In the autumn of her second year of high school, Su Wan suddenly fainted during PE class. After she was rushed to the hospital, she was diagnosed with severe heart failure. The doctor said a heart transplant was her only hope.
During that time, Lu Zhi seemed like a different person. He stopped skipping class and showed up at the hospital on time every day. He clumsily peeled apples for her and copied his class notes in crooked handwriting for her to read. Lying in bed, Su Wan looked at the scar on his temple, left behind last week when he helped her get back the notebook someone had stolen, and asked softly, “Lu Zhi, do you ever think I’m a burden?”
He was putting a piece of fruit candy in her hand. At that, he raised an eyebrow and flicked her forehead. “Obviously. Otherwise, why do you think I come here every day to watch you stare into space?” But when he turned away, his fingers trembled as they clutched the candy wrapper. In his pocket was the diagnosis he had just received: late-stage glioma, with at most six months to live.
Not long afterward, Lu Zhi suddenly began keeping his distance from Su Wan. He stopped visiting the hospital and deliberately avoided her at school. When Su Wan was discharged and went looking for him, he even put an arm around the shoulder of a strange girl and said coldly, “Su Wan, stop clinging to me. I’m sick of you.”
Su Wan’s world collapsed. She hid at home and cried for days, until the hospital called with news: they had found a compatible donor heart. The donor was an anonymous young man who had been confirmed brain-dead.
I can cry to death