Chapter Fifty-Five: The Birthday Gift

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I am a girl, seven years old this year. Because of a few freckles on my nose, everyone likes to call me Little Strawberry.

I am ill. Very seriously ill.

A year ago, my parents began taking me to the hospital frequently. Endless checkups, blood draws, injections—I was so scared, and every time it hurt so much I cried and cried!

I remember once, on the way back from the hospital, my mother held my hand and couldn’t stop crying. My father is a police officer; he has always been brave, but even he cried. My mother picked me up, sobbing as she stroked my head, saying she couldn’t bear to lose me.

Her tears were warm. When she kissed me, her tears brushed my lips—salty.

Six months ago, I began to have constant fevers—high fevers through the night, making my whole body ache. Red spots appeared all over, and my hands and feet hurt. Then I would go to the hospital for IVs, stay there for days, finally return home, and before long, we’d be off to the hospital again.

Every time on the way to the hospital, I’d see children my age carrying backpacks, hand-in-hand with their parents or grandparents, on their way to school.

I wanted to go too. I remember my first year in kindergarten, I made many friends. We ate together, napped together. The teachers were especially kind to me, and because of the freckles on my nose, everyone called me Little Strawberry.

I love strawberries, love their blushing red color. I was so happy then. Every time someone called me Little Strawberry, I’d giggle.

Later, I moved into the hospital. My mother told me she had pulled some strings to get me a bed early, so I could be admitted right away.

The doctors were always courteous when they came by, but several times when they left the room, I saw them shaking their heads. Not long after, the hospital told my mother I couldn’t stay any longer, so I moved out again.

Once, I overheard adults at the next bed saying that such a big hospital wouldn’t treat those they couldn’t cure—they were afraid of patients dying and tarnishing the hospital’s reputation.

So I was moved to a smaller hospital, with lower floors. The elevators and lights weren’t as nice as in the big hospital, but the doctors and nurses here were all very kind to me.

I hated blood draws, hated injections, and was terribly afraid of pain. But since I had to have blood drawn daily, I gradually got used to it. When my mother saw me getting blood drawn, she would cry, so I’d smile and tell her:

“Mama, it doesn’t hurt at all! Little Strawberry isn’t afraid!”

The doctors and nurses all praised me for being brave, and I was so happy. Soon, everyone on the floor knew me and called me Little Strawberry.

I heard my parents say that my hospital bills were massive. I knew how hard they worked—Dad was often on business trips and overtime, so he rarely had time to visit me. Mama would come running after work every day, take yesterday’s homemade meal from her bag, heat it in the hallway microwave, and sit beside my bed, eating and telling me stories.

Mama kept a thick book in my bedside cabinet. She said it was called the Bible. It was full of stories, all about foreigners. Sometimes she would read to me, but I didn’t much like them. Even though I’m a girl, my favorite is Journey to the West. Everyone likes the Monkey King, but I like Princess Iron Fan, Red Boy, and also the Supreme Lord Laozi. I think that old man is amazing—Sun Wukong is unbeatable, but his staff and his fiery eyes were all crafted by Laozi.

Isn’t Laozi super cool?

I believe immortals exist, living up in the sky. My hospital room is high, but the immortals live elsewhere.

But my mother doesn’t believe. She says the sky is the atmosphere, and beyond that is the vacuum of space. The stars we see are distant, distant worlds—spheres like Earth and the Moon, or even burning balls of flame. Our Earth is orbited by the Moon and countless satellites. If immortals really lived in the sky, with all the planes and spaceships flying around, why hasn’t anyone seen them? I told her the immortals used to live in the sky, but since humans have important things to do up there, the immortals moved away—just like the old residents moved out before the hospital’s new building was constructed.

The immortals just moved somewhere we can’t go. But when people face disaster, I believe they’ll come to help.

Mama laughed. I could see she still didn’t believe, but even if she doesn’t believe in our immortals, she believes in foreign ones. Every Sunday morning she comes late, saying she’s been at church for worship, and every night she prays for me, hoping I’ll get well.

I asked her what praying meant; she said it’s telling your thoughts to the God in heaven, called the Lord. I asked if the Lord lived in the church, since she visits him every week. She said the Lord doesn’t live in the church, but pastors are there, and they can listen to our confessions and remorse for sins on the Lord’s behalf.

I didn’t understand. I asked Mama if she’d done bad things and needed to confess so often. She said everyone is born sinful. It’s not that we become sinners by doing wrong, but because we are sinners, we do wrong. Life is about atoning for sin.

I was scared. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong. “Mama, if I die now, does that mean I won’t have finished atoning? Am I a criminal?”

Mama cried and said I was a good child, not a sinner.

I still didn’t understand.

I always wanted to know what exactly was wrong with me, and often asked the other children in the ward.

Oh, I forgot to mention—there are other beds in the ward, but the children who come always leave quickly, so I feel my illness is more severe than theirs.

I asked the nurses what was wrong; they always said it was a cold. But I’d had colds before, and after two or three days, I’d be running around the park. But now, I was weaker day by day.

Every week or two, the nurses would give me an IV of yellow medicine. It hurt terribly as it went in, and when they pulled the needle out, sometimes it would splash on my skin. If it wasn’t wiped off quickly, it left a sore, which hurt too.

I wanted to go home. Every time my grandparents came to see me, they cried. I told them not to, to take me home, or at least take me to the park. I hadn’t been outside in so long. But they said no, and the hospital wouldn’t let me out, saying there were germs outside and I could get another infection.

I was upset. Why worry about other illnesses when I’m already like this?

My parents said they sold our house for medicine, borrowed everywhere, and Mama asked for help online. The kind people’s money was gone too. My parents’ faces were full of worry, and I was sad as well.

With more and more medicine, my body felt heavier, and even getting out of bed left me exhausted. Then I started losing my hair—first a few strands, then handfuls, falling faster than autumn leaves. Soon, there was almost none left. Mama thought it looked strange and asked if I wanted it all shaved off.

She said when I was a baby, shaving my head made my hair grow thicker each time. So I agreed. After she shaved it, she bought me a little red hat. Wearing the hat, I looked even more like a strawberry.

I always wanted to go downstairs. From the window, I could see a patch of green grass below. I hadn’t walked on grass in so long.

I forgot to say—even though I’m young, I’m very good with computers. I learned to code even faster than I learned to read. The adults were surprised, but I was just as surprised that they found it so hard. So whenever I felt a little better, I liked to tinker with electronics.

One day, while the nurse was getting water, I sneaked to her computer and, after a few seconds of typing, locked it completely. She couldn’t access her files, so she called for help. I took the chance to slip out, took the elevator to the first floor.

The lobby was crowded. I tried not to attract attention, but a security guard stood at the entrance. If he found me, he’d surely send me back. I started looking for another exit.

In the center of the lobby stood a girl in a floral dress, about my age, holding a lovely pink purse.

I went over and asked her name. She stared at me in surprise—probably because I had no hair. Embarrassed, I touched my bald head and said with a smile, “It’s cooler this way!”

She was about to speak when her mother hurried over to scold her. I remember her saying, “Didn’t I tell you not to talk to strangers? There are so many patients here—you’ll catch something!”

I hurried to explain, “Auntie, my illness isn’t contagious! The doctor said so—I have lymphocyte disease; it’s not infectious. I just want someone to play with me.”

Auntie glared at me, picked up her daughter, and walked away without looking back. I felt scared and sad, afraid I’d never find a playmate.

On the other side of the lobby was a narrow emergency passage. Once, when Mama was in a hurry to bring me in, we’d used that door. It was close to the grassy patch outside.

When I found the passage, I saw a little boy sitting on a bench, his head wrapped in thick white gauze—like he was carrying a volleyball on his shoulders, which made me laugh.

He saw me and asked, “Who are you?”

“I live upstairs. Who are you?”

“My name is Ming Chen. Why are you in the hospital?”

“I’m Little Strawberry. I’m sick. I’ve been here for months. What about you?”

“I banged my head on some glass—had to get stitches.”

“Ouch! That must hurt! Where’s your family?”

“My mom went to get medicine. How old are you?”

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“I’m seven. And you?” I asked.

“I’m nine,” he replied.

“You’re older than me! You shouldn’t be so naughty—you need to listen to grown-ups.” I began to lecture him.

He grinned mischievously. “I’m going to do big things when I grow up.”

“What do you want to be?”

“I love soccer. I want to play in the World Cup and win a gold medal! That’s why I can’t just sit around—I need to stay active. Ouch, ouch, ouch!” He’d gotten too excited and accidentally bumped his stitched wound.

He looked so funny, I hadn’t laughed so happily in a long time—it was as if my illness had suddenly improved.

He said, “You’re really pretty. Do you live here?”

“I live on the fifth floor.”

“Living in a hospital must be boring. What do you do all day?”

“Not much. Sometimes I listen to songs by BRAVE and HOPE.”

“Oh? Those groups with a bunch of older kids? My dad owns their management company. He works in Chengdu, and I live here with my mom. Next time, I’ll get us tickets—let’s go to their concert together, okay?”

“Yes! That would be wonderful!” I jumped up in excitement.

“I hope you get better soon. Can I come visit you again?”

“Thank you!” I was so happy—no boy had ever called me pretty before. And even though I was bald, even if he was lying, I was still delighted.

“Alright, remember! Little Strawberry, we’re going to be good friends, right?”

“We already are!”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll be friends even when we grow up!”

“My illness is serious. I overheard the doctor tell my dad that I might not have much time left—I might have to go to heaven soon.”

He looked sad. “Are you afraid to die?”

“I am. Because I’m so scared, I want to live every remaining day happily.”

After a while, he looked up and said, “You’ll live a long, long time. When you’re grown up, you have to come watch the World Cup and cheer me on!”

“Okay! Even though I’m a girl, I love computers. If I grow up, I’ll write a program so the whole world can cheer for you.”

Just then, his mother returned. She saw us together but didn’t scold him. As they left, he turned and said, “Little Strawberry, I’ll come visit you in a few days! You must get better!”

I nodded hard and waved to him.

Though I was sent back to my room by the guard, I’d made a new friend. His name was Ming Chen.

After that, my illness suddenly worsened. High fevers all night, trouble breathing, pain all over like needles.

I asked Mama if I was going to die. I told her I had promised a boy to grow up together, and I was terrified of dying.

Mama’s eyes were swollen as she said no. I was so pretty, God wouldn’t let me go to heaven so soon.

Then she told me that before I was born, I had an older brother. When he was four, he was hit by a cement mixer on the road. She had already lost one child, and when she gave birth to me, she had a difficult delivery and surgery—she couldn’t have more children. She said God is merciful and would never be so cruel.

I’d seen on TV that when people die, they can donate healthy organs, like eyes. I told Mama to give my eyes to someone else, so that someone would see the world for me.

Mama just cried. The doctor and nurses nearby also wept.

I had fevers every day and couldn’t wake up, always dreaming—sometimes waking to day, sometimes to night. In a daze, I realized I was wearing a breathing mask. Every time I fell asleep, I didn’t know if I would wake again.

One day, I opened my eyes and saw Mama sleeping in a chair by my bed. I had tubes in my nose and needles in my arm. I was thirsty and scared.

“Mama…”

My voice was hoarse, and though I tried, she couldn’t hear me. I had no strength to call again.

Maybe I was dying. After I died, would I be considered a bad person, as Mama said? And that boy called Ming Chen—he said he’d come visit. Had he not found my room?

The sky outside was so blue, so beautiful! Birds were flying—I wanted so much to go out and see the world. But my mind grew fuzzy, and breathing became harder. The once-bright sky slowly darkened before my eyes.

At that moment, a flash of light passed outside the window, and in midair appeared a young man in pale blue ancient robes. He looked at me quietly, saying nothing.

Was a movie being filmed? But there was no balcony outside. I wanted to sit up, but had no strength.

The young man opened the window and stepped into the room.

“Little sister, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Little Strawberry…” My voice was so soft I couldn’t hear it myself—did he hear me?

“Oh, you’re called Little Strawberry. You really look like a strawberry!” He smiled. “You seem ill?”

“Yes. I’m in pain. Maybe I’ll die and go to heaven.”

“Silly child. Your journey is just beginning—why hurry to heaven? The heavens might not want you yet.” He took out a delicate wooden box from his robe and from it, a colorful candy, leaving the box on my bedside.

“Eat this medicine.”

“The doctor said… I shouldn’t eat candy…”

“It’s alright. I’ve had it too.” He propped me up and removed my breathing mask. “This melts in your mouth.”

“My birthday’s soon. Big brother, could this be my present?”

“Yes, it’s your birthday gift.”

“Are we friends?”

“You remind me of a friend. So let’s say we’re friends too!” He smiled, eyes shining into narrow crescents.

My lips were cracked and dry. I tried to open my mouth, and the candy tasted faintly of herbs and a strange fragrance. I often drank herbal medicine, always bitter, but this was different. The candy melted instantly, turning to a cool vapor that slipped into my belly.

Suddenly, the pain was gone and I felt so much better. The sparkling lights before my eyes vanished. I almost had the strength to stand.

The young man asked, “Little Strawberry, what’s your real name?”

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“My name is Jia Zhang.”

“Do you know a sister named Weiyu?”

I thought hard. The name meant nothing to me, so I shook my head.

“Do you have a sister?”

“No, I’m the only child.”

He seemed a little disappointed, nodded, and sighed softly.

“Big brother, what’s your name?” I asked quickly.

“It’s nothing. You don’t need to remember me.”

“I feel much better now—no more pain. Did you come to save me? You can fly—are you an angel, like Mama says? Did God send you?”

At this, he laughed so hard he doubled over.

“I’m not sent by God, nor am I an angel. Perhaps God and his angels are all busy overseas, helping too many suffering people to come here in time.”

Suddenly, I thought of something and shouted in excitement.

“Ah! I know—you’re an immortal!”

My voice was so loud that it echoed in the empty ward. Startled, he quickly covered my mouth, whispering, “Shh! Shh! Not so loud! I’m not an immortal! If someone comes, that wouldn’t be good.”

He opened the window, lightly stepped onto the sill, and turned back to me.

“Little Strawberry, grow up well. Live healthily, live to a hundred. Then you can help others who face hardship, just as you have.”

I nodded eagerly. Only then did I remember to call Mama to see him too. I patted the bedside, shouting, “Mama! Mama! Wake up! Look, I told you! There really is an immortal who can fly!”

Maybe Mama was too tired. It took a long time before she groggily opened her eyes, looking at me in surprise.

I pointed outside. “The flying immortal, the big brother!”

“Where?” Mama rubbed her bloodshot eyes.

I pointed out the window, but all that was there was the same blue sky and white clouds.

“He was here! The immortal was here!” I pointed to the wooden box at my bedside. “The immortal big brother even gave me a candy!”

Seeing how energetic I was, Mama’s eyes filled with tears. Just then, Papa entered the room.

Mama’s face was a mix of anxiety and excitement as she shouted, “Yongren, look! Little Strawberry is awake!” She hurried out to find a doctor, and as she left, bumped into a little boy coming in, his head wrapped in white gauze. He squatted down, crying out in pain.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” Mama bent over to apologize.

Behind him was a young mother, carrying a fruit basket. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Ever since we got back, he’s been pestering to visit Little Strawberry. We finally had time today and asked the nurse—turns out this is the Zhang girl called Little Strawberry.”

Mama nodded her thanks, apologizing as she rushed down the hall, calling, “Doctor! Doctor! My daughter’s awake—come check her!”

The boy called Ming Chen was still clutching his head, tears in his eyes from the pain. But when he saw me, he forced a smile, baring his teeth, which made me laugh.

He said, “Little Strawberry, I told you I’d come visit!”

I was so happy, but for some reason, tears soaked my quilt and clothes.

I knew then—so many people cared about me and couldn’t bear to lose me.

I would live bravely for them, unafraid of injections or medicine. When I grow up, I’ll take Mama out to play, cook her delicious meals, so she’ll never have to eat boxed food every day again. I’ll learn to earn money and buy back the house we sold.

And him—this two-years-older boy—he seemed like someone who kept his word. We would certainly become good friends.

Mama told me today was my birthday. I’d grown another year! I want to grow up with Ming Chen, slowly, together.

Downstairs was that wide stretch of green lawn.

“That… um… I lost it on the way…”

“We spent all night looking for it, and you lost it?”

“It was a little box. It’s easy to lose. What a pity.”

“Should we look for it nearby?”

“Forget it. If it fell on the road, maybe the cleaning staff swept it away.”

“Now I’m out of Linglong Jade. I can’t make another! What do we do?”

“This is a real mess…”

“If you’d said you were using it to save someone, I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“So you knew and still asked?”

“Then you’ll have to handle the beast Chaos yourself later. You sowed this trouble, so you’ll have to fight through it, tears and all.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey! With this pace, can we still have a proper conversation?”

The sky was brilliantly blue and clear. Leaves danced in the breeze. The cicadas were already awake, and as soon as the sun peeked above the horizon, they burst into song.

Everything was so full of vitality and life.

Life is so wonderful—what reason could there be not to love this world?

Though the unknown awaits, Huasheng, who had just saved a life, felt as if she were bathed in spring sunshine.

She did not yet know that, at this very moment, she had ignited the fuse to a future calamity of epic proportions.