Chapter Text
By the time you read this diary, I may already be gone. Looking back on my life, I have no more extravagant hopes for beauty, nor do I expect any happiness.
Perhaps this world is targeting me, relentlessly suppressing me until I am shattered.
I could have lived happily. I firmly believe this, and even now, in this desperate situation, I still think it. When I was little, my parents loved me. I remember their warmth, their embraces; I fell asleep in their arms like that. Every night, I slept so peacefully. They gave birth to me, gave me this name, allowed me to exist in this world, and cherished and nurtured me like a precious jewel. As far back as I can remember, they never mistreated me and also loved me deeply. I loved them too.
On the night I turned five, a policeman told me that my parents had an accident. They couldn't come home.
The policeman said, "It was a car accident."
I remember asking, "Will Mom and Dad come home? I'm hungry."
He just shook his head, gently patted my head, and said, "Sweetie, Uncle will treat you to dinner."
At first, I didn't understand what that meant; I just assumed they had gone on a long trip and would come back for me later. But perhaps I realised and understood too much of things I shouldn't have known, because an hour later it clicked. Mom and Dad weren't coming back. They were dead.
Overnight, I was thrown out of my warm shelter. For a moment, I couldn't understand why I was fine yesterday, and today I was all alone.
Anger followed. Why did I become an orphan? Why was I abandoned? Why do I have to live alone now? But later, after calming down and thinking about it, the anger vanished, replaced by an unbearable pain.
Why am I still alive?
I don't want to be alive.
Why can't I die sooner, like Mom and Dad, together?
Then came pitch black. A cold, suffocating black. A blackness that kept me awake, even with my eyes closed. So black I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, my body sinking into that black quagmire, deeper and deeper, unable to escape.
Because no one could contact any of my relatives, I was sent to an orphanage. By then, I was exhausted, unable to speak or do anything. I wasn't exactly a lively child; instead, I seemed withdrawn, constantly immersed in that bottomless quagmire I trapped myself in. Books allowed me to briefly escape reality, to escape into a non-existent world, to temporarily forget the black swamp that had trapped me. Perhaps because I didn't want to face the vague and unspeakable pain in my heart, I developed a liking for physics. The three laws of physics are unchanging, and what I longed for was this tranquil eternity; perhaps I found stability and balance in physics.
However, each escape of the mind ultimately returned to reality. The pain still chased after me like a ravenous beast, wanting to devour me completely.
One day, the aunt at the orphanage invited a counsellor. I knew he didn't want to stay in this remote place for long, and I could guess the orphanage wasn't giving him enough money. He asked me a few casual questions, then gave the aunt a perfunctory reply—that I was overwhelmed with grief over losing my parents, and that I should do more things, not think too much, and that I would forget eventually.
I still can't forget it. I won't forget it even in the future. And sadly, there is no future.
At first, I developed an interest in Go. But this interest was short-lived; it seemed I couldn't find any joy in it, even if I struggled to prolong that interest. I kept asking myself whether I could be happy, whether I could be content, whether I could let go.
My conclusion was that I couldn't.
I want to thank Mr Smile for trying to convince me when I was little that I could smile. I'm sorry, Mr Smile, I can't smile. I'm too tired.
Perhaps I shouldn't be alive.
So, I've let go.
I've given up the struggle.
I once hoped for a life free of ups and downs, filled with five good things: live with good parents, get good grades, find good friends, have a good employment future, and form a good family. Ironically, it seems I can only have one: good grades.
I've already given up once. Seeing other children picked up by their parents, I wondered why they had parents while I drifted like a rootless dandelion seed. Remembering the warmth I once had, I couldn't bear it and contemplated jumping off a building, but my teacher stopped me. In the end, I had to take a break from school, and my teacher even called a psychologist. The doctor said I had some kind of depression. I can't handle all that. I blame myself; I should have endured it and died alone somewhere unseen. I'd be alone anyway, so I wouldn't have to trouble anyone.
So, don't worry about me. I know none of you will care. Letting me die might be the best option.
Finally, I'm sorry. Thank you. Goodbye.
Han Xiaomiao
When Han Xiaomiao woke up, he was dazed in confusion.
He had thought he could finally rest forever in his bed in the orphanage, but he woke up and, looking around carefully, realised he was in a hospital. His stomach was agitated, and he felt nauseous. He must have had his stomach pumped and washed for toxins.
He only remembered taking too many sleeping pills, fainting in agonising pain, and hoping this experience would bring him relief. He was wrong. The world seemed determined to play a cruel joke on him.
After being discharged, it was time for the high school entrance exam. The teachers didn't want to put too much pressure on him and didn't talk much about his grades, probably afraid that if Xiaomiao got anxious, he might do something extremely unsafe like that again. Xiaomiao was also embarrassed; academics weren't the central pressure for him; instead, it was the things he experienced that he couldn't accept. He also felt guilty that he shouldn't have dragged so many people into this because of his mental health issues.
However, it was all in the past. With the high school entrance exam approaching, he should be able to use his studies to ward off those thoughts that wanted him dead.
The teachers never doubted Han Xiaomiao's learning abilities. Despite speaking little and not actively participating, Han Xiaomiao always answered questions thoughtfully and logically during exams, his answers often serving as exemplary models. Therefore, when he ranked second in the city's high school entrance exam, his teachers were surprised he wasn't first.
Han Xiaomiao was also surprised by his second-place ranking. He only wanted to pass.
He now only hoped to attend some unknown high school and live an ordinary life. Although his life hadn't been particularly tumultuous, he still hoped to live a quiet, uneventful life, existing like a ghost, unknown to the world.
In short, he'd be content with just getting by.
However, under strong recommendation from his teachers, Han Xiaomiao still submitted applications to some prestigious high schools. He was forced into it; the teachers didn't want to waste such a talented student.
Because in the second month, someone came to find him.
His name was Xie Minghua, a genuinely sunny and cheerful boy, full of energy, and also the class's social butterfly and class leader. Han Xiaomiao was surprised when the class leader, Xie Minghua, approached him. Still, after chatting with this lively boy for a few minutes, he realised that the other boy simply cared about his well-being and wanted to be his friend. His clear eyes were completely undisguised, full of sincerity.
He had only seen this kind of sincere look in some kids.
In this era where heroes are everywhere, trust is everything. Some people have some degree of trust, and for Han Xiaomiao, that was the teachers at school. These people were few and far between.
Then, after chatting with Xie Minghua, he found that the number on his wrist had increased by one the next day.
Han Xiaomiao facepalms in embarrassment; it could only be no one else but the class leader.
Ironically, these two, with personalities as polarised as diodes, became close simply by exchanging contact information. Or more accurately, Xie Minghua practically flooded Xiaomiao's direct messages, forcing him to interact with Xie Minghua.
Through his interactions with the class leader, Xiaomiao also observed some of his traits. Xie Minghua was a sore loser, ambitious, and didn't want to hold anyone back. Once, when the class leader underperformed on a test, he dragged Xiaomiao to his house and cried for the time it takes to burn half a mosquito coil. Xiaomiao watched as the coil shrank from four to two, while Xie Minghua continued crying. Not knowing how to help, he managed to pull the leader back from his tears by saying he was "studying for the next exam."
The class leader was also helpful, not just in the class, but throughout the school. Whenever someone encountered trouble or difficulties, as long as it reached his ears, he would readily offer assistance, saying, "It was nothing." Only the class leader could be so carefree; Xiaomiao imagined how ridiculous he would have sounded if he had said those words.
However, Xie Minghua wasn't a perfect student; he could be mischievous sometimes. As class leader, he often secretly brought snacks to share with the class, and even when caught, he would just say behind the teachers' backs, "I'll do it again next time." According to his explanation, his uncle owned a snack-and-beverage shop, and since everyone liked snacks, he was just sharing some with everyone. As long as the class was happy, that was fine; after all, getting into high school and university wasn't easy.
In short, Xie Minghua became the pillar of strength in the class. His presence shook off the class's fatigue, giving them laughter and unforgettable memories during the most difficult three years in their academic lives.
Han Xiaomiao witnessed all of this. Xie Minghua was a simple, good person, a good person whose values were so righteous they bordered on the wicked. Such people were rare.
The result was that they went from being high school roommates for three years to becoming inseparable best friends in college like two peas in a pot, their friendship unbreakable. Xiaomiao didn't know why it had turned out this way. The class leader invited him to dinner, and he went; the class leader invited him to his house, and he went; the class leader said, "Let's play games," and he played. Then he stopped calling him by the role "class leader" and started calling him "Minghua."
Han Xiaomiao had thought about the five "good things" in his life, and now two had come true: good grades and good friends.
Having a study partner made all the difference. Both of them achieved top scores in their respective schools, but Han Xiaomiao's scores were particularly astonishing. The staff at the orphanage couldn't believe that a perfect scorer had emerged from this orphanage, located some distance from the city.
College life was different from high school. Although he and Minghua went to the same university, Minghua chose to study business, while he chose physics. Due to the world finding Trust and Trust Values, some laws and phenomena in physics changed, and Han Xiaomiao became aware of this. In this era of abundant resources, people crave intellectual nourishment. However, the rapid transmission of information sacrifices deep human thought, making it easy for a hero to be destroyed by public opinion and challenging to reverse.
Therefore, he didn't want to become a famous figure. He had decided that the rest of his life must be peaceful and uneventful.