Summer in Your Name - Extra 5

##Past Events

The first time I met Lu Zheng is easy to remember, it was the fifteenth of the eighth lunar month.  

Mid-Autumn Festival, yet the moon was absent from the night sky. Nanli was soaked by rain, the air was damp, the wind clingy and heavy.

I was propping up my recently broken up, utterly wasted friend who had run away from home, trying to hail a taxi on the main road of the villa district. When no taxi came, I stepped into the middle of the road and flagged down a passing car driven by a kind soul. My expression must have carried an air of coercion, because when the driver rolled down the window, his eyes held wariness and scrutiny.

"Young Master Lu?" my friend slurred the greeting, her voice a mix of shock and caution.  

They knew each other, so we naturally got in the car. My half-dead friend suddenly sprang to life, introducing me with utmost seriousness: "Young Master Lu, this is my friend Susu. She's a singer. You probably haven’t heard her songs, but if she’d debuted, those so-called ‘divas’ today wouldn’t stand a chance. Don't you not believe it... Susu? Hum a few bars?"

A singer—it had been a long time since anyone introduced me that way. ‘Susu’ was my stage name, long forgotten. If not for the bonds of old friendship shackling my conscience, I would have tricked this drunkard out of the car.

“Susu, this is Lu Zheng, also lives in Emerald Court. He's sworn brothers with my man. We're so lucky we ran into you today, Young Master Lu…"

Her ‘man’ was around thirty-five or thirty-six; Lu Zheng looked to be only twenty-five or twenty-six. For such an age gap to constitute sworn brothers, and for my friend, as the elder’s partner, to be so respectful and ingratiating, this ‘Young Master Lu's’ status was presumably not low.

I didn’t have time to retract my appraising gaze when our eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror. His glance was fleeting, yet carried a subtle pressure, making it hard to discern its meaning.

He dropped us off at a busy intersection where it was easier to catch a taxi. He didn't offer to take us all the way home, mastering that delicate balance between gentlemanly and aloofness.

Bumping along the way, my friend leaned half-asleep on my shoulder, so I became the designated spokesperson, thanking Lu Zheng, then preparing to see him off respectfully. But he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He let his gaze fall freely on my face, casual yet unrestrained, suggestive, yet upon closer look, not exactly frivolous. 

What a pair of eyes that could easily charm anyone. Had I been twenty-three instead of thirty-three, I probably would have been utterly charmed and lost my bearings.  

"Young Master Lu, thank you for the ride. Well then…"

"Teacher Susu, I've heard your songs."

We spoke almost simultaneously. Before I could even react, he raised the car window, flashed his headlights, and vanished around the corner.  

The second time I met Lu Zheng was also on a rainy night, in the beef noodle shop by the night school entrance.

I’d always used the excuse of being married to politely decline advances from men at night school, but over time, this ruse grew thin. That night, a male classmate insisted on seeing me home. I brushed him off, saying my husband was waiting for me in the noodle shop. He stubbornly followed me, and I found myself in a bind—what husband in the noodle shop? Even the shop owner was a woman…

Lu Zheng appeared at this precise moment of crisis. He was sitting at the innermost table, turning to order from the owner. Our eyes met, and he looked visibly surprised.

Compared to the other customers, I at least shared a passing acquaintance with him, so I targeted him. Hugging my books, I sat across from him and said loudly, “Have you been waiting long? Hubby, I told you not to come pick me up."  

He froze for a moment, his eyes flicking behind me, then calmly took my books and ordered a bowl of noodles for me. We had no further interaction during the meal. If the mountain won’t come to me, I’ll go to the mountain¹. The male classmate kept glancing over. Playing the part of intimacy, I helped myself to the beef from Lu Zheng’s bowl and unceremoniously piled bits I didn't like into his. He looked up, staring at me silently for a moment, then suddenly leaned in close. A faint, clean scent of white pine filled my senses, enveloping me in his distinct aura.

(¹: An adaptation of the Chinese idiom, meaning to adapt to circumstances when the desired outcome doesn’t come naturally.) 

His cheek stopped near my ear, his lips almost brushing my earlobe: "Teacher Susu, my appearance fee doesn’t come cheap."  

His voice was very low, only I could hear it. From the male classmate's angle, his posture looked like he was kissing my cheek. I wanted to play along with this intimate act, but after years of being single, I didn’t know what level of intimacy was appropriate. My eyes darted, my expression wavered. I had to admit, in front of this twenty-something man, I was utterly flustered. Finally, I flashed what I thought was a charming, sweet smile, putting a perfect end to this ‘whispering intimately’ act.

The noodles were finished, but the rain continued. I hadn’t brought an umbrella and couldn’t leave, so I made small talk: “Young Master Lu, which songs of mine have you heard?”  

Lu Zheng's tone was dismissive: "No song can cover my appearance fee."

I chose silence. He spoke again, his voice like the patter of rain: “Teacher Susu, let me drive you home. There’s a collaboration I’d like to discuss with you.”

I became Lu Zheng's fiancée. A fake one. He became my husband. Of course, also fake.

He said he'd eaten at this noodle shop since he was a child, a taste of home he craved while abroad, hence his regular visits; accompanying me in my act was just convenient. After eating, he’d usually drive me home. His flashy car sparked rumors at night school of me being a wealthy lady slumming it in adult university. No one bothered me anymore, and I finally found peace.

When he was away on long business trips, he’d return with flowers and gifts. I teased him for his thorough commitment to the act. He said the extras were my ‘performance fees’. 

My performance was accompanying him to business social functions, including but not limited to banquets, events, and business meetings, helping him deal with partners who were skeptical of his young age. My ‘persona’ was his university alumna, our love story framed as a journey from school uniforms to wedding gowns. A stable, committed image and an imminent marriage worked wonders for his credibility.  

Half a year later, my night school course ended, and his business was progressing smoothly. It was time to end our arrangement.

Finally, he asked me to go horseback riding with him on the weekend. I’d accompanied him to plenty of upscale places by then and could now handle myself with ease. Seeing the crowd ahead, I reached to take his arm as usual, but he gently brushed my hand away. An inexplicable pang of bitterness pricked my heart. The next second, his fingers slid between mine, our hands interlocking. I couldn’t tell which burned hotter, my palm or my cheek.

The crowd buzzed with chatter, someone in the crowd shouted: "Lu Zheng! You finally let us see the 'beauty' you've been hiding!"

I looked at him. He held my hand, a smile on his face, his whole person very relaxed. I realized this wasn't a business gathering; these were his close personal friends. As I approached, I saw a familiar face in the crowd—my friend and her boyfriend. Within a week after I’d taken her home that rainy night, they’d reconciled.  

My friend obviously saw me too, her eyes wide with shock. Once the crowd's teasing died down, she pulled me aside for interrogation. I pursed my lips and answered honestly: "As you see. A contract lover."

My friend's eyes widened further: "What kind? The physical kind?"

I shook my head. We did have some intimate moments because of the act, but it never altered the nature of our relationship.

My friend stared straight at me: “Susu, they agreed not to bring plus-ones unless it’s serious to this kind of gathering. Do you understand what this means?”

I smiled. Did it matter if I understood?  

Lu Zheng taught me how to ride. I don't know where I found the courage, but I broke away from the group and galloped off. Summer heat rose in waves, the hot wind seared my face, yet I felt unprecedentedly calm. When the horse stopped, everyone swarmed over. The women fussed over me with cries of "Darling, are you alright?”, their voices now sweet, utterly unlike their spiteful, gossipy tones in the changing room half an hour earlier.

They said I was no university alumna of Lu Zheng’s, just an old woman with a middle school diploma attending night school; that Lu Zheng had been rebellious since childhood, always chasing novelty, lost his mother early so he had a ‘thing for older woman’; that the Lu family would never let a woman like me through their doors…

Everyone gathered to rest and chat. My friend, seeing me detached from the crowd, tried hard to steer the topic towards me: "Susu, I'm planning an album. Will you write a song for me?"

People started flattering me, calling me a talented woman, deep and unfathomable.

I ate a grape Lu Zheng handed me and said lightly, “I’m afraid I can’t. A-Shu has his high school entrance exams next month, so I’m swamped.”

Someone curiously asked, “Who’s A-Shu?”  

“My son.”  

Silence fell around us, broken only by the deliberately uncouth chewing sounds I made. My friend stared at me dumbfounded; Lu Zheng’s brow was deeply furrowed. Every gaze flickered between him and me.

My friend stood up anxiously: "How is A-Shu…"

"My son gets very good grades. Once he tests into the Affiliated High School, I'll move downtown, and then I can hang out with you all every day."

I interrupted her, blocking all her words. In our locked gaze, my friend fell silent and withdrew from this play I had scripted. I continued adding fuel, clinging to Lu Zheng's arm and acting coquettishly: "I've really had enough of that small-town Lianli. A-Zheng, can I live with you then?”

I’d laid it on thick, painting the image of a calculating social climber trying to transform from sparrow into a phoenix.

Pressed close to him, I could feel his breathing hitch momentarily. His eyes scanned my features, as if searching for confirmation. Finally, he uttered a low, single word: "Okay."

I flashed a radiant smile, my face affectedly coquettish as I said, "You're the best!"

The atmosphere in the car on the return journey was heavy. Reaching my place, I prepared to get out, but Lu Zheng hit the lock; the door wouldn't open.  

"You were married?"

If sound had color, his voice right now would be the deepest black.

"No."

"The child… is it true?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Given the nature of our relationship, was it necessary? As long as your business partners didn't know, that's enough."  

The car fell silent.  

"My courses are over. Let's end this. I haven't opened any of the gifts you gave me; I'll mail them to you tomorrow. You’ve treated me to too many meals to count, so I won’t repay those.”  

Lu Zheng's face was calm, but the hand gripping the steering wheel had veins bulging. Suddenly, the entire car felt like it was wrapped in the wings of a giant beast, suffocating and oppressive.  

The lock clicked open, and his voice came, muffled and defeated: “No need. Those were your appearance fees. Keep them."

I got out of the car and, just like the first time we met, watched his car disappear around the corner.

Turning around, Zhang Shu appeared in my view. School had just let out, the setting sun spilled into the alley from behind him; the youth walked amidst the shards of light, radiant as the sun itself. Seeing me, he jogged over and asked, “Sis, why’re you standing there like an idiot? What's for dinner tonight? Any cola chicken wings for me?"

Everything. He should have everything he wants.  

When leaving the riding club, my friend asked me: "For Zhang Shu, is it worth it?"

Worth it? I’ve never weighed or imagined alternatives. There’s no such thing as worth it or not worth it.  

## Bygone Days

At fourteen, I dropped out of school and headed north to seek my fortune, armed with what I thought was talent and a worthless passion, convinced my dreams glittered just ahead. My mother begged me to return; I ignored her. She said my father was dead; I didn't believe her—he had just cursed me as an unfilial daughter on the phone that very morning. Then she said she was pregnant and didn't know what to do alone. I sneered: "Didn't you say Dad was dead? Who did you get pregnant with? Did my dad reincarnate into your belly?

She trembled, unable to utter a single word of retort, and hung up in anger.  

My ears enjoyed half a year of peace and quiet. I released a few songs, filmed a few music videos, none took off.  

My manager slipped me a hotel key card, saying I held my future in my hands. This ‘future’ could make or break me; this ‘future’ was a pot-bellied, middle-aged man. I screamed, fought tooth and nail, but my resistance was seen by them as nothing but the arrogance of someone not yet beaten down—until my fruit knife plunged into the man's fat, greasy arm…

I spent half a year in juvenile detention. When I got out, I learned my father really was dead, and my mother really was pregnant. I had a six-month-old brother. I rushed back to Nanli overnight and took the soft, tiny infant from my mother's arms. She probably felt the major matter of her life could finally be entrusted; before she could blame or curse me, she passed away.

It was summer, days short, nights long, the fan creaking. I held the crying baby, sitting before my father's funeral portrait and my mother's lifeless body, my heart lost and confused as I looked around.

The baby cried incessantly. He cried when lying down, cried when held; cried wetting himself, cried when sucking on a pacifier. Finally, my limited patience was cried away. I took him to the maternity hospital, where the head doctor who delivered him promised to find him a trustworthy adoptive family.  

I went north again, singing in bars for scraps of opportunities. My agent somehow found me again, magnanimously offering a new ‘future’. I spat in his face and told him to get lost. His goons beat me, snapped photos like mad. Before leaving, they didn't forget to slap me a few more times, stomped on my face, and sneered, "Beiyan is full of nightingales who can sing. Besides being young, what are you?"

Right. I was young. So I went to the police. I knew my singing career was over, but he was arrested, the photos deleted. I still thought the outcome was too good. Then the media suddenly swarmed uninvited, praising me—brave, wise, defiant against violence, a chaste and heroic woman… I was subjected to this cheap moral baptism.

In youth, my emotions burned fiercely, except when it comes to life and death, which I took lightly. I held my guitar, singing on the riverbank, intending to pour my life’s talent into one final song for the world. Too bad only the river and the evening breeze heard it.  

“What’s this song called?”  

I had one foot already in the river when I heard someone ask behind me. I turned my head. A boy, about ten years old, pretty as a girl, was sitting on the embankment.

The song had no name. I decided on the spot to call it ‘Susu’.  

He said, “Oh, it’s nice. Can you sing it for me again?"

I said, why should I? He said, have pity on me.

Was there anyone in the world more pitiful than me? I didn't believe it. I sat down beside him, demanding he tell me his saddest story to make me feel better.  

He said his mother died when he was very young. His father was remarrying, sending him abroad to fend for himself, leaving tomorrow. I thought going abroad to fend for yourself was better than drowning in this river. He wasn’t as pitiful as me; I didn’t feel better. 

He asked me, is your family good? Did they abandon you? I said I have no family. He said, how can that be?

Yeah, how can that be? They didn't abandon me; I abandoned them. First my parents, now the only person left who shared my blood.

“I have a younger brother,” I said.  

“Your brother’s lucky,” he said.  

“Why?”  

"Your brother gets to hear you sing."  

My last shred of vanity was immensely satisfied. I sang ‘Susu’ again for him. We sat together as night enveloped the city. Buildings loomed faintly on the water’s surface, countless lights punctuating the stillness, a whisper of life within.

I suddenly got a call from the maternity hospital. They said they'd found adoptive parents and asked me to come back to finalize the paperwork. Thinking I needed to ensure he was settled before I left, I temporarily suspended my river-jumping plan and returned to Nanli.

He was still a crier, his lungs a marvel, his wails echoing through the entire building. The couple coming to adopt exchanged uneasy glances. I scooped him up clumsily; his tiny foot brushed my guitar strings, letting out a jarring ‘la’. I thought he’d wail harder, but he stopped crying, oddly calm, then kicked again, struck a chord, and began giggling between sniffles.

Weird.  

I didn’t sign the adoption papers. I carried him, shouldered my guitar, and left the hospital. The bright moon hung in the sky; my shadow on the ground, holding a child, looked like that of a real mother. Yet, at seventeen, I hadn’t the faintest idea how to navigate the days ahead. I just tread under the moonlight, trying, step by step, to come back to life.

Compared to the city, Lianli was a utopia; you could live just by breathing. I’d learned various skills in juvenile detention; with hard work, making a living wasn’t an issue. But I was clueless about how to raise a child. Whenever he cried, I sang, and it worked quite well. As he gradually grew up, I stopped singing. Country folks, with their loose tongues, told him tales of ‘how his sister gave up her music dream for him’. He soaked it all in, obsessed with becoming independent quickly, urging me to grab my guitar and debut. He believed everything others said, but when I told him he saved my life, he didn’t believe me. Silly kid.  

I no longer sang publicly, but I wrote one song a year and uploaded it. Listeners were few, but one loyal fan left a comment every year, each time always the same four words: “Susu, keep going.”  

Yeah, keep going.  

Whether anyone heard my songs or not didn't matter. Each song commemorates that day, my rebirth.

 

##The Rest of My Life

After Zhang Shu started high school, I moved from Lianli to Nanli, opening a small Afternoon Care service near the north gate of the Affiliated High School.

Nanli isn't small, but it isn't huge either. I’d imagined accidentally running into Lu Zheng—maybe like in a song, at a street-corner café, or like in a drama, at a supermarket aisle… I never imagined it would be in my shop. I was wearing an apron, holding a spatula, while he was in a suit and leather shoes, bringing a teenager to register for lunch care.  

An absurd thought flashed through my mind: This couldn't be his son, could it?   

Impossible, I knew, yet in that moment, my heart suddenly ached with a twinge of pain.

I asked: "Can I help you?"

"What kind of meals do you provide for the students here?" Lu Zheng used the tone of a concerned parent.  

He had dyed his hair, exuding a carefree vibe, but his voice and eyes seemed steadier compared to two years ago.

"The weekly menu changes daily. You can request dishes, just let me know in advance. How long would your child like to sign up for?"

I don't know what clue he picked up on, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly into a faint smirk, and he snorted coldly: "I don't have a child this old.” 

The teenage boy beside him had curiosity practically bursting from his eyes, but one glance from Lu Zheng silenced him.  

“This place will do. Your dad should handle this sort of thing in the future."

"We have an auntie who cooks at home. Wasn't it you, Little Uncle, who said 'after-school care' saves time and insisted on finding one for me?"

So, the boy was his nephew.  

Lu Zheng ignored his nephew and handed over a bank card: “Hurry up and register, I’m busy.”  

This ‘busy’ person spent the next few months sending customized menu requests daily, nitpicking my meal plans. Often, while busy preparing food, I had to explain nutritional balance to him. Once, he called late at night to complain, saying his nephew had food poisoning. I rushed to the hospital only to find the doctor had clearly diagnosed a stomach flu, nothing to do with me.

He was the most demanding parent I’d ever encountered. I changed his contact name to ‘Sir Complains-a-Lot’ to vent my frustration. I got it, he was getting back at me. A man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and still so childish.  

My friend and her boyfriend finally tied the knot and invited me to be a bridesmaid. At my age, still a bridesmaid? I happily agreed. My friend hesitantly warned me that Lu Zheng was one of the groomsmen and told me to be mentally prepared.  

“It was just a mutual deal, what’s to prepare?” That's how I answered, and that's how I comforted myself. Yeah, it didn't even count as a romantic affair.

But when he stood before me in his well-tailored suit, I still lost my composure. I looked away, but my mind madly enacted scenarios of him marrying other women.

My friend deliberately tossed the bouquet my way. I don't know why, but I instinctively stepped back, stumbling and falling into someone's arms—Lu Zheng’s, his faint white pine scent surrounding me. He caught me and, at the same time, reached out and caught the bouquet falling right before me. The scene fell silent for a second before teasing and applause erupted.

A voice cut through the noise, landing in my ears: “How old are you? Still so clumsy.”  

He let go, calmly fielding the emcee’s question.  

He let me go, calmly facing the emcee's questions.

"Congratulations, Boss Lu, for catching the peach blossoms! Any special someone in mind?”  

“Yes.”  

“Is she here?”  

Lu Zheng paused. “She is, but don’t tease her. She's timid."

I excused myself to the restroom, shutting out the noise behind me, but my heart was like boiling alcohol, clamoring uncontrollably. I blamed it on the wedding’s overly romantic vibe, stirring up my long-dormant girlish heart. It wasn’t because of him; anyone would do.

The second part of the wedding was at a clubhouse private room. The place was packed, hormones emanating under the pulsing lights. I searched for redeeming qualities in every man there, and with alcohol clouding my head, everyone seemed gilded, dazzling. Drunk out of my mind, I welcomed all comers.  

In my haze, I spotted Lu Zheng drinking alone in the corner of the room. His face was gloomy, downing one glass after another. Suddenly, he slammed his glass onto the table. He stood up and walked straight towards me. His handsome face loomed closer and closer, my pulse hammering. I quickly clinked glasses with the bride’s younger brother's: "Little brother, drink up!”

The brother said muddledly, "Can't drink anymore…it’s killing me, sis.”  

“Killing you? I don't want your life, I want to drink… Ah, what are you doing?!" My glass was also slammed on the table, and I was pulled up. His grip was strong, hurting my wrist, and I could only stumble along after him.

He dragged me into the private room's restroom. As soon as the door closed, the scent of white pine instantly flooded my senses. Bastard! He was kissing me.

Kiss is too gentle a term; devouring was more accurate. His fingers threaded through my hair, his palm cupping the back of my head; every strand feeling his ferocity.  

I’d had red wine, he’d had whiskey. Different scents surged and mingled in our mouths—Ugh, my tongue stung, my scalp numbed!  

I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into his lower lip, putting all my strength into it.  

"Zhang Sujin, are you trying to kill me?” He finally released me, forehead resting against mine, his hand stroking my cheek, his breath scorching, his tone fierce.

If this continued, the one losing life would be me. I stomped on his toes, shoved him away, and fled in panic.

But my taxi was no match for his car. He intercepted me at my doorstep.

“You turned a brother into a son. To reject me, you'd really say anything. Zhang Sujin, make it clear to me, what about me dissatisfied you?!" 

He looked truly furious.  

"Dissatisfied? How would I dare be dissatisfied? Someone like me, what could I possibly be dissatisfied with about you?”

"Someone like what? Zhang Sujin, tell me, what’s ‘someone like you’? The Zhang Sujin I know takes and lets go freely, follows her heart, and lives boldly. No matter what she experienced, she still believed in love, yearned for closeness, not this… this defensive shell you’ve become!"

I stood frozen. How did he know these things? These were the little affectations and contradictions of my monotonous life, things I wrote in the captions of my new songs, like secrets whispered to a tree hollow.  

“Why’re you surprised…” His tone softened, his voice lower and deeper. “Don’t tell me you feel nothing for me. You liked my kiss, Susu. You felt 'absolute heart-throb' for me."

Absolute heart-throb… that phrase… My blood stilled, my heartbeat stalled. I didn't know how to handle the situation before me.

I opted to double down on defiance: “Younger brother or son, what's the difference? It was enough to make you back off. You understand the gap between us better than anyone. Don’t chase something with no future. Just go back."

I swear I hear him grinding his teeth. He released my shoulders, turned, and walked back to his car. Anguish gripped my heart. I silently said 'goodbye' to his retreating back.

The next second, he bent down, pulled a bouquet from the car, and walked towards me—it was the wedding bouquet. He handed it to me, then suddenly heaved a long sigh, filled with helplessness, indulgence, even pleading…

“You want a future? Let’s get married. Tomorrow, when the Civil Affairs Bureau opens.”  

What was he saying? He’d lost his mind. A madman.

I knew if I hesitated a second longer, I’d go mad too. Escaping might be cowardly, but it works. I turned and ran, didn't even wait for the elevator, used all my strength to run upstairs, and finally collapsed onto my bed. Block his number, turn off the phone, pull the covers over my head, sleep.

Lu Zheng finally disappeared from my life, but I could still hear news of him from my friend: his company merged into the Junlan Group; he replaced his elder brother as the actual head of the Junlan Group; young and promising, riding a wave of success; women wanting to be Mrs. Lu could line up from Nanli to Dongzhou…

I didn't want to hear it. I blocked my friend's WeChat, but news of Lu Zheng still seeped in everywhere.

During dinner, Lu Youze, his nephew, was bickering with a female classmate. The girl said her cousin was, after all, Lu Zheng's alumna, top-notch in family background, looks, and personal ability, yet Lu Zheng publicly rejected her without any regard. The Lu men really have no manners. 

Lu Youze countered mildly: “Save it. My little uncle’s been in love with a woman for over a decade. Two years ago, he found out this woman had a child. My little uncle rebelled against the family. Grandpa reined him in before, but Grandpa’s gone now. Even my dad can’t control him anymore. No one can stop him from playing ‘stepdad’.”  

The girl sighed, “Did it work out?”  

Lu Youze said, “Don’t know. Judging by how he's always on business trips, working desperately, probably not. But a ‘white moonlight’ is the most unforgettable. No one can replace her. Your cousin has no chance."

Alumna? Wasn't that the "persona" he’d crafted for me back then? I thought it was his ideal partner type. Was I wrong?  

A woman with a child, two years ago, rebelled against his family, stepdad, white moonlight, in love for over a decade…  

The dots connected, pulling at memories. I didn't want to delay a moment longer. I rushed home, logged into my music platform account that I hadn't accessed for nearly half a year, scrolling from the latest comment to the first, then back again.  

Aside from a few random listeners, for fifteen years, all the “Susu, keep going” came from one account—moon went to sea.  

The latest comment was from two months ago, the night he proposed, under the caption of my new song from the year before.

The new song's caption was: “I’ve always believed true love isn’t about being treated well, pampered, or cared for, but rather golden wind and jade dew¹, amidst flowers and under the moon²; it's the lightning and spark of absolute heart-throb, the moment when hearts align. I’d marvel at the joy of being alive, yet also feel that dying then would hold no regret. If such a person appears, I will grant him a ticket to my life."

  

(¹: Beautiful encounter.) 

(²: Romantic setting.) 

moon went to sea commented: "In all the time I have been absent from your world, I've been preparing to obtain the ticket to your life. Now I stand alone, the path ahead clear. I’ve come to claim the ticket.”

I noticed my hands trembled, then realized I was crying, cheeks burning, vision blurring.

Him.  

It’s really him.  

Always him.  

At ten, he said, “What’s this song called? Sing it again for me.”  

At twenty, he said, “Teacher Susu, I’ve heard your songs.”  

From eleven to twenty-seven, every year, he said, “Susu, keep going.”  

All these years, the only one who could pluck my heartstrings was him. I’ve never believed in fate so fiercely.  

I had always known I had slight advantages in looks; finding a reasonably well-off partner wouldn't be hard. But I also knew that wasn’t what I wanted, so I refused to settle or compromise.  

That rainy night, the moment his car window rolled down, the love I’d longed for had already descended from the heavens.  

I found his number, unblocked it, and called. No answer. I stamped my foot anxiously, in the end, I grabbed my car keys and rushed out.  

Moonlight covered the world, eclipsing my overwhelming joy. I ran under it, like a lone hero in twilight, charging toward a final battle—fight to the death or rise victorious.  

The dial tone stopped. Someone had answered but made no sound.

I tentatively spoke: “Lu Zheng, where are you?”

The silence on the other end was too long. I glanced at my phone, confirming the call was connected: "You… are you listening?"

"At the company. What is it?" His tone was icy.

“I…” I faltered, suddenly not knowing how to begin.  

“Zhang Sujin, do you understand what this call implies? Think carefully before you speak."  

"The fifteenth's moon is rounder on the sixteenth. Want to come see it?"

“Tonight, I don’t care about the moon…”  

“I only care about you.” I interrupted him, deciding to offer the ticket myself. "Wait for me."

---

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