Chapter 58: Diary
Darkness, spreading along her thoughts to infinity.
The wind lifted the curtains of the balcony window, and a few scattered rays of moonlight slipped through the gap into the dark room, finding a sliver of light in the darkness. The small insects, hiding in the corners to escape the autumn chill, saw the beam of light and flocked towards it, the only light in the darkness.
They twisted their dying bodies, crawling out from the dirty corners, instinctively rushing towards the light. Moths to a flame… without a hint of hesitation.
A hand suddenly reached out from the cold blanket, landing in the cool moonlight. The milky white, smooth skin was morbidly pale in the light, the color of a dying person, exuding a desolate despair.
She looked up, at the beam of light in her palm, and slowly tightened her long, slender fingers. On her tightening knuckles were wounds that were out of place with the smoothness of her skin.
These were the hands of someone who had worked in water for a long time. It was fine in the hot, humid summer, but in the cold late autumn, the accumulated calluses on her knuckles would crack and bleed, repeatedly scabbing over, leaving ugly scars on her joints.
Those wounds were the scars left after the thick calluses had been torn off. The calluses were torn off by her teeth, and the ugly marks fell away with them. Then, the bloody flesh would grow back, the delicate, white skin filling in the wounds. In a few days, these hands would be as white and slender as they used to be, as eye-catching as a jade carving.
The owner of these hands didn’t care for beauty. Although she had a pretty face, her every smile and frown captivating, it was not for others to see. If she could… she only wanted to show it to him. Not wanting him to see her ugly hands, she endured the bone-chilling pain and tore off the ugly calluses.
This kind of love was obsessive and arrogant, not to be defiled, yet also humble to the core.
But she was sick, terminally ill. Compared to death, pain… was nothing.
…
The cold wind rushed into the room through the crack in the window, like a reckless robber, bringing a chilling cold into the silent room, making one’s neck hair stand on end.
Xia Qian Ge sat up in bed, the thin blanket wrapped tightly around her, but she still felt cold.
The dream felt real, lingering in her mind for a long time.
It was still warm between her legs, the sticky, slippery fluid dripping down, soaking the sheets. The lingering remnants of desire were still stirring, pulling at her reason, tempting her long, slender fingers to explore deeper.
Suddenly, a cold wind slipped through the gap in the blanket and brushed against her neck. The coldness was like a basin of ice water in winter, extinguishing the burning flames of lust, her reason regaining a sliver of clarity.
Xia Qian Ge hugged her knees, her sharp-boned feet spread out, her arches in a crescent shape, gently pressing against the ankles of her lower legs. She wiggled her soft toes, the arches of her feet bending and then stretching out into a full curve.
She had lost control again. This was not a good sign. Her illness… seemed to be getting worse.
…
The blanket at home was old and worn. Her mother had a chronic cough and couldn’t stand the winter cold. She had only brought a thin blanket that was barely enough for early autumn. These past few days, the temperature had dropped sharply, almost like late autumn.
In the department store where she worked part-time, a thick, new blanket was hung on a shelf, with a price tag that could empty her wallet.
She had self-study tonight, but she had taken leave. After a phone call with her mother, she had slept from the drowsy afternoon until the evening, then was woken up by the gradually chilling night wind.
She had recently found another part-time job, to buy a new blanket before winter.
She was very tired. If she didn’t rest, she would get sick in this weather. The last time she was hospitalized, it had used up all her savings. She really couldn’t get sick again. Living… seemed to be getting difficult.
Her mother said she had finally bought medicine, but she still coughed for a long time during the phone call. She excitedly told Xia Qian Ge that her father had made money in his business, and that this was a good start, and that there would be better development in the future.
Xia Qian Ge listened to the coughs one after another and agreed with her mother. She didn’t tell her mother that if her father, who was addicted to gambling, had really made money in his business, how could he so ruthlessly take away his ex-wife’s medicine money in this early autumn and never mention paying it back.
She loved her mother, not just because of the blood ties between them, but also because they both suffered from a similar illness, struggling on the edge of unrequited love, their bodies and minds already withered leaves, struggling day and night with love.
But Xia Qian Ge had no sympathy for her mother’s situation. Her endless weakness had led to the current tragedy. She had brought it upon herself.
She wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes. She would use her own methods to get what she wanted.
…
A dim yellow desk lamp lit up the dark dorm. The desk was neat and tidy. Xia Qian Ge looked at the notebook on the desk, a happy curve on her lips. She smiled, not the bland smile she showed to others, but a smile entangled with deep love, like thick, sticky honey, cloying and sweet.
Her long, slender fingers, as if touching a lover’s cheek, slowly brushed over the leather cover, a cold sensation lingering at her fingertips.
She opened the thick book. Beneath the black cover were dense characters, arranged chaotically, like the ravings of a madman.
The characters were sometimes large, sometimes small, sometimes neat, sometimes messy. Large sections of some pages were crossed out, with barely legible, fly-sized characters written in the margins.
The characters, written in blood-red ink, filled the entire page, looking terrifying and ferocious.
Dissolve, canary, crack…
The characters were jumbled together, looking chaotic, yet with a strict logic.
She had slept for a long, long time. She had a dream, a dream she was willing to die in. When she woke up, the feeling of loss was so intense that she almost lost control.
She picked up her pen, the black ink touching the paper. She didn’t write, but drew a simple sketch, stroke by stroke, gradually taking shape.
It was a picture of two people huddled together. The one with shorter hair was a boy, his head resting on the girl’s lap, his entire body curled up in her arms.
The boy’s eyes were drawn exaggeratedly, his eyebrows carrying the girl’s allure. His eyes were half-open, as if he were asleep, or as if… he had lost his soul, becoming a numb doll.
Xia Qian Ge looked at the drawing, her mouth slowly widening into a terrifying, grotesque grin. Her pearly white teeth bit into her lips, drawing blood.
She stared at it, mesmerized. Her fingertips touched her lips, staining themselves with two drops of sweet, metallic blood, and smeared it on the drawing. Endless fantasies took root from the drawing, growing into a dense forest in her mind.
Desire turned into a monstrous wave, crashing down on her, the small boat of reason about to capsize in an instant.
After a long time, she caught her breath, as if she had just escaped from the clutches of a beast, her back drenched in cold sweat. The sudden awareness of a sour urge to urinate made her clench her legs together. The cold night wind blew away the scent of hormones and lust in the air. In the empty dorm, it was as if nothing had happened.
