Chapter 7: P. A Two-Way Encounter

The day Su Hui met Ning Yixiao was the worst day he had experienced in nearly a year.

Caught in a depressive episode, he had been plagued by suicidal thoughts since the early hours of the previous night. He had made many decisions: he stayed up all night to finish his neglected reading, watered every plant in the garden, and returned to school at dawn to submit his completed assignments and return all his overdue books.

He had been suffering from bipolar disorder for many years. During hypomanic periods, his basic life wasn’t too impacted; in fact, he was often happier and more energetic than usual, able to make up for lost studies in one go. But during severe depressive episodes, he was almost incapable of doing anything, and attending school became an impossibility.

Having missed another two months of school, the classmates who used to inquire about his “illness” had become accustomed to his absences. Only one girl expressed surprise at his sudden return and asked after him with concern. Su Hui, touched, gave her all the candies he had on him, keeping only one for himself.

Since he was a child, Su Hui’s family had told him never to easily reveal his bipolar disorder to others. “No one will like you that way; everyone will hate you and fear you.” That’s what they said, so Su Hui never opened up.

His maternal grandfather had deep connections with the university leadership, but the only use for this favor was to secure his leave of absence and find excuses for his frequent dropouts. He had cycled through every conceivable illness, never repeating one. In the eyes of outsiders, he was a total weakling—a burden on the living.

It’s true, though, Su Hui thought.

He finished his checklist, finally walking to the white-pillared Second Gate. He leaned against the archway to finish a cigarette, then scanned a shared bike and left without a shred of attachment.

Whenever he reached this point, Su Hui was always shrouded in gloom. Even if the weather that day was unbelievably beautiful—clear skies and white clouds—looking back, he only remembered the iron-gray road and a sun that felt like it would melt him alive.

His limbs were numb, and he knew his state wasn’t suitable for cycling, but he did it stubbornly anyway. He felt it was like the final flare of life before death.

The stiff wheels turned bit by bit, the trace of wind finally appearing.

Aimless, Su Hui felt like a wrecked, irredeemable plane, continuously plunging toward the crowded road.

So, unsurprisingly, he crashed hard into the green belt and fell.

Injured, Su Hui curled up on the ground for a long time. His wrists and knees were scraped raw, but he felt no pain. As his consciousness flickered back together, he pushed himself up, picked up his baseball cap, and stubbornly lifted the bike, pushing it to the side.

For no reason, he felt a thirst so intense it felt unbearable—even worse when he heard the incessant honking on the road. He leaned the bike against a tree and stared blankly at the shops along the street.

In his depressive phase, he suffered from obvious dyslexia, which worsened after taking medication. Letters would enlarge and dance before his eyes. It took him a long time to read simple words, and he had spent an entire night finishing the end of a book.

Selecting a café, Su Hui walked toward it straight but sluggishly.

The cold air hit him through the crack in the glass door, waking a glimmer of life in his stiffened limbs.

After standing in the order queue for a short while, it was his turn. Su Hui had his cap pulled low, wearing a mask, and didn’t look up at the clerk. He whispered that he wanted a latte, then, remembering his medication, belatedly asked to switch to plant-based milk.

Fortunately, the clerk didn’t mind his slow, plodding speed and asked kindly, “Plant-based milk, got it. Would you like that iced?”

The clerk had a pleasant voice. Su Hui drifted off for a moment and didn’t answer. It wasn’t until he heard the clerk repeat it softly that he nodded.

“Okay, please find a seat and wait a moment; I’ll bring it over to you shortly.”

Su Hui forgot to take the receipt and number tag the clerk offered. He turned and found a window corner to sit in with sluggish movements.

He never noticed his wounds were seeping blood. He stared blankly out the window, eyes fixed on the people rushing past.

Under the harsh, venomous sun, few people had happy smiles on their faces.

Su Hui didn’t actually want to see this. In his final moments, he wanted to see lush, waving grass, or stand under a cliff looking at a waterfall, with droplets more abundant than rain falling on his skin.

Or the ocean—the boundless, infinite sea.

But then he thought, even if he saw it now, he likely wouldn’t feel the beauty of life; it would be such a waste.

Lost in thought, Su Hui heard the sound of a tray clinking gently against the table, but he wasn’t quick enough to turn around.

“Here is your plant-based milk latte. Enjoy.”

It was that voice again.

Su Hui confirmed it was the same person, but he was a beat late in turning around, catching only a back view. He kept staring until he saw the owner of the voice stand at the counter, turn, and reveal a handsome face.

It was a face that matched his voice perfectly—one that invited gentle daydreams.

Su Hui lowered his eyelids, wanting to drink something, only then noticing a few band-aids on the tray. They were decorated with cartoon bunnies—a pattern that didn’t match the man’s appearance at all.

He turned over his wrist, quietly gazing at the bleeding wound and his throbbing pulse.

Half an hour later, Su Hui changed his mind. Much like delaying finishing a book, he simply chose to shelve his plan.

He placed his last piece of candy on the tray and left the café.

But the appearance of such a person, and such a small act of kindness, was merely a ripple in a pool of stagnant water; it could not save a decaying life.

Back home, Su Hui put the band-aids into a drawer and never opened it again.

This lingering, long-drawn-out pain ate away at Su Hui’s desires. He lay in bed for an entire day without a drop of water, finding even standing up difficult. Yet at dawn, through the floor-to-ceiling window, Su Hui suddenly spotted a rope left in the garden. As if pierced by something sharp, he sprang up.

Back in his room, Su Hui used the rope to bind his own neck, pulling it tight.

What was terrifying was that he even turned on his camera to record the entire process—including the part where his nanny interrupted him.

Afterward, Su Hui watched the video, seeing his mother rush over, bleary-eyed, holding him while crying and cursing. He didn’t feel much.

He believed he was trapped.

But Su Hui didn’t attempt such a resolute self-ending a second time, because he would always think of the bunny band-aids.

This long, cruel trough of depression ended just as abruptly. There was no transition, no catalyst, no buffer—Su Hui simply entered a phase of hypomania.

The excitement brought by the disorder felt like being strapped into a rollercoaster, rocketing into the sky. His feet felt like they had never touched the ground; he could float in the clouds forever.

Whenever this happened, Su Hui always felt an unprecedented self-assurance. He was full of enthusiasm, convinced he could do anything. The arrogance nourished by his wealthy upbringing expanded and magnified, with nowhere to hide.

Su Hui returned to school, full of longing and confidence for his studies, his efficiency soaring. He was willing to engage socially, unlike his usual self, who avoided others’ gazes because he had no friends.

Even though the total time he spent at school likely didn’t add up to a single semester, news traveled, eventually reaching his ears.

The only person he could confide in was his nanny, Auntie Chen. Hearing his story, she was heartbroken, hugging Su Hui, stroking his back gently, and asking him if he was in pain.

At the time, Su Hui was still in his manic phase, so he laughed.

“They exaggerated everything. Auntie Chen, no one at school has ever hugged me like you.”

He hadn’t been like ordinary boys, putting arms around each other on the playground, no holding hands, no hugs—how could there be anything more?

But it was impossible to trace where the rumors started. Maybe it was a rejected suitor, or someone else—whoever it was, it didn’t matter to Su Hui anymore.

While browsing the school website, he stumbled upon a video: the top-tier scholarship defense meeting from last year.

The first person to appear was exactly the guy who had given him the band-aids at the café—a man with a lovely name: Ning Yixiao.

This name carried a kind of romantic tragedy, sounding like someone who would abandon everything for his beloved, willing to trade everything for just one night.

But in his defense, he had been sunny, confident, and possessed a brilliant mind. Despite wearing simple clothes, he held everyone’s attention. His presentation slides were spread with data symbolizing success, patents, papers—all the proofs of a high-achiever.

This brilliant man had a name that seemed so ill-matched to his reality.

In his manic phase, Su Hui rarely had moments of such intense focus. He gazed at the smile on the man’s face, listening intently to him speak, and a conflicting emotion stirred within him.

Both “meetings” seemed one-sided; the other party had no idea he existed.

It seemed like a coincidence, yet in reality, it was nothing special. Su Hui closed the video, opened the drawer, and looked at the band-aids, but did nothing. Perhaps, emboldened by the hypomania, something deep in his heart was subtly stirring.

Hearing that the school was organizing a reading and film-viewing session, Su Hui was very interested, but he found out a bit late, and the multimedia classroom was hard to find, so he couldn’t arrive on time.

However, the arrival of rain brought a certain romantic atmosphere, so even if he was soaked and late, he felt no embarrassment, only anticipation.

It was marvelous: the moment he entered the classroom, Su Hui was certain of Ning Yixiao’s presence.

In the dim space, he found his target without hindrance and noticed the man was staring right at him. The film had already started; the room was as still as a lake, yet the images on the screen stirred a great wind. It looked so free.

What would happen if three coincidences occurred within two short weeks?

While watching the movie, Su Hui was distracted, constantly pondering this question.

Invisibly, it was as if a wind was pushing Ning Yixiao toward him, bringing a ripple of color to Su Hui’s stagnant life.

Amidst the shifting light and shadow, Su Hui clearly saw the unwavering gaze of Ning Yixiao and heard his own heartbeat.

He noticed the girl in the row in front of him was writing something and observed that everyone around had a card—except him.

Realizing he had arrived too late to get one, Su Hui searched his entire body, finding only a tissue.

Whatever.

He borrowed a pen and wrote a line on the tissue.

Perhaps it was the disorder at work, or perhaps these coincidences overlapped to create a sense of romance—Su Hui liked this kind of thing, so he naturally wrote his contact information on another tissue.

It was the first time in his life he had done such a thing—impulsive and irrational. Yet at the time, he believed he would surely succeed. Later, in the reading room, Su Hui checked his social media over and over, hoping to see the “new friend” request at the first moment.

But afterward, or rather, after coming out of the manic phase, he realized this had been an act of overconfidence and felt ashamed and regretful.

Even more rashly, he had called Ning Yixiao by his name before the man had even introduced himself.

And just as naturally, Su Hui didn’t get his friend request.

This was somewhat discouraging, but not for a patient.

Like many people with this condition, Su Hui felt unprecedented pride and joy during the hypomanic period; a small setback was nothing at all.

Unintentionally, a week later, he met Ning Yixiao again. It was raining that day, too, though it was a quieter, rainy night.

When Su Hui walked into the classroom, he felt someone watching him, and upon looking up, he found it was Ning Yixiao.

The two had a brief moment of eye contact. He felt Ning Yixiao had something to say, but he didn’t.

After several days of insomnia, compounded by the rainy weather, Su Hui’s excitement had diminished significantly, and he was relatively calm under the control of his medication.

He thought, This counts as the fourth time.

After returning to his seat, Su Hui said nothing, focusing on catching up on his lessons with high efficiency.

A long, long time passed. When he looked up to check the time, Su Hui found it strange; Ning Yixiao didn’t seem to have any intention of returning to his dorm.

Someone like him, suffering from bipolar disorder, was considered a serious mental patient. His grandfather viewed him as a total “danger” and didn’t allow him to live at school or have any independence. Even if he stayed overnight at school due to excitement, a driver would be watching from not far away.

But Ning Yixiao was different. He looked emotionally stable, psychologically healthy, and someone who wouldn’t be “nowhere to go.”

Around 3:00 AM, Su Hui felt tired. Turning his head, he discovered Ning Yixiao had actually fallen asleep, his shoulders rising and falling slightly, fast asleep.

Without any further reaction, Su Hui turned back and buried himself in his studies.

Feeling a tightness in his chest and his heart beating heavily, he took out a cigarette he’d bought at a convenience store, planning to smoke one by the window.

But Ning Yixiao seemed capable of interrupting his plans forever—whether it was smoking, or anything else.

They seemed to have a tacit understanding, both forgetting about the contact information he’d given last time. Ning Yixiao invited him to breakfast, and Su Hui didn’t refuse.

At the restaurant, he checked his wallet and ordered some items, spending exactly all his money. However, he didn’t feel embarrassed that his budget was insufficient, as he was long used to it.

During his manic phases, he always made irrational purchases—for instance, buying every dessert in an entire bakery, so many that they wouldn’t fit in the car. Once, while passing a pet store, Su Hui bought every small animal in the glass display cases and brought them all home.

There were too many such instances.

Su Hui still remembered his grandfather’s rage upon seeing the electronic bill one day. He remembered how his grandfather had cursed him for being ridiculous and ordered his mother to give him a fixed amount of cash daily during manic episodes to cover only necessary expenses.

Su Hui was an uncontrollable life form, longing for freedom, but because he wasn’t healthy enough, he remained confined behind hard glass covers to this day.

Fortunately, Ning Yixiao was a kind person, seemingly very easy to get along with, and generous, too.

So when he said “See you next time,” Su Hui felt happy.

This “next time” came earlier than he had expected, still maintaining the “good phase” Su Hui believed himself to be in, so he felt fortunate. In the dark, he realized he didn’t really want to face Ning Yixiao in a bad state.

Even though that was how they had started. Even though he had crossed the line from the very beginning, meeting Ning Yixiao at his most manic, establishing a connection in a state of illness.

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Author’s note:

One reason Su Hui’s perspective is relatively scarce in the beginning is that I feel writing from Su Hui’s perspective would be very heartbreaking. However, Ning Yixiao’s perspective isn’t much better—they are both poor, pathetic children.

To the friends reading this: whether you are healthy or not, no matter what desperate straits you face, or how much pain you feel in life right now, you must remember to cherish yourself and love yourself. Cherish not just life, but the countless possibilities folded into the future. In some [possibility], you are very happy and joyful.