Chapter 41: He would always have a sense of indebtedness to Huo Niansheng from his memories.
By the time they came out of the foundation, it was already dark. It was a rare reunion, and since Qiao Sijin lived nearby, he invited Chen Wengang to his home for a casual dinner.
Qiao Sijin had deep-set facial features, typical of someone with a mixed heritage. His nationality was actually British; his father was British, and his Chinese mother’s surname was Qiao, so his Chinese name sounded phonetically similar to his English name.
Chen Wengang and his peers used to attend an international school. One of their most enduring memories was of Sunday mornings, when a hall full of boys would be nodding off during the sermon while this very Dean of Discipline stood on stage, delivering impassioned speeches to boost their morale.
In all fairness, though, he was genuinely a good man.
Back then, the dean frequently invited groups of students to his home, showing genuine care for their studies and personal lives. He truly lived up to the phrase “dedicated and responsible.” For highly sensitive students like Chen Wengang, he paid extra attention to their emotional well-being.
Chen Wengang had visited a few times with Zheng Yucheng in the past. Stepping through the door again this time, he felt as if he had been transported back to his student days.
The dean’s wife had already prepared dinner, and Qiao Sijin handed Chen Wengang a pair of slippers. They had two adorable children—both in elementary school, an older brother and a younger sister—who had been raised to be polite and ran out to greet the guest.
Qiao Sijin and his wife had also adopted a child with a mild disability. Sucking his thumb, the boy handed Chen Wengang a picture book.
Chen Wengang crouched down, gently holding the boy’s small hand, and teased him with a smile: “Let me see, whose picture book is this?”
The child smiled shyly, mumbling incomprehensibly; it was apparent that his development was somewhat delayed.
In his previous life, Chen Wengang had participated in many children’s rescue and aid programs. He had interacted with all kinds of children and built deep bonds with many, but he had never considered adopting one himself like this.
He knew his condition made it impossible for him to bear the responsibilities of a guardian, and he had never intended to become a father.
He could treat caring for them as a duty and a career, but building a family was an entirely different matter.
“Family” and “family members” were concepts that had long become distant to him.
Before breaking up with Zheng Yucheng, he had still harbored some fantasies about it. But after Huo Niansheng passed away, he knew with absolute certainty that it would never happen.
Qiao Sijin ruffled the adopted boy’s messy, curly hair: “He likes you. Normally, he doesn’t let anyone even touch his books.”
Chen Wengang picked him up: “Is that so?”
The child shyly wrapped his arms around Chen Wengang’s neck; he really did like him.
After dinner, Chen Wengang spent some time playing with the children. Once the father finished washing the dishes, he too put on his slippers and joined in.
Qiao Sijin acted as the referee for their games. The older brother and sister behaved wonderfully, knowing exactly how to take care of their youngest sibling.
Chen Wengang knew without having to ask that teaching them to completely accept this new family member couldn’t have been an easy lesson.
Seeing this warm, harmonious family, he smiled along with them, though his thoughts drifted slightly.
To be honest, he admired people like Qiao Sijin. Guided by faith, he steadfastly lived by the principles of being a good husband, father, and teacher, shouldering every responsibility he could bear. It was the complete opposite extreme of someone with Huo Niansheng’s personality.
Such people, and such families, truly existed in this world.
By nine o’clock, the children were coaxed to bed.
This finally gave Qiao Sijin and Chen Wengang a chance to be alone. After chatting for a while, Qiao asked: “How have you been? Has anything been troubling you lately?”
He had made Chen Wengang a mug of oatmeal. The two of them sat by the balcony holding their mugs as they spoke.
Qiao Sijin asked the question so naturally, with the exact same tone he used to counsel students in the past. Whether as a dean or a psychological counselor, it was likely an ingrained professional habit.
Feeling a sense of trust toward him, Chen Wengang shared: “I’m doing okay. But sometimes, I constantly feel anxious about a lot of things.”
“In what aspects, for example?” Qiao Sijin asked.
“It feels like with certain important matters, the more I want to do them well, the more afraid I become. I end up overthinking everything, constantly fearing I’ll make the wrong choice.”
Qiao Sijin expressed his understanding: “We all have to accept that we are imperfect and that we will inevitably take wrong turns. I am the same way. But this is the most normal thing in the world. You must first be able to accept yourself, and then you can accept your imperfections. As long as you have a overarching goal in your heart and establish your principles and bottom lines, if you make a wrong choice, you just correct it. The sky won’t fall.”
Chen Wengang hesitated for a moment: “There’s also… a problem with interpersonal relationships,” he said. “For instance, there is someone whom I really want to get along with, but the moment there’s pressure, I want to run away. It even feels like I’m intentionally or unintentionally trying to sabotage my relationship with him.”
“What is this person’s attitude toward you? What do you think you are trying to avoid?”
“He’s actually quite friendly. It’s just that I probably subconsciously feel that I’m unworthy.”
“Why would you feel unworthy?”
“Because…” Chen Wengang trailed off.
“If we have the thought of being ‘unworthy,’ it is often truly because of a sense of being ‘in debt’ or ‘owing’ something,” Qiao Sijin said. “For example, if I feel I am unworthy of comfort, it might be because I know I did something wrong and owe a moral debt. Feeling unworthy of a certain reward is because I know full well I haven’t reached the required standard. Or if my kids feel they don’t deserve a gold star, it’s because they know they didn’t do their homework today and failed their parents’ expectations. But you have to know, this doesn’t mean you are a bad person.”
Chen Wengang froze for a moment, and only after a long pause did he say: “…You’re right.”
He took a sip of his oatmeal, which had already grown a bit cold. He set the mug down.
Yet somewhat vague things in his mind seemed to suddenly become much clearer.
He finally let out a bitter smile: “That really is the exact word. Deep down, I probably always feel that I owe him, and that there is no way I can ever make it up to him. It’s not a question of whether I’m good or bad. I’ve just been very sad.”
His former teacher had unintentionally pierced through a heavy truth he had been unwilling to face.
No matter how time had rewound, the memories of what had happened could never be treated as if they hadn’t occurred—at least not to him.
He couldn’t even fathom what state of mind Huo Niansheng had been in during their previous life when he wrote that suicide note before the cruise ship sank.
Now, he still had a chance to make up for his regrets. But the Huo Niansheng in his memory would forever remain owed.
If a debt is no longer remembered, is it still a debt?
Everyone might harbor massive regrets in their lives, but this was a hurdle he simply couldn’t get past himself.
Qiao Sijin didn’t pass judgment or dig further into his privacy. He just suddenly sniffed the air: “Smells wonderful.”
His wife was baking cookies in the kitchen.
They were homemade fortune cookies, baked in a folded shape with a small slip of paper containing a Bible verse tucked inside. Back when he was a student, they had all eaten these. Qiao Sijin stood up, and Chen Wengang followed him into the kitchen.
Many freshly baked cookies were cooling on a tray. The wife told them to help themselves.
Qiao Sijin kissed her on the cheek, picked one out, and broke it open. Without rushing to eat, he unfolded his slip of paper first: “‘Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.’ Wengang, this is a good one. I can give this to you.”
Chen Wengang smiled, picked one for himself, and carefully cracked it open.
He slowly unfolded the slip in his hand and saw the words: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”
When Qiao Sijin saw Chen Wengang out, he patted him on the shoulder: “We’ll have plenty of opportunities to work together in the future. Come visit again when you have the time.”
When Chen Wengang returned home, he took the two fortune cookie slips he had originally placed in his wallet and absentmindedly taped them above his headboard.
Even if it was just spiritual comfort, at the very least, it truly began providing him with a slow, steadying strength.
Walking past it every day and glancing at it, over time, it felt like a genuine stroke of luck and revelation, reminding him of what he needed to do.
And there really was a lot waiting for him to do; he didn’t have the luxury of constantly devoting time to seasonal melancholy and self-pity.
He was accustomed to controlling his life with precise rationality, tackling one task right after another. He had many things to face—
Leaving aside the bloodbath of upcoming final exams, summer vacation was when the real busy season began. As an older cousin, he had to keep track of Chen Xiangling’s academic progress, handle her paperwork, and find her a place to live. At the same time, he would be working with his colleagues on recruitment for the special education school. Before all that, he planned to finish his graduation thesis and proactively contact advisors for the research programs he wanted to apply to.
Consequently, for a certain someone else, Qi Tongzhou found that he couldn’t get Chen Wengang to come out no matter how hard he tried.
Every time he sent a message, the other party was either busy with this or busy with that.
After this happened repeatedly, he naturally began to suspect that Chen Wengang was deliberately avoiding him. But when he went to ask Zheng Maoxun, Maoxun confirmed that Chen Wengang really was leaving early and coming back late, living a strictly three-point routine. Besides occasionally seeing him at the company, sometimes they couldn’t even catch a shadow of him at the Zheng residence.
However, just before finals, the university held another major event: the graduation ceremony.
By the time Qi Tongzhou rushed to the university, the formal proceedings in the auditorium had already concluded.
The campus was bustling with excitement. Graduation gowns and caps could be seen in every corner, along with graduates taking photos with friends and family.
Even though Chen Wengang and his peers still had a year left before graduating, they had seniors they wanted to bid farewell to, so they attended out of courtesy.
Qi Tongzhou took advantage of this loophole. The moment he found Chen Wengang, he stuck to him like glue, using the festive atmosphere to shamelessly jump into several group photos.
He also bumped into You Ying, who had gone to the orphanage with them last time. She asked: “Do you want me to take a picture of just the two of you?”
Qi Tongzhou excitedly threw an arm around Chen Wengang’s shoulder: “Yes!”
With a click, the moment was captured.
Afterward, You Ying added Qi Tongzhou as a contact to send him the photos.
Comparing the results, Qi Tongzhou was both satisfied and dissatisfied. The more he looked at Chen Wengang in the photo, the more refined and elegant he appeared, while Qi Tongzhou felt he himself looked increasingly foolish. Right then, he heard You Ying joke: “If you come again for the graduation ceremony next year, the valedictorian giving the speech just might be your senior here.”
“Really? Is it already decided?”
“Not yet. There are several candidates,” You Ying said, using her student council president status to share a bit of insider info. “I said ‘might be.’ But personally, I think his chances are very high. You can just ask Chen Wengang yourself when the time comes.”
Qi Tongzhou’s heart fluttered. Just imagining the sight of him giving a speech on stage made him feel he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away.
When he turned back around, Chen Wengang had finished taking photos with his acquaintances on the field and was preparing to leave.
Qi Tongzhou hurried to catch up: “Right, Wengang, didn’t I mention before that I wanted to ask about doing volunteer work…”
Chen Wengang stopped walking and patiently listened to him. Qi Tongzhou’s face flushed: “I meant, I want to sign up. For that place you go to.”
Chen Wengang thought for a moment and agreed: “You’re welcome to. I’ll give you Director Liu’s number later. She remembers you.”
He agreed with complete focus and sincerity. Qi Tongzhou dragged his feet while saying goodbye: “So you’re heading to the company now?”
He had rushed all the way out here, yet it was a pity they hadn’t even spent an hour together.
Earlier, an older graduate he knew had plucked a red flower from a bouquet and given it to Chen Wengang. He had been holding it for a while now, but it was inconvenient to carry around as he left, and throwing it away felt inappropriate.
Glancing around, he spotted a statue of Shakespeare nearby. A sudden wave of playfulness struck Chen Wengang.
He leaned forward, stretched out his arm, and stood on his tiptoes to place the red flower into the literary giant’s hand.
With Shakespeare holding the red flower, the cold, rigid stone statue suddenly gained a touch of lively warmth. Feeling like a thief, Qi Tongzhou hastily hid his phone away. He hadn’t been able to resist secretly snapping a photo of this scene from behind. When Chen Wengang turned to say goodbye, he let out a couple of awkward, cover-up laughs, his hands clenched tightly.
At this moment, he realized he had fallen for him completely.
Even though he knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, and he had been fraught with anxiety about it for a while, after much painful reflection, he knew he could never just give up.
Absolute sincerity can move mountains and crack stone. Qi Tongzhou had finally figured it out.
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Author’s Notes:
- “Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.” — Quoted from the Book of Proverbs in the Old Testament.
- “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” — Quoted from 1 John in the New Testament.
- The setting is that Wengang and his peers previously attended an international school (the specific school system is loosely based on documentaries about British public schools), whereas other public schools (like the one Chen Xiangling attends) are different. This part has a slight Hong Kong vibe, but the setting is entirely a fictional alternate universe.
- The scene of placing the flower in the statue’s hand was inspired by a set of photos I randomly saw (which also included photos of a kitten lying on a statue). I was just inspired by the romantic and story-like feel of that image; it has nothing to do with any real-life prototype!
QTZ really be out here writing down a novel for himself and his crush 😂😂