"Chuan… I think… it's time for me to leave now."
Zhou Hongchuan stared affectionately at the old woman lying weakly on the bed. Though his eyesight wasn't as sharp as it had once been, he could still make out the beautiful, gentle smile on the face of his wife of over fifty years. Her voice, though frail, carried that same warmth he had fallen in love with all those years ago.
He stepped closer, taking her thin hand into his own weathered palm. It was cold, but he squeezed it gently, not wanting to let go. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, though he kept his face calm, unwilling to show the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Zhuxin, you've always been strong. You can still stay with me a little longer, can't you?" His voice wavered just a bit, betraying the ache he felt deep inside.
Fang Zhuxin chuckled softly, a sound that was more air than laughter. Her eyes, once so full of life and energy, looked at him with the same love they had shared since their youth.
"Chuan," she whispered, "we've lived a long life. It's time… time for me to rest. But don't worry, my love… you will follow soon. I'll wait for you. Just like we promised all those years ago."
Hongchuan swallowed hard. He had prepared for this moment for weeks, months even. Yet, nothing could have truly prepared him for the emptiness that was already creeping into his heart as he felt her slipping away. How could he go on without her?
"I'll wait," she repeated softly. "But you have to promise me, don't cry for me. We had a good life together, didn't we?"
The memories rushed through his mind—decades of hard work, challenges, and the love that had carried them through everything. She had been a rich city girl, educated, and refined. He, a poor farmer born in a small village, with calloused hands and little education. Their worlds had been so different, yet their love had bridged the divide.
"Zhuxin… I—"
"Shh, don't say anything." Her fingers moved weakly to his lips, silencing him with that familiar touch. "I'm happy, Chuan. We had everything… even if we didn't have a child, we still had each other."
A tear finally escaped from his eye, trailing down his weathered cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, unwilling to let her see his weakness in these last moments. He knew she was right. They had lived a good life. They had faced hardships and challenges, but they had always come out on top, together.
"You were the best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered.
"And you to me," she replied, her voice barely audible now. "I'm going to sleep now, Chuan. Just wait for me… we'll be together again soon."
He nodded, unable to say anything more as his throat tightened. He watched as her eyes slowly closed, her breathing becoming softer, slower. Her hand went limp in his, and in that instant, Zhou Hongchuan felt the world grow unbearably quiet.
She was gone.
For a long time, he sat there in silence, holding her hand, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go of the warmth that was now fading from her body. His heart felt heavy, too heavy for words, but there was also a strange peace. She had gone peacefully, just as she had lived—with grace and strength.
"Just wait… I'll follow you soon," he whispered to the empty room, though he knew she was no longer there to hear it.
Hongchuan spent the next few days in a haze of quiet grief. Their home felt empty without her, and every corner reminded him of the life they had shared. The lawyer came by to settle their affairs, quietly explaining that their wealth, amassed through years of careful saving and investment, would be donated to various charities and communities in need—just as they had agreed. With no children of their own, they had always planned to give back to those less fortunate.
But none of that mattered to Zhou Hongchuan. Without Zhuxin, none of it felt important anymore.
A week after her passing, on a quiet afternoon when the sun was setting in the sky, Hongchuan lay down on the same bed where Zhuxin had taken her final breath. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his own age pressing down on him. The world had grown too quiet, too cold.
"Zhuxin, my love… I'm coming. Just wait a little longer," he whispered, feeling his own body surrendering to the fatigue that had been creeping in for days.
He smiled softly as the familiar melody he often hummed—one that Zhuxin had always loved—floated through his mind. His chest rose and fell one last time, and then the room grew still.