Chapter 227 : My Name Is Jiang Xia, the “Xia” of Farewell Summer
Chapter 227: My Name Is Jiang Xia, the “Xia” of Farewell Summer
When Lin Mo filmed that video back then, he thought Jiang Xia was only speaking casually—he never imagined that the boomerang would return to him in such a way.
It was just a pity that she had spoken of farewell so implicitly, and he hadn’t caught the hidden meaning in her words.
The flowers were ones he had bought from an online shopping page—a bundle of white chrysanthemums, lasting for three months without wilting.
He had spotted them in his car this morning. Although not truly everlasting, the fact that their bloom could last for three months was already something special—quite impressive, actually.
Back then, she had asked him to bring her a bouquet the next time they met. This one fit perfectly. He didn’t know if it was heaven’s arrangement or just the algorithm being too powerful—perhaps even the shopping platform could read his thoughts. Either way, the flowers felt fitting.
Lin Mo opened his umbrella and took out the second letter he had kept in the pocket of his school uniform. He read it again and again before carefully sliding it back into the envelope, afraid the rain might wet it.
【To my faraway friend
Though we are far apart, may these words bring my face to mind.
Lately, my body has felt heavier and heavier. I think my time may be running out. After much thought, I’ve decided to write you one more letter. After all, you’re my dearest deskmate—you even get one more handwritten letter than everyone else. Moved yet? Haha!
I saw you on my phone recently—driving an excavator to save people. You looked so handsome, truly worthy of being my best deskmate.
Though your looks have changed a lot, I recognized you at a glance. People say girls blossom and change beautifully as they grow, but I never expected a big guy like you to have such potential. Not bad at all. It proves that this big sister of yours always had great judgment. I already saw your potential back in high school.
Seeing how dashing you look now really makes me happy. You won’t lack for girlfriends in the future. I wonder how many you’ve dated in college already. Still, seeing you looking like such a heartbreaker makes me a bit uneasy. Don’t you dare play that “keeping multiple girls at once” game—if I ever find out, you better watch your head in your dreams!
Maybe because I don’t have much time left, I’ve been daydreaming a lot lately, remembering our high school days—especially those few days before graduation.
Once such a lively place, after everyone packed up and left, it suddenly looked so clean, as if we had never been there at all.
From the first day I met you in freshman year to our goodbye on the last day of senior year—it all feels like yesterday.
I still remember that hot afternoon when I sneaked a nap at my desk while the Chinese teacher wasn’t looking. When I woke up, everyone was chatting and doing their own thing. I thought it was just another ordinary afternoon—tomorrow, the day after, and the days after that would all be the same. Until the moment you all cleared out your desks, I finally realized that such afternoons would never come again.
That classroom quietly swallowed three years’ worth of laughter and chatter. The next time it opens, it will be another group’s story.
When I wrote this letter, I sat quietly for a long time, thinking about many things. Tears fell the moment I lowered my head.
I used to be so full of energy, but in these past few years, the illness and pressure have changed me beyond recognition. I don’t fear death, because I have loved ones on both sides. Perhaps those who reached the other shore before me are now sipping the tea they never finished, under the courtyard where ginkgo leaves fall.
And every moment I spend walking this side of the river, carrying my lantern, will become a gift exchanged when we meet again.
Remember to eat the candy I left you—it holds a rainbow inside. You should be in your senior year now, right? I believe you’ll achieve great things. Remember, “To test jade, it must burn for three days; to judge talent, one must wait seven years.” In my heart, you’ve always been the most perfect one.
Lin Mo, you know, when a young person encounters love, their eyes are filled with the white of falling snow—as if a dull valley suddenly bursts open and the distant wind rushes in with all its might. What I want to say is—you’re not some tender, romantic love from a novel to me. You’re my natural disaster!
Don’t overthink this, and don’t feel pity for me. Sleep is just a rehearsal for death, enjoyed infinitely—I simply chose to buy the real thing.
Don’t be bitter that the ending doesn’t match the beauty of the journey. Accept that everyone eventually leaves. Don’t fear separation; we must allow some people to only appear briefly in our lives.
I once prayed in many temples, asking Bodhisattvas for blessings, but none of my fortunes foretold survival. So I’ve made peace with it.
This life’s meeting means there must be debts left unpaid. If not owed in a past life, then we simply don’t meet in this one. That’s life—mountains chase mountains, people chase people. Many questions have no answers, and many stories have no endings. Learning to move forward with regret—that’s our required lesson.
That school uniform you had—it was me who took it. It’s been with me through many places. I originally wanted to keep it, but after some thought, I decided to return it to you. Don’t dislike it—I washed it.
So Lin Mo, you must understand—heaven won’t give second chances, and time won’t linger. If you ever meet a girl you like, don’t keep saying, “When there’s a chance, next time.” Say, “Let’s go on a date tomorrow. Hotpot Friday night. I’ll wait downstairs in three minutes. And right now— I like you. Just this once. Just today. Just now!”
When I saw the news about you online, I almost contacted you. Luckily, I resisted. I’m glad I didn’t disturb you. Look, the sky’s dark again. I’ve survived another day. Am I amazing or what?
Come back soon, okay? I want to die when you’re all home, even if we don’t meet.
Who am I again? Oh, right—I’m Jiang Xia, the ‘Xia’ of Farewell Summer!】
There wasn’t a proper farewell at the end of the letter. Her handwriting was much rougher than in the first one—she probably didn’t have much strength left at that time.
He didn’t know how many times he had read that letter last night. Every time he did, he could vividly picture Jiang Xia struggling to write it.
Holding the umbrella, Lin Mo’s fingers gripping the envelope turned white, as if a heavy stone weighed down his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Just then, someone patted his shoulder from behind. Before he could turn around, Wan Chunlong stepped up beside him and said, “I saw your car downstairs just now. I knew you’d come. You’re still early as always—typical deskmate behavior.”
“How come you’re here?” Lin Mo asked calmly, glancing over.
Wan Chunlong waved the letter in his hand with a grin. “Not just me, you know?”
As he spoke, he shifted slightly to the side. Behind them, a short distance away, came four others—three girls and one man. It was their homeroom teacher, Qin Wei, accompanied by three girls who had been close to Jiang Xia.
“Someone asked me last night where Jiang Xia’s grave was, so I figured you’d all come. I didn’t announce it in the group chat—those who wanted to come would come on their own. Just us few—it’s nice. After all, true friends are never many,” Qin Wei said with a smile.
Indeed, Lin Mo had asked him for the address last night, though he hadn’t expected others to have the same thought.
Each of them brought something. Wan Chunlong had drinks and liquor. The girls carried small cakes, milk tea, and trinkets. Teacher Qin brought paper money and incense sticks.
They placed their offerings one by one. The three girls—Han Xue, Wang Shanshan, and Li Yao, who had been the class’s Chinese representative—stood before the tombstone, eyes red, whispering softly to Jiang Xia.
Teacher Qin lit the paper money. Luckily, the rain wasn’t heavy. Lin Mo moved his umbrella to shield him from it, and everyone lit their incense sticks.
“Come on now,” said Teacher Qin. “Wan Chunlong brought drinks. Lin Mo and I are driving, so we’ll take soda. The four of you, have a beer each. Let’s all drink one with Jiang Xia.”
Everyone nodded. Even the girls held beer bottles this time.
Teacher Qin: “I’ll start—To yesterday.”
Wan Chunlong: “To the ordinary.”
Han Xue: “To letting go.”
Wang Shanshan: “To giving.”
Li Yao: “To freedom.”
Lin Mo: “To life, which kissed me with pain.”
After speaking, they exchanged faint smiles, raised their bottles toward Jiang Xia’s tombstone, and drank in silence.
Then Wan Chunlong took out some cigarettes, handing one to the teacher before offering one to Lin Mo. “I know you don’t smoke, but I think you might need one more than I do right now. Take it.”
Lin Mo smiled faintly, accepted it, and placed it between his lips. Wan held out the lighter for him.
The faint “chi-chi” sound of burning tobacco rose into the rain. A thin stream of smoke curled upward from the three men, slowly dispersing above their heads.
“Cough, cough.”
Lin Mo choked hard, face scrunched in discomfort.
Seeing this, the others couldn’t help but smile.
He took another drag, forced himself not to cough, and somehow, his heart felt just a little lighter.
So this was what it meant—
As a child, he had once secretly tried a puff of an adult’s cigarette, frowned, and handed it—across time—to the man he had become today.