Do patients have to write wills too?
9/12
All the assets owned by this robot shall be donated to the children’s foundation. As for that letter, I’ll give it to Duan Zhihan after all, no, actually, never mind.
9/13
Hospitalization is so boring, I want to be discharged.
10/1
Today’s doctor was an old man, his Mandarin wasn’t even standard, and I don’t like his hair. Oh, and I can’t be discharged anymore, because all the parts in my body are broken.
Jiang Li died.
He died on his twenty-fifth birthday.
The entire entertainment industry breathed a sigh of relief, this person who had been at the very top since his teenage years had finally died. The media had hounded him with rumors, and the public had looked down on him with contempt.
At the awards ceremony, under the glittering lights, a young actor gossiped about Jiang Li’s death: “Dying of liver cancer so young, maybe it’s karma. He didn’t exactly make few enemies while he was alive.”
“Who even knows if it was really liver cancer. With how messy his personal life was, it could’ve been AIDS for all we know. How else would he have become a top star?”
Just as the young actor was enjoying himself, his friend tugged at his sleeve. He felt an icy stare stab into his back.
He turned around with a start and saw a man leaning against the glass wall, his face hidden in the dim light, only his tall, imposing figure visible.
When the lights in the hall came on, the young actor finally saw an exceptionally handsome face, features so sharp they bordered on overwhelming, with pale, seductive peach-blossom eyes that were especially alluring.
He recognized the man instantly as Duan Zhihan.
There wasn’t a single person who didn’t know this actor, winner of countless awards both domestically and abroad. This year’s grand prize was undoubtedly going to Duan Zhihan, even his family background was top-tier.
The young actor’s heart eased. Everyone knew Jiang Li and Duan Zhihan were bitter rivals, so maybe badmouthing the dead man would earn him the other man’s favor.
Sure enough, the man smiled at them, and with that smile his peach-blossom eyes became even more captivating. “Which company are you two from?”
The young actor’s heart leapt. Hoping to win Duan Zhihan’s favor, he immediately introduced himself, only for Duan Zhihan to say, “No need to bother anymore.”
The young actor’s face went pale. He didn’t understand why, just for badmouthing Jiang Li, he was about to lose the job he’d already secured. Weren’t these two supposed to be enemies?
Duan Zhihan ignored the young man, who looked close to tears, and walked back to his seat, saying to his assistant, “Book me a flight home.”
“When?”
The assistant immediately unlocked his phone screen, assuming it would be after the ceremony at the earliest. But Duan Zhihan’s voice came evenly from above.
“Now.”
The assistant was startled by the answer, leaving before the ceremony ended meant forfeiting the award. He couldn’t imagine what could possibly matter more than today’s much-anticipated Lifetime Achievement Award.
Duan Zhihan walked out as soon as he finished speaking, leaving the assistant to book the flight while trailing behind him.
After booking the ticket, the assistant suddenly remembered something. “Should we still buy the birthday cake this year?”
Every year, Duan Zhihan sent a cake to someone. During the six years he’d been filming abroad, the first thing he did in every new city was find the local dessert shop.
For some reason, an emotion the assistant couldn’t quite place crossed Duan Zhihan’s face. It was a long while before he spoke.
“No need.”
Jiang Li’s temperament lived up to his name, strange and unlikable, so hardly anyone came to his funeral. Only his manager, Ye Cheng, cried himself into a mess.
That night, Ye Cheng heard a car stop downstairs. Who would come at this hour? A reporter, maybe?
He set down the joss paper he was burning and went downstairs cautiously.
The person who got out wasn’t a reporter, it was Duan Zhihan. Newspapers lay scattered across the car seat, and he raised a hand briefly to shut the door.
Ye Cheng stumbled forward to greet him. “Wasn’t there an awards ceremony today? Why did you come back? And to a place like this, no less.”
“I didn’t win, so I came back.” Duan Zhihan looked toward the memorial hall, then asked idly, “How does someone so young get liver cancer?”
Ye Cheng was thinking about how fierce the competition had been this year, even Duan Zhihan had come back empty-handed, before it dawned on him that the question was about Jiang Li. He hurried to answer.
“He was busy filming and doing commercial appearances, wouldn’t go to the hospital no matter what anyone said. By the time it was discovered, it was already terminal. If I’d known, I would’ve forced him to get a checkup every year.”
Ye Cheng’s nose stung. He had watched with his own eyes as Jiang Li wasted away to skin and bones from the disease, someone who had once been so beautiful.
Duan Zhihan walked into the memorial hall and lit a stick of incense for Jiang Li, seeming to murmur something quietly, though Ye Cheng couldn’t make it out.
Seeing this, Ye Cheng felt a rush of gratitude. Jiang Li had harbored some strange hostility toward Duan Zhihan while he was alive, publicly clashing with him more times than anyone could count, yet in death, it was his rival who came to pay respects.
Duan Zhihan brushed off the incense ash that had settled on him. He had been filming abroad for six years and had only learned of Jiang Li’s death today, he’d immediately turned down the awards ceremony and flown home.
Because the two of them had once had a secret marriage. He’d never imagined that the next time he saw Jiang Li, it would be as a portrait for the dead.
In the photo, Jiang Li was thin to the point of being unrecognizable, his skin pale, his chin sharp, nothing like the proud boy he’d once been. Why had he never learned to take care of himself?
Duan Zhihan surveyed the empty hall, his gaze stopping on the lone, solitary wreath. “His family isn’t coming today?”
When they’d split up, Jiang Li had said his family was abroad, that they didn’t need him around, putting on the air of a spoiled only child, insisting, head held high, that he had lots and lots of family, that they sent him gifts every birthday.
Ye Cheng spoke up, indignant. “What family does he have? His father is a gambling addict. His mother couldn’t stand his father and ran off with another man when he was little.”
“His father used to beat him and curse at him all the time. Sometimes he’d just smash an ashtray straight into his head, and Jiang Li would just stand there blankly, not even knowing to dodge.”
Listening to Ye Cheng, Duan Zhihan realized he had never truly understood Jiang Li. The boy who claimed to have so much family was, in truth, a child starved of love since childhood.
Their marriage had been an accident. Of course, he didn’t deny that he’d had feelings for Jiang Li back then, for nearly two years, he’d tried to warm up that withdrawn, solitary boy.
But Jiang Li had continued to resist his touch. He wasn’t the type to cling to someone who didn’t want him, so in the end he’d politely brought up divorce, and Jiang Li had agreed without any apparent concern.
He’d thought that was the worst of it. But Ye Cheng kept talking.
“Xiao Li’s grades were really good in middle school, he could ace math. He was popular, one of the top students at school. That scum of a father beat him in front of his classmates. Such a young kid, beaten so badly his clothes were torn, right at the school gate. That’s when something started going wrong in his head.”
Duan Zhihan pressed his pale lips together. He knew how proud Jiang Li was, if he put a trophy on the table, Jiang Li would insist on putting one beside it too.
For someone that proud to be beaten by his own father in front of his peers, clothes torn to shreds, he paused for a moment before asking further.
“What kind of problem?”
“I can tell you, but there’s a condition.” Ye Cheng hesitated before speaking. “Don’t let it get out. You know how reporters are, they’ll spin eight hundred words out of half a sentence.[1]exaggerating how reporters can invent a whole sensational story from the barest scrap of information (nǎo bǔ chū bā bǎi zì xiǎo zuò wén) Metaphor, literally “mentally fabricate an … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_2964139_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_2964139_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });”
If it had been anyone else, Ye Cheng would never have said a word. But Duan Zhihan’s reputation for integrity was well known, there was that one time a production ran out of money and most of the actors walked, but Duan Zhihan paid for the filming out of his own pocket, back when he didn’t have much money himself either.
After getting Duan Zhihan’s assurance, Ye Cheng organized his thoughts, trying to phrase things so Jiang Li’s behavior wouldn’t sound too strange.
“From then on, he believed he was a robot from another planet. He’d turn himself on and off every day, and he’d write observation reports about life on Earth.”
“He’d count down the days until his discharge while lying in the hospital bed. When he realized he’d never be discharged again, maybe he sensed something, because he pulled at my sleeve and looked up and asked me if he was going to have to go back to his own planet.”
Ye Cheng broke down crying as he spoke. How much pain would it take for someone to deny being human, to think of himself as an unfeeling robot instead?
Maybe it was because robots had unbreakable shells that could withstand any attack from the outside, so Jiang Li had hidden himself away inside that cold shell.
Sensing an unspeakable emotion radiating from Duan Zhihan, and afraid he might leave a bad impression of Jiang Li, Ye Cheng hurried to add more.
“He never hurt anyone. He just had his own little world, like, he’d wait by the door for someone every day, maybe waiting for his alien companion.”
“Even hooked up to an IV, he insisted on going to wait. Right before he died, all he said was, ‘It’s been so long and he still hasn’t come.’ Sigh, I should have said something back then.”
Duan Zhihan suddenly looked up, his calm, composed face rippling with something for just a moment, though his beautiful peach-blossom eyes remained unchanged.
Because he remembered, the day he left the country, Jiang Li had suddenly asked if he’d come find him. He’d casually said “mm,” and the boy had said “oh, okay.” He’d never imagined Jiang Li would take those words seriously.
But all Ye Cheng saw was Duan Zhihan’s unmoved expression. Still, he thought, at least his rival had come to pay respects, that was already something. He left after getting a call from his company.
Alone in the empty memorial hall, Duan Zhihan stared at the man in the portrait. “He hit you and you didn’t fight back? Weren’t you supposed to be the best at cursing people out?”
No one answered him. That Jiang Li had already died, shut away inside his cold, hard shell.
“I didn’t buy you a birthday cake this year.” Duan Zhihan’s tone was light. “Since you can’t even take care of yourself, why should I spend the money? I won’t be buying you one anymore, either.”
Time passed, second by second. In the end, he sighed. “Fine, I’ll still buy you one. Do you like lemon flavor or strawberry?”
Duan Zhihan remembered that Jiang Li had always liked lemon flavor best. Every time he brought a little lemon cake home, Jiang Li would take it with an expressionless face, and then his eyes would light up.
At some point, sparks fell from above, and the paper offerings piled up caught fire fiercely, crackling as they burned to nothing.
When Duan Zhihan looked away and glanced outside, he saw a raging sea of flames.
Suddenly, something dropped by the edge of his suit trousers. Thinking it was a candlestick, he took two steps outward, and right then, a flame-wrapped roof beam crashed down heavily.
Duan Zhihan turned back and froze. The spot where the beam had fallen was exactly where he’d been standing a moment before. What had fallen wasn’t a candlestick.
It was Jiang Li’s memorial photo.
That photograph had shielded him from the beam falling from the ceiling, as if unwilling to let him suffer any harm, silent yet stubborn, willing to turn itself to ash rather than let him get hurt.
Just like the Jiang Li who had waited six years. A normal person wouldn’t wait six years over a single sentence, but Jiang Li had waited six years, and even in death, he hadn’t gotten what he waited for. In the end, all he’d said was, “Sigh, I should have said something.”
Duan Zhihan lowered his dark eyes, his expression unreadable, only his skin unusually pale.
The fire spread faster and faster through the hall. Outside, someone shouted at him urgently, “This way, it’s safe over here!”
“I know.”
Duan Zhihan smiled gently at the person outside, then said calmly, “But my beloved is still in there.”
The next second, he walked into the fire, bent down, and gathered up the photograph, already nearly burned to ash, into his arms, as if carefully cradling Jiang Li himself.
“I’m here. Don’t be afraid.”
The vast ceiling collapsed with a roar, and the endless flames swallowed Duan Zhihan, still holding the photograph, and his consciousness sank into darkness.
Right before he sank completely into the dark, he thought, if he had a chance to start over, he would hold Jiang Li. That Jiang Li hiding inside a robot’s shell, too afraid to come out. He would make sure his Jiang Li had a better life than anyone else.
He didn’t know how long had passed before a hazy light appeared before his eyes, and a jarring sound of music rang in his ears. Duan Zhihan opened his eyes. Jiang Li was sitting on the sofa with his back to him.
From this angle, he could only see that the boy wore a pure white shirt, ice-blue hair falling over his neck, and in a voice both childish and fierce, he said,
“Whoever doesn’t want a divorce is an idiot.”
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