“That was an accident… I hadn’t eaten anything that day.”
“You’re going to burn yourself out.”
Zhu Yun didn’t believe him. “I worked much harder than this during my undergrad years back home, and nothing happened.”
Tian Xiuzhu shrugged, and repeated the same words as before.
“Suit yourself. My predictions are always right.”
At twenty-four — the age when the body is just beginning to reach its full strength, when every young person burns through life without restraint and feels utterly invincible — who would ever believe they could break down?
Time, impartial and absolute, gave everyone the same answer.
Years of mental overexertion, late nights, and endless hours in front of a computer wore Zhu Yun down with alarming speed. She knew the signs herself — insomnia, heart palpitations, cold sweats, hormonal imbalances. Her entire system had begun to unravel.
“You look ten years older than when we first met,” Tian Xiuzhu told her the next time he came over from home and saw her.
The words hit Zhu Yun like a blow. It didn’t matter what kind of woman she was — no woman wanted to hear she was aging fast.
Tian Xiuzhu seized the opportunity to invite her on a vacation.
They went to France, where Tian Xiuzhu’s parents lived. When Zhu Yun found out she would be meeting his parents, she was so alarmed she nearly threw herself from the car. Tian Xiuzhu caught her by the arm. “Calm down — if you jump out at this speed, it will cause me serious psychological trauma.”
“Why are we going to your family’s house?” Zhu Yun demanded.
Tian Xiuzhu replied as if the answer were obvious. “To save on accommodation.”
“You’re really worried about that kind of money?”
Tian Xiuzhu smiled faintly and said nothing.
Tian Xiuzhu was the second of three children — he had an older brother and a younger sister. His brother was a designer; his sister worked in photography. The household was steeped in art.
When Zhu Yun arrived, everyone was home. They welcomed her warmly — almost too warmly. The enthusiasm was overwhelming, and Zhu Yun found herself deeply on edge.
What’s more, as if sensing something in the air, the entire family began exchanging knowing looks and conspiratorial glances behind the two of them. By the end of it, it wasn’t only Zhu Yun who was uncomfortable — even Tian Xiuzhu couldn’t sit still.
“This is entirely unexpected,” he said, breaking into a cold sweat.
They lasted one night before they fled under cover of darkness.
After that, they visited many places together.
They went to Colmar, taking in the fairy-tale scenery imbued with an Alsatian spirit, then traveled fifteen kilometers to Riquewihr, where quiet, painterly vineyards stretched across the hillsides. They visited a terracotta village perched high on cliffs, and the most beautiful balcony in the world beneath the Alps.
At last, they came to the famous village of Giverny, just outside Paris.
“Monet spent the rest of his life here,” Tian Xiuzhu told Zhu Yun. “He was in his forties, passing through on a train, when he was so captivated by the sight that he bought a house and settled here. He adored gardening — all of this was shaped by his own hand.”
The garden stretched across nearly a hectare, thick with flowers and trees. There was a pond crossed by several small green bridges, their banks draped in weeping willows and trailing blooms. Looking down from one of the bridges, the water below shimmered a deep, vivid green, blanketed with water lilies.
Even Zhu Yun, who cared nothing for art, had heard of Monet’s Water Lilies.
Tian Xiuzhu led her to a particular spot and stood behind her.
“Would you like to know a secret?”
“Not especially.”
“Come on, humor me.”
Zhu Yun smiled. Tian Xiuzhu pointed to the ground beneath their feet and said: “One of the paintings in the Water Lilies series was painted right here.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“…”
“You don’t believe me? All right, the truth is — I saw it.” He spoke with a quiet, mysterious air. “The scenery has changed, of course, but the light is still the same. I stood right where we’re standing now, staring out at the water, lost in thought — and then, for just a single moment, the play of light and shadow before me aligned perfectly with that painting.” He looked at her, his eyes bright. “Can you believe it? For just that one moment, every color fell into place — identical to the painting.”
Zhu Yun understood nothing of art.
“Really? That remarkable? Are you sure you weren’t just daydreaming for too long and starting to hallucinate?”
Tian Xiuzhu let out a soft, disgruntled sound, reached out, and lightly pinched her cheek.
The gesture brought them both to a sudden stillness.
There was no wind in Monet’s garden. Time seemed to have stopped entirely. Neither of them knew how long they stood that way.
“I have a boyfriend,” she said.
“So?”
Zhu Yun looked up. Tian Xiuzhu smiled and said: “Be a little bolder.”
“What?”
Zhu Yun felt a wave of confusion.
Tian Xiuzhu said quietly: “I suspect things aren’t going well between you two.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You’ve never once mentioned him to me. There’s not even a shadow of him in your life.”
“There are reasons for that.”
“Oh, they’d have to be very good reasons, then,” he said, leaning slightly toward her, following her averted gaze. “Good enough to explain why he never seems to care about the toll you’re taking on yourself. Good enough to explain why he never comes to see you.”
Zhu Yun said nothing.
Tian Xiuzhu folded his arms. “I’ve always felt you push yourself too hard. You’re always in such a hurry, as if you can’t wait to get through your own life. But life is meant to be felt, not consumed. The world is full of beauty, and no one is required to make themselves suffer through it. You’ve locked yourself in a cage.”
Zhu Yun had no words. Tian Xiuzhu’s gaze didn’t leave her for a single moment.
“I like you,” he said, and having said it, he seemed a little embarrassed himself — a faint flush crossed his face. Zhu Yun made no reply. He didn’t seem to mind, and said gently: “Whether or not you feel the same is beside the point. But there’s one thing you need to know — a person has the right to be free.”
She bowed her head lower, low enough that he could no longer see her expression.
He wrapped his arms around her.
The quiet here was absolute — so still that even a memory would feel like an intrusion.
Tian Xiuzhu stroked her soft, long hair, offering silent comfort. For a fleeting moment, he thought that if Monet had truly stood on this very spot all those years ago, tracing in his mind the water lilies he would one day paint, then the hand that held the brush must have been just as tender as his own was now.
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