Chapter Forty-Three: The Summer of the College Entrance Exam—Partings and Horizons Afar

The college entrance examination swept through the entire small town like a hurricane.

The air was thick with tension and anticipation. The usually bustling streets had grown noticeably quieter. Every household moved with caution, fearful of disturbing the children preparing for the exams.

Lin Mo was in his final sprint. He barely returned home, eating and sleeping at school. Occasionally, he came back on weekends to change clothes, his figure even leaner than before, but his eyes shone with a brilliance like refined steel.

Yi Yi, too, was striving toward her goal. She had chosen to study medicine, a path with entry scores as lofty as the clouds. Her calm and poise made her stand out amid the stressful atmosphere of exam preparation. She kept to her routine, meditating briefly every morning to keep her mind clear, which made her remarkably efficient in her studies.

Their chances to meet had dwindled to just the moments at the exam site.

During the three days of the college entrance exam, the weather was oppressively hot. I closed the medical clinic and personally drove Yi Yi to the examination hall each day.

I saw Lin Mo’s parents as well. Two honest, working-class people, their eyes full of hope and worry as they watched their son. Before entering the exam hall, Lin Mo would look back, searching for Yi Yi in the crowd. When their eyes met across the distance, they would exchange a knowing smile and a nod.

It was an unspoken, highest form of encouragement—words were unnecessary.

When the bell rang at the end of the final subject, the entire exam site erupted. Students poured out of the building like a tide, their faces displaying everything from ecstasy to confusion to immense relief.

In the crowd, Lin Mo spotted Yi Yi at once. He wove through the throng toward her.

“It’s over,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, but he radiated an unprecedented lightness.

“Yes, it’s over,” Yi Yi replied with a smile.

They didn’t embrace or cheer like the others. They simply stood quietly, looking at each other. Four years—silent exchanges in the library, glances by the basketball court, walking together under the moon along quiet paths—all distilled into this tranquil, wordless understanding.

That summer after the college entrance exams was the liveliest one Andu Town had ever seen.

Estimating scores, filling out applications, waiting for admission letters—each day was a mix of anxiety and hope.

On the day the results arrived, the Lin family set off a long string of firecrackers. Lin Mo, living up to expectations, ranked among the province’s top fifty and was admitted to his dream school of architecture.

With the dust finally settled, Lin Mo and Yi Yi felt an immense sense of relief. In the evenings, cicadas sang and the moon shone like water over Andu Town. The two of them met by the old locust tree at the riverbank, sitting on the stone steps, toes dipping into the water, letting the night breeze carry away their tension and fatigue.

Lin Mo, relaxed for once, laughed and said, “Finally, I don’t have to do endless practice questions every day. I feel like I’ve lost several pounds.”

Yi Yi turned to him, her eyes bright with amusement. “You’re already thin. If you lose any more, you’ll be blown away by the wind.”

Lin Mo scratched his head, and suddenly became serious. “Have you thought about it… what things will be like after we both graduate?”

Yi Yi lowered her head, picked up a pebble, and tossed it gently into the river, watching ripples spread across the surface. She spoke softly, “Maybe we’ll go our separate ways.”

Lin Mo shook his head, his voice low but firm. “I think… once I finish my studies, I’ll definitely come back here. Then, if you’re willing, we’ll settle down in this town. Get married, have children, grow old together.”

Yi Yi froze, the stone in her hand stilled. She looked at Lin Mo, her eyes under the moonlight showing a trace of confusion and struggle. The night breeze ruffled her hair and her thoughts.

Sensing her change, Lin Mo was about to speak when Yi Yi abruptly stood up and said quietly, “It’s late. I should go.”

She said nothing more, just turned and quickly disappeared into the night. Lin Mo watched her retreating figure, unease creeping into his heart.

Yi Yi walked briskly home, pushed open the door to the clinic, and found the courtyard still lit. She didn’t greet her father as usual, but stood silently at the doorway for a long time.

Her father looked up and asked gently, “What’s wrong, child?”

Yi Yi bit her lip, her eyes flickering with complicated emotions. At last, she spoke in a low voice, “Father, there’s something I want to ask you…”

“Father, why… haven’t you found a companion? Like Grandma Wang and Grandpa Li across the street.”

I was taken aback, then understood what she meant.

Looking at her face, growing more and more like her mother’s, I wondered how I could explain to her—what does ‘companionship’ mean to someone who has lived for a thousand years?

I fell silent for a while, then replied with a question, “Yi Yi, what do you think companionship is?”

“Companionship… I suppose it means always being together,” she answered quietly, head bowed.

“What if you could only be together for a short time? A year, ten years, or… a hundred years,” I said slowly. “And then, you’d watch that person go from youth and strength to faltering steps, to silver hair, and finally, become nothing but dust, disappearing from your life completely. And you, you remain unchanged. Again and again, it’s always the same. Do you think that’s still companionship?”

My voice was soft but carried a weight of indescribable sorrow.

The lightness on Yi Yi’s face slowly solidified.

She was clever. She understood instantly. What I described—wasn’t it exactly our fate as father and daughter?

Her hand unconsciously gripped the fan tighter.

“That… isn’t that cruel?” Her voice trembled. “For the one left behind.”

“Yes, it’s cruel,” I sighed. “So sometimes, not beginning at all is a kind of mercy. For yourself, and for others.”

I looked at her, my gaze deep. “It’s not that I don’t need companionship. It’s just that my path is too long, too lonely—no one can walk the entire way with me. That’s why I have you. Yi Yi, you are the only, the eternal companion I have on this endless journey.”

That night, Yi Yi was silent for a long time.

For the first time, she thought so deeply about the concept of time.

It was no longer just an abstract idea from her books, but transformed into vivid, cruel images.

She thought of Lin Mo.

She thought of him, speaking with such spirit about the future—about the houses he wanted to design, the family he wanted to build, marriage, children, growing old together… In those beautiful plans, so ordinary for most people, every step was marked by the passage of time.

In a few years, he would be a vigorous young man.

In ten years, a steady, mature adult.

In thirty years, gray hairs would appear, his steps would slow.

In a hundred years…

Where would he be then, a hundred years from now?

And what would she look like in a hundred years?

She looked down at her own hands—still small and delicate after more than two thousand years. The answer was self-evident.

In that moment, a great, silent sorrow seized her heart. This sadness had nothing to do with love or betrayal, but was the unbridgeable chasm at the very core of existence.