands, crying silently so that Chen Qiao Luo wouldn’t hear me. But he did. When he rushed in and saw me like that, this six-foot-tall young man broke down, sobbing like a child.
We clung to each other tightly in the cramped bathroom of our modest hotel, like two drowning fish gasping for air.
I told him I wanted to go home. And when I said it, he agreed. With so little time left, I wanted to see the people I loved.
I wanted to see my father and Aunt Shen.
I wanted to tell Tong Xiao Tian to take good care of Li Zi for me.
I wanted to visit Xu Xuan, Aunt He Pei, and Brother Xiao Hei.
And I wanted to take one last bouquet of flowers to Gu Yu’s grave and tell him that I’d soon be able to see him again.
There were so many things I wanted to do that I couldn’t wait to go home.
The night before we left, Chen Qiao Luo took me to the Berlin Cathedral. We arrived at 6 PM, just in time to hear the evening prayer. We stood outside for a while, listening, as pigeons flapped their wings and flew into the sky.
I don’t know how long we stayed there. Only when the crowd began to trickle out of the cathedral did I squeeze his hand and say, “Let’s go back.”
Yes, it was time to go home—to the place that truly belonged to us.
On our way back to the hotel, we strolled hand in hand through the foreign streets, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.
As we passed an alley, a girl’s scream caught our attention. We exchanged glances and rushed toward the sound.
The alley was dark, with no streetlights. Under the pale moonlight, we saw a towering man restraining a young girl.
I shouted, “What are you doing?”
The man, startled by our presence, tightened his grip on the girl’s neck and snapped, “Don’t come close!”
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