Wandernde Lieder am Ende der Welt

Kapitel 5

Kang Qiujing, female, born in 1978, worked in the Tourism Reception Department of the Municipal Government Service Center and lived in the residential area at No. 110 Yongde Street, Dongfeng Road, in the city. She underwent surgery in June 1999 due to severe dilated cardiomyopathy. The organ donor was a 29-year-old male.

Xu Miaomiao, female, born in 1993, is a third-grade student at a primary school in this city. She lives in Room 202, Building 4, Machinery Factory Staff Quarters. She contracted viral heart disease at the age of 6 and underwent surgery in August 2001. The organ donor is a 65-year-old woman.

He Guomin, male, born in 1949, is an employee of the Municipal Construction and Environmental Protection Company and currently resides in the coal yard in the eastern suburbs of the city. In 1992, he suffered partial myocardial necrosis due to poisoning from counterfeit alcohol. He underwent surgery in October 1999, and his organ donor was a 59-year-old male.

Of the three, Kang Qiujing was about the same age as her and also suffered from congenital heart disease. Her records stated that her post-surgery health was good, with no recurrence of the old illness or other sequelae. She wondered if Kang Qiujing might have similar feelings and experiences. But seeing that Kang Qiujing's job was in tourism reception, she knew she would be busy during the day and not at home. Who should she look for first? Xu Miaomiao? But going to the school would be too noisy with so many students; going home would be better. So, during the day, she could only look for He Guomin; perhaps he was home. Thus, she took a bus to the eastern suburbs coal yard.

Unexpectedly, after running around for half the afternoon, she still couldn't find him. He Guomin had gone to work, and his house was locked. She asked the neighbors on both sides, but couldn't get any information either. On her way back, sitting on the bus, she was still thinking about how to proceed with the investigation. The bus stopped at the intersection. Looking ahead, there were already dozens of cars stuck in traffic. The cars behind were also stuck there. Drivers and passengers were shouting and yelling, creating a chaotic mess. Some people stuck their heads out of the windows, looking around and asking loudly what was going on. People, whether they knew each other or not, chatted excitedly. Then someone asked, "Was there a car accident up ahead? Are there any dead?" Someone replied, "It must have been a car accident. Even if someone didn't die, they wouldn't have survived." Someone grumbled, "What are the police doing? They should just clear the traffic and tow the car away!" Just then, the people who had run ahead to investigate returned and said it wasn't a car accident, but a crime scene. Police cars were blocking the road; the police were retrieving a body. It wasn't a murder case; a sewer cleaner who had been cleaning the drains that morning had died down there. They said he had a heart attack and looked to be in his fifties…

Wu Bingbing couldn't explain why, but a tightness gripped her heart. She begged the driver to open the car door, saying she would walk home. She got out of the car, but instead of seeing the scene, she desperately pushed her way through the crowd, squeezing to the innermost part of the throng. There, she saw not only the footage of the police retrieving the body, but also the face of the deceased—she gasped. She had seen this scene in her dreams, and she had seen this pale face before her. She was absolutely certain that he was He Guomin, the man who, like her, had received a heart transplant.

That evening, Wu Bingbing arrived at the old town of Yongde Street. It wasn't until dark that she found the old house without a nameplate deep in the street and pushed open the two old, mottled wooden doors.

The courtyard was quiet. A path paved with gravel and square bricks led directly from the main gate to the three old houses with their blue bricks and gray tiles, with rows of flowerpots of various sizes on both sides. Apart from the cacti and agave, all the other flowers were wilted, the pots were overgrown with weeds, and even the drought-resistant roses were bare. Only the clump of Xiangfei bamboo in the corner still had a rare bit of green.

Bingbing asked cautiously, "Is anyone home?"

The sound echoed in the empty courtyard, like stepping into a gloomy cave.

She stood there looking around and noticed a wisp of smoke drifting from under the door, deducing that someone might be inside. She slowly pushed the door open and went in. "Is anyone home?"

Unexpectedly, the floor inside was much lower than the threshold. As she pushed open the door and stepped inside, she lost her balance, her legs buckled, and she lurched forward, almost hitting her head on the ground. She ran a few steps forward before regaining her balance, thankfully not falling. In the dim light, she straightened up and looked up to see a pale face staring at her with wide eyes. "Ah—," she cried out, closing her eyes in fright, just as she had dreamt.

It was a huge portrait, a charcoal drawing of a girl. She was pure and slender, quiet yet melancholic, her head slightly tilted, her eyes looking at Bingbing with a wronged and helpless expression. Yet another woman she had seen in her dreams.

A tripod-shaped incense burner stood before her, incense sticks burning inside. The wisps of smoke accentuated the delicate lines of the portrait, making it seem like a continuation of a dream. Yes, she had seen her in her dream, seen her as she died.

"Who are you? "

She was startled when someone suddenly spoke behind her.

Turning around, she saw a young man and quickly said, "Kang Qiujing's friend."

The young man said, "Oh, how did you know?"

Bingbing shook her head: "I didn't know, I never expected..."

The young man said, "She left three days ago—I am her brother Conley."

She stepped forward and lit three incense sticks for Kang Qiujing, wondering at the same time, how could she have died so suddenly?

Has her illness worsened again?

After a while, they came to the yard, and Bingbing looked at him.

“Who knows?” Conley said sadly. “She was always perfectly fine.”

"Has she experienced any heart problems since her surgery?"

"I've never heard her say that. She always says that she's completely cured."

Have she experienced any unusual physical symptoms these past few days?

“No, she was perfectly fine the whole time,” Conley said. “She was very busy with receptions at work those two days, but she came back every day chatting and laughing. I never heard her say anything wrong. I never expected that she would leave after just one night. I really didn’t expect it.”

"Were you staying at home that day too?"

"Yes, after my parents passed away, it was just my older sister and me."

Do you know if she felt unwell that night?

“No. That day, she saw off a group of guests for her workplace and was a little tired when she got back, so she went to bed early that night. But in the middle of the night, she called out and woke me up. I asked her loudly what was wrong. She said nothing, just a dream. A little while later, she came out to get water, take her medicine, and sat in the living room drinking water, not sleeping for a long time. I couldn't sleep either, so I kept her company. She said she had a strange dream, that a woman was pressing down on her, making it hard for her to breathe. I was shocked when I heard this and said I wondered if someone had broken into our house. She laughed and said, ‘No one, it was just a dream.’ I asked what kind of woman it was. She said she was wearing white clothes, but I couldn’t see her face. I said she was probably having a nightmare. She then said it was nothing and went back to sleep. But the next morning, when I went to call her, she didn’t answer… didn’t answer…”

Conley lowered his head and cried, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Bingbing didn't know how to comfort him, so she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. After he calmed down a little, Bingbing asked, "Did you get a doctor to examine him? What did they say? What could be the cause?"

"They've arrived, and the doctor has examined him," Conley said. "And the forensic doctor from the Public Security Bureau too. After the examination, they said it was either myocardial dysfunction or a myocardial infarction or something, which led to his death by asphyxiation."

"Did your sister mention that she often dreams?"

"I don't know. She rarely talks to me about her dreams."

Were there any changes to her body after her death?

"All I could see was that she looked like she was in a lot of pain, but I couldn't tell anything else. The doctor also said that she had suffered a myocardial infarction and a blood vessel in her heart had ruptured."

Then, Conley lowered his head again, and Bingbing remained silent for a long time.

Bingbing patted Kangli on the back and said, "Let's go to her room and take a look."

She reached out and pulled Conley to her feet. Conley led her to her sister's room.

The room wasn't large, but it was cozy, with pink curtains and walls covered with posters and stickers the girl liked. Above the table was a row of landscape paintings, perhaps related to her job in tourism. A framed full-body color photo of her was displayed above the bed; she looked delicate and pretty, quite unlike her portrait in mourning.

At this moment, Bingbing noticed a long, bright red printed item on the table. Curious, she picked it up and examined it closely—it was an admission ticket for a museum art exhibition, and it was quite exquisitely designed.

Conley said, "That morning she took a group of guests to see an art exhibition, and when she came back in the evening she told me that there was a female painter whose paintings were particularly good, and she wanted me to go to the exhibition sometime..."

That day, Bingbing stayed until dark before leaving Kangli's house.

Conley walked her to the alley entrance and said, "Sister, you're so lucky to have a friend like you!"

The streetlights outside are on. Because it's an old residential area, there are no vehicles and very few pedestrians.

Bingbing walked along the path shaded by swaying trees, still thinking about her conversation with Kang Li and the excerpt from Kang Qiujing's diary she had just read. Suddenly, she heard a rustling sound behind her, like someone walking, their shoes scraping the ground, their steps small and light, approaching slowly but surely.

She turned her head, but saw nothing. There was no one there, only the dim, yellow light illuminating the empty street, casting mottled shadows. She ignored it and kept walking, but the sound started again, "rustling," not far behind her.

She turned around sharply again, but still saw no one. Instead, she spotted two rolling leaves. They clearly hadn't stopped and were still tumbling towards her. She looked up at the tree; there wasn't a breath of wind. Not understanding why the leaves were rolling, she stood there staring at them with hostility. The leaves rolled a few meters away from her, then strangely stopped. They were two ordinary, yellowish leaves.

She had seen small whirlwinds before, swirling around with dust and leaves, sometimes they would just dissipate on their own after a while. So now, she gave a self-deprecating laugh, turned and walked away.

However, before she had walked even halfway down the street, she heard a rustling sound again—this time she saw clearly that not only were the two leaves moving again, but they were also following her closely. The leaves rolled lightly along the ground, as if being kicked forward by an invisible foot, or lifted up by the wind from someone's flowing skirt, before falling back down…

Thinking this, she quickened her pace. But the leaves rolled faster, rustling softly.

The sound grew louder. She took off running, and the two leaves followed, drifting higher and higher, like two enormous butterflies, fluttering and chasing her in mid-air...

She finally realized—it was her! It was that woman behind her!

She shouted and ran as fast as she could. She ran all the way to the end of the street.

Standing at the brightly lit intersection of the square, looking back down that secluded street, the leaves that had been there were gone...

Chapter Five

She witnessed a horrifying scene—blood was everywhere on the ground, along with scattered bones and mangled pieces of flesh. The blue skirt was torn into strips, tangled in a clump of thorns, and stained with blood…

The next day, Wu Bingbing went to the hospital for her routine check-up again. Dr. Qi was there to examine her again. She asked where Dr. Meng was and why he hadn't come. Dr. Qi looked at her, puzzled, and said, "Dr. Meng is in the operating room. Are you waiting for him?" Bingbing quickly said no, "Let's get the check-up done!"

After a series of examinations, Dr. Qi said that her recovery was progressing well and all indicators were normal. He also said that unless there were special circumstances, there would be no need for follow-up examinations. The hospital would monitor her health status, conduct a myocardial function sampling examination every six months, and check on her physical condition by phone, letter, or in person within three years.

Just like last time, Bingbing didn't leave after the examination; she sat there chatting with a familiar nurse. Wu Bingbing was a key patient under Dr. Meng's care, so the medical staff in this department naturally took special care of her. She could freely enter and leave the cardiothoracic surgery office and consultation room, and even casually walk into the adjacent records room to sit down; no one minded or avoided her. Of course, she wanted to learn more about heart transplantation. This small records room contained almost all the domestic and international information on this field. She stayed there for several hours, seeing many things she had never seen before, and learning about the tortuous and arduous development of heart transplantation as a medical discipline.

In 1964, South African physician Christian Barnard performed the first human heart transplant from a chimpanzee; the recipient only lived for 90 minutes. He subsequently transplanted sheep and baboon hearts into humans, but none of those patients survived. Three years later, he finally performed the first successful heart transplant, earning him the title of the father of heart transplantation.

Upon seeing this, Bingbing thought, "Dr. Meng is unwilling to tell me who gave me my heart, so does that mean no one gave me a heart? Could it be that I received an animal heart transplant? Like a dog's, a wolf's, or a monkey's heart?" This thought seemed absurd, and she felt an indescribable distress.

—In 1978, China's first heart transplant was performed in Shanghai. Li Hongmei, a young woman from Harbin, received a heart transplant but only lived for 214 days…

Seeing this, she felt a pang of fear. Would I end up like her? How many more days could I live?

—In 1992, the Second Clinical Medical College of Harbin Medical University performed heart transplant surgery on farmer Yang Yumin. This second heart transplant surgery in China was a great success. Yang Yumin is still living a healthy life. He had a daughter the year after the surgery, and his daughter is now 10 years old.

At that moment, she felt fortunate. Medical technology was advanced; her surgery was successful, her recovery was excellent, and she was in good health. Why should she be so worried?

She even reviewed all the health records of the heart transplant recipients, but found no indication of any connection to the mysterious dreams or paranormal phenomena. Once again, she left the hospital, bewildered.

When Wu Bingbing returned home, her mother hadn't come back from school yet. She turned on her computer and saw an email from Guo Kai. He said that, led by a professor, they had gone on a field trip to the mountainous region of northwestern Hubei and had made the exciting discovery and collection of ancient vertebrate fossils. They were also following the trail of the "Yeren" (wild man) in Shennongjia, and it seemed they would soon see it. He even seriously asked Bingbing to guess what the "Yeren" might be, attaching four possible answers: gorilla, chimpanzee, pygmy chimpanzee, orangutan…

Just then, Mom came home, looking sad. She put down the student's homework she was carrying, plopped down on the sofa, and sighed heavily. Bingbing asked what was wrong. Mom said, "Your Aunt Li Qin is dead."

Bingbing knew Aunt Li Qin. After graduating from teachers' college, she was assigned to the school where her mother worked. Her mother liked her very much and often brought her to their home to play. At that time, Bingbing had just started kindergarten and admired this older sister teacher who was like a kindergarten aunt. Every time Li Qin came, she would teach Bingbing to dance, sing, and draw. Once, when her mother went to visit her sick grandmother, she entrusted Li Qin to take care of her for a week.

"How could that be? She was so young, when did this happen?"

"We only realized this morning that we've been busy all day, last night."

"What's the reason? Does she have some kind of illness?"

"She's perfectly healthy, she's not sick. I never expected this."

"There has to be a cause of death, right? How could this be—"

"Their examination showed it was neither homicide nor suicide. There were no external injuries and nothing in the stomach. In the end, they said it was caused by heart failure."

Did she have any heart problems before?

"No, she's the healthiest of the female teachers, and she's usually carefree. Just yesterday she took her students to a museum to see an art exhibition. It was only one night ago. She was supposed to have two classes this morning..."

"You mean yesterday—she went to the museum to see an art exhibition?"

"Yes, she is the homeroom teacher for the fourth grade and also teaches art classes for three grades."

Bingbing seemed lost in thought. She recalled the red admission ticket she had seen when she visited Kang Qiujing's house. The day before Kang Qiujing died, she had also taken guests to see an art exhibition.

Bingbing asked, "Whose art exhibition is this in the museum?"

Mom said, "There are many painters involved. They are all famous painters. Li Qin likes to paint."

Bingbing said, "That's strange. If someone wasn't sick, how could they die so suddenly?"

Mom sighed. "People are actually very fragile. Sometimes a seemingly insignificant ailment can be fatal. Your grandfather died in the bathroom because his blood pressure spiked while he was having a nighttime bowel movement."

"Mom, do you think Aunt Li Qin is sick?"

Sometimes you don't even know you have a health problem.

"Do you believe she was murdered?"

"Impossible. Who killed her? She never offended anyone."

"Perhaps... it's some kind of ghost, or else—"

"Stop talking nonsense! What ghosts or spirits? Has anyone actually seen any?"

"Anyway, I can't explain it clearly, I just feel that many things are incomprehensible."

"Go to sleep, go to sleep," the mother sighed. "Maybe it's fate—otherwise, how could such a good girl just disappear without a word?!"

Mom went inside, and Bingbing sat there thoughtfully.

Just then, the door to her bedroom moved slightly. She was startled at first, then thought, perhaps it was a breeze blowing in from the window; the breeze seemed to be getting cooler…

That night, Wu Bingbing tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She kept thinking about Aunt Li Qin, remembering the time Aunt Li Qin took her to the park. On the grass, Aunt Li Qin danced a Xinjiang dance, and Wu Bingbing clapped and spun around her. Aunt Li Qin even taught her to bend over backwards. Wu Bingbing was on all fours, her body arched like a bow. When Aunt Li Qin supported her back, a strand of long hair fell and brushed against her face, tickling her and making her giggle. Later, when they were tired from playing, they sat down to rest. Wu Bingbing lay on Aunt Li Qin's lap, her head playfully burrowing into her arms. She smelled a very pleasant scent on Aunt Li Qin, like the fragrance of jasmine in the evening, a scent she could never forget.

Thinking this, she drifted off into a daze and saw Aunt Li Qin again. Aunt Li Qin was leading her, as if they were walking through a forest. She smelled the oleander scent again. She realized she was still so small, her head barely reaching the tree branches. Where was she? Was she near her grandmother's house? There was a patch of oleanders outside her grandmother's yard, their blossoms emitting a suffocatingly strong fragrance. She couldn't stand the smell, along with the green odor of the leaves, and always told her grandmother it smelled bad, covering her nose with her little hands…

For some reason, Aunt Li Qin has disappeared. Where did she go? She won't respond no matter how much we call out to her.