15
Just as I was about to say something, I suddenly remembered something.
Quý Thần Dần’s prosthetic leg was still beside us. He’d taken it off during the examination, and I’d been holding on to it ever since.
How was I supposed to bring up returning it to him? Saying, “Here’s your leg,” would be so awkward.
Quý Thần Dần had clearly realized this too. He was silent for a moment, then sighed.
“Did I scare you?”
I hurriedly waved my hands, my mind racing, until I finally blurted out, “That’s so cool!”
Oh my gosh, what was I saying?
I quickly added, “I mean, like Iron Man—nothing can break it!”
Quý Thần Dần chuckled, his eyes curving into crescent moons. “There’s something even cooler.”
I was a little surprised, and eagerly waited to hear what he meant and watch him take out his prosthetic leg.
Seeing that he wasn’t sure what to do, I waited a moment. Then the prosthetic leg began to glow—and even blink.
The hospital room suddenly looked like a karaoke bar. Luckily, I’d booked him a private room; otherwise, we’d have disturbed someone else.
I couldn’t help exclaiming, “That’s so cool!”
But then I pictured Quý Thần Dần, usually so cool and aloof, walking around with a glowing leg. Oh my gosh, it was too much—I couldn’t even imagine it.
I laughed so hard I flopped onto the bed, thinking that once he recovered, I’d have to flip the switch and see how adorably he reacted.
Quý Thần Dần didn’t understand what I was laughing about, so he explained, “Tiểu Vi picked it out for me. She said it would look really cool.”
Quý Thần Dần’s jokes finally dispelled the awkwardness.
16
Worried Quý Thần Dần might get bored, I did my best to keep him company.
As we talked, the conversation somehow turned to programming.
It was a strange sight: he was still weak from his injuries, yet explaining programs to me, while I listened intently to every word.
Then a nurse came in to change his bandages and teased us, “You two are so studious—even in the hospital, you’re still studying.”
In that instant, my face turned bright red.
I was about to explain, but she’d already gone out.
The atmosphere suddenly grew a little awkward.
I gave a light cough and decided to change the subject. Instead of talking about studying, I asked something I’d really wanted to know: “Why did you come back to the country?”
Quý Thần Dần looked at me with a hint of amusement, as if he didn’t understand why I’d changed the subject so abruptly.
To be honest, I had a bit of a selfish reason for asking. Rumors that he’d returned because of his health had always made me worry.
Quý Thần Dần rubbed his temple helplessly. “It wasn’t because of my health.”
He smiled and explained that his training would only last a year or two, and he didn’t want to stay abroad for long.
I muttered, “Then why?”
Quý Thần Dần looked at me as if he couldn’t believe it, then chuckled.
Suddenly, he asked me, “What do you think computer science means for humanity?”
I thought for a moment, then ventured, “It’s a challenge and a shared asset for all humanity.”
Quý Thần Dần nodded, as if talking to himself, or perhaps explaining it to me. “Science knows no borders, but scientists have homelands.”
I was stunned and couldn’t help staring at him with wide eyes.
Quý Thần Dần leaned against the hospital bed and gazed out the window, his voice gentle but full of resolve.
“Science knows no borders. Breakthroughs in the natural sciences can help humanity advance further.”
He looked at me. His smile was gentle, but his eyes shone with an intensity I’d never seen before. “But people have convictions. I want to use everything I’ve learned—not only to turn the gears of civilization, but also to help my homeland stand among the nations of the world.”
That was why he’d come back.
My heart began to race. It felt as if my blood were boiling, and I couldn’t calm down.
Quý Thần Dần pointed to the prosthetic leg beside me and asked, “Do you know why I have to wear this?”
I suddenly stopped breathing. I hadn’t expected him to ask so directly.
I shook my head. I could have asked my older sister about it, but I didn’t want to reopen his wounds, so I’d always kept quiet.
He began to reminisce. He was still smiling, but his hand seemed to tremble. “An earthquake.”
Those two words were all it took for me to understand.
A tangle of emotions welled up inside me. His brief explanation was the painful truth of what had happened that year.
Without thinking, I took his cold hand, wanting to pass some of my warmth to him so he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.
Quý Thần Dần lowered his eyes to my hand, hesitating. Only after a long moment did he squeeze it back. When he looked up, he’d returned to his usual self.
“My life was given back to me by my country.”
He paused, then continued, “If I can, I hope to devote this finite life of mine entirely to it.”
That was Quý Thần Dần at his fullest.
Destroyed in catastrophe, then reborn through conviction.
I felt as if I’d been struck by a shock. I’d never imagined his story could be so tragic.
No wonder he was afraid of the dark. So that was what the trauma from back then had done to him.
And yet, deep in the heart of someone so afraid of the dark, a flame of blood and conviction had kindled, sustaining him all the way to this day.
Perhaps he noticed something was off with me, because he collected himself and smiled as he asked, “What about you? Why are you so interested in programming?”
So he really had noticed.
I thought for a moment, then answered honestly. “When I was in high school, I saw the news about foreign countries imposing sanctions on our chips. That’s when I thought, I have to study this.”
After a pause, I admitted a little shyly, “Even if my contribution is tiny, and I might not be very smart.”
Then I looked at him resolutely. “But little by little, it all adds up. Our country will definitely take the lead.”
Quý Thần Dần kept his eyes on me, listening intently.
Worried he’d think I was bragging, I quickly explained, “That day at the bar, I was drunk and couldn’t pull it off, so I ended up saying all that.”
As he said this, he seemed to think of something, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Watching his expression, I grew less and less confident as I spoke, and explained in a small voice, “Actually, my grades are pretty good, too.”
Quý Thần Dần’s smile widened. He nodded and said, “I believe you, and I believe in everyone working hard in this field.”
17
As our conversation was drawing to a close, I suddenly realized it was past curfew.
Oh no.
I hurriedly checked my phone and saw more than a dozen missed calls, all from my roommates.
I was done for. I’d put my phone on silent for the extra class and hadn’t noticed a thing.
When I shakily called back, my roommate immediately yelled, “You scared us half to death! You’re my one and only Big Sis Xu!”
I lowered my voice, quickly apologized, and explained that I’d gone to visit a friend in the hospital.
My roommate asked suspiciously, “Is that person a man or a woman?”
I glanced at Quý Thần Dần and could only answer honestly. “A man.”
She immediately shrieked like a monkey in a tropical jungle. “My ship is about to sink! Did you forget Quý Thần Dần by the shore of Daming Lake?”
I nearly fell to my knees.
I caught sight of Quý Thần Dần raising an eyebrow and looking at me inquisitively.
Afraid she’d say more nonsense, I just told her I was fine and hurriedly hung up.
After that, the atmosphere turned awkward.
Quý Thần Dần broke the silence and asked with some curiosity, “Why does she call you Big Sis Xu?”
He could’ve just left the silence alone. There was no question I wanted to hear less.
I covered my face and protested miserably, “You know why, and you’re still asking!”
Quý Thần Dần couldn’t help laughing. His laughter made the atmosphere feel easier.
I laughed along with him, and he easily dispelled the embarrassment I’d felt during that phone call.
That night, when it was time for bed, I turned on a small lamp for Quý Thần Dần.
Lying in bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned, my thoughts full of everything he’d said that day.
Remembering why I’d chosen this field in the first place made me feel even more determined.
18
Although Quý Thần Dần had said he owed me, after he was discharged from the hospital, he transferred the hospital expenses to my card—and sent me more than the amount he owed.
I pretended to look surprised. “You said you owed me before, so are we even now?”
Quý Thần Dần looked up from his computer, amusement in his eyes, and replied, “That doesn’t cancel the debt. I’ll pay you back little by little.”
Satisfied with the answer I wanted, I went back to writing code.
We returned to our usual study routine.
Quý Thần Dần would sometimes go downstairs and cook for us.
I realized he was an excellent cook, even though you’d never guess it by looking at him.
But when he was busy in the kitchen, he brought a sense of harmony and warmth to the place.
I exclaimed, “You’re not only good at writing code—you’re a great cook, too.”
Quý Thần Dần handed me a bowl of soup and said, “As long as you like it.”
I fell silent for a moment. Then, as if I’d drunk bootleg liquor, a surge of courage welled up in me, and I said softly, “It’s not the only thing I like.”
He paused and looked at me, puzzled.
Then I asked him something else. “Do you know what ‘new’ is for?”
He didn’t understand what I meant, but he still answered, explaining the different uses of ‘new.’ In C++, you can use ‘new’ to create an object, so the guys in my dorm often joke that if you don’t have a girlfriend, you can ‘new’ one.
I took a few deep breaths, looked straight into his eyes, and said seriously, “Then can I use the ‘new’ keyword on you?”
Quý Thần Dần stopped breathing. It took him a long while to understand what I meant.
He’d clearly understood, but he just kept looking at me without saying a word. The few minutes I spent waiting felt unbearably long.
He looked at me, seemingly torn up inside, his handsome brows drawing together, then said, “I’m sorry.”
I’d known it already. It was exactly what I’d expected.
I pretended not to care and said, “It’s okay. The program just didn’t compile successfully. I’ll get it right next time.”
But I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out.
Damn it. This wasn’t fair.
Quý Thần Dần’s hands trembled as he wiped away my tears and said, “It’s very difficult. Other people will…”
I cut him off. “I don’t care.”
Crying, I silently cursed Quý Thần Dần for being a coward.
I knew exactly what he was worried about: he was afraid people would stare at his leg and talk about it.
But so what? Who can live in this world without being talked about?
I didn’t care. I waved my hand and said angrily, “I’ll make the program run successfully.”
19
After Tiểu Vi came back, classes continued on schedule, but something between Quý Thần Dần and me felt off.
She thought we were arguing, so to patch things up between us, she suggested going to the amusement park after our last class.
I eagerly agreed, and after we pleaded with him, Quý Thần Dần finally agreed to come along.
While we were waiting in line to buy cotton candy, a little boy behind us suddenly asked, “Why is your leg different from everyone else’s?”
At that, Tiểu Vi’s expression changed at once. Instinctively, she stepped in front of her brother.
As for Quý Thần Dần, I didn’t dare look at him.
The boy’s mother was startled by what he’d said. She pulled him back and hurriedly apologized to us.
I figured the boy was just curious and meant no harm, so I crouched down and explained, “Your big brother was saved by a very powerful superhero, so now he’s become an Iron Man superhero too, protecting everyone.”
Sure enough, the boy immediately looked at Quý Thần Dần with admiration and exclaimed, “You’re so cool!”
I stood up and echoed the boy. “That’s right, you’re so brave!”
The boy’s mother still looked apologetic and immediately led him away.
I turned around and found Quý Thần Dần still looking at me, his eyes filled with emotion.
When I lowered my head, I saw Tiểu Vi had the same expression, too. She blinked at me admiringly.
I waved to get their attention, then got them cotton candy and said, “Why are you both spacing out? Let’s go have fun!” Quý Thần Dần slowly took the cotton candy, but his eyes never left me, as though something inside him had crumbled—and something else had been reborn.
We rode the Ferris wheel together. Tiểu Vi said excitedly, “I heard wishes come true at the very top of the Ferris wheel.”
“That’s just something they tell kids.” I said that to her, but when we reached the top, Tiểu Vi and I instinctively closed our eyes and made wishes. Then we burst out laughing, teasing each other for being superstitious.
Over our laughter, Quý Thần Dần asked, “What did you wish for?”
The lakeside at night was beautiful. The twinkling lights fell across Quý Thần Dần’s handsome profile, making him look like a flawless work of art.
I turned my head and lowered my eyes, deliberately teasing him. “I’m not telling you.”
Tiểu Vi asked, “Did you make a wish?”
Oh, now I was interested. I leaned closer to listen.
Quý Thần Dần watched us laugh as we ate our snacks. He pretended to think for a moment, then nodded. We immediately crowded around him, begging him to tell us.
In the end, he looked at me and imitated my words. “I’m not telling you.”
That unintentional hint of rare playfulness made him seem so vivid. How had this man started acting so childish?
Once we’d had our fill of fun, Quý Thần Dần drove me back to campus. At the school gate, with just the two of us in the car, he suddenly asked, “Do you want to know what I wished for?”
I didn’t understand why he was asking, so I scratched my head. “What did you wish for?”
Quý Thần Dần sighed, as if he’d made up his mind, and said to me, “I just wished I could fix the bug.”
What…?
My heart began to race.
“So,” he said gently, gazing at me with warmth and tiny stars glimmering in his eyes, “could we try again? I’ll cherish it this time.”
I looked at him for a moment, then leaned over and tentatively hugged him. Quý Thần Dần smiled softly.
Then I leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Congratulations. The program ran successfully.”