Hurt? Warm Me Up

Xi Shulan closed her eyes. The hospital room was frighteningly quiet, broken only by the cardiac monitor’s beeping. After a long while, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, her voice suddenly soft, as if she had only one breath left.

“I raised him for twenty-six years—twenty-six years!” Xi Shulan let out a faint laugh. “When he was little, the neighbors used to say, ‘Your little Mo is so handsome. When he grows up, he’ll bring home a beautiful wife.’ I said, yes, I’m not in a hurry. He’s still young. When he was in school, the teacher asked him, ‘Bai Mo, what do you want to be when you grow up?’ He said he wanted to be an actor. I said that was good—if he made it big, I’d get to enjoy the good life too. And then he really did become an actor, acted in plays, got on television. The neighbors said, ‘Your little Mo has made something of himself. Shouldn’t he be looking for a girlfriend now?’ I said there was no rush. He’s still young; his career comes first.” She paused, her chest rising and falling.

“And then what? Then he went and found a man.” Her voice sharpened all at once. “A man. He didn’t even try it, didn’t even pretend. He just went and found a man.”

“Little Aunt, this kind of thing isn’t something you just pretend—”

“Then what is it?” Xi Shulan snapped, turning to look at her. Her eyes were red, but no tears fell. “Is it an illness? Did his brain go wrong? Or did I just fail to teach him properly when he was young?”

Xi Zhen opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but it felt as if something were lodged in her throat. She looked into her aunt’s eyes. In them were anger, disappointment, fear, and a faint thread of despair.

“Do you know,” Xi Shulan said suddenly, her voice dropping, “last time he came back, Aunt Wang next door told me she saw Mo Mo at the mall with a man, with his arm around his waist. I said she must have been mistaken. Our Mo Mo isn’t that kind of person. I explained for him, covered for him, said nice things for him. I said that was his friend, his coworker, his acting partner. Do you know how many lies I made up for him?”

Xi Zhen said nothing.

“And in the end? In the end, you all knew, and I was the only one kept in the dark.” Xi Shulan looked at her, her gaze suddenly sharp as a blade. “Zhen Zhen, he doesn’t understand, but you knew. Back then, your mother...”

“Little Aunt—” Xi Zhen cut her off abruptly. “Bai Mo’s business wasn’t hidden from you on purpose.”

“Then what was it? Were you afraid I couldn’t handle it? Afraid I’d have a relapse? Afraid I’d be ashamed?” Xi Shulan’s voice rose again, her chest heaving violently. The monitor’s beeping suddenly quickened into an urgent, stuttering alarm. Xi Zhen hurried to hold her hand. “Little Aunt, calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down?” Xi Shulan jerked her hand away hard. The needle shifted under her skin, and a small swelling rose on the back of her hand. “You’re telling me to calm down? I raised my son for twenty-six years, and he’s dating a man. You all knew, and I was the only one who didn’t. I don’t even know what kind of person my own son is, so what kind of mother does that make me?”

After shouting those words, Xi Shulan seemed to run out of strength all at once. She sank back onto the bed, one hand outside the blanket, gasping for breath.

Xi Zhen stared at the swelling on the back of her hand and pressed the call button by the bed. A nurse hurried in, checked the needle, frowned, and reinserted it. Xi Shulan lay there and let the nurse fuss over her hand, her eyes fixed on the ceiling; she didn’t speak, didn’t move.

When the nurse left, the room fell quiet again.

“Little Aunt,” Xi Zhen said softly, “Mo Mo hasn’t changed. He’s still the same. He’s filial to you; he always has you on his mind, and no matter how busy filming gets, he still calls you. He just...”

“Just what? Just likes men?” Xi Shulan finished for her coldly.

“...” Xi Zhen said nothing more.

“Go home,” Xi Shulan said, closing her eyes. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“No need. Go back and do what you need to do.” Xi Shulan tugged at the blanket. “Anyway, your business doesn’t need me meddling in it.”

Xi Zhen stood there for a long time. So long that even the moonlight outside the window seemed to have vanished before she finally turned and walked out of the ward. The door closed softly behind her; sensing movement, one lamp in the corridor came on, its dim yellow glow spilling over the empty hallway.

She leaned against the wall and stood there for a while. Her phone buzzed in her pocket; she took it out and looked. It was Li Xingqing.

“How is it?”

Xi Zhen looked at those three words and didn’t reply. At the end of the corridor, beyond the window, the moon was hidden by clouds, leaving only a faint, blurred glow. She turned off the screen and set the phone on her knee.

The hallway was so quiet she could hear her own breathing, one breath after another, dull and heavy, as if something were pressing on her chest. She closed her eyes. Xi Shulan’s face, Bai Mo’s face... and finally her mother’s, already somewhat blurred.

The phone lit up again. She didn’t look; she didn’t need to look to know it was Li Xingqing. Xi Zhen opened her eyes. Another light in the corridor went out, and the hallway grew darker. She turned the phone over; the screen lit up, and sure enough, it was Li Xingqing.

She typed a few words, but before she could send them, the elevator at the end of the corridor chimed.

Xi Zhen looked up. The doors opened, and someone stepped out. A white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearms, a bottle of water in hand, hair slightly disheveled, walking quickly; her shoes struck the floor with a steady tap, tap, tap.

—It was Li Xingqing.

The moment she stepped out of the elevator, her eyes were searching for someone, sweeping left and right until she finally spotted Xi Zhen in the corner.

Xi Zhen didn’t stand up. She stayed crouched there, looking up as Li Xingqing walked toward her. The corridor lights behind Li Xingqing came on one by one, as if someone were lighting the way for her.

Li Xingqing stopped in front of Xi Zhen and crouched down too. Now they were at eye level, separated by only a small step. She set the water down carelessly on the floor; the collar of her white shirt was a little wrinkled, and her breathing was slightly quick, as if she’d just run up from downstairs.

For some reason, Xi Zhen suddenly thought of that stormy night five years ago. The rain had come down in sheets; everything around her had been pitch-black. She could only use one cigarette after another to get a little light. With a click of the lighter, a flame leapt up, illuminating a small patch of the table, the cigarette butts scattered across the floor, and her lonely figure reflected in it all.

But at that moment, Li Xingqing had appeared like a savior.

When someone knocked on the door, she had thought it was a hallucination. Rainstorm, deep night—who would come? But the knocking continued without pause, each thud landing on her heart. Xi Zhen sat in the dark, knees drawn up to her chest, fingers holding the cigarette that had nearly burned to the filter, not moving. She didn’t want to open the door; she didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

It was only when she heard the name “Li Xingqing” that the resistance in her heart suddenly loosened, as if she had realized the person standing outside was not the black-and-white messenger of death come to take her away, but an angel here to bring her warmth.

After that, Xi Zhen often wondered when exactly she had fallen in love with this child ten years younger than her. But only now, to this day, did she truly realize that maybe it had begun that very night, long ago; maybe it had begun with that door opening. It turned out she had not chosen Li Xingqing at all; rather, it had been her instinctive longing for the warmth Li Xingqing brought her.

They crouched there in the corridor like that, neither of them speaking. Outside the window at the end of the hall, the moon slipped out from behind the clouds, sending down a thin stripe of light that fell at their feet.

Li Xingqing reached out and took the phone from Xi Zhen’s hand. She set it on the floor beside them, then brought that hand back and placed it on the tiles at Xi Zhen’s side, half-wrapping her whole body in her embrace.

Xi Zhen rested her hand on Li Xingqing’s arm; the warmth of her fingertips passed through the fabric.

“Li Xingqing,” Xi Zhen said softly.

“Mm.”

“Do you remember that stormy night five years ago?”

“...I remember.”

“How long did you wait at the door?”

Li Xingqing didn’t answer, but her gaze met Xi Zhen’s with unwavering certainty.

“How did you know I’d be there?”

After a moment of silence, Li Xingqing said, “I didn’t know. I just felt like... you should be there.”

All the lights in the corridor went out, leaving only that beam of moonlight. The pale glow softened Li Xingqing’s outline. Five years ago, she had still looked like a child; now, she already had the bearing of an adult.

“Aren’t you afraid I wouldn’t open the door back then?”

“I was afraid.”

“You were afraid, and you still waited?”

Li Xingqing suddenly smiled. “But I did wait for you, didn’t I?”

At her answer, Xi Zhen’s throat tightened all at once. The emotions she had been struggling to suppress could no longer be controlled, so she let them surge openly.

She reached out and pressed her palm against Li Xingqing’s cheek. Her fingertips slid down from behind her ear, along her cheekbone, the corner of her lips, and down to her jawline, as if tracing the lines of a painting.

At last, Xi Zhen’s fingers stopped at Li Xingqing’s chin and lifted it slightly. Their distance shrank endlessly, until they could feel one another’s breath.

Xi Zhen kissed her.

Li Xingqing’s lips were cool, carrying a trace of summer-night intoxication. The instant Xi Zhen’s lips touched hers, the body in her arms trembled, as if struck by something; or perhaps she had waited too long, waited until now, and didn’t quite dare believe it was real. Slowly, Li Xingqing raised her hand and settled it at Xi Zhen’s waist, drawing her into her embrace.

The kiss deepened again and again between them; from a light touch to lips and teeth meeting, from tentative to greedy.

Xi Zhen suddenly tasted a hint of salt; she didn’t know whether it was her own tears or Li Xingqing’s. Maybe both.

She didn’t know how long had passed before Li Xingqing finally loosened her hold. They rested forehead to forehead, noses touching, their breathing tangled together. Xi Zhen felt as if she had been in a very long dream, and only now had she truly awakened.

“Li Xingqing.”

“I’m here.”

“Do you have anything to do tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Then stay with me a little longer.”

“Okay.”

Xi Zhen closed her eyes. The corridor was very quiet, with only the two of their breaths, one deep, one light, slowly settling into the same rhythm. Her hand was held; it was warm.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, only remembered that in the end, someone gently took her into their arms.