Song He sprang to his feet.
Xiang Xiaotong's phone was on the table, displaying Dewitt's social media account.
Friends, I'm Dewitt. This should be my last post. I'm saying goodbye to everyone here and making some arrangements for what comes after my death.
My physical condition has continued to deteriorate. I haven't told anyone about it. Everyone has to learn to face death head-on. I don't want to act like a coward at the end.
Late at night, lying in bed, I could clearly feel every inch of my body aging rapidly. I was like a fish in a puddle, with the sun beating down and the water slowly evaporating.
At first, I was terrified, tossing and turning until I couldn't sleep. Why do we always ignore this when we're young? Everyone dies one day. When we're young, we pretend not to know it, only suddenly remembering when we grow old.
Gradually, I adapted to the fear, like a child afraid of the dark gradually adapting to the darkness. I've lived long enough. I should be content. The only thing left to do is say goodbye.
This post was scheduled to publish one week from now. Every night, I would reschedule it. If one day I was no longer able to do so, the scheduled post would remain unchanged and appear before everyone after sitting for a week.
Some people say that life is a train. Everyone is a passenger, getting on and off. Being alive is the time spent chatting inside the carriage.
I was lucky enough to share a carriage with some of you. My thanks go to:
There were more than a hundred names, sprawling across the page. Song He recognized some of them—they were deceased mathematicians. He had never heard of most of the others. They