Seventh Security Bureau: Vine

Zhou Cheng is nominally my uncle, yet we fell in love. He waited for me until he was 46, all alone. And I married someone else, enduring a lifetime of grievances. At 37, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. My children told me to give up treatment; only Zhou Cheng took me from doctor to doctor. On my deathbed, he wore a black suit and danced the first dance he’d taught me. After I died, he sat by my grave all night and died just before dawn. When I opened my eyes again, I returned to the day of my engagement. Zhou Cheng sat in the audience, tears falling, looking up at me. I broke free from everyone and grabbed his hand. “Uncle Zhou, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to marry you.”