Jiang’s mother, in disbelief, pulled back the white cloth until she saw her son’s face.
She clutched Fu Shize, screaming hoarsely, “Didn’t you tell me he was fine? Didn’t you say you saw him take his medicine?”
Fu Dongsheng and Chen Jinping pulled Fu Shize behind them, trying their best to comfort her.
Fu Shize hung his head. The events of the entire night crashed down on him like a sledgehammer, shattering his bones. His body felt as if it would collapse at the slightest breeze.
Jiang’s mother fell to the ground, wailing uncontrollably.
Fu Shize looked at them, mumbling, “I’m sorry…”
Seeing the emotional turmoil, Fu Dongsheng quickly pulled Fu Shize outside. He sighed, the sound echoing faintly in the damp corridor. He consoled in a deep voice, “Ah Ze, this isn’t your fault. Jiang Yuan was a good kid. Everyone has their limits.”
“He tried his best, and so did you.”
Fu Shize stared blankly, his eyelashes trembling, but he showed no other reaction.
Hearing the crying, Fu Dongsheng covered Fu Shize’s ears.
He heard the anguished pounding on the ground by Jiang Yuan’s parents, each thud striking him like a physical blow.
Fu Dongsheng stayed at the hospital to assist Jiang Yuan’s parents with the aftermath.
Noticing Fu Shize’s concerning state, Chen Jinping half-dragged and half-pulled him away from the hospital. As they exited, the morning sunlight stung his eyes, forcing them shut.
The rain had stopped.
Chen Jinping pushed him into the passenger seat. Once in the car, she tightly gripped Fu Shize’s hand.
He silently hunched over, his father’s oversized coat draped over him, his rain-soaked hair disheveled.
Then, tears began to fall, drop by drop, onto the back of her hand.
The police also found an open, worn notebook on Jiang Yuan’s dormitory desk.
The first few dozen pages contained research ideas from his undergraduate years. The initial handwriting was elegant, occasionally interspersed with absent-minded doodles.
Later entries became increasingly chaotic.
As if randomly flipping to a blank page, Jiang Yuan had written his final diary entry.
It contrasted starkly with Fu Shize’s memories.
In this lengthy entry, Jiang Yuan documented his recent emotional journey.
…
“I’ve been struggling lately. I used to believe my abilities were unquestionable, and that my excellence wouldn’t be outpaced by others. Pursuing a Ph.D. has shown me my true level. Every day, I face my worthless research projects, get pulled into time-consuming side projects by my advisor, and struggle on the brink of graduation. Recently, I finally had a paper ready for submission, but Che Wu gave it to a senior student, saying he needed it to secure a postdoc position. But it was my paper. I agreed, asking to graduate on time in return. Che Wu said I was cheap labor and that he’d delay my graduation by at least a year to work for him. We argued, and he threatened to report me to the school for unstable behavior and have me expelled. I never imagined pursuing a Ph.D. would be such a failure. I came to this institute full of passion for research, but the reality is that I spend every day and night helping Che Wu make money.
When I had dinner with Ah Ze, he told me about receiving the New Star Grant, which would provide him with one million yuan. He asked how I was doing, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how useless I felt. We were on par when we first came to Xi Ke University. Now, I see news and posters about Ah Ze everywhere downstairs, and our group chat is filled with his recent awards. Why has the gap between Ah Ze and me grown so large? He’s still the same as when we first arrived, while I’m on the verge of collapse. I never wanted to compare myself to him, but I… I truly envy him.
I remember how relatives would ask about my studies at family dinners, telling my younger siblings to learn from their doctoral brother studying at the best university in the country, complimenting me, and saying I’d earn millions annually in the future.
But I can’t even graduate. If it were Ah Ze, he could accomplish anything even with depression. He wouldn’t argue with his advisor over a single paper like I did. But I can’t do it. I don’t have that ability.
I don’t want to think this way, but when I see him, I feel truly miserable. Many times, I wish he wouldn’t come to see me anymore. Without comparing myself to him, I might feel a bit better. I’m too useless; I don’t dare to admit my incompetence. Ah Ze gave me his paper – to him, am I just a complete burden? If he didn’t help me, would I amount to nothing? He watches me take my medication every day – does he think I’m useless too? Does he think I’m depressed and anxious over such a small matter? He used to look up to me when we were young. I don’t want Ah Ze to look down on me.
I feel like there’s so much noise in my head, driving me to the brink. Everyone is saying I’m incapable.
I hate this powerless version of myself.
I hate how my parents worry constantly about my illness.
If only I didn’t exist.
…”
For Fu Shize, there was almost no conflict in his memories. Even when Jiang Yuan was at his sickest, he believed everything was improving.
He had always thought he would see Jiang Yuan get better.
He never imagined that much of Jiang Yuan’s suffering stemmed from him.
At the police station, Jiang’s mother picked up the notebook and violently struck Fu Shize with it. She pushed him, hitting him frantically with her hands. He stood motionless, like a kite with its string cut, allowing her to shove him.
“You said you’d watch Jiang Yuan take his medicine.”
“You told me Jiang Yuan was fine.”
“It’s not enough that you’re successful, why couldn’t you have been more considerate of his feelings when you knew he was sick?”
After being pulled away by her husband, she collapsed, burying her face in the notebook, sobbing, “It’s all because of you. If I had known it would be like this, I should never have let you two play together…”
Fu Shize was pushed into a corner, his hair covering his brows and eyes, his face covered in red marks from the slaps.
He hung his head lifelessly, his voice barely audible amidst Jiang’s mother’s hysteria.
“I’m sorry…”
The rain had washed the streets clean as if nothing had ever happened. The news was quickly suppressed, appearing on the school forum for only a few minutes. Fu Shize went to Jiang Yuan’s lab to retrieve the drone they had built for their first competition.
Jiang Yuan’s parents refused to let Fu Shize pack Jiang Yuan’s belongings or help with the funeral arrangements, explicitly telling him not to appear.
The funeral was held in Nanwu. Spring temperatures were still below freezing, and the rain turned into needle-like hail, pelting the earth. Fu Shize wore a black raincoat. To avoid upsetting Jiang Yuan’s parents, he wore a hat and mask, watching from a distance.
During the burial, Fu Shize removed his hat.
He often dreamed of moments spent with Jiang Yuan – growing up together, copying each other’s homework in class, rushing to the sports field after school to claim the basketball court, buying snacks at the corner store after meals, and Jiang Yuan protecting the younger him from bullies.
The person he had called “big brother” since childhood now lay on the cement ground, still trembling.
Fu Shize’s emotions underwent a noticeable shift. Initially, he was confused. He had given Jiang Yuan his paper, just as Jiang Yuan would buy him milk tea.
He didn’t realize that his actions would have the opposite effect, causing immense pressure on the other person.
Afterward, all additional emotions vanished, leaving only endless guilt that engulfed him day and night. If only he had checked whether Jiang Yuan had swallowed his medicine if only he had been sensitive enough to notice Jiang Yuan’s abnormal behavior if only he hadn’t recklessly pursued his excellence, if only that night he hadn’t been working on that robot and had instead stayed with Jiang Yuan.
Even if he had never appeared in the other’s life at all.
This was all his fault.
Jiang Yuan had taken this path because of him.
He had promised to watch him take his medicine.
If only he had discovered all of this earlier.
Jiang Yuan wouldn’t have died.
He became silent and withdrawn, unwilling to interact with others, fearing the emergence of another Jiang Yuan.
His insomnia worsened; he couldn’t maintain sleep in the early hours. It was as if by staying awake, he could still knock on Jiang Yuan’s door as before, and the events of that year would never have happened.
The scene that frequently appeared in his mind, that loud bang, also haunted his nightmares.
Jiang Yuan’s parents refused to see him again.
He became a sinner – in the eyes of Jiang Yuan’s parents and his own eyes.
Perhaps to alleviate his inner guilt, he collected evidence of Che Wu’s years of exploiting students and falsifying research. He wrote versions in both Chinese and English and sent them directly to mainstream domestic and international media, the president’s mailbox, the domestic academic ethics committee, and others.
Che Wu was punished.
But what about him?
What punishment should he, the sinner, receive?
The school arranged psychological counseling for students who had witnessed the scene.
Fu Dongsheng hired an authoritative psychologist for Fu Shize, but Fu Shize was uncooperative, only agreeing to live with Fu Dongsheng and his wife.
At the urging of his grandmother and parents, he returned to school.
Every corner held traces of these memories. He couldn’t concentrate at all; experiments, code, and papers were frequently erroneous. His sleep and eating patterns became extremely irregular.
He despised this terrible version of himself, feeling he had let down his elders’ nurturing and his mentors’ expectations. Yet he couldn’t face everything that had happened in that building, nor could he face the contradictions and guilt within himself.
He considered dropping out and discussed it with his advisor one evening.
“Fu Shize, have you lost your mind?” At the time, Shi Xiangzhe was walking with him on campus and nearly kicked over a nearby trash can. This professor, whom he had known for many years, his hair now white, flushed red with anger: “I’ve mentored you for so many years. Jiang Yuan’s situation has nothing to do with you. The school has also punished Professor Che. Don’t even think about dropping out.”
Shi Xiangzhe believed he had limitless potential and a bright future.
Fu Shize looked up at the crescent moon, his thoughts scattered.
He once had a thousand ambitions and wanted to maintain his pride, disregarding the world. However, beyond what others saw as outstanding and unique, he was just an ordinary and fragile person.
He couldn’t overcome obstacles and walk that broad road as others expected. The sense of guilt had already crushed his ability to live normally.
Fu Shize remained silent. Shi Xiangzhe looked at him for a long time, then just sighed heavily: “Then take a break for a while. Come back when you’re ready.”
He took a leave of absence.
Before returning to Nanwu, he went to Jiang Yuan’s workstation, where most items had been cleared away. He saw a torn photograph on the desk – it was of the team when Unique won their first competition.
Walking out of the office, endless darkness stretched to the end of the long corridor.
In a daze, he heard the sound of a drone in his ears.
It was as if he had returned to that summer.
Flowers bloomed everywhere, and young people cheered, laughing as they ran forward.
And he—
In that vibrant field of flowers, he had withered silently.
After returning to Nanwu, Fu Shize spent most of his time at Jiangnan Yuan.
He wanted to accompany his grandmother in her final days. Later, when his grandmother was hospitalized, Fu Dongsheng and Chen Jinping arranged for him to work at EAW to help him reintegrate into society.
Fu Shize complied, but during his sleepless early mornings, he often smoked, drank, and stared blankly on the balcony.
Later, he returned to Xi Ke University. He suppressed his inner pain, forcing himself not to think about Jiang Yuan. It seemed as if, just as others believed, he had broken through his fragility.
He also mistakenly thought he had moved past the shadow of that year.
Jiang Yuan’s birthday was approaching.
This once again reminded him that his guilt towards Jiang Yuan and his parents was an obstacle he couldn’t overcome, even as he rallied himself to return to normal life.
“After Zhou Tiao learned about Jiang Yuan, he sought me out many times. But I couldn’t face it,” Fu Shize was reluctant to have anyone comfort him about Jiang Yuan, even an old friend.
“Many people have urged me to move on.” Fu Shize hung his head, all expression vanishing from his ink-black eyes. “I can’t stop blaming myself. He was my brother.”
“Many times, I wanted to tell you about this.” He habitually kept his tone flat, hiding all his emotions: “But such conversations make the scenes from that time replay repeatedly in my mind.”
“Li Li, can you not blame me?” There was an involuntary bitterness in Fu Shize’s voice: “There are many things I’m very reluctant to recall.”
The twilight was heavy, and his features were barely discernible. Even in this situation, Fu Shize’s first concern was hoping that Yun Li wouldn’t feel he had concealed anything and be upset as a result.
After hearing the whole story, Yun Li looked at his slightly hunched shoulders, bearing hurt and helplessness, and didn’t know what to say for a moment.
She shook her head: “I don’t blame you.”
As an outsider, Yun Li was clear that Jiang Yuan’s situation wasn’t Fu Shize’s fault; he had done everything within his power.
“You’ve met him,” Fu Shize suddenly said.
Yun Li was taken aback: “When?”
“I was sitting in the audience seats at the side. Jiang Yuan gave you that soccer ball.”
“…”
Yun Li recalled the person she had met then. Against the backdrop of this memory, his passing made her feel sad and shocked. After a long silence, she said, “You did very well at that time. That brother, he tried hard, and so did you.”
“I don’t know how to say this. I’m not trying to persuade you to forget about it.” Yun Li remembered when Yun Ye had pancreatitis, and she was nearly broken. Her lips dry, she continued, “If something similar happened to Yun Ye, I would willingly exchange my life for his. I would blame myself a lot, and I might never forget it either.”
“When something happens to a loved one, most people blame themselves, feeling they didn’t do enough. But…” Yun Li thought of Jiang Yuan, her nose tingling slightly: “Loved ones would want us to live well. He probably wished for that too.”
She remembered those canvas shoes on the red track, and looking up—
She no longer recalled his features, only remembering that on that afternoon, his smile was warmer than the sunlight.
“You told me you knew each other for almost twenty years, and in all the days before, he was a very kind and gentle person. Someone so gentle and kind, even if he endured a lot of pain himself, would want you to live well. He would want you not to blame yourself so much.”
Yun Li didn’t believe that Jiang Yuan truly blamed Fu Shize or wished Fu Shize had never appeared in his life.
She was more inclined to believe that in the final stage, Jiang Yuan was ill.
Fu Shize didn’t respond.
Yun Li looked at him. From their first meeting, his figure had been extremely thin and gaunt, his clothes hanging on his frame. She felt he harbored many things in his heart, which equally robbed him of his former vigor.
Yun Li pondered for a moment, then asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
She didn’t want to offer long-winded comfort, only hoping to do what she could within her means to make him feel less sad.
Fu Shize closed his eyes, then opened them again. He looked ahead with a hint of weariness, his hand holding Yun Li’s somewhat cold.
“Stay by my side.”