《青春斷代史：1987年盛夏，海南島的軟翡翠海水、沙灘帳篷與第二次婚姻試探》

1987年5月，我夜大畢業了，寒窗苦讀了五年。成績很不理想，總報告單上沒有優，只有七個良，三個中，五個及格，兩個補考及格，一個合格。本來我的文科就不是強項，當初是考進了夜大數學系的。為了躲避一段情，我一開始就轉讀了中文系，結果最終還是沒能躲掉這段情，栽了大跟頭。看來，命是躲不掉的。然而，這個跟頭也逼得我不得不把目光看得遠了，心思不再放在眼前的一畝三分地上了。

同年6月24日，是我們同學的畢業聚會。每個人都帶了一份小禮物放在一個大紙箱裡，聚會結束時，大家會從紙箱裡隨機抽取一個。禮物大都是杯子、筆記本之類的，我現在不記得自己給的是什麼，也不記得自己拿的是什麼了。也許我們彼此不太了解，這小禮物就沒有意義；也許我們已經熟悉，請讓我留在你心裡。五年下來，班上80%的同學我其實都不認識。

1987年7月17日上午8點半，我跳上了開往廣州的49次列車，從上海北站出發，去廣州與J相會。一個月前他便說要來看我，問我是去三亞還是去陽朔。這兩個地方我當時都沒去過，我擔心去陽朔需要爬山，就選了三亞。我買了硬臥票，睡中鋪，在車上待了三十個小時左右。對面上下鋪有兩個做生意的上海年輕人，很健談。他們說做生意並不難，他們從廣州採購服裝物資到上海出售，僅僅三年就發財了。真是撐死膽大的，餓死膽小的。那時一般人還不敢放棄體制內的鐵飯碗下海做生意。

抵達廣州後，我在中山大學招待所住了一晚。那時候出差住宿必須憑單位的介紹信。中山大學校園裡有一棟樓，從正門進去下了一層樓，由後門出來時，眼前不再是平坦的地面，竟然是一道順坡下山的台階。這個突變讓在平原長大的我吃驚不小，有一種一腳踏空的錯覺。

南園酒家 1987年7月

7月20日晚上6點半，我在中國大酒店跟從澳門轉道而來的J見了面。隨後，我們去了位於珠江河畔的北京大酒店進餐，之後又去了南園酒家的酒吧坐了坐。走出酒吧，街燈朦朧，晚風習習，我們又沿著珠江散步。

第二天早上7點，我們登上了去海南島的客輪。鳴笛啟航後，船緩緩駛出了港口。遊客們站在甲板上遠眺，城市的輪廓漸漸地從視野中消失，只有海鷗還在船尾盤旋。J帶了一個精美的索尼（SONY）隨身聽送給我。聽著音樂，眼前浩淼的南海碧空萬里，白雲舒捲，心中好不舒暢。

不知不覺中，晚風盈袖，霞光燦爛。船在海上顛簸了一夜。我們的客艙裡有兩張上下鋪的床，一共睡四個人。J睡在上鋪，我睡在同一側的下鋪。

次日清晨七點走出船艙，不少乘客已經在甲板上了。月亮還掛在天上，太陽遲遲不肯露面。漸漸地，東方海平線上的天空紅成了一片，太陽才姍姍地浮出水面。通紅通紅的、雍雍容容的、朦朦朧朧的，像是一個睡美人。太陽離開水面的那一瞬間，略帶著楚楚動人的慵懶與不情願。升高後的太陽彷彿是一個睡醒了的剛毅男子，他似乎有點怪罪我們窺視了他不想讓人看到的媚態，慢慢地發出耀眼的光芒，刺得還在注視著他的人們睜不開眼睛。太陽不僅擁有女性的柔美，更具男性的威力。遠遠的海平線彎成了一條弧，美不勝收。

太陽刺眼不能再看了，我便低頭看海水。不料，這一低頭，卻發現我們的客輪正在無情地將清澈如綢緞般柔軟光滑的海水撕裂沖破。那些被強行分離的海水，剎那間像軟翡翠一樣，被大塊大塊地撞離船體，向外倒飛出去，同時分崩離析化為水珠浪花。在船行過去之後，那些被強行沖開的海水便急不可耐地相擁在一起，彷彿在訴說著別離的痛苦與無奈。此時，我心中的輕鬆豪邁消失了，興奮也減退了，取而代之的是長時間的沉寂和惆悵。

海南島就在眼前但我有點捨不得下船
Hainan Island is right before my eyes
yet I’m somewhat reluctant to disembark

上下照片是海口街景
The photos above and below show street scenes in Haikou

7月22日晚上，我們在海口華僑大廈過夜。我和其他五個女性住在一間集體宿舍般的457號房間。第二天早上，我去了J的房間，居然驚奇地發現他住在一間臨時改用作睡房的會議室裡，有八個西方人男女混住。本來西方人就人高馬大，加上背包行李，把一間大屋子撐得滿滿當噹。

7月23日中午，天氣炎熱。我們坐上了擁擠、車窗敞開著的長途汽車，一路顛簸了好幾個小時前往三亞。

大東海酒店 1987年7月

下午5點左右，我們到達了僅有三層樓高的大東海賓館。入住者大都是金髮碧眼的西方人。我們被前台告知客房已滿，服務台建議我們在沙灘上的帳篷裡先住上一夜，第二天就有空房間了。

令我驚訝的是，到了這裡真是山高皇帝遠，前台竟然沒有要我們出示結婚證。我主動拿出我的工作證時，服務生似乎也沒看，還讓我們登記住在同一個帳篷裡。簡直難以置信。在客房前台辦理入住時，我的頭一直抬不起來，心裡忐忑，臉紅到了脖子根。畢竟，這是我第一次與男朋友在外面開房住宿。

棕櫚樹下的海灘上有一排大約十來頂帳篷。放下行李，我們就撲向了大海。海岸呈弧形，白色的沙灘被婆娑的棕櫚環繞。在長途汽車上顛簸了一下午、蓬頭垢面的我們，實在無法形容接觸到大海時的剎那喜悅。沙灘上遊人不多，風平浪靜，水溫也剛好。這是我第一次在大海裡游泳。1983年暑假我參加單位工會旅遊，在普陀山的千步沙那次，我們僅僅是在淺淺的、剛沒過腳面的水裡走了走，穿著泳裝趴在淺水灘上拍張照片而已。但在大東海完全不一樣了，天是那麼藍，身邊的J看起來似乎也挺帥。

第一次入海水，海浪一來我便跟著倒，連滾帶爬地很是狼狽。J教我，在浪頭過來的剎那，只要輕輕地向上一抬身子就行了。左右看看，還真是這樣，連小孩子都會。我們站在齊腰深的水中，每當海浪襲來時，我都會控制不住地驚呼著、興奮地跳起來，那水浪從身子周圍湧過，非常舒服。

沙灘上有穿著漂亮服飾的少數民族姑娘跟遊客拍照，兩塊錢一張。也有一些中年婦女四處找外國遊客兌換外匯。天漸漸黑了，我們上了岸，在餐廳裡吃了一頓海鮮。餐後我們又回到沙灘上，在夜幕下聽濤。有巡邏的保安用手電筒在水面上搜尋，確保沒有人在夜間的水中。

我們都精疲力盡，很快J就睡著了。帳篷頂上有一個紗窗，月光將棕櫚樹的疏影映在帳篷上。海水嘩嘩地拍打著沙灘，濤聲催人入眠。海風徐徐舞動著椰子樹，卻就是吹不進我們的帳篷。帳篷裡又悶又熱，怕蚊子，又不敢打開帳篷門睡覺。突然，一隻蜥蜴爬上了帳篷頂，細長的尾巴擺動著。我是在大城市長大的，沒見過這場景，四腳蛇這個名字聽著就夠滲人的。我馬上起來將帳篷門關嚴實。不一會兒，又爬來了一隻蜥蜴。我驚恐地注視著牠們，希望牠們能消失，不敢想偏想，萬一牠們溜進了帳篷……不由得身上起了一層雞皮疙瘩。J醒來後說不用怕，牠們不傷人。

幸運的是，第二天早上我們便搬進了219客房，陽台正對著大海。這是我第一次入住高檔酒店。不用再擔心蜥蜴了，放下行李，早餐後我們去小鎮附近轉了轉。

當時有三輪車服務載著遊客遊覽景點
There were tricycle services that took tourists around to see the sights

那時的三亞質樸無華，水上的木結構小樓雖然簡陋，但風光宜人。回到沙灘上時間還早，沿著海灣走走，空曠的沙灘上有一群悠閒的牛。當日頭高照，海水中有了戲水者的喧囂聲。我們又抓起大沙灘巾回到了沙灘上、海水裡、然後躺在沙灘上曬太陽。

天黑後，J居然提出要去裸泳（skinny dipping）！這對我來說簡直是天方夜譚！黑暗的大海和隆隆的濤聲令人望而止步，儘管我內心深處還真有一點蠢蠢欲動。但夜間游泳安保會抓，我的水性也差，我害怕了。他一個人躍入了大海，一絲不掛，而且越游越遠，最終游出了我的視野。留下我一個人坐在沙灘上，擔驚受怕，胡思亂想。如果……如果他出事了，我該怎麼辦？

果然，巡邏的保安來了，用手電筒在水面上來回搜索了一通，但沒有發現遠處的J。當他精神抖擻地上岸後，居然要在沙灘上野合！這簡直就是瘋狂！在月光下的海水中，無遮無攔，自由自在地暢遊，那該是多麼美好的時光，而我卻膽怯了、錯過了。心裡帶著一絲內疚，我便順從了他。但我全程被緊張、恐懼與羞澀之心控制著，儘管這時附近的沙灘上沒有其他人，但感覺周圍似乎到處都是眼睛，連天上的星星也一眨不眨地盯著我們。

7月25日，我們去了天涯海角。一路上有不少小攤位賣水果，許多品種我都不認識。賣椰子的用刀幫我們把椰子砍開了口子，插上吸管一吸，清淡略帶甘甜的椰汁就流進了嘴裡。天涯海角的沙灘上有小孩子兜售紀念品，也有男人在拉客騎駱駝。

7月26日12點半，我們乘車離開三亞返回海口。晚上7點半，搭乘飛機回到廣州。那是我第一次坐飛機。在飛機上我感到身體不舒服，穿上了所有的衣服仍然冷得發抖。我知道自己要發燒了，那時心想有一片阿斯匹靈就好了。

回到廣州中國大酒店時，我病得很重，幾乎站不起來。前台服務生同情我的遭遇，允許我直接住在J的客房裡。我倒在床上，蓋上房裡能找到的任何東西。J跑出去幫我找藥，但太晚了，街上沒有一家藥店還開著門。最後，他在飯店大廳裡四處詢問客人，終於要到了兩顆藥。他給我倒了一杯熱水，我吃了一顆藥，躺在床上蜷縮著身體等待發汗。

很快我就感覺到了熱，熱得難以忍受。我知道這是關鍵時刻，不能讓自己在這個時候著涼，所以我把自己裹得嚴嚴實實的。我的身體很燙，血液像是在沸騰。最後在夜裡，我終於出汗了，床單都被汗水濕透。等到體溫恢復正常後，我洗了個熱水澡，感覺好多了。

第二天中午時分我醒了，說的第一句話就是：「我餓了。」
「很好，如果你餓了，那就說明你正在好轉。」J說。

他必須在當天下午2點離開廣州，經香港返回日本。在他登上開往香港的噴射快艇之前，我們坐在碼頭附近的一家餐廳裡。我身體仍然很虛弱。
「對不起，寶貝，」J說，「我得走了，但妳還病著。我希望能和妳待得更久一些。」他抓住我的手說：「我會想念你的，寶貝。」
那一刻，我想起了蘇聯電影《鄉村女教師》裡的一句台詞，便憂傷地脫口而出：「我們總是分離的。」
J在分手的最後一刻看著我，說道：“Maybe we should get married.”（也許我們應該結婚）。

J走了，快艇把他帶去了外面的自由世界。他還會回來嗎？我獨自留在碼頭，感到無比虛弱和悲傷。寒意再次席捲了我的身體，很快我回到酒店躺在床上，昨晚高燒的經歷再次襲來。這一次更厲害，我開始咳嗽，身邊再也沒有人給我端一杯熱水。J，你在哪裡？我想你。我在黑暗而孤獨的床上默默地哭了。又冷又熱，渾身發抖，我哭得很慘，感到非常難受。我非常想念J，看著他的照片，心裡才稍微平靜了一些。

第二天，我獨自搭乘火車回上海。這兩天在火車上的路途極其艱難。我很虛弱，怕冷，需要躺下，但我坐的是硬座車廂，沒有臥鋪床位。我需要被子保暖，但我沒有。我病得很重，無法忍受風吹，但炎熱的夏日裡，火車所有的窗子都大開著。我只能把自己縮成一團。

那時我想，這十四天裡，我去過天堂，也肯定到過地獄。海南島留下了我的不少第一次，但人生路途上，還有多少個第一次在等待著……

Maybe we should get married.

**********************************

Chronicles of Youth: Midsummer 1987—The Soft Jade Waters of Hainan, Beach Tents, and The Second Marriage Proposal

In May 1987, I graduated from the evening university, concluding five years of bitter study. My grades were far from ideal; the final transcript bore not a single "Excellent," containing merely seven "Goods," three "Fairs," five "Passes," two "Passes after re-examination," and one "Qualified." Liberal arts had never been my strength; I had originally passed the entrance examination for the evening university’s mathematics department. To escape a certain romantic entanglement, I had transferred midway to the Chinese department, yet in the end, I failed to evade it anyway and suffered a heavy fall. It seems destiny cannot be bypassed. Yet, this setback forced me to look further ahead, pulling my mind away from my immediate square inch of existence.

On June 24 of that same year, we held our class graduation gathering. Everyone brought a small gift to place inside a large cardboard box; at the conclusion of the party, each person drew one out at random. The presents consisted mostly of mugs and notebooks; I no longer recall what I gave or what I drew. Perhaps because we did not truly know one another, these small gifts carried little meaning; or perhaps we had already grown familiar—please let me remain within your heart. After five years, I remained unacquainted with eighty percent of my classmates.

At 8:30 on the morning of July 17, 1987, I boarded Train 49 bound for Guangzhou, departing from the Shanghai North Railway Station to rendezvous with J. A month prior, he had stated his intention to visit me, inquiring whether we should travel to Sanya or Yangshuo. I had visited neither location at the time; worried that Yangshuo would require mountain climbing, I selected Sanya. I purchased a hard-sleeper ticket, occupying the middle berth, and remained aboard the train for roughly thirty hours. The two young Shanghainese businessmen occupying the berths opposite me were highly talkative. They remarked that commerce was not difficult; they procured garments in Guangzhou to sell in Shanghai, making their fortunes in a mere three years. Truly, the bold gorge themselves while the timid starve. At that time, ordinary citizens still lacked the courage to abandon their state-secured iron rice bowls to plunge into private business.

Upon reaching Guangzhou, I stayed one night at the Sun Yat-sen University guesthouse. In those years, securing lodging required an official introductory letter from one's work unit. There was a building on the Sun Yat-sen University campus where one entered through the main doors, descended one floor, and exited through the rear doors, only to find that the ground ahead was no longer flat. Instead, a flight of stone steps led straight down the slope of a hill. This sudden transition startled me, having been raised on the flat plains, evoking a brief illusion of stepping into mid-air.

At 6:30 on the evening of July 20, I met J, who had traveled by way of Macau, at the China Hotel. Afterward, we dined at the Beijing Hotel situated along the banks of the Pearl River, and subsequently stopped at the bar of the Nanyuan Hotel. Emerging from the bar, the streetlights were hazy and a gentle evening breeze blew; we strolled along the Pearl River.

At 7:00 the following morning, we boarded the passenger steamer to Hainan Island. The horn sounded, and the vessel slowly departed the port. Passengers stood on the deck gazing back as the city’s skyline gradually receded from view, leaving only seagulls circling the stern. J had brought an exquisite SONY Walkman as a present for me. Listening to the music, the vast South China Sea stretched clear for thousands of miles beneath drifting white clouds, bringing immense ease to my heart.

Unknowingly, the evening wind filled our sleeves as the sunset flared brilliantly. The ship rolled through the waves all night. Our cabin contained two sets of bunk beds, accommodating four passengers in total. J occupied the upper berth, while I slept in the lower berth on the same side.

When I stepped out of the cabin at seven the next morning, many passengers were already gathered on the deck. The moon still hung in the sky, and the sun seemed reluctant to show itself. Gradually, the eastern horizon turned a solid crimson before the sun finally emerged, slowly floating above the water—deep red, majestic, and hazy, like a sleeping beauty. The exact moment the sun broke from the water’s surface carried a delicate, visible laziness and reluctance. As it climbed higher, it transformed into the likeness of a resolute, newly awakened man, appearing slightly displeased that we had witnessed the soft charm he wished to keep hidden, slowly casting an intense radiance that blinded those who continued to stare. The sun possessed not only feminine grace but also masculine power. The distant horizon curved into a sweeping arc, beautiful beyond description.

The sun grew too bright to look at, so I turned my gaze down toward the sea. Looking down, I discovered our steamer was ruthlessly tearing and breaking through the water, which was clear and soft like silk fabric. Those forcibly separated waters were instantly struck away from the hull in large blocks like soft jade, shattering into droplets and foam as they flew outward. Once the ship passed, the waters that had been violently forced apart rushed impatiently to embrace one another again, as if recounting the pain and helplessness of their separation. At that moment, my sense of ease and grandeur vanished, my excitement faded, and it was replaced by a prolonged silence and melancholy.

On the evening of July 22, we lodged at the Haikou Overseas Chinese Mansion. I stayed in Room 457, a dormitory-like space shared with five other women. The next morning, I went to J’s room and was astonished to find he was staying in a conference room temporarily converted into a sleeping quarter, shared by eight Western men and women. The Westerners were naturally large in frame, and with their backpacks and luggage, the large room was packed to capacity.

At noon on July 23, amidst sweltering heat, we boarded a crowded, open-windowed long-distance bus, enduring several hours of jolting travel toward Sanya. Around five in the afternoon, we arrived at the Dadonghai Hotel, a structure only three stories high. The guests were mostly blonde-haired, blue-eyed Westerners. We were informed at the reception counter that the guest rooms were entirely occupied; the desk suggested we sleep for one night in a tent upon the beach, promising a vacancy the following day.

To my astonishment, out here where the mountains are high and the emperor is far away, the reception desk never requested our marriage certificate. When I automatically produced my work ID, the clerk barely glanced at it, registering us both into the exact same tent. It was hard to believe. While checking in at the counter, I could not lift my head; my heart fluttered with unease, and my crimson blush crept down to my neck. After all, this was the very first time I had ever registered to share a room with a boyfriend.

A row of roughly ten tents sat beneath the palm trees on the beach. Dropping our bags, we flung ourselves into the sea.

The coastline formed an arc, its white sands bordered by swaying palms. Having spent the afternoon jolting inside that long-distance bus, disheveled and covered in grime, we found it impossible to articulate the instantaneous joy of touching the ocean. The beach was uncrowded, the water calm, and the temperature perfectly fine. This was my first time swimming in the open sea. During the summer break of 1983, when I joined a tour organized by the work union to the Qiandusha beach on Putuo Mountain, we had merely waded through water that barely covered our feet, posing for a photograph while lying across the shallow surf in our swimwear. At Dadonghai, it was entirely different; the sky was intensely blue, and J looked quite handsome beside me.

Entering the ocean for the first time, I tumbled whenever a wave approached, scrambling in a thoroughly clumsy manner. J instructed me that the moment a wave neared, I simply needed to lift my body lightly upward. Looking left and right, it was indeed that simple; even the children were doing it. We stood in water up to our waists; whenever a wave surged forward, I could not help but shout and leap with excitement as the water rushed past my body, feeling incredibly comfortable.

Minority girls dressed in beautiful garments walked the beach, taking photographs with tourists for two RMB each. Middle-aged women also drifted about, seeking foreign tourists to exchange foreign currency. As darkness fell, we came ashore and dined on seafood at the restaurant. Afterward, we returned to the beach to listen to the waves under the warm darkness. Security guards on patrol swept flashlights across the water’s surface, ensuring no one remained in the sea at night.

Exhausted, J fell asleep quickly. The top of the tent featured a mesh screen, allowing the moonlight to cast the sparse shadows of the palm trees across the fabric. The ocean crashed against the shore, the sound of the waves coaxing us to sleep. A gentle breeze swayed the coconut trees, yet it failed to penetrate our tent. The interior was stiflingly hot, but terrified of mosquitoes, we dared not open the tent flaps to sleep. Suddenly, a lizard crawled onto the roof of the tent, its slender tail flicking. Raised in a large metropolis, I had never encountered such a sight; the local name "four-legged snake" sounded sinister enough. I immediately arose and sealed the tent doors tight. Shortly after, another lizard arrived. I watched them in terror, wishing they would vanish, unable to stop my mind from wandering—what if they slipped inside the tent... a layer of goosebumps rippled across my skin. J woke briefly and remarked there was no need to fear; they did not harm humans.

Fortunately, the next morning we transferred into Room 219, its balcony facing the sea directly. This was my first time staying in a luxury hotel. No longer worried about lizards, we unpacked, and after breakfast, we strolled near the small town.

Sanya at that time was simple and unadorned; though the wooden structures built over the water were primitive, the scenery was lovely. Returning to the beach while it was still early, we walked along the bay; a herd of leisurely cattle occupied the empty sands. As the sun climbed high, the shouts of bathers filled the surf. We grabbed our large beach towels again, headed back to the beach and into the water, and then lay on the sand to sunbathe.

Once darkness fell, J actually suggested we go skinny dipping! To me, this was absolute fantasy! The pitch-black sea and the thunderous roar of the waves were terrifying, even if a quiet urge stirred deep within my own heart. Yet night swimming would draw arrest from security, and my swimming skills were poor; I was afraid. He leapt into the sea alone, entirely naked, swimming further and further until he vanished past my vision, leaving me sitting alone upon the beach, gripped by fear and dark thoughts. What if... what if something happened to him?

Sure enough, the security patrol arrived, sweeping their flashlights back and forth across the water, though they failed to spot J in the distance. When he returned to shore in high spirits, he actually wanted to make love upon the sand! This was absolute madness! To swim freely and without constraint beneath the moonlight in the open ocean—that must have been a magnificent time, and I had missed it. Feeling a touch of guilt, I complied with his wishes upon the beach. Yet I was entirely consumed by tension, fear, and shame throughout, feeling as though eyes were everywhere, even the stars in the sky staring down without blinking—even though there was no one else on the nearby beach at that moment.

On July 25, we visited Tianya Haijiao (The End of the Earth). Numerous small stalls lined the route selling fruits I did not recognize. The coconut vendors used knives to chop an opening into the fruit for us; inserting a straw, the light, subtly sweet juice flowed into my mouth. Children sold souvenirs upon the sand at Tianya Haijiao, and men coaxed tourists into riding camels.

At 12:30 on July 26, we departed Sanya by bus for Haikou. At 7:30 that evening, we boarded a flight back to Guangzhou. That was my first time flying. On the plane, I began to feel unwell, shaking with chills even after putting on all my clothing. I knew a fever was coming; at that moment, I wished for a single aspirin.

When we returned to the China Hotel in Guangzhou, I was severely ill, barely able to stand. Sympathizing with my condition, the desk clerk permitted me to stay directly in J’s single room. I collapsed onto the bed, covering myself with whatever fabric I could find in the room. J rushed out to locate medicine, but it was too late; not a single pharmacy on the streets remained open. Ultimately, he canvassed guests in the hotel lobby, finally obtaining two pills from someone. He poured a glass of hot water for me; I took one pill and curled my body beneath the sheets, waiting to sweat out the fever.

Soon I felt hot, an unbearable heat. I knew this was the critical moment and I could not allow myself to catch a chill, so I wrapped myself tightly. My body scorched and my blood felt as though it were boiling. Finally, in the middle of the night, the sweat broke, soaking through the bedsheets. Once my temperature returned to normal, I took a hot shower and felt much better.

I woke around noon the next day, and my very first words were, "I'm hungry."
"Good, if you are hungry, it means you are recovering," J said.

He had to depart at two that afternoon, returning to Japan by way of Hong Kong. Before he boarded the jetfoil bound for Hong Kong, we sat inside a restaurant near the pier. I remained exceptionally weak.
"I'm sorry, baby," J said. "I have to go, but you're still sick. I wish I could stay with you longer." He gripped my hand and said, "I'll miss you, baby."
At that moment, a line from the Soviet film The Village Schoolteacher surfaced in my mind, and I uttered sorrowfully: "We are always parting."
At the final moment of our farewell, J looked at me and said, "Maybe we should get married."

J departed, the jetfoil carrying him away to the free world. Would he return? Left alone at the pier, I felt incredibly weak and sorrowful. Chills invaded my body once more, and I soon returned to the hotel to lie upon the bed; the experience of the previous night’s fever rushed back. This time it was more severe; I began to cough, and there was no one beside me to offer a glass of hot water. J, where are you? I miss you. I wept silently in the dark, lonely bed. Alternating between cold and heat, shaking all over, I cried bitterly, feeling thoroughly wretched. I missed J intensely; only by gazing at his photograph did my heart quiet down slightly.

The following day, I boarded the train alone to return to Shanghai. Those two days aboard the train were grueling. I was weak and sensitive to the cold, requiring a place to lie down, yet I occupied a seat in a hard-seat carriage without sleeping berths. I needed a blanket for warmth, but possessed none. I was too ill to endure the draft, yet on those hot summer days, all the train windows were flung wide open. I could only curl myself into a tight ball.

I thought then that during those fourteen days, I had visited heaven, and surely I had also been to hell. Hainan Island had claimed many of my firsts, yet along life's path, how many more firsts remained waiting...

Maybe we should get married.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百八十七篇