The Nightmare Experience of a Useless Person

"No!" Jiang Zhiyang seemed to regain his senses for a moment. "We can't go back! No!"

He began to tremble more violently, his hands gripping something as if in a convulsion.

"Okay, okay, we won't go back." Qingjun pulled his hand tighter, holding him close to her chest. He was always afraid of troubling others and worrying his family.

It should be getting light soon, just wait a little longer.

The person in his arms was caught in a state of chaos. He seemed to be asleep, yet he was also unusually awake. The things and scenes before him kept changing, each one drawing him in. Gradually, he became mentally exhausted and his emotions collapsed.

He saw a magnificent gate, and inside was Qingjun, sitting on a swing. Behind her was a man who looked exactly like Jiang Shuo. No, Jiang Zhiyang rubbed his eyes. That was Jiang Shuo. He pushed Qingjun's back, and the swing swung very, very high.

No, the swing is swinging too high, Qingjun will fall. Jiang Zhiyang reached out to pull him up, but he couldn't hold on no matter what. He was lifted into the air by the swing, then fell to the ground without weight, and everything in front of him was red.

Red, a red he was very familiar with—red curtains, red fireworks, red wedding clothes, and even the red lipstick on Qingjun's lips.

Jiang Zhiyang raised his hand and desperately called her name, but she smiled and told him that he had the wrong person. Her name was not Qingjun. What was her name? Jiang Zhiyang could not hear her. No matter how close he got, he could not hear her. He was anxious and worried, and he pinched his ears until they turned red.

There were many people in the courtyard: Xiulian, Xiaotao, Lao Jiang, and Aunt Dong. Everyone was there, clapping, toasting, and congratulating the newlyweds.

"No! No! She likes me! Qingjun likes me! You've got it wrong, it's not right!"

But Qingjun never said she loved him! His heart ached, his head felt like it was going to split open. Jiang Zhiyang covered his head with one hand and tried to pull the bride away with the other.

He pulled it up, and the familiar scent entered his nostrils, calming his panicked heart slightly. He had forgotten that Qingjun had been holding him the whole time; her cheeks, her arms, her waist warmed his cold body.

In a hazy state, it seemed like dawn had broken, and the carriage started moving again. Jiang Zhiyang seemed to have fallen back onto that small bamboo bed, rocking back and forth. However, there was no lullaby to lull him to sleep; it was quiet for a while, then noisy for a while. After that, it seemed like a long time had passed. When he became more awake, he was already lying on the bed.

This was the private residence of an old doctor. Qingjun couldn't find a clinic that opened early in the morning, so he was introduced by two old women who got up early and finally found this courtyard after several twists and turns.

"Are you his wife or his sister?" The old doctor administered acupuncture and bloodletting to Jiang Zhiyang, and then pulled Qingjun outside to talk.

Qingjun couldn't answer, but the old doctor didn't wait long. "Whether he's a lover or a mistress doesn't matter. What matters is his life."

"Not typhoid fever?" Qingjun's voice trembled.

"I see that the wounds on his wrists are overlapping, which may be due to poison entering the blood and causing boils to spread," the old doctor paused for a moment, as if considering the right words, "I am not very knowledgeable, and the medicine I have prescribed can only barely relieve the high fever. If he does not get better after the first three days of medicine, I will be unable to help him."

He was going to die. That was Qingjun's first thought. She tremblingly pulled off the purse at her waist, but was pushed back by the old doctor.

"Let me be frank, this illness is severe and difficult to cure, with only one or two out of a hundred chance of recovery. At home... it's best to make plans as soon as possible. If you are still worried, you can seek out other doctors for further diagnosis."

The old doctor spoke earnestly, stroking his beard, a hint of pity and helplessness in his eyes, "No need for a consultation fee. If the person is saved, come to my clinic, say hello to me, and that will be enough."

Willow catkins, when the breeze blows, are raised in the air, touched by the morning dew, and then fall to the ground, sticking to the hem of passersby's clothes, crushed into the mud by the hooves of passing horses, and left on some uneven stone steps.

Qingjun clenched his arms, trying to hold onto the willow catkin tightly, but it was too light, so light that it would easily slip through his fingers if he wasn't careful.

In Rongcheng, there are twenty-eight medical clinics of all sizes. Qingjun, accompanied by Jiang Zhiyang, knocked on each door, but could not find a better solution.

"You're always more unlucky than most people." Qingjun pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Jiang Zhiyang's forehead.

The carriage stopped by the Kangjiang River. The sun was setting, casting dappled shadows. The setting sun shone through the willow branches and fell on Jiang Zhiyang's profile.

Qingjun had no mind to look; her mind was filled with the old doctor's words: at home... they should make plans early. He, perfectly fine, just suddenly died...

"You unlucky bastard, why does fate always seem to pick on you to torment? In your past life, you fell into the water while watching a lantern, and now..."

There are countless living beings in this world, and mortals are only one in ten thousand. Jiang Zhiyang, a mere child, is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. So why is it that he cannot grow up and grow old in an ordinary way?

Drifting with the wind, going with the current, how pitiful he is. Qingjun bit her lip, but couldn't hold back her tears. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, but was afraid of disturbing him.

But he still woke up. "Why are you crying?"

Jiang Zhiyang tugged at his sleeve and reached out to wipe Qingjun's tears, but she grabbed his hand tightly and held it in hers.

She lowered her head and pressed it against Jiang Zhiyang's palm, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. As a result, a small lake appeared in Jiang Zhiyang's hand.

Looking at the girl sobbing for him, Jiang Zhiyang felt a surge of joy. If only she could always cry for him, laugh for him, and stop gazing at him.

"I'm fine now," Jiang Zhiyang waved his hand, and Qingjun swayed with him. "That old man is quite skilled. He gave me acupuncture and bloodletting, and I feel much better. I think I can go to work tomorrow."

The golden sunset fell into his eyes, making them appear even clearer, like a mountain spring, nurturing the fish called love.

"Moreover, the world is unpredictable, and things change. Many lovers cannot withstand the test of time and eventually fall in love with someone else and betray their promises."

He bent down to look into Qingjun's eyes.

"We wouldn't be like that. If I were to die right now, wouldn't we still be considered to have grown old together, our love unwavering until death?"

Qingjun disliked the sweet talk, thinking that Jiang Zhiyang was just being cheeky now that he was feeling better. She raised her hand and punched him hard in the chest.

"Ouch, it hurts so much!" Jiang Zhiyang clutched his chest, pretending to fall down. After a few seconds, he didn't get a reaction from Qingjun, so he squinted one eye to peek.

At the hour of You (5-7 PM), the sunset is at its best. Thin clouds hang like gauze on the azure sky, resembling silk cloth washing over a stream, with shimmering gold light. Qingjun, Yu Qingjun, is the fairy who emerges from the water, the light reflecting off her hair, making it radiant and colorful.

What to do? The fairy is about to fall into his arms.

……

"Qingjun," Jiang Zhiyang called softly.

The fairy turned her head, and before she could react, the man grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hot embrace.

No one spoke again; they simply pulled each other closer, embracing each other until night fell and the stars shifted.