"In the face of illness, a person feels rather insignificant. That's something I've only come to understand recently." The man kept coughing, his body barely able to hold on. "I used to have a terrible temper, but cancer slowly wore down all my edges. Only in fighting it did I realize just how fragile people really are."
"Don't keep walking. Stop and rest for a bit—I'm almost at the Jiujiang World Trade Center. We can talk properly when I get there." Chen Ge lied about his location, gesturing to the driver to go faster.
The online search results indicated that the national studies academy built beside the railway was near the southern suburbs, not too far from his current position.
"I've been standing still for long enough. It's time to move on." The man's voice was trembling. Every cough sent shockwaves through his entire body—an indescribable kind of pain. "I know you mean well, but I want to see some different scenery too. That's why I'm heading to such a high place."
Chen Ge didn't know how to talk the man out of it. He wasn't a professional counselor, after all.
"When you die, everything is gone. Just calm down and think about the unfinished things in your memories. Think about the precious people in your life—they're still waiting for you. Every minute and every second you spend with them matters to them." Chen Ge spoke quickly, growing anxious, desperately waving at the driver.
The driver was sharp. Hearing what Chen Ge was saying, he immediately grasped the severity of the situation, and the car sped up once more.
They retraced their route, soon passing the entrance to the children's amusement park and heading toward the edge of the southern suburbs.
Of Jiujiang's suburban districts, the western suburbs were the largest, the southern suburbs had the best transportation, but they were also the smallest in area.
On the phone, the man's voice grew quieter and quieter. He seemed to have accepted Chen Ge as his last listener, telling him all sorts of things about his life.
The taxi flew down the road. The buildings on either side grew shorter, and the pedestrians grew fewer and fewer.
Chen Ge sat inside the car, multitasking—chatting with the man on the phone while scanning outside, comparing the map, searching for that national studies academy.
On the other end of the line, the man's coughing grew more violent, as though he were trying to cough his lungs out. That was no exaggeration—from the sound alone, Chen Ge could feel the agony the man was enduring.
"Hold on! I'm almost there!" Chen Ge was burning with worry. The voice on the phone was so real, so vivid—he kept feeling like there was still time to turn things around.
"I'm fine. I'm used to it." The man coughed for a long time before managing a single sentence. His voice sounded strange—carrying a hint of relief, a sliver of liberation, and something that sounded like reluctance to let go.
He tried to enunciate every word clearly, even though doing so aggravated his swollen throat and the lumps on his neck: "You've already made me very happy, chatting with me for this long. Go back. I'm not at the place you mentioned, and don't come looking for me. Let me walk the rest of this road alone."
The wind picked up. Chen Ge held his breath. Right now, the thing he feared most was hearing a train whistle through the phone.
The moment that sound rang out would be the moment the man reached his "destination."
A few minutes later, the driver dropped Chen Ge off.
At the end of the street stood a stately old courtyard with traditional architecture—the former residence of a scholar from Jiujiang's past. The national studies academy was right beside it.
The driver was clever and hadn't interrupted Chen Ge's conversation with the man. After pulling over, he pointed outside, then tapped the meter.
Chen Ge was in a rush to find the man who was about to lay on the tracks. He grabbed a few bills from his pocket, shoved them at the driver, threw open the car door, and dashed out with his bag.
On the phone, the man's consciousness was fading. His voice came in broken fragments, his words no longer coherent. His state was becoming dangerous.
"You haven't finished your story. You were just talking about the first time you met your wife—what happened after that?" Chen Ge didn't dare let the man stop thinking. He tried to keep him talking.
Stepping out of the street, he could see the railway tracks in the distance, flanked by barriers on both sides. A few sections of the barrier were missing—probably torn down by nearby residents for convenience.
Where was he?
This was the place that matched both clues—the train tracks and the national studies academy. The call was still connected, so Chen Ge didn't dare make too much noise. He sprinted along the outside of the barrier, the wind howling past his ears.
In the darkness, the tracks looked like a ladder leading to the other side of the world—endless, stretching deep into the void.
"This staircase won't take you to heaven…"
He didn't know when the next train was coming. All Chen Ge could do was push himself to the limit to find the man and bring him somewhere safe.