When Lin Zhixia left the hospital, the sunshine remained brilliant. She let go of Jiang Yubai’s hand and walked alone along the tree-lined path. The surrounding sounds entered her ears—the noisy traffic, crisp birdsong, hurried footsteps of passersby—yet her heart was completely silent, as if a heavy snowfall had just occurred, the thick snow preventing the transmission of sound waves from the outside world.

She lifted her head, peering at the sky through gaps in the leaves.

Shen Zhaohua’s words echoed in her mind again. Teacher Shen had recited a poem by Tang Yin called “Poem Before Death”—”Life in the mortal world has its final act, what harm is there in returning to the netherworld? The mortal realm and netherworld are quite alike, just consider it wandering in a foreign land.”

Teacher Shen was very free-spirited, but Lin Zhixia felt deeply sorrowful.

Both life and death remained unsolved puzzles.

Lin Zhixia tried to convince herself with various theories, perhaps death didn’t mean the end of self-awareness, but rather the beginning of another form of existence.

Her contemplation continued for a long time. No matter from which angle she approached it, she couldn’t believe that Shen Zhaohua was about to leave.

Lin Zhixia walked intermittently along the street, with Jiang Yubai following behind her. His silence now stemmed from the tacit understanding they had cultivated over many years. He waited about ten minutes before Lin Zhixia turned around and said to him, “Let’s go home.”

Jiang Yubai reached out his hand to her, and she immediately grasped it, like a drifting boatman clutching an oar—she used a great deal of strength.

Jiang Yubai comforted her while bringing her back home.

Lin Zhixia took a long afternoon nap at home. She dreamed that Shen Zhaohua had recovered, and Senior Zhu Chan had returned to the provincial city from Beijing. Shen Zhaohua led her students to dinner at a restaurant near the school. Everyone chatted animatedly, laughing and celebrating the arrival of a medical miracle.

But dreams and reality are probably opposites.

Shen Zhaohua’s condition continued to deteriorate.

In July of that year, the hospital issued a critical condition notice to Shen Zhaohua’s family. Professor He Yuanqian took a two-week leave, and Lin Zhixia was somewhat distracted while working at the university.

The summer weather was hot, and the cicadas chirped incessantly, irritating her.

She no longer reviewed her students’ papers on the computer but printed them out, laid them on her desk, read them line by line, and wrote comments with a red pen. She wrote extremely quickly. When the ink was almost depleted and she was changing the cartridge, her phone screen suddenly lit up with a WeChat message from Shen Fuxuan.

She opened WeChat and saw Shen Fuxuan’s message: “Grandmother has passed away.”

The signing pen fell from Lin Zhixia’s hand, its tip striking a sheet of white paper, creating a deep red dot.

*

Shen Zhaohua’s funeral was held in early August.

It was another sunny day, with the blazing sun overhead, yet a chill permeated the funeral home. White silk flowers formed a circle, with Shen Zhaohua’s portrait hanging in the center. Wreaths lined both sides of the hall, with mourning couplets attached.

This was Lin Zhixia’s first time attending a funeral. Previously, her understanding of death had been rather vague, but today’s scenes were so real and vivid. She suppressed her grief, offered incense to Shen Zhaohua, and told her in her heart: Professor Gu Likai was elected an academician this year, senior Zhu Chan is thriving in Beijing, and all my students are making progress… I hope you’re doing well in heaven.

After paying her respects, she walked to the side, coincidentally meeting Shen Fuxuan.

“My condolences,” Lin Zhixia said softly.

Shen Fuxuan replied, “My condolences to you as well.”

He stood straight, his left hand hanging at his side, index finger tightly pressing against the base of his thumb, leaving deep marks. Grief and sorrow could only be expressed through subtle gestures, as he and his parents were trying hard to maintain the dignity expected of the family. How many moments in life require endurance? For Shen Fuxuan, he was facing a formidable test.

He turned his face slightly, his gaze meeting Lin Zhixia’s.

Lin Zhixia remained silent, waiting for him to speak. He released his left hand and revealed, “The day before Grandmother passed away, she called Gu Likai…”

Lin Zhixia quickly asked, “What did she say?”

Shen Fuxuan truthfully relayed, “She asked Gu Likai to take you as his student.” He explained, “She couldn’t remember how old you were, nor what year it was.”

Lin Zhixia could imagine the scene. The image made her heart ache.

After the funeral, she left the funeral home. It was dusk, the sun setting in the west. She sat beside Jiang Yubai in the back seat of the car. Apart from Jiang Yubai, no one could see her expression as tears slid down her cheeks. She leaned against Jiang Yubai’s shoulder and began to sob quietly.

Today’s funeral marked the official farewell.

During Lin Zhixia’s formative years, she had hardly received any affection from either grandmother, but Shen Zhaohua had perfectly filled that void. She was gentle, kind, knowledgeable, an excellent mentor, and Lin Zhixia’s guiding light.

“A person’s lifespan is only a few decades,” Lin Zhixia said through her tears. “Time passes too quickly.”

Jiang Yubai spoke slowly, “Teacher Shen once said, if you remember her, it’s as if she never left. That day when we went to the aquarium for the autumn excursion…”

Lin Zhixia responded, “Teacher gave me her contact information.”

Jiang Yubai had only vague impressions of those past events. Based on his blurry memories, he guided Lin Zhixia, “You visited the laboratory, and she made a pinky promise with you.”

“She also made me a campus card as an assistant researcher,” Lin Zhixia closed her eyes, “then I could find books in the university library and use the school computers to access the internet for free. I was so happy that day.”

Without Jiang Yubai’s prompting, Lin Zhixia continued, “She guided me in publishing my first paper, gave me a monetary award… Later, when I wanted to pursue quantum computing, she continued to encourage me and helped me connect with Gu Likai…”

Past scenes emerged vividly in her mind. More than ten years ago, Shen Zhaohua sat in her office, handing Lin Zhixia a document outlining the research prospects for quantum computing. A strawberry candy was placed in the center of the document—it was candy from Teacher Shen, very sweet and delicious.

“You are her student,” Jiang Yubai’s voice grew deeper, “she will be watching over you from heaven.”

The wind stopped, light cast shadows, and he covered her eyes as tears fell into his palm.

*

Lin Zhixia took all of Jiang Yubai’s comfort to heart.

Because of her special memory ability, everyone could exist forever in her heart. As Shen Zhaohua’s student, she would also pass on similar beliefs—thinking from this perspective, she felt much better.

The next morning, Lin Zhixia went to work as usual.

Life gradually settled, and work remained busy.

In the four-university joint research group that Lin Zhixia had organized, there were more than eighty scholars. Lin Zhixia was not only the deputy leader but also the youngest member of the entire group. She also had to balance her research team and the research projects at the quantum technology company, making her responsibilities quite heavy. Since the start of the semester in September, she had been leaving early and returning late every day, full of enthusiasm and energy.

Even though Lin Zhixia was extremely efficient, occasionally she couldn’t manage everything. To assist with her work, the institute hired two assistants for her—both were newly graduated physics research students from the university, smart and hardworking, often attending group meetings with Lin Zhixia.

Also, because Tan Qianche had joined the four-university joint research group, his academic connection with Lin Zhixia became even closer. Tan Qianche suggested that every Thursday afternoon, his students and Lin Zhixia’s could hold a joint group meeting, where everyone could learn from and help each other—wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Lin Zhixia thought carefully and found some logic in it. She asked each of her students for their opinion. Except for Xu Lingbo, all students enthusiastically raised both hands in agreement, making Xu Lingbo’s opposition ineffective.

So, on Thursday afternoon, the group meeting became unprecedentedly grand.

Lin Zhixia and Tan Qianche’s students gathered in a very spacious conference room. Each student had a ten-minute speaking opportunity, and Lin Zhixia’s star pupil Fang Yiwen took the lead. When she took the stage, her gaze was sharp, and her whole body radiated a dangerous aura.

Sure enough, Fang Yiwen used an extremely fast pace to summarize her research achievements over the past two months in just ten minutes. She gripped a marker and tapped it forcefully on the whiteboard: “My report today took nine minutes and thirty seconds. Thank you, Professor.”

Lin Zhixia praised her and offered a few suggestions, which she noted down.

Tan Qianche’s comments were also pertinent. His feedback focused on different angles; in other words, he could also inspire Fang Yiwen.

Lin Zhixia had to admit that Tan Qianche’s academic level was indeed very high. At that time, Tan Qianche had been a doctoral student under Professor Gu Likai, mentoring many junior students. He knew better than Lin Zhixia how to urge students to work hard, similar to the Indian senior student Lin Zhixia had met at Cambridge.

While taking notes for the meeting, Lin Zhixia heard Tan Qianche ask, “Fang Yiwen will graduate next year, right?”

“Yes,” Lin Zhixia had Fang Yiwen’s future planned out, “Many 985 universities now require overseas experience when recruiting faculty. I’ve arranged for Fang Yiwen to join a research group at MIT. After she graduates with her doctorate next year, she’ll go to MIT for her postdoctoral work.”

Xu Lingbo was speaking on stage, but Tan Qianche didn’t bother listening to him; instead quietly told Lin Zhixia, “The MIT professor trusts her because of your reputation. If she performs poorly, it will affect your standing.”

Lin Zhixia capped her pen tightly: “You…”

“Hmm?” Tan Qianche was extremely patient with her.

But Lin Zhixia said, “Let’s talk after the meeting. I want to listen to the students’ reports first.”

The conference room was very quiet at that moment, and Xu Lingbo happened to stumble in his speech. He thought Tan Qianche was chatting idly with Lin Zhixia, but heard Lin Zhixia say she wanted to listen to the students’ reports first.

Lin Zhixia was accustomed to a fast-paced life, with extremely busy daily work. Her time was incredibly valuable—Xu Lingbo certainly understood this. But as Lin Zhixia’s student, he was always at the bottom. The newly joined junior female student was hundreds of times more capable than he was, and Zhan Rui had also left him far behind. Yet Lin Zhixia never criticized him and even respected him, willing to listen to him talk nonsense during group meetings.

He suddenly stopped and looked at Lin Zhixia: “Professor Lin.”

“What’s wrong?” Lin Zhixia reminded him, “You were just talking about using TensorFlow to predict solubility.”

Xu Lingbo took a deep breath.

He stepped forward and bravely said, “Professor Lin! I’m not adequately prepared. I won’t participate in this month’s group meeting… Please give me one more month…”

Before Lin Zhixia could respond, Tan Qianche’s student Cui Yiming interjected, “If you were in our group, you’d have your graduation delayed.”

This wasn’t the first time Xu Lingbo had been humiliated by Cui Yiming. He was already accustomed to such humiliation. In the past, he had always endured it silently, but today, he wanted to fight back.

He proudly puffed out his chest, scoring a point for Lin Zhixia: “How do you know Professor Lin won’t delay my graduation? Maybe I’ll be delayed tomorrow!”

Lin Zhixia interrupted their argument: “Enough, don’t discuss irrelevant matters during the group meeting.”

Tan Qianche specifically criticized his student: “Cui Yiming, apologize to Xu.”

Lin Zhixia originally thought that a proud student like Cui Yiming would never apologize publicly, but after a moment’s hesitation, Cui Yiming squeezed out the words: “Sorry, Xu.”

Lin Zhixia glanced at her watch before saying, “Xu Lingbo, you ask me to give you one month, but time isn’t something I give you—it’s something you already have. In eight more months, your third year of research will end. The choice to delay graduation, drop out, graduate on time, or graduate with honors is all in your hands.”

Xu Lingbo didn’t reply.

He bowed deeply to Lin Zhixia, then picked up his bag, walked slowly out of the conference room, and ran like a madman toward the library.

The group meeting continued.

Lin Zhixia’s new student Chen Shihan performed excellently. She seemed to be Fang Yiwen’s successor, with sharp thinking and quick responses.

Communication between Lin Zhixia and Chen Shihan was very smooth—this was also why Lin Zhixia enjoyed being a teacher. One of her life goals was to nurture generation after generation of young people and grow together with class after class of students.

*

After this group meeting ended, at around six in the evening, the students all went to the cafeteria to eat, while Lin Zhixia and Tan Qianche stayed in the conference room.

While packing her bag, Lin Zhixia said to Tan Qianche, “Fang Yiwen is very capable and loves research. I recommended her to MIT because I believe in her.”

Tan Qianche stood up from his seat. He rolled up a teaching plan and tucked it between his arm and body: “Some doctoral students write good papers and have excellent academic credentials, but they can’t conduct independent research…”

Lin Zhixia replied without hesitation, “I know my students. You don’t need to say more.”

“Fang Yiwen is decent under your guidance,” Tan Qianche walked alongside Lin Zhixia, “I mean, don’t focus too much on your students, arranging the future for each one of them. You’re still young, and time should be spent on yourself. You’re a natural academic talent, and you also have a technology company. You should be able to achieve groundbreaking work, little junior.”

The daylight dimmed as dusk fell, and Tan Qianche’s shadow fell in front of Lin Zhixia. Though past thirty, he was still young, his features appearing even more handsome in the campus lights, just like a few years ago.

Lin Zhixia carefully responded, “You’ve… changed a bit. When I was an undergraduate, you often helped Yang Shuwen.”

“I was young then,” Tan Qianche replied. He wore an expensive Swiss watch. He looked down at the dial.

Lin Zhixia asked, “Years ago, when the laboratory exploded, you took me to the hospital and helped Professor Gu clean up the aftermath. Was that a waste of time?”

Tan Qianche chuckled softly, no longer arguing with her. They walked out of the north gate of the school and happened to meet Jiang Yubai—he seemed to have his aura that couldn’t be ignored. Tan Qianche stopped and greeted him, and he politely replied, “I’m here to pick up Professor Lin after work.”

Lin Zhixia directly took Jiang Yubai’s arm: “How long have you been waiting?”

Jiang Yubai said, “I just got out of the car.”

Lin Zhixia’s tone was especially cheerful: “That’s great, I just came out of the school gate.”

Jiang Yubai and she smiled at each other. The deep affection between them was undeniable.

Tan Qianche stood in place, watching them get into the car and leave. The cold autumn wind blew through his hair as he gazed at the vast night sky and saw Vega in the constellation Lyra.

Vega is brightest in autumn, located in the southeastern sky. And that city, Shanghai, is also located southeast of the provincial city—this absurd, strange thought lasted only a few seconds before Tan Qianche cast it from his mind. She’s been married for a long time, he thought to himself.

*

The wind scattered fallen leaves as the car sped along the road.

Lin Zhixia sat properly in the back seat of the car, but her left hand rested on Jiang Yubai’s leg. Through the excellent fabric of his pants, she secretly drew a circle with her finger.

Jiang Yubai held her finger. She turned her head, and he kissed her cheek, making her laugh. A moment later, she asked, “Have you seen your cousin’s daughter?”

Last month, Jiang Yubai’s family welcomed a new member—Jessica had successfully given birth to a daughter, making Jiang Shaoqi a father. Jiang Shaoqi was incomparably excited, staying up all night, frantically flipping through dictionaries to name his daughter. Unfortunately, since he had gone abroad to study after finishing junior high school, his Chinese language skills were quite poor. Despite looking up a dictionary, he couldn’t come up with a suitable name.

Jessica was no better than Jiang Shaoqi. Although Jessica was Singaporean Chinese, she commonly used her English name, and her Chinese proficiency was rather average. In the end, Jessica’s father stepped in and, based on his granddaughter’s birth date and time, chose a good name.

After Jiang Yubai explained the origin of his cousin’s daughter’s name, Lin Zhixia said, “I want a daughter too.”

Jiang Yubai’s thoughts stirred, and he asked against her ear, “When should we have one?”

“Wait a while longer,” Lin Zhixia was somewhat shy, “I’m only twenty-three, and I don’t want to get pregnant just yet.”

Jiang Yubai had remarkable foresight: “Let’s name our daughter first.”

Lin Zhixia recalled the “Lin-Jiang Robot” she and Jiang Yubai had created together. She paused, then pronounced a character: “Lin…”

“Lin Changying,” Jiang Yubai asked, “How’s that name?”

Lin Zhixia nodded, sincerely agreeing: “A great name!”