Paper Lover At Old Town Bookstore Chapter 65

It’s all over, just a dream

The wooden door of the old bookstore creaked, and the draft carried fallen leaves across the bookshelf. The manuscript paper spread out on the table was blown away, and the handwriting was strong but trembling——

It turned out that there was no reunion beyond the third dimension, there was no flat floor 806 on the 18th floor of Building A, Fuwan, Zhong District, and there was no replacement ID card.

Song Zhili was sitting on the bay window, holding a dark brown diary that had been polished to a shiny color in his arms, and his fingertips were still stained with wet ink.The sun fell on him through the gaps in the wall-creeper. The white hair on his temples was already covered, and his back was severely hunched. The rocking chair beside him was empty. Tuanzi’s ashes were buried under the rose bushes. He was the only one breathing in the bookstore.

Those about the morning light in the rental house, the river view on the 18th floor, and the immortal couple in the company are all the fantasies he wrote on the manuscript paper.

Ever since he discovered Qiu Sheng’s diary on the mezzanine of the bookshelf and knew that he had returned to his own world, Song Zhili began to write.

He filled in the regrets in Qiu Sheng’s diary one by one: allowing himself to find him across time and space, allowing him to be successfully promoted to director, allowing the two to fall in love with each other openly, and allowing all rumors to turn into blessings.

He wrote one book after another, and the pile of papers was higher than the bookshelf.Every word carries his longing, and every plot hides his desire.

He lied to himself that as long as the writing was real enough, those beautiful things would come true; as long as the story was not over, Qiu Sheng would still be by his side.

The wind blew the last page of manuscript paper to the ground, which read: “They are in the sunroom on the 18th floor, with rocking chairs side by side and a wide view of the river. They will be together forever.”

Song Zhili bent down to pick it up, his movements slow and stiff.He looked at the writing on the paper, then looked up at the empty rocking chair. The light in his eyes dimmed little by little, leaving only boundless loneliness.

The scent of tea in the bookstore has long since dissipated, leaving only the stale smell of paper.He held the diary in his arms, as if holding Qiu Sheng’s phantom, and murmured in a low voice: “Qiu Sheng, I wrote the best ending for us, did you see it?”

The wind passed through the bookstore, picking up manuscript papers and flying around, like a silent response.

Song Zhili leaned against the bay window, closed his eyes, and had a slight smile on his lips.

In the story he made up, he and Qiu Sheng were always happy; in the long years of reality, these words were his only comfort, supporting him through lonely days and nights.

The pages are still turning and the story has no end.

As long as he is still writing, Qiu Sheng will always live in his words and his thoughts, so that he will not be too lonely in this long river of time.

The wind in the mountains carried the dryness of the vegetation, causing Song Zhili’s white hair to stick to his forehead in a messy manner.

He used crutches and moved step by step to the tombstone halfway up the mountain. Every step showed the weight of time – this was his 35th memorial day, and a full 35 years had passed since the day Qiu Sheng “fell asleep”.

The photo on the tombstone is still clear. Song Qiusheng’s gentle smile and clear eyebrows will always remain at his best age.

Song Zhili, who was standing in front of the tomb, was no longer the same as before. His back was severely hunched, his face was full of ravines, his cloudy eyes were covered with mist, and he was still holding a bunch of fresh white platycodon in his hand.

“Qiu Sheng…” His voice was hoarse as if it had been sandpapered, almost out of tune, “This may be the last time I come to see you.”

The crutches dug heavily into the soil, supporting his shaky body.He slowly bent down and placed the platycodon in front of the tombstone. His fingertips trembled and brushed away the thin dust on the tombstone. His movements were gentle enough to avoid disturbing the sleeping person.

“It’s been 35 years…” He sat on the pony he brought, his voice as soft as a sigh, “I guarded the bookstore, and the dumpling was buried under the rose bushes it liked.

I have written many stories in which we are together. In your world, there is a flat floor, sunshine, and no separation.”

The wind blew through the mountains with a whimpering sound.He talked nonchalantly, sharing the trivial things that only belonged to them like he did in the bookstore before: “The roses in the bookstore are open again this year, and they are as beautiful as when you were there. I still lie in the rocking chair and bask in the sun every day, as if you are still by my side, laughing and calling me glib.”

“I’m old and can’t walk anymore.” He coughed a few times, and a few tears rolled out of his cloudy eyes, sliding down his wrinkles. “The doctor said that I don’t have much time left. It’s okay, I can finally go to you.”

He raised his hand and gently touched the name on the tombstone. The warmth of his fingertips passed through the cold stone tablet, as if touching his lover’s cheek: “Qiu Sheng, wait for me. This time, I will not let you wait too long.”

The setting sun stretched his shadow very long and thin, as if it could be blown away by a gust of wind.He sat in front of the tombstone until the last trace of the afterglow disappeared in the mountains, then he slowly got up, leaned on crutches, and walked back down the mountain step by step.

The back was hunched and lonely, but it carried a kind of relieved calmness.

35 years of waiting, 35 years of longing, and 35 years of self-consolation are finally coming to an end.

Perhaps when the mountain roses bloom again, there will be a small tombstone in front of the tomb with Song Zhili’s name engraved on it.

And this pair of lovers who have transcended life, death and the three dimensions will eventually meet again in another world and continue to write the most beautiful story that was blown away by the wind.

The raindrops swept across the blue brick wall diagonally, wetting the leaves of the wall-creeper and the person on the rocking chair.

Song Zhili was lying in the same spot where Qiu Sheng always lay, with a peaceful posture, holding the dark brown diary tightly in his arms, and holding an unfinished page of manuscript paper at his fingertips.

His white hair was wet from the rain and stuck to his furrowed face. His cloudy eyes were gently closed, with a faint smile on his lips, as if he was just asleep and dreaming of the person he had been waiting for for 35 years.

The proprietress of the alley breakfast shop was the first to notice something was wrong.It rained for more than half an hour. When she finished cleaning up the store, she came out and saw Song Zhili still lying on the rocking chair. The rain was dripping down his face, but he didn’t move at all.

“Boss Song? Boss Song?” The proprietress called out twice tentatively, but when she got no response, she felt nervous and walked over quickly.When I reached out and touched it, I realized that his body was completely cold and so stiff that there was no warmth at all.

“Hey…” The landlady sighed heavily, her eyes instantly turning red.She called the owners of the flower shop and fruit shop next door to come over, and several people carefully lifted Song Zhili from the rocking chair, moving lightly to avoid disturbing him.

“For 35 years, I have been here basking in the sun every day, waiting for the boss Song who died young…” The flower shop owner still held the freshly cut platycodon in his hand, his voice choked with sobs, “It’s better now, and we can finally be reunited.”

The fruit shop owner silently found a clean cloth and covered Song Zhili: “He passed away peacefully and without suffering, just like the boss Song more than ten years ago…”

The rain was still falling, hitting the glass windows of the bookstore with a crackling sound, as if saying goodbye to this longing that spanned half a life.

The rocking chair remained in place, shining brightly from the rain. The rose bush next to it swayed slightly in the rain, and its white petals fell to the ground.

The neighbors followed Song Zhili’s last wish, which he had entrusted to the breakfast shop owner Li many years ago, and buried him and Qiu Sheng together.

There is no extra text on the tombstone, only the names of the two people are engraved, and there is a bunch of white platycodon that will always be in bloom.

The door of the bookstore never opened again, the rocking chair at the alley gradually gathered dust, and wall-crawlers slowly covered the doors and windows.

But everyone nearby remembers that there was once an old man with white hair who lay on a rocking chair and sunbathe in the sun every day, holding a diary in his arms, guarding a bookstore, and waiting for someone for 35 years.

Later, someone said that on a sunny afternoon, they saw the door of the bookstore ajar and two young people sitting on rocking chairs. One had a clear eyebrow and the other had a gentle smile. They looked at each other and smiled. There was a chubby cat lying next to them. The sun shone on them, making them unbelievably warm.

That was the ending written by Song Zhili in his whole life, and it was also the way they finally reunited across life, death and time.