This is more than 4k words but I’m not going to split this. I need you to shed as much tears reading this as I did translating. You can also try listening to Miss Na Kita (I Miss You Already) by VXON feat. Zephanie because stupid Spotify suddenly played this song while I’m sobbing angrily and I want you to feel what I felt. 🙂
After Wen Li left, Qi An opened the letter Wen Li had written for him. In it, Wen Li expressed his wish for Qi An not to cremate him or place him in a coffin. Instead, he hoped Qi An would give him a compost burial.
A compost burial transforms the deceased’s body into soil. The body is placed in a fully sealed container with a rotating mechanism and fan. The container is filled with soil, wood shavings, and straw. Through rotation, the container breaks down the body, turning several times a week. The fan provides oxygen. This process takes four to seven weeks, ultimately converting the body into just 0.76 square meters of soil.
When Qi An saw this unusual burial request, he was confused. Though he faithfully carried out Wen Li’s wishes, he couldn’t comprehend why Wen Li chose this method to bid farewell to the world.
Later, Qi An speculated that perhaps Wen Li wanted dignity even in death—returning to the earth as soil, coming full circle.
…
Nine days had passed since Wen Li’s death.
Qi An visited Wen Li once a week. Wen Li was in that rotating container, turning over and over, waiting for two months to fully become soil.
Each visit, Qi An’s face remained expressionless, but sorrow lurked in his eyes.
He continued mailing the love letters to Song Chengshu according to the schedule on the envelopes, never missing a day despite his busy work.
On the ninth day, Song Chengshu took a break from his hectic work. Realizing he hadn’t contacted Wen Li in a while, he sent a message: “Wen Li, are you there? Have you been busy lately?”
Normally, Wen Li would reply instantly at this time, even if it wasn’t dinner time.
But today, after half an hour, there was no reply.
He sent another message: “Wen Li, are you still working overtime? Want to have dinner together? I can pick you up at your office.”
Still no response.
Song Chengshu didn’t know that Wen Li had been dead for nine days.
Assuming Wen Li was working late, he drove directly to Wen Li’s office.
As luck would have it, two other employees were working overtime that day. Song Chengshu entered the building and went straight to the fourth floor to find Wen Li.
He burst into the work area, calling Wen Li’s name. The two women working late looked up simultaneously, staring blankly at Song Chengshu as he called out “Wen Li” from the doorway.
Song Chengshu searched around but couldn’t find Wen Li. Seeing the two women, he asked, “Hello, excuse me, is Wen Li working overtime today?”
The women exchanged glances before replying with awkward smiles.
“Handsome guy, you don’t know? Wen Li resigned from here almost five months ago.”
Resigned for nearly five months?
Song Chengshu’s face froze. He felt as if struck by a merciless bolt of lightning, barely able to stand.
Wen Li had left his job so long ago, yet Song Chengshu knew nothing about it?
Calculating the timeline, Wen Li must have quit before Song Chengshu went abroad.
But why did he resign? Song Chengshu couldn’t fathom it, nor could he understand why Wen Li had kept it from him, pretending to be on business trips.
“Do you… know why he resigned?” Song Chengshu asked, his voice trembling. The girls shook their heads in unison. Song Chengshu muttered a reflexive “thank you” before turning to leave, steadying himself against the wall.
Back in his car, he was still dazed.
How could he contact Wen Li?
Go to his home?
What if he wasn’t there either?
Song Chengshu remembered he had a key to Wen Li’s place, though it had been languishing in a drawer at home.
When Wen Li first bought that small house, he’d given Song Chengshu a key, saying cheerfully, “Now you can come over anytime you want.”
But Song Chengshu had never used that key.
In the three-plus years since Wen Li bought the house, Song Chengshu had visited fewer than four times, always accompanying Wen Li, never needing the key.
Realizing this, Song Chengshu decided to retrieve the key from his home before going to Wen Li’s place.
…
Song Chengshu raced home, ransacking the place for the key.
He remembered which drawer it was in, but he had forgotten it over time.
After searching nearly every drawer in the house, he finally found the almost blackened key in the bottom drawer of his study’s bookcase.
Ignoring the chaos he’d created, Song Chengshu dashed out, driving towards Wen Li’s home.
Song Chengshu arrived at Wen Li’s doorstep. An inexplicable chill ran through him. Despite the summer heat, he shivered uncharacteristically.
“Knock, knock, knock…” His knocking accompanied his calls.
“Wen Li! Wen Li, are you home? Wen Li?”
“Wen Li, open up! Wen Li, are you even here?”
“Wen Li! Wen Li…”
His persistent knocking disturbed the neighbor across the hall. A woman in her sixties came out, scolding Song Chengshu.
“What are you doing so late? You’re disturbing our rest!”
Song Chengshu looked at her as if she were a lifeline, asking anxiously, “Hello, ma’am. I’m wondering if the resident here hasn’t been home recently? Do you know where he went?”
The old woman leaned against her doorframe, eyeing him disdainfully.
“That young man across the hall hasn’t been back since he was carried away by ambulance. It’s been nearly a month now.”
The night Wen Li called for an ambulance, this old woman knew about it, as did several other residents in the building. There was quite a commotion, and everyone wanted to see what was happening. The old woman had peeked through her door, witnessing Wen Li, mouth covered in blood, being carried downstairs.
Song Chengshu stood frozen, unable to process what he’d just heard.
Had he heard correctly? Wen Li… taken away by ambulance?
Was he sick? Had there been an accident? Why didn’t Song Chengshu know anything about this?
The old woman cautioned him.
“Listen, stop knocking. The residents in this building go to bed early. You’ll get complaints!”
As she closed her door, Song Chengshu hurriedly fished out his key and entered Wen Li’s apartment.
Inside, a long-absent coldness greeted him. Though he could still smell the lingering citrus scent of Wen Li’s cologne, the place felt desolate.
This apartment hadn’t been lived in for a long time.
Yet Song Chengshu noticed how clean it was. There was no choking dusty air. The table, sofa, coffee table, and cabinets were spotless.
The electricity hadn’t been shut off. The water dispenser was still heating water, and the refrigerator hummed.
On the balcony, six pots of thriving irises sat by the half-open window. A gentle breeze whispered through, rustling the iris leaves with a pleasant sound.
The soil in the flower pots was moist, indicating someone had been watering them regularly.
Song Chengshu entered the bedroom and switched on the light.
The bed was neatly made, clothes hung properly in the wardrobe, and even the desk lamp was free of dust.
The apartment showed no signs of long-term vacancy, yet Song Chengshu sensed Wen Li hadn’t been here in a while.
He didn’t know where else to look for Wen Li. Gao Xi was out of town, Bai Tao was abroad, and Su Jingxiao was on a business trip.
These three were unlikely to be in contact with Wen Li.
But Wen Li had few close friends besides Song Chengshu over the years. Where could he be?
Song Chengshu lay on Wen Li’s bed, sighing deeply to dispel his fatigue. Without realizing it, he fell asleep…
Song Chengshu woke to the sound of a door opening and closing.
Hearing the noise, he leapt from the bed and rushed out of the bedroom, exclaiming excitedly, “Wen Li! You’re back!”
But the man at the door wasn’t Wen Li. It was someone vaguely familiar.
Qi An and Song Chengshu barely knew each other, having met a few times years ago through Wen Li before Qi An went abroad.
“Song Chengshu, why are you here?” Qi An was clearly surprised. He hadn’t expected Song Chengshu to have a key to Wen Li’s place, though, on second thought, it wasn’t strange given how much Wen Li liked Song Chengshu.
Song Chengshu stood in the bedroom doorway, clutching his shirt hem, asking dejectedly, “You’re… Wen Li’s friend who went abroad, right?”
Song Chengshu’s memory was not bad. After studying Qi An’s face, he quickly recalled him, though he’d forgotten the name. He only remembered Wen Li seeing Qi An off at the airport years ago when he left the country.
“Yes, I’m Qi An,” he introduced himself. Turning to set down his keys, Qi An went to the bathroom, filled a spray bottle with water, and headed to the balcony to tend to the six iris plants, misting the flowers and leaves.
Song Chengshu followed him.
“So where’s Wen Li? Where is he? Why are you in his house?”
Qi An kept his back to Song Chengshu, saying nothing. He silently continued spraying the flowers, even as water dripped from the leaves into the soil, showing no signs of stopping.
Wen Li might have liked Song Chengshu, but Qi An certainly didn’t.
He harbored resentment towards Song Chengshu.
Because Wen Li had loved him silently for eight years, staying in the shadows just because Song Chengshu didn’t like men. Wen Li’s unrequited love had lasted so long, and he’d died so humbly.
But Qi An couldn’t morally condemn Song Chengshu. It wasn’t Song Chengshu’s fault he didn’t like men.
In the end, if anyone was to blame, it was Wen Li for being so foolish.
Regardless, Qi An felt heartbroken for Wen Li.
“Say something. Where’s Wen Li? Where is he?” Song Chengshu raised his voice. Qi An put the spray bottle in the bathroom, then got a glass of water from the dispenser. He sat on the sofa, staring out at the clear sky, still silent.
Song Chengshu grew angry, his tone impatient and louder.
“Answer me! Where’s Wen Li? Are you mute?!”
Qi An finished his water, covered his face, rubbed his brow, then looked up at Song Chengshu. After a long pause, he finally answered hoarsely, “He’s dead.”
“What?” Song Chengshu thought he’d misheard. He rushed to Qi An, eyes unblinking, his breathing rigid.
“What did you just say? He… You’re joking, right?”
Qi An stood up, glaring coldly at Song Chengshu. “Do I look like I’m joking? He’s been dead for over ten days.”
Song Chengshu froze completely. Intense breathing difficulty made him feel flushed, his blood vessels surging. Every inch of his skin hurt as if peeling off naturally, all telling him clearly: Wen Li was dead. Qi An told him Wen Li had been dead for over ten days.
Only he, like a fool, knew nothing.
Hearing this sudden devastating news, Song Chengshu lost all reason. He grabbed Qi An’s collar, shouting, “Impossible! How could Wen Li suddenly die? Why did he die? Why? Tell me, why?!!!”
“What happened to Wen Li? How did he die? He… he…”
“He had late-stage lung cancer, diagnosed late last year. The doctors told him then, without treatment, he wouldn’t live past six months,” Qi An explained matter-of-factly. Song Chengshu couldn’t accept it.
Lung cancer. Diagnosed late last year. Wouldn’t live past six months.
Song Chengshu’s mind buzzed, in chaos. His eyes hurt as if bloodshot, red-rimmed, tears welling up but unable to fall.
The next moment, Song Chengshu collapsed to the ground, his legs giving way.
Why? Why didn’t he know anything?
Wen Li had kept it from him for so long. Even days after his death, Song Chengshu had foolishly thought Wen Li was just busy with work. If he hadn’t come to Wen Li’s home last night, would grass have grown over Wen Li’s grave before he knew?
Song Chengshu clutched his forehead, nails digging into flesh, feeling no pain. Because nothing could hurt more than his heartache.
He looked up at Qi An, asking in a trembling voice, “Did… did he leave any message for me?”
“Yes. At my place,” Qi An replied.
Qi An led Song Chengshu downstairs. Today, Qi An drove.
Song Chengshu sat in the passenger seat, reflecting on his last five months with Wen Li. He belatedly realized that Wen Li had given him subtle hints in many insignificant moments, but he’d been too dense to notice.
Wen Li had asked what would happen if he died one day. Song Chengshu had thought it was a joke, scolding him for speaking inauspiciously. Wen Li had said he was happy to have met Song Chengshu in this life, gave him a large bag of dumplings to cook himself, saying he wouldn’t be able to eat them again. The last few were still in the freezer.
It turned out Wen Li had long hinted at his departure, but Song Chengshu hadn’t properly said goodbye.
At Qi An’s home, he offered Song Chengshu water, then brought out a stack of unsent love letters from his bedroom, dumping them in front of Song Chengshu.
“These are what Wen Li left for you.”
Song Chengshu saw the identical envelope decorations, same colored paper, all with dried iris petals. The only difference was the dates marked, and… on the last envelope Qi An handed over, the prominent words “I love you.”
Song Chengshu was shocked again.
He picked up the countless letters, finding them increasingly familiar.
At some point, the mysterious love letters he’d grown accustomed to receiving had started including iris petals, packaged identically, with dates matching precisely.
Song Chengshu took deep breaths, telling himself it might be coincidence. But as he opened them one by one, the handwriting, format, and tone matched exactly what he’d received.
Eight years. He’d received love letters for eight years, only now realizing they were all from Wen Li. Wen Li had loved him silently for eight years.
Song Chengshu struggled to process these two shocking revelations simultaneously, but he was trying.
After opening about ten letters, he stopped. Qi An spoke, “Wen Li told me not to tell you if you couldn’t guess who sent the letters. But seeing you makes me feel indignant for Wen Li. Why should his eight years of secret love die with him? Why should his feelings be buried in darkness forever? I’m going to throw these letters in your face and tell you clearly: Wen Li loved you for eight years, since high school, until his death.”
“Because you said you’d gotten used to receiving the letters and might be sad if they suddenly stopped, Wen Li persisted for years. He wrote these in nearly five months, a year’s worth. He was afraid you’d be sad without them, so he wrote extra to give you a transition period.”
“Song Chengshu, if you never knew this, I’d feel Wen Li loved you in vain.” Qi An’s voice choked with emotion at the end.
Song Chengshu said nothing, clutching the letters, his mind full of memories with Wen Li.
Five months of illness, Wen Li had hidden well; eight years of love, he’d concealed perfectly.
Yet not entirely perfectly.
There were so many moments when Wen Li had confessed his love.
Song Chengshu realized he was truly emotionally oblivious. Only now, recalling those scenes, did he understand it was love, not friendship.
Wen Li’s calm when friends teased them; his gentle smiles and voice; his joking along, asking “What if I were willing?”
Even their accidental kiss – all of Wen Li’s reactions had been obvious.
Because Wen Li truly was willing.
He was willing to hold your hand, Song Chengshu, to embrace you, to exchange a passionate kiss for a lifetime together.
It was you, Song Chengshu, who had always been unwilling.
On Christmas Eve at the company, Wen Li had looked into his eyes and asked earnestly if he could ever fall for him.
Song Chengshu remembered saying he would if Wen Li were a woman.
Perhaps that answer had made Wen Li happy for a long time.
Clutching the love letters, Song Chengshu’s mind raced through memories: Wen Li’s thoughtful care, his always passionate attitude, his considerate actions, the hardships they’d faced together.
For eight years, Wen Li had silently expressed his love through actions. In the end, he never got the chance to confess his feelings to Song Chengshu in person.
Had he ever said it? Surely many times, but where Song Chengshu couldn’t hear.
Song Chengshu, who had never accepted homosexuality, now felt his heart aching terribly, pounding as if it would burst from his chest.
Why did his heart hurt so much? Was it because Wen Li was dead and he’d only now learned of these long-buried feelings? Or because he realized he’d had special feelings for Wen Li all along but had been in denial?
But somehow… none of that mattered anymore.
Wen Li was dead.
Song Chengshu’s voice was almost gone, hoarse with emotion though he hadn’t cried. He asked Qi An, “Where is Wen Li’s grave… I want to see him…”
Qi An sighed, “He insisted on a compost burial. His body is still being processed into soil. He said to bring him back once he’s fully turned to earth.”
“Compost burial?” Song Chengshu was surprised.
“I’m not entirely sure, but from what I understand, it’s a newer burial method,” Qi An leaned back in his chair, his mood remaining solemn.
“Song Chengshu, since things have come to this, I have one question for you.” Qi An stared at the exhausted Song Chengshu. “If Wen Li hadn’t died, if he’d found the courage to confess to you, would you have accepted him?”
Song Chengshu: “…”
He didn’t know how to answer. Even he himself was uncertain.
Wen Li had once asked Song Chengshu: “Tell me! Do you love me?”
Song Chengshu had said yes, but he’d added “as a lifelong best friend.”
That wasn’t what Wen Li wanted. Only that “love” was what Wen Li truly desired.
Seeing Song Chengshu’s silence, Qi An abandoned the question.
Expecting Song Chengshu to process so much information in such a short time was unrealistic. It would be better to let him go home and calm down, digesting it slowly.
“Take these letters home and read them at your own pace. Wen Li… spent a long time writing them.”
“Song Chengshu, I really want to hit you, but I can’t find a reason. Although it’s infuriating, I still hope you can pull yourself together. The dead can’t be brought back to life. Now that you know who sent you the letters, just continue living well.”
“Wen Li made a wish to be born a girl in his next life. He wants to love you again. He couldn’t love you fully in this life. He was stubborn. In your next life, be a little more accommodating to him.”
Qi An left, saying he had work to do, and asked if Song Chengshu was leaving too.
Finally, Song Chengshu left Qi An’s home with the stack of letters.
He didn’t go to his own home, but to Wen Li’s.
There, Song Chengshu opened all the letters, arranging them by date, and began reading them one by one.
May 25th
It’s been a while since the start of summer. Is it getting hotter? Remember to use sunscreen. Your skin peels easily, so don’t forget to apply it.
June 1st
Happy Children’s Day! I don’t know if you, as a big kid, got any candy today. If not, don’t be sad. I’ll draw one for you. Oh! Remember to eat an ice cream too. That way, your whole day will be sweet!
June 8th
I heard this summer will be very hot. You said you don’t like hot weather, so… why not try liking me instead? Liking me has the magic power to cool you down!
…
August 10th
Song Chengshu, it’s your birthday today. Happy birthday! I’m sorry I can’t give you a gift this year. Don’t mind, okay? I’ll make it up to you next time.
…
November 1st
Happy Halloween! If you see any little ghosts tonight, don’t be scared. It might be me! Remember to give the little ghosts some candy. They’ll be very happy.
…
Song Chengshu read through to the last letter in one go.
The last one, dated December 31st, simply said “I love you.”
Song Chengshu was already in tears. His hands trembled violently as he opened this letter.
This was a proper letter, longer than the previous ones.
December 31st
Song Chengshu, time flies so fast. Another year has come to an end.
How was your year? Did work go well? Did you make a lot of money? Have your friends mentioned me?
Song Chengshu, this might be my last letter to you. I won’t be sending any more because by the time you read this, I’ll have been dead for over half a year.
You might be very surprised, but please don’t be. I’ve always been by your side. I think you must have guessed who I am by now.
My only regret is that I never told you face-to-face that I like you. For eight years, I stayed by your side as a friend, greedily enjoying every moment with you. If I hadn’t died, I might have continued to covet everything about you, but sadly, I’m not blessed to keep accompanying you.
Song Chengshu, I truly like you. Don’t be angry, don’t blame me, and don’t find me disgusting. There’s nothing wrong with me liking you, just as there’s nothing wrong with you not liking me.
I was attracted to your soul; I just happened to fall for someone of the same gender. You don’t like me because you’re more attracted to the opposite sex.
We’re both just seeking a compatible soul.
I don’t regret following you for eight years. I even want to love you again in my next life. I hope then I’ll be in a white dress, the pretty girl you like.
I’ve always had a wish. They say after death, flesh and bones turn to soil. If you’re still around then, take a handful of me home. Plant some irises with me, nurture your memories, and let them bloom for you to see.
The letter ended here. Song Chengshu wept uncontrollably.
He desperately clutched these papers that both comforted and pierced his heart, calling Wen Li’s name over and over in anguish. But in the empty room, only his sobs were audible. There was no other trace of Wen Li.
Another breeze blew through the window. Song Chengshu turned to look, seeing only the iris leaves swaying.
For a moment, he’d thought Wen Li had returned.
He realized that he and Wen Li had been separated by life and death for a long time, and would continue to live at this distance forever.
In those moments when Wen Li had desperately tried to express his feelings, Song Chengshu now regretted not responding more. If only he’d hugged him more, smiled more, or even just looked at him more.
Their last meeting had been when they ate dumplings. If he’d known, he would have stayed up all night with Wen Li, listening to music and talking heart-to-heart. Maybe then he would have realized Wen Li’s feelings.
But what difference would it have made? Wen Li would still have left him.
Song Chengshu went back and found the unfinished dumplings. He stared at the ten or so frozen dumplings in the clear plastic box for a long time, finally breaking down and crying over them.
Wen Li had made these with his own hands.
Back then, he hadn’t realized that he truly would never eat them again.
These were the last ten.
…
Later, when Wen Li’s body had fully turned to soil, Song Chengshu asked Qi An for all of it. He used this soil to plant a purple iris.
The flower thrived. It was Wen Li thinking of him.
He placed the potted plant in the sunniest spot in his home, tending to it carefully no matter how busy he was. Watering it, fertilizing it.
Yet on countless nights, Song Chengshu would still hold the potted flower, talking to it for half the night.
The next morning, his eyes would be swollen, but the flower would bloom even more beautifully.
The End
The story ends here. Goodbye!
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