TIMO - Chapter 42
Chapter 42
Her name, written in this script, was surprisingly complex.
While it consisted of only a few strokes in the interstellar language, in this script, the strokes became numerous, which also made her name seem unique.
Shi Nan silently memorized how to write her own name. “What about your name?”
“Mine?” Fu Zhao’s gaze lowered, her eyelashes trembling slightly. Her focused expression held a hint of absentmindedness. “I’ll tell you next time. Your name is already difficult enough; I’m afraid you won’t be able to remember.”
“I think you understand how to hold the brush and how to write now. First, write your wish in the interstellar language. It’s time to light the lanterns.”
“Hey, Little Island Master!!”
Before Shi Nan could ask any more questions, someone approached them-a group of undifferentiated high school boys and girls in their school uniforms, chattering around Fu Zhao.
“Little Island Master, could you help us write a sentence? In Ancient Nanke Language, just write ‘Wishing the second group of Class 345, third year of Nanke No. 4 High School, success in their advancement exams!’”
“And add another one, ‘Wishing everyone a smooth differentiation.’”
Fu Zhao never refused such requests, especially when faced with this chattering group of youngsters. So she smiled, patted the head of a girl with a long ponytail, and walked over to their table, bending down to pick up the brush.
The lights flickered, and the night lamps cast a hazy glow.
Fu Zhao was surrounded by a crowd, softly asking for each boy and girl’s name. Her gentle, mellow voice still managed to pour into Shi Nan’s ears with perfect clarity amidst the noisy crowd. A few strands of black hair tucked behind her ear were blown loose by the wind, and her eyes shone brightly, as if holding a cluster of lively stars, or as if a swaying, blazing fire danced within them. A constant shower of fine flower petals drifted down from above, landing on her shoulders.
The soft, warm touch on her hand suddenly vanished, and Shi Nan felt a little unused to it. She propped up her face and quietly admired the scene for a while, then let her gaze fall openly on the pile of Kongming Lantern paper in front of her.
The paper Fu Zhao had first written on was pressed at the very bottom.
Shi Nan glanced at the bustling crowd, then, without changing her expression, moved the pile of papers on top. Several beautiful, neat, and elegant characters were revealed.
It was that ancient script from before.
She couldn’t understand it.
But she had scientific means.
So, Shi Nan opened her latest model smartphone and scanned the line of text.
The screen lit up, and a line of interstellar language appeared on it…
Just before she could see it clearly, Shi Nan closed her eyes again and exited the interface. She wanted to wait for Fu Zhao to say it herself.
She thought for a moment, her fingertips tapping lightly on the screen, and translated her own wish into the Ancient Nanke Language.
A line of characters appeared. It looked difficult, but if she wrote it stroke by stroke, she should be able to do it well.
“Are you done writing?”
A clear, mellow voice sounded by her ear, carried on a gust of wind. The rich scent of tea followed, wafting over. For some reason, the tea fragrance on Fu Zhao had been growing stronger lately, seeping into her lungs, refreshing and clear.
It was a very comfortable scent, one that always made people unconsciously want to get closer.
Shi Nan slowly opened her eyes. Using the posture Fu Zhao had just taught her, she faced the phone screen and began to write her wish, word by word, on the same sheet of lantern paper.
“Han…” Fu Zhao said one word and then stopped, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Ancient Nanke Language, you’re going to use Ancient Nanke Language too?”
“Mhm.”
Shi Nan nodded lightly, her gaze focused on the paper and the screen without distraction. “Since it’s a traditional custom, using the ancient script will seem more sincere. What if the gods who have lived for thousands of years can’t read the interstellar language?”
Fu Zhao was stunned for a moment. She hadn’t thought of that, nor had she expected Shi Nan to be so serious about making a wish. She smiled and nodded. “Alright, I really didn’t think of that.”
“You’re writing in the ancient script anyway, so you don’t need to change it.”
Shi Nan spoke as if it were a casual remark. “What wish did you write? I can’t read it.”
“My wish…”
Fu Zhao’s gaze fell, landing on the line of small characters Shi Nan was writing. The characters were crooked and shaky; a beginner’s handwriting was somewhat hard to decipher. After looking for a few moments without being able to make it out, she simply shifted her gaze away and watched Shi Nan quietly. “It’s nothing special…”
“Just a hope that everyone will have a good ending in the end.”
“Everyone?”
Shi Nan finished writing the last character, spread the lantern paper open, and thought for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow at Fu Zhao. “Is your wish for peace across the entire interstellar space?”
Hearing this, Fu Zhao couldn’t help but laugh out loud. She reached out to help Shi Nan arrange the lantern paper, unfolding it into the shape of a lantern, her eyes drifting lightly over it. “Let’s just say it is.”
“What do you mean, ‘let’s just say it is’?”
Shi Nan and Fu Zhao picked up the lantern together, pulled the bottom ring apart a little, and then gently lit it on the fire rack.
The flame danced, its shadow flickering.
The light reflected on Fu Zhao’s face, her eyes mirroring the dancing flame, followed by a vast, hazy glow that enveloped her, making her look as if she were wrapped in a brilliant golden halo.
“I might not be as good as you think… Like I said, I’m just a selfish person.” Fu Zhao lowered her eyes, her fingertips gripping the edge of the lantern paper. “Perhaps the ‘everyone’ I mentioned is just everyone around me-my mother, Jiang Wenqing, Ye Er, Doctor Liu… every resident on Nanke Island, and of course, you, Shi Nan.”
“I hope all of these people will have a perfect ending.”
Shi Nan didn’t find Fu Zhao’s use of the word “ending” strange. She only felt that the current Fu Zhao had a more human touch than the one she’d seen when she first arrived on the island. She stared at Fu Zhao, and in the interval while they waited for the Kongming Lantern to fill with enough hot air to rise, she remembered something.
The movie she and Fu Zhao had watched many times, at the same open-air cinema. Fu Zhao always liked to take her there, saying she wanted to watch it again.
The first time they watched it, Fu Zhao said she disliked the movie, calling herself selfish and cold, and that she would never do the same thing as the male lead. Even if she died, she would be resentful.
But the most recent time, just yesterday.
After they finished watching the movie at the open-air cinema, they sat by the sea as usual, feeling the breeze for a while.
When she finally stood up, Fu Zhao was still sitting quietly, as if lost in a daze, or perhaps pondering something.
“What are you thinking about?” she had asked.
Fu Zhao snapped back to her senses, looking at her in a daze. She first shook her head gently, then fell silent for a while before parting her lips to speak softly.
“I think I understand why the male protagonist did what he did.”
“I thought I could never understand that kind of emotion, but after watching it over and over these past few days, I feel like I can understand that kind of action. Perhaps losing someone is more painful than death.”
After saying that, Fu Zhao had looked at Shi Nan quietly.
Shi Nan had been stunned for a moment, only then realizing that Fu Zhao’s perspective had changed. She had thought that because Fu Zhao didn’t understand the movie, she wouldn’t have such thoughts, which was why she had felt at ease continuing to watch it with her.
She opened her mouth and said a few words bitterly, “Do you have someone you’re unwilling to lose now? Someone you’d trade your own death for.”
Fu Zhao froze for a moment, looking at her from a distance as she sat on the seat. Her hair was a mess from the sea breeze, and a few words were scattered in the wind.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“If it were my mother, I would be willing.”
That was Fu Zhao’s answer at the time, and Shi Nan had breathed a sigh of relief because of it. As long as that person wasn’t her, she wouldn’t have to feel afraid for selfishly staying by Fu Zhao’s side.
The memory came to a halt.
Shi Nan returned to the present and looked at Fu Zhao, asking softly, “Then if something were to happen to these people one day, would you willingly sacrifice yourself?”
She asked the same question.
But this time, the question included many people, and it included her. This was the situation she feared the most, the one she was most unwilling to see happen. If this time, because of her interactions with Fu Zhao, because they kept watching that movie, Fu Zhao’s way of thinking changed, and it led Fu Zhao, led that ending, back to its original point…
Then, perhaps she shouldn’t be by Fu Zhao’s side at all.
Fu Zhao didn’t answer Shi Nan’s question. She just stared at the flickering flame in silence for a moment before speaking. “What about yours? Your wish?”
My wish?
Shi Nan was dazed for a moment. She came back to her senses and looked at Fu Zhao’s face, illuminated by the firelight. She smiled, her eyelashes trembling slightly as she spoke softly, “I’m much more selfish than you, Fu Zhao. I only hope that in the unpredictable future, you will always stand on your own side, always think of yourself, and be safe and sound.”
“Your wish…” Fu Zhao’s eyes were filled with astonishment. “Why is it about me?”
Shi Nan didn’t answer her question, only silently righted the Kongming Lantern, now full of hot air. “We can let go now.”
Fu Zhao pressed her lips together, wanting to ask more, but the lantern was already rising, so she held back her words.
They lifted the Kongming Lantern above their heads and then released their hands.
The Kongming Lantern floated up slowly, drifting gently into the air. It rose into the sky, swaying, and joined all the other Kongming Lanterns on the horizon, slowly converging in the starry sky, lighting up a phantasmal dream.
Shi Nan watched for a while, then her gaze fell back on Fu Zhao. Her fingertips ached from how tightly she was clenching them, and a chill ran up her spine.
“Do you remember the wish you owe me?” Shi Nan asked softly. “I said at the time that you could grant it, but you definitely wouldn’t agree.”
Her wish back then wasn’t this one.
Back then, she had been thinking that it would be nice if Fu Zhao didn’t break off the engagement, if they could have a stable, romantic, and happy future. She would work hard to make Fu Zhao willingly grant her that wish.
But now, with the change in Fu Zhao’s thoughts, this was her only wish left.
Fu Zhao froze, as if realizing something. Her voice softened unconsciously. “I remember.”
Shi Nan nodded, hiding her white-knuckled fists behind her back. She smiled and said, “This is that wish, a wish you can definitely grant.”
“No matter what happens in the future, I only hope you take care of yourself.”
“You’ll definitely agree, right? I know you’ll keep your promise.” She looked at Fu Zhao, her gaze firm.
Fu Zhao hesitated for a moment, but seeing Shi Nan’s serious and determined eyes fixed on her, she still gave a nod.
Shi Nan breathed a sigh of relief, unclenching her fists, and shifted her gaze to the Kongming Lanterns floating on the horizon. “I wish there really were gods in this world. I hope the ancient gods can see my wish.”
The sky full of Kongming Lanterns burned quietly, illuminating them as they stood on the ground, illuminating the wishes they had written with sincere hearts.
Their lantern had already merged with the others, now indistinguishable.
Shi Nan watched quietly for a while, then crumpled up all the remaining lantern papers. She thought of the ancient script she had written on the Kongming Lantern.
The sentence she had looked up was not easy to write, so while Fu Zhao wasn’t looking, she had taken a brush she had never used before and practiced on the other lantern papers over and over again, using them all up. Only then did she write the sentence, in a reasonably standard way, on the paper Fu Zhao had prepared.
Before she learned to write Fu Zhao’s name in the ancient script, she had only one wish.
May she always be safe, may she always be well.
She had written it so many times, using a distant language, just hoping the ancient gods could see her sincerity and true intentions.
She was still holding on to the fantasy that that day would never come.
But if that day really did happen, even if the wish she first held in her heart could not be realized…
She would give up all the joy and romance she had experienced at this moment, so that the future Fu Zhao could live peacefully and continue to have everything she has now.
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