STT – Chapter 34
by Little PandaHer Heart Has Turned to Ashes.
Lu Zizheng didn’t know how she had managed to hold herself together all the way home. She had barely stepped through the door when she saw Mother Lu standing at the entryway, watching her with a face full of worry. She turned away, fighting with everything she had to still her trembling hand, and gently pulled the door shut. Then she crouched down to slip on her cotton slippers, pretending nothing had happened as she asked, “Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you staring at me?”
Mother Lu called to her softly, “Zhengzheng…”
Lu Zizheng struggled to force her stiff, numb, senseless feet into the slippers, then looked up with a strained smile, deliberately keeping her voice light. “Mm…” But the moment she tried to stand, her legs gave out, and she fell into Mother Lu’s arms as she rushed forward to catch her. Only then did Lu Zizheng realize, with a wave of sorrow, just how truly powerless she had become.
Mother Lu quickly steadied her, eyes reddening at the rims. She didn’t ask what had happened between Lu Zizheng and Jiang Huaixi — she simply supported her in silence as they made their way to the living room, helped her onto the sofa, and then went to the bathroom to draw hot water.
Lu Zizheng leaned back against the sofa, eyes closed, head tilted upward, fighting with all her might to contain herself. Her breathing was heavy and labored, the muscles along her jaw trembling imperceptibly…
Mother Lu brought out two basins of hot water, tested the temperature carefully, and only then gently placed Lu Zizheng’s stiff, frozen feet into the water.
Lu Zizheng’s eyes flew open. She lurched forward and grabbed Mother Lu’s arm, stopping her from bathing her feet. “How can I let you draw footbath water for me?!” she said, her voice low and hoarse.
Mother Lu looked at her with aching tenderness and sighed. “Silly girl…”
At that sigh — so full of heartache and love — Lu Zizheng’s nose suddenly stung, and the tears she had held back for so long finally broke free. She pulled Mother Lu down to sit beside her, buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck, and wrapped her arms tightly around her, crying without a single sound. All Mother Lu could feel was a spreading dampness against her neck — cold, soaking tears — and her own heart seized so tightly she nearly broke down herself.
Mother Lu didn’t dare ask what had happened. She could only hold her back, one hand gently patting Lu Zizheng’s spine, murmuring, “Don’t cry, Zhengzheng. Mom’s here. Everything will be all right. Everything will pass…”
Lu Zizheng’s whole body trembled with sobs, yet not a sound escaped. At last, she wiped her tears away herself, lifted her head, and managed a smile through red-rimmed eyes, her voice still thick and hoarse as she said, “Mom, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine once I’ve cried it out. Don’t worry. I’m all right now…”
Mother Lu watched her force that brave smile and felt her chest tighten with an ache so heavy she could barely breathe. She answered gently, “Mm, Mom believes you. Mom isn’t worried…” Then she turned her face away and quickly wiped the tears that had spilled from her own eyes despite herself.
Silly girl. How could her mother possibly not worry when she looked like that?
Mother Lu had been worried that Lu Zizheng’s mood would affect her appetite, but to her surprise, Lu Zizheng ate about the same as usual at dinner. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at the table — she even chatted casually about everyday things now and then. Mother Lu knew she was straining to hide her pain, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear open the wound. She could only play along, helpless to do anything more.
After dinner, Lu Zizheng retreated to her room, claiming she wanted to shower and sleep early — after all, work started again tomorrow, and she said she wanted to seize the last bits of good time for a good sleep and a good dream.
Mother Lu knew Lu Zizheng’s sleep habits all too well. Never mind that it was barely past seven — even in the dead of night, she would lie awake, tossing and turning before she could finally drift off. What good sleep, what good dreams? But she also understood that what Lu Zizheng needed most right now was to be alone. So she pretended to know nothing, readily agreed, and added, “Get up early tomorrow, won’t you? Don’t be late on your first day back after the New Year — that wouldn’t look good.”
Lu Zizheng blinked and answered with a smile, “Mom, stop worrying so much. I’m always good — how would I be late?”
Mother Lu laughed. “There you go, bragging again…”
Lu Zizheng hurried back to her room on quick, unsteady feet. She closed the door, didn’t bother turning on the light, and made straight for the bathroom, where she crouched beside the toilet and threw up every last bite of the dinner she had forced herself to eat. She vomited until her feet went numb and tears streamed down, and only then did she slump to the floor, motionless.
After a long while, she recovered enough strength to leave the bathroom, fetch a change of underwear and pajamas from the bedroom, and go back in to shower.
She turned the shower on full blast. In an instant she was drenched, eyes squeezed shut. The next instant, tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, unrestrained. She felt her face soaked through and lied to herself: Mom, I’m not crying. It’s just the water. Don’t worry…
Lu Zizheng had no idea how long she showered. She only stopped when the skin all over her body began to wrinkle, finally shutting off the water, drying herself and her hair, and stepping out of the bathroom.
She didn’t turn on the light. In the dark, she crawled onto the bed, drew up her knees, and hugged them to her chest. By the moonlight, she stared blankly at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick, one beat at a time.
Everyone said life was fleeting and time was precious, but in this moment, Lu Zizheng felt that every minute, every second stretched on unbearably long. She could no longer find meaning in time — there was nothing but suffering, and more suffering.
She questioned herself in her heart: was it that life should never hold expectations at all? Buddhism teaches that all beings suffer — that people are born to endure suffering and repay karmic debts from past lives1, which is why the very first sound a person makes upon entering the world is a cry. Why could she never learn? Why could she never reach that understanding?
In the darkness, Lu Zizheng traced, inch by inch, the ugly, winding scar on her wrist. Following the scar, her fingers found the watch Jiang Huaixi had given her — the cold, thick strap. Her fingertips gently stroked the strap, and finally she couldn’t help but laugh — and then cry…
Being too gentle had never been Jiang Huaixi’s fault — the fault was her own presumptuousness. Being unable to give her love was even less Jiang Huaixi’s fault — the fault was her own insatiable greed.
From beginning to end, Jiang Huaixi had done nothing wrong. The one who was wrong was herself.
But, Huaixi — you asked, can’t we just stay like this?
But her heart had already veered off its proper course — how could she possibly continue forward as though nothing had changed?
Lu Zizheng scrambled up, pulled open the drawer, and took out the lock of hair Jiang Huaixi had left on her pillow. She gazed at it for a long time, her eyes soft as water. Finally, she got out of bed, opened the window, and slowly, carefully untied the red string binding the hair. She held it out the window, wanting to fling her arm wide and let go — to let every last trace of longing scatter with the dark silk on the wind, drifting far away…
But she raised her arm — and in the end, didn’t let go.
Lu Zizheng stared at the hair in her hand for a long time with a bitter smile, then closed the window and went back to bed. She slipped the watch off her wrist and placed it together with the hair in the deepest part of the drawer. From now on, it would be just like her feelings for Jiang Huaixi — locked away in the dark depths, never to see the light of day again.
Having done all this, she collapsed onto the bed without bothering about her still-damp hair, curling her whole body into a ball…
The night was so long, so long, so cold, so cold… Her bare wrist felt startlingly empty, a chill creeping up from the skin there all the way to her heart, leaving Lu Zizheng shivering…
Lu Zizheng lay awake with open eyes until dawn finally came. The tear tracks on her face had long since dried. She managed a weak, self-deprecating smile. Another new day. She sat up, pulled out her phone, and after a whole night of reluctance and hesitation, finally made her decision.
She found her contacts, hand trembling slightly, dragged Jiang Huaixi into the blacklist, and then deleted every call and text record…
Let it be this way. Cut it off. Forget it.
In her heart, Lu Zizheng said, over and over, silently: Huaixi, I’m sorry.
To become a couple, we lack fate; but to pretend to be friends, I lack the talent2. I’m sorry.
Lu Zizheng, uncharacteristically, applied heavy makeup to conceal the redness and swelling around her eyes and the pallor of her face, and arrived at the translation agency on time. After the general meeting, the President asked Lu Zizheng to stay behind and informed her she was to report to Fengshang that afternoon.
Lu Zizheng was already drained in body and spirit, with no energy left to cope with Lian Xuan’s hot-and-cold, half-said-and-half-withheld games. She was ready to hand such a prime assignment over to someone else without a second thought. But the President said Lian Xuan had specifically requested her, and he was clearly in a difficult position.
Fengshang had signed a contract with the translation agency last year, establishing a long-term partnership. The President had been the one to recognize her talent and give her her start, and Lu Zizheng couldn’t bring herself to put him in too difficult a spot. After much deliberation, she reluctantly agreed.
Her heart had already turned to ashes. From now on, love and hate would have nothing to do with her. Lian Xuan or anyone else — what difference did it really make?
That afternoon, Lu Zizheng went to Fengshang as agreed. Lian Xuan, overwhelmed with work, had rushed to a neighboring city to close a major deal before her business trip, leaving only her Second Secretary3 to hand Lu Zizheng some materials and inform her that she would be traveling to Japan with Lian Xuan on a business trip the next day. Given the urgency of the timeline, Lu Zizheng was asked to familiarize herself with the project as quickly as possible.
Lu Zizheng held the materials and let out a hollow laugh. Fine. If she kept busy enough, maybe she really could forget everything.
That evening, Lu Zizheng took a cab back to Mother Lu’s place for dinner. She told her she would be going to Japan on a business trip, that the duration was uncertain, and asked her to take good care of herself.
After a long hesitation, Lu Zizheng added in a low, hoarse voice, “Mom, if you can, please try not to trouble Huaixi anymore.” She didn’t dare look up at Mother Lu’s expression.
To her surprise, Mother Lu agreed calmly, “All right, I’ll listen to you.”
Lu Zizheng looked up in surprise, but all she saw in Mother Lu’s eyes was understanding and tenderness. In that moment, she felt a rush of reassurance. No matter how the world changed, her mother would always be her strongest support — the one remaining certainty she had left in this world.
But Lu Zizheng never expected that the very next day, the moment she stepped onto the plane, Mother Lu would pick up the phone and call Jiang Huaixi.
Mother Lu’s voice was as warm as ever, without a hint of coldness toward Jiang Huaixi despite whatever had happened between her and Lu Zizheng: “Huaixi, Zizheng has gone to Japan on another business trip. Whenever you’re free, come keep Auntie company for a chat.”
In a private room at Jiang Family Hospital, Jiang Huaixi sat up, lowering her gaze slightly before answering Mother Lu in a gentle voice. “Of course, Auntie, but you’ll have to wait a few days. I’m on a business trip out of town and won’t be back for a few days.”
Mother Lu laughed warmly on the other end of the line, not minding at all. “No rush, Auntie can wait as long as it takes. The day you come, just give Auntie a call ahead of time, and I’ll make you something delicious.”
Jiang Huaixi let out a rare, childlike laugh, her voice softening. “Okay, Auntie.”
She turned her head to look out the window. The sky was still overcast. When would the snow finally clear?
That day, after Lu Zizheng left, Jiang Huaixi had crouched in the snow for a long time — until the sky had gone completely dark and she could no longer make out the deep footprints Lu Zizheng had left behind as she turned and walked away. Only then did Jiang Huaixi bite her lip, eyes red, and pull her frozen feet from the snow. She put on her shoes and made her way back to the car with great difficulty.
Her feet had nearly lost all sensation. She couldn’t drive, so she had to call someone to come drive her home.
After getting home, Jiang Huaixi felt her head swimming, her whole body weak and sore. She didn’t even eat — just rinsed herself off briefly, fell into bed, and drifted into a hazy sleep…
When she woke again, Jiang Huaixi’s throat burned with a dry, painful ache, and her whole body felt as though it were on fire. She opened her eyes and tried to push herself up — and found a thin, straight needle inserted into the back of her hand. She turned to look upward. Sure enough, an IV bag was hanging from the bedpost again…
Jiang Huaixi stared at the IV tube, watching the liquid inside drip down, drop by drop, one beat at a time — and suddenly, fury surged through her. She sat up abruptly, recklessly yanking the needle out, and flung the hanging medicine bag across the room, IV tube trailing behind it. Never had she been so furious, so resentful — so helplessly, desperately driven to destroy everything — almost wanting to vent every grievance and frustration she had bottled up over the years.
Jiang Wang4 came in carrying a bowl of medicinal soup — and found Jiang Huaixi standing barefoot beside the bed. The blanket had slipped to the floor, spotted with dots of fresh red. Following the red upward, she saw that the back of Jiang Huaixi’s hand was slowly oozing blood…
Jiang Wang set the medicine down by the door and strode forward quickly. She pulled out alcohol and cotton swabs from the medical kit and seized Jiang Huaixi’s hand to stop the bleeding. But this was the first time Jiang Huaixi had lost control in front of her — she shoved her away hard, her voice a ragged, low snarl: “Leave me alone. I’m sick of this life. I don’t want to go on like this. I don’t want to…” By the end, the words had dissolved into a barely audible sob.
Jiang Wang had known Jiang Huaixi for nearly ten years, and this was the first time she had seen the always composed, self-possessed Jiang Huaixi look so fragile. Her own heart ached, but she kept her face cold, grabbed Jiang Huaixi’s hand again, firmly this time, and snapped, “Did the fever fry your brain? What’s wrong with you?!”
The sharp scolding finally brought Jiang Huaixi back to herself. She grew calmer — but the sorrow in her heart only deepened. She returned to her usual demeanor, let out a weak, bitter laugh, and said, “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Jiang Wang didn’t even glance at her. She stood up, prepared a fresh IV bag, and hung it. Taking Jiang Huaixi’s other uninjured hand, she held the needle and slowly, deliberately, pierced the skin and slid it in.
Because she did it so slowly, it hurt badly — but Jiang Huaixi endured it without a sound.
After finishing the insertion, Jiang Wang looked up and asked coldly, pointedly, “Does it hurt?”
Jiang Huaixi gave a soft scoff and didn’t answer her. Jiang Wang had absolutely done that on purpose!
Jiang Wang didn’t seem to mind her silence. She tidied the medical kit, then went to the door, carefully brought the medicinal soup to Jiang Huaixi’s bedside, and asked again: “Does it still hurt as much?”
Jiang Huaixi looked at her in silence for a moment before answering, “It’s better.”
Jiang Wang smiled knowingly. “You see — even the most searing pain will ease with the passage of time. Why torture yourself over temporary suffering that’s bound to fade?” She held the medicinal soup out to Jiang Huaixi and had her drink it down.
But Jiang Huaixi gazed at her deeply for a long moment before replying, “If pain can prove that something once existed — then I’m willing to suffer for a long time.”
Jiang Wang paused, chuckled softly, and turned to leave.
But as she turned, Jiang Huaixi asked, “If pain really can fade and disappear with time — then, Jiang Wang, have you forgotten everything too?”
Jiang Wang’s steps halted. The faint smile on her face slowly vanished. In the end, she simply walked away in silence.
The author has something to say:
Annotation:
“‘To become a couple, we lack fate; but to pretend to be friends, I lack the talent’ is adapted from the lyrics of Hu Ge’s song 《Fingerprint》.”
Footnotes
- In Buddhist belief, negative karma accumulated in past lives creates spiritual debts that must be repaid through suffering in the present life.
- Adapted from the lyrics of 'Fingerprint' (Zhiwen), a song by Chinese singer-actor Hu Ge, about the tension between romantic longing and the impossibility of settling for friendship.
- A junior executive assistant or secretary, ranking below the primary secretary in a corporate setting.
- The character wang in Dr. Jiang Wang's name is written with the Chinese character meaning 'to forget.'
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