Moving Dorm Rooms

The diligent little Yu Mao Bee helped Nan Changgeng pack her luggage. Along the way, she even lent a hand to their former roommates, making it glaringly obvious how eager she was to see them off.

Yuan Li looked at the bed, where even the quilt had been folded neatly, and clutched her chest with a wounded expression. “Oh, so that’s how it is. I treated you so well, and you’re abandoning us for a two-person world with someone else. I’m not even asking you to keep us here; I can’t believe you won’t even pretend to be reluctant.”

Qi Qi joined in the fun too, clutching her chest in the same way, her face blank. “My heart is shattered. Cold and miserable.”

Liu Yuanxi leaned against the doorframe to watch the show, laughing as she secretly marveled at Yu Mao. She looked frail and delicate, but she was surprisingly efficient. It saved her the trouble of packing everything herself.

“You should consider further study in acting after the program; maybe switch careers and become an actress.” She teased Yuan Li for being so dramatic. “Seriously, I think you’ve got talent. You act better than Qi Qi.”

Qi Qi’s face fell instantly.

“What’s the point of acting well if your opponent won’t play along at all?” Yuan Li dropped the act, lowered her hands, and sighed.

Watching Yu Mao busy herself, completely ignoring them, Yuan Li was genuinely happy for her that she was getting what she wanted. As for whether she felt reluctant to part... a little, maybe. But more than that, she felt relieved.

Who would understand! Sharing a dorm with Yu Mao and watching her every day in that ghostly state, with those bizarre eating habits, had their stress levels higher than any other contestants’!

Better to leave that kind of suffering to Nan Changgeng. Passing along the trouble caused by Yu Mao to the person she favored most was only reasonable.

The three former roommates packed up and left. Nan Changgeng dragged her luggage over, chose the bed opposite hers by the window, and spread out the sheets she had brought herself.

It was already very late, so they didn’t have much time to talk. After tidying up, they rushed through washing up and settled in for the night.

After a performance, the body might not be especially exhausted, but the mental drain was enormous. Some contestants experiencing all this for the first time might be so excited tonight that they couldn’t sleep, but Nan Changgeng only felt the fatigue of having spent too much emotional energy; she didn’t want to talk, and she closed her eyes early to prepare for sleep.

Yet all kinds of jumbled thoughts kept flashing through her mind. She didn’t have the strength to sort them out for the moment, so she let them run wild in her head, round after round; the horses changed one after another too.

Whether Yu Mao walked or moved, she always made very little noise. That was already just how she was; now that she was living with Nan Changgeng, she had become even quieter on purpose, almost soundless.

So while Nan Changgeng was busy worrying about her own inability to fall asleep, she failed to notice that the girl who had lain down at some point had quietly sat up on her knees. Yu Mao was facing her, both hands clasped at her chest, murmuring something under her breath.

The bright, glimmering moisture in her eyes was hidden by the darkness, soaked through with joy. It was Yu Mao’s first time being able to pray to her from such a close distance; she couldn’t help imagining that the effect this time would surely be better than before.

She naturally knew it was all just fantasy, but she still immersed herself in it like a child, letting the day-and-night prayers continue as a long-lasting comfort.

After the prayer ended, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling with her eyes open, pricking up her ears to try to catch the woman’s breathing.

Even in the silent night, she could only hear those intermittent, faint breaths, yet she still sensed the woman’s hidden restlessness.

Nan Changgeng still wasn’t asleep.

As the night deepened, the thick curtains blocked out the moonlight, making the narrow, dark room feel like a cage.

She had long grown used to the difficulty of falling asleep; one day out of every three, she simply couldn’t force herself to sleep through sheer willpower alone. But she feared what sleeping pills did to the nerves, and always wanted to hold out a little longer, to try a little harder.

Only when there was truly no more time to waste did she reach for the little night-light alarm clock by the bed, squint at it, and see that it was already almost three in the morning.

She collapsed back onto the bed in despair, lay there like a corpse for a moment, then half-sat up and gently pulled open the drawer to take out a pill; she picked up the insulated bottle on the nightstand and poured herself some water.

The flask was full of boiling water, made by Yu Mao’s hand. It was a little heavy to lift with one hand, and her head was dizzy and foggy. In the dark, she tried to line the mouth of the flask up with the glass on the cabinet, but her wrist shook, she lost control of the force, and knocked the glass right over.

The collision between the glass and the wooden cabinet wasn’t especially loud, but in the middle of the night it still sounded startlingly clear.

In the confusion, with one hand holding the flask and the other bracing her body, she couldn’t free a hand to catch it. After only a second of hesitation, she heard the glass roll away with two dull thuds and fall to the floor.

Crash—

The sharp, crisp sound burst suddenly on the tiled floor, startling her so badly that cold sweat broke out all over her. Even the little bit of sleepiness she had just managed to gather was instantly driven away.

She hurriedly put the flask back, then turned to look at the bed opposite, worried that Yu Mao had been woken up, but in the pitch-black room, she couldn’t make out anything at all.

She wanted to calm herself and listen, but her ears were blocked by the pounding of her own heart and the ringing left behind by the loud noise as the room sank back into silence.

She lay draped over the edge of the bed in a daze, letting out a dejected sigh.

A few seconds later, the room suddenly lit up.

Nan Changgeng squinted at the glare and saw Yu Mao standing by the door, having somehow gotten up to turn on the light.

At that moment, Yu Mao was by the door in a white cotton nightgown, barefoot on the floor. She was small and thin, and the look she turned on Nan Changgeng seemed to carry a kind of numb calm, yet there was a sheen of water floating in her eyes.

Like a ghost, she moved soundlessly to the corner by the window, took the dustpan and broom, slipped on her slippers on the way, and walked to Nan Changgeng’s bed to sweep up the shards of glass.

It was as if, ever since she grew up, she had never had this kind of experience again: someone quietly cleaned up the mess after she caused trouble, as though it had always been the other person’s responsibility.

Only small children would be treated like that by their mother, perhaps. The memory was too distant to be very clear anymore.

Nan Changgeng seemed to have had part of her awareness scooped away; her face rested on her arm as she lay by the bed, staring blankly.

Only after Yu Mao put the tools back did she come to her senses as if waking from a dream, push herself up, and sit upright with a trace of embarrassment on her face.

“Sorry... I woke you up.”

“I didn’t; I wasn’t asleep yet.” Yu Mao brought over a new glass and set it on her bedside table, then lifted the flask and poured half a cup of hot water.

Nan Changgeng looked up in surprise. “You have insomnia too?”

Startled, she didn’t notice that the word “too” had already given her away.

Yu Mao shook her head gently.

She just knew that Nan Changgeng still wasn’t asleep, so she didn’t want to sleep either.

But she didn’t give a clear answer; instead, she fetched a bottle of mineral water and mixed it with the hot water, making it go from scalding to warm.

The woman leaned against the headboard, her black hair slightly disheveled. She wore a loose white shirt as sleepwear; her gray-blue eyes held a scattering of soft light. She looked at Yu Mao once, then lowered her gaze to the cup of water.

“Thank you... ”

Her voice was a little hoarse, but gentle.

Yu Mao stared at her; her hands trembled, and her nails unconsciously dug into her own knuckles.

Nan Changgeng at night looked different from the daytime, more easily flustered and somehow softer, more fragile. It was as if the shell separating her from the outside world had suddenly turned transparent, letting others see what she truly looked like deep inside.

To Yu Mao, the quiet of night was a space belonging only to her alone, a place where she could freely let weakness and fragility spill outward. All destruction and rebirth gathered in this night.

The darkness was so fair; it wrapped everyone in silence, cut off their field of vision, and the wounded no longer needed to hide their scars. All sensations were blocked inside the body; the senses converged inward, and at last one could hear one’s own voice without interference.

Whether crying in pain or being cold, resentful, and indignant, one had to face it all with clear eyes and feel each change distinctly.

That had been the case for so long that Nan Changgeng still hadn’t learned how to restrain herself and make herself as solid and lucid as she was during the day.

“Do you want to take your medicine?”

Yu Mao had noticed the white pill by her pillow; her long lashes lowered, covering the emotions in her eyes.

“Hm? Oh... yes.” Nan Changgeng reacted half a beat late, frowned, and pressed at her temple. Only then, looking down, did she remember the medicine she had casually set aside.

She picked it up, put it in her mouth, and took a few swallows of water to wash it down, as if nothing had happened.

“Go to sleep early. I bothered you.”

“It’s not a bother.”

Yu Mao was especially sensitive to this kind of wording; her emphatic tone carried a trace of stubbornness.

The overly bright lights defied the natural darkness of night, making the room feel awkwardly stiff and cold; everything was washed into a pale, nearly transparent white.

Nan Changgeng looked at her. The small, thin figure stood alone on the floor; her nightgown hung loose on her body, making her look like a chilly little ghost. Her face was expressionless, yet somehow a spreading sadness could still be sensed.

Not wanting to dwell on where that sadness came from, Nan Changgeng could guess.

After a moment of silence, she only said, “Turn off the light. It’s not very comfortable.”

A quiet night shouldn’t be this bright.

“Okay.”

The little ghost floated to the door and switched off the light. The room went suddenly dark, sinking into an excessive blackness.

Following her memory, Yu Mao walked noiselessly back to the woman’s bedside. Once her eyes could no longer see, the memories engraved in her brain became even clearer instead.

The slightly messy black hair rested on her shoulders; the white shirt was held up by protruding bones, making her silhouette sharp. Her plain face carried an unhidden weariness, a pale blue shadow under her eyes; she leaned back against the headboard with no real guard up, radiating a quiet that was both soft and cold.

So pitiful. So pitiful.

If anyone saw Yu Mao’s tears, they would surely think them inexplicable and ridiculous.

Others might not understand why even such a gentle, ambiguous night could hurt her. But to Yu Mao, the slightest discomfort in that woman was already bitterness. Who could easily ignore bitterness on the tongue?

Especially when its source was tied to long, deep roots.

She had witnessed the woman’s insomnia tonight, and so she also saw every previous night when she couldn’t fall asleep.

If Nan Changgeng’s life were a river, then scooping up a random handful of its water to drink would still be poison that tore through Yu Mao’s intestines.

In the blackness where she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, Nan Changgeng couldn’t make out anything, but she vaguely sensed that Yu Mao didn’t seem to have left.

“Did you go back?” she asked.

Yu Mao came closer again, her legs almost touching the edge of the bed, and answered softly, “No. Can I stay here?”

The woman’s voice carried uncertain surprise. “Stay here? You’re not planning to sleep yet? Aren’t you tired?”

“I want to...” Yu Mao crouched down, leaning against the edge of the bed and resting her chin on it. Her nose brushed the blanket, catching a faint, pleasant scent. “I want to stay by your side.”

A very long silence spread through the air.

Nan Changgeng hadn’t expected to face a test of conscience this soon; she was considering what attitude she should take toward her.

If she treated her as a human being, then she should persuade her to go back and sleep. If she treated her as a cat, letting her stay wasn’t out of the question.