He remembered everything about “us” for her.

The study decorated entirely in cream yellow tones was warm and elegant.

If one quieted down and breathed carefully, they could still sense the faint camellia fragrance in the air, silently soothing chaotic emotions.

All around was quiet silence. Even the sound of breathing seemed deafeningly loud to Sheng Sui, accompanying her heartbeat and pulse as they fluctuated in strength.

She knelt half-crouched before the open safe, not changing position for a long time, until even her calves began to feel numb.

Her hand suspended in air hesitated, reluctant to reach down. Sheng Sui looked at the four items before her, momentarily unsure which to examine first.

Or rather, she hadn’t fully recovered from seeing only these four items in the safe.

The marriage certificate was sealed in a special transparent glass frame, just like the carefully preserved old protective charm. Though completely unrelated, the old and new items looked strangely familiar to Sheng Sui.

An identical marriage certificate was pressed away in her suitcase, stored with numerous other documents.

And this protective charm with its surface embroidery worn smooth in patches—though Sheng Sui could no longer find the same physical object, the memory box sealed for over a decade was opened.

She remembered clearly that the year she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and hospitalized, she had received so much kindness and help from many people, allowing her to briefly escape her father’s clutches and survive by luck.

After discharge, having no way to repay them, she could only write down the names of those who had helped her. On a weekend, she went to a temple near home to pray devoutly for these people and ask for a protective charm.

Too many people had helped her then—she could no longer remember most of their names and faces.

Sheng Sui hadn’t expected that Zhou Shiyu was also among the many who had extended helping hands to her.

Under the careful protection of the sealed bag, the free protective charm had become a priceless treasure. Sheng Sui reached out several times, but when her fingertips touched the seal, she still hesitated and withdrew.

Lowering her head with a bitter smile, every time she felt Zhou Shiyu’s love measured in years, Sheng Sui inevitably felt the weight of a thousand pounds on her shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, her gaze finally settled on the will lying quietly in the center of the interior.

She adjusted her sitting position and reached out to take the folded papers, discovering that besides the five printed documents on top, there was also a handwritten letter pressed underneath, densely covered with familiar bold, vigorous handwriting.

Sheng Sui recognized at a glance that this was Zhou Shiyu’s unique handwriting.

Across the full five pages, Zhou Shiyu’s astonishing vast wealth and its distribution were listed clearly and neatly.

Sheng Sui only hurriedly scanned through it, reading ten lines at once, becoming dizzy from repeatedly seeing her own name appear.

Until the last page, she finally saw her husband’s other property distributions.

Assets in the hundreds of millions would be allocated annually in batches to dozens of domestic and international research institutes studying type 1 diabetes.

“…Clinical research on preventing ischemic cholangitis after liver transplantation using human umbilical cord mesenchymal stem cells, clinical research on treating type 1 diabetes using human dental mesenchymal stem cells…”

Her spine was gradually crushed by the lengthy, complex project names. Sheng Sui’s breathing trembled lightly. As she closed her eyes to suppress tears, her mind flashed to that day when she went to the hospital to ask about pregnancy, walking to the end of the corridor to see Zhou Shiyu discussing research matters with elderly scholars.

In the thirteen years since her diabetes diagnosis, she had never thought about a cure; Zhou Shiyu had loved her silently for thirteen years, never giving up even the smallest spark of hope.

Even the establishment of Cheng He was originally intended to invest in type 1 diabetes research.

Cheng and He, taken from half of each character in “Sheng Sui.”

“……”

How could there be someone as slow as her in this world?

The suffocating sensation of drowning in love surged over her. Sheng Sui lowered her head deeply, her vision blurred by tears threatening to overflow, almost lacking the courage to read the handwritten letter Zhou Shiyu had left for her.

She couldn’t cry anymore.

No matter how she looked at it, she was the sole beneficiary, the person least qualified to shed tears.

Her fingertips trembling lightly, Sheng Sui carefully placed the document papers back in their original position and picked up the handwritten letter on her knees to read.

Different from ordinary paper, the more expensive parchment was obviously heavier, its rough surface tangible to touch. The writing on the paper had faded somewhat due to the passage of years.

[To Sheng Sui:

Seeing these words is like meeting face to face, may reading this letter bring you comfort.

I think when you receive this letter, rather than surprise, you’ll feel more bewildered. If the following words disturb your originally peaceful and stable life, allow me to apologize first.

After all, to you, this letter is written by a complete stranger whom you’ve never heard speak nor seen in person.

In fact, our first meeting was during the bitter cold winter when you were fourteen.

In a hospital corridor, I was in a wheelchair when I witnessed your father’s violent behavior. Perhaps because of similar childhood experiences, I spoke up to stop the slap your father was about to deliver.

Afterward, you came to me on your own, pushing an IV stand, smiling as you handed me a fruit candy—I kept that candy for a long time, never bearing to eat it, until the hot summer weather melted it inside its colorful transparent wrapper.

In the days that followed, I often thought perhaps Heaven had hinted from the very beginning that my years of wishful thinking would come to nothing.

Later you were discharged and came back, obtaining protective charms for everyone who had shown kindness, even coming specifically to my ward, hoping I would recover soon.

That day, I don’t know if it was because of your calling me “brother,” or because I was annoyed that you alone forgot to write a name slip for my protective charm, but I foolishly let you leave.

Just like that, I missed the only chance to leave my name in your heart.

From then on, all time was me performing alone on a stage with no audience.

At sixteen, I transferred to your high school, escorting you safely home from afar after every evening study session in the deepening dusk.

At eighteen during college entrance exams, hearing you wanted to study in Shanghai, I wrote down the same school name when filling out preferences, my mind constantly fantasizing about scenes where I could approach you without reservations.

At nineteen, freshman year, learning you would become a schoolmate, on the day I received my acceptance letter, I wanted to see you at all costs, but when I was only about ten meters away from you, the bomb buried deep in my brain exploded.

I was taken for a madman in the street, videos of my episode were posted online, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder the next day, had to withdraw from school and go abroad for treatment.

During the two years from twenty to twenty-one, I spent half my time receiving treatment in psychiatric hospitals. On the rare clear days, learning you weren’t doing well in Shanghai, I found ways to join extracurricular activity groups you participated in, maintaining contact with you under the identity “Z.”

At twenty-two, university graduation year, my condition repeatedly relapsed. Electroshock therapy saved my life but made me forget too many details of my time with you as Z. Looking at your frequent letters, I didn’t know how to reply.

So on the third day after discharge, I took a plane back to Shanghai, finding you working at a cat café. I just wanted to go in and see you from afar, but the cat hair in the air triggered severe allergic reactions, forcing me to seek medical treatment again.

On your twenty-third birthday, half a month before writing this letter, I learned you had made career choices. While feeling gratified by your brave choice, I realized I perhaps shouldn’t continue disturbing your beautiful life that was so close at hand.

My rash appearance and this overly heavy, all-pervasive feeling would eventually make you unhappy.

As you can see, this has been my mediocre, worthless life.

Spending half a lifetime in love with one person, yet unable to stand openly before her even until death.

I believe you can see I harbor selfish motives—I hope you won’t feel burdened by my presumptuous letter, yet at the same time, I’m unwilling to just blow through your life like wind and disappear without a trace.

Utterly ridiculous—someone like me still hopes to have even the smallest place that belongs only to me in your heart.

In the property distribution of the will, there’s a sum of money I’ve left for you.

The amount isn’t abundant, but it can guarantee you a life free from worry about food and clothing, with enough confidence to support any wish you have and live the ideal life you previously lacked.

The remaining money, forgive me for deciding to invest in research to conquer type 1 diabetes.

Until today, I still firmly believe that with rapidly developing technology, there will come a day when you’ll be completely cured, able to return to society with a healthy body and truly live happily without worries.

When that time comes, if you’re still willing, please bring a bouquet of my favorite snapdragons to my grave, so that my life’s inability can be remedied and I can have just one chance after death to see you properly.

Seeing you live well, my soul can leave this world with peace of mind and disappear safely into the distance.

After falling ill, I gradually lost many human emotions. Even when I rarely felt joy, excitement, or elation, I couldn’t distinguish whether these were my true feelings or another onset of symptoms.

Over time, I also questioned whether I truly loved you, or what kind of feeling could qualify as love.

The answer died without resolution.

I just very much want to see you once more under your favorite spring light.

Even if just smiling and saying “long time no see,” I would have no more regrets.

You might not believe it, but in life I’m not actually talkative by nature. Perhaps knowing this is my only chance to speak with you makes me unable to stop writing.

Then let us bid farewell here.

Sheng Sui.

Goodbye.

Never to meet again.

Life ahead is very long—there’s really no need to linger for this. Please just glance through this letter quickly and forget about me.

Just don’t forget that a stranger once loved you silently and unknown for many years.

May your future life be peaceful and smooth, joyful and healthy.

Thus,

Zhou Shiyu, who finally remembered to tell you his name]

“……”

Through tears, Sheng Sui stared intently at the last line, her lower lip bitten until it bled, even tasting the metallic flavor.

Finally, she broke into sobs, tears soaking the paper.

—May your future life be peaceful and smooth, joyful and healthy.

These exact words were what Zhou Shiyu, running a high fever, had insisted on saying as the first person to wish her happy birthday at midnight on her 27th birthday.

Sheng Sui looked down at the red string bracelet on her wrist, not daring to imagine her lover’s feelings when he gave it to her.

She hurriedly tried to wipe the liquid stains from the paper with her sleeve, but the endless tears only multiplied, until even the ink of the signature threatened to blur.

Sheng Sui didn’t dare look at the handwritten letter’s contents anymore, hastily stuffing it back into the safe along with the document papers, clumsily knocking books beside it to the floor.

The thick volume of “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair” with its dark green cover showing white at the worn corners fell open, exposing the photographs hidden inside.

“……”

Sheng Sui bent down to pick up the photograph.

The square photo with yellowed edges was taken in the all-too-familiar hospital. In the ward, a sickly thin boy leaned against the headboard, his face pale, but his eyes gazing at the girl beside the bed were infinitely tender.

The girl smiled as she sat by the boy’s bedside, holding a protective charm in her soft white hand while her other hand reached to hold the boy’s skeletal left hand. Her eyes curved like crescents as if speaking, with shallow dimples at the corners of her lips.

Probably infected by the girl’s emotions, the boy couldn’t help but curve his lips into a smile too.

Warm sunlight generously fell on both their shoulders and hair. The scattered golden light points in that bitter, unbearable cold winter meant that because they had each other, even if just for a brief moment, these two children suffering their own hardships felt warm all over.

Sheng Sui recognized them—that was fourteen-year-old her and sixteen-year-old Zhou Shiyu, smiling carefree before the camera.

She looked up, and as her fingertip touched the sickly boy’s face in the photo, she felt someone gently draping a coat over her shoulders, her nostrils filling with the reassuring scent of clear, bitter woody coldness.

Without needing to look back, she knew all too well that behind her would always be the lover who constantly watched over her.

“…I’m sorry, I have a bad memory.”

After a long while, Sheng Sui suppressed her tears and turned around, holding up the photograph to Zhou Shiyu behind her, whose gaze remained as gentle as ever despite thirteen years having passed, saying softly: “I don’t remember any of this.”

“It’s okay.”

Zhou Shiyu, who had been silent for so long, carefully adjusted the coat around her, then patiently kissed away the tears at the corners of Sheng Sui’s eyes, his gentle voice slowly echoing in the room:

“The future is long. I can slowly tell you everything.”

About him, and also about her.

About every single thing concerning “us,” he remembered it all for her.