Chapter 11 The Fever
After that day, Ji Chuan came down with a high fever.
They said he was hospitalized.
It was quite serious.
His mother called and asked if I could visit him at the hospital.
I politely refused.
I was getting ready to move into the wedding house.
Song Zhong Zheng had bought it long ago but never once stayed there.
A few weeks later, the last time I went back to move the rest of my things, it was a snowy evening.
An unusually late spring snow.
Someone opened the door.
I thought it was my mom. Then I saw Ji Chuan.
"You're moving out?"
I nodded.
He looked much thinner—like he had rushed over. His face was pale, snow still dusting his shoulders.
"Weren't you in the hospital?" I asked.
He gave a half-smile. "You never came to see me once."
"I didn't want to."
His eyes flickered.
He smiled faintly and pushed the box behind him toward me.
"You left some things at my place."
Inside the box were more than a decade's worth of letters I had written to him.
One after another.
Ji Chuan had been present at almost every important moment of my school years.
"I don't want them anymore. Throw them away."
"If you want them thrown out, do it yourself."
I picked up the box and headed for the door.
He let me go.
But when I reached the doorway, I found the door locked.
"What are you doing?"
"Oh, sorry." He handed me the key. "Forgot."
I reached for it. His fingers suddenly locked around mine.
I instinctively pulled back.
He pressed his full weight against my shoulder.
"Don't leave me. Please."
His voice was painfully humble.
"Why?" His voice cracked. "Why?"
I felt a faint coolness on my shoulder. Only then did I realize he was crying.
He asked me why over and over.
Why, after liking him for so many years, could I suddenly stop?
Why had I always looked back before, but not this time?
Why couldn't I wait for him?
He said he came back this time ready to start over with me.
That now, he loved me more than I had ever loved him.
I shoved him away with all my strength.
A deep wave of disgust rose inside me.
"So what? You love me now, so I have to respond?"
"Did you ever respond to me all those years?"
"Not even once."
"Now I don't want to hear another word from you."
I grabbed the lighter from the table. A small flame caught the letters in the box.
Firelight danced in his eyes.
He lunged forward, hands tearing at the burning pages, desperately trying to put out the sparks.
He didn't care about the skin on his hands tearing open again. He kept smothering the flames.
But the letters had already turned black.
He looked up.
I was already gone from the room.