Sorry, I Was Just Passing Through Your Life

At eighteen, Gu Zesheng was everyone’s shining star. He excelled in his studies, played the piano so beautifully that even the music teacher fell silent, and was the center of attention wherever he went. At graduation night, he finished playing “Farewell” to thunderous applause. After the celebration, he took a shortcut back to the dormitory. Passing the old piano room in the west wing, he heard a faint knocking. He thought it was the wind and didn’t look back. Ten years later, the school celebrated its centennial. Gu Zesheng returned as a celebrated alumnus, basking in the honors. That same day, while clearing out the abandoned piano room in the west wing, workers discovered a mummified corpse in a room at the end of the third floor. The dead man was curled up in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees, like a child who had spent far too long in the dark. All ten fingernails were broken, and dark brown blood was caked beneath them. The forensic examiner said the injuries came from repeatedly scraping against a hard surface. Behind that locked door, he had once used all his strength to call for help. In his arms, he held a book of sheet music. On the title page, in Gu Zesheng’s handwriting from when he was eighteen, were just two words: “Keep going.” No one knew how long he had waited in the darkness. All they knew was that by the time the door finally opened ten years later, he had become a silent skeleton. And the person he had been waiting for stood in the doorway, wearing a gleaming alumni badge, and said in the calmest voice imaginable: “I don’t know him.”