Chapter 20: 20

After finishing her conversation with Xun Wei, Xue Tong opened her umbrella and walked into the rain, watching him get into the police car and leave. She walked to her car and pulled the door handle. The driver’s seat automatically adjusted to welcome its owner back.

Sitting in the car, Xue Tong placed both hands on the steering wheel but didn’t press the brake to start the engine.

Because she wanted a cigarette.

Right now, while she could.

Unfortunately, the city-wide smoking ban in Hong Kong prohibited smoking outdoors. The unshakable craving crept up on her, stirring a secret, criminal thought. Xue Tong took an unopened pack of cigarettes from the center console drawer. Her fingertips pinched the plastic tear strip, slowly pulling it open, as if pondering for two seconds whether to put the pack back.

An orange-flavored pop bead.

She hadn’t smoked in a long time. Quitting was something she’d been talking about for three years. She’d only just started two months ago when Lu Shimiao made her break it. The cigarettes she bought at the convenience store last time were terrible—she’d thrown them away that very night. But this fruit-flavored tobacco was even more cloying. So, when you find the right one, don’t be picky. You never know when you’ll regret it.

Xue Tong patted herself down all over. No lighter.

Last time, when she said she was quitting, she’d thrown them all into the sea right in front of An Lin’s eyes.

Today’s second regret: believing An Lin’s words when he said throwing away the lighter was the first step to quitting.

Good thing her car had a cigarette lighter, though she had to arch her back over the gear shift to guide the cigarette tip into the heating coil with her mouth. The position was awkward, but who cares when a craving hits? She watched the coil glow crackling red. A deep inhale, and white mist immediately diffused.

She hadn’t popped the bead.

One must taste the flavor before making an informed choice. Xue Tong frowned deeply. This taste was too harsh on the lungs. She needed to pop it.

Outside, raindrops hammered against the car window. She watched as a tree right beside her toppled over. The hand holding the cigarette leisurely reached to switch the AC to external circulation. She thought, in this situation, the outside air cycling would certainly be quick. After all, if she was going to die, she wouldn’t die in the car.

Die.

Dying wouldn’t be so bad.

She had probably seen more death cases than anyone in Hong Kong, outside of the Funeral Home, of course.

Unnatural deaths, one after another. Today, you crack his skull open. Tomorrow, she lets your guts spill out. In short, chaos was routine, and she was accustomed to facing it calmly.

What was truly terrifying was not dying—just suffering endlessly. Broken arms, broken legs. Lying in bed, a vegetable. The family desperately saving you, half dead themselves. That was far more horrifying than death.

She had to live well.

Lu Shimiao.

On her third drag, Xue Tong thought of Lu Shimiao.

She was still feverish, yet here she was, hiding in the car smoking. The thought made her want to put it out, but she couldn’t bear to let go of the nerve-numbing feeling. Struggling, she held the cigarette in her mouth, pressed the brake, steadied the steering wheel, started the engine, shifted gear, hit the gas, took the cigarette between two fingers to flick ash into the tray, then propped up her heavy head again.

By the time she drove back to the underground garage, the cigarette was about to turn to ash, but it still wasn’t finished.

Xue Tong rolled down the window, exhaled a puff, stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray, killed the engine, grabbed her keys, and got out of the car.

Someone was at home waiting for her.

When this thought emerged, Xue Tong couldn’t quite distinguish what was more promising: the fact that there was “someone at home,” or that she was “waited for.”

Xue Tong chose: waiting for her.

She needed this feeling of being needed.

Pressing the elevator button, watching the numbers, she remembered Lu Shimiao’s room code: 101398.

Lu Shimiao’s mind was easy to guess: October 13th, 1998.

Shaking her head lightly, she walked out of the elevator. The property management lights of the Equator made her slightly dizzy. Reaching her door, she entered the code: 920724.

A couple’s code.

Change it tomorrow, she resolved.

Xue Tong pushed the door open. The room’s lights automatically illuminated. Holding the wall for support, she changed into slippers, her voice flat. “Dim down.”

The lights dimmed in sync with their owner’s voice, sinking to their darkest setting.

She took off her vest and threw it into the laundry basket, walked into the walk-in closet, took off her underwear, pulled out a black t-shirt, and put it on. Going commando. As her hand touched her waist, she remembered Lu Shimiao’s hands locked around her tonight. Holding onto her desperately, like a cry for help, like a plea for love.

Yes, more like a cry for help.

A plea for love, too—for a mother’s love.

Xue Tong pursed her lips, thinking. If she’d had a child at 29, they’d be three or four years old now. Motherly love wasn’t wrong. She walked back to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

There wasn’t a trace of light in the room. A sliver of gloom came through the curtains. The storm outside hadn’t stopped. Plastic bags were blown all the way up to Floor 28.

She walked to the bedside and sat down, reaching out to feel Lu Shimiao’s forehead. It was cool, but she wasn’t sure if it was just cooled by the wind. Her hand reached under the blanket, wanting to feel Lu Shimiao’s neck or… her back.

But her hand hovered, not knowing where or how to begin.

Xue Tong felt as if the moment her fingertips made contact, the absurd scene from the bathroom would replay itself. This gesture was like searching for an answer, ambiguous and seeming.

She touched her anyway.

Carefully touched her neck.

No answer came, because Lu Shimiao immediately put her in an armlock.

Xue Tong was so startled she thought the heavens had seen through her sordid thoughts and come to arrest her on the spot.

Until the pain in her wrist woke her up.

Damn… Xue Tong cursed inwardly for the second time in a single day.

“Let go.” Her hand was still pinned by Lu Shimiao. Where the girl got this strength, she had no idea. At least the fever wouldn’t impact her physical training too much. No need to worry about that.

“It hurts.” Xue Tong calmly added another sentence.

Realizing it was Xue Tong, Lu Shimiao let go in a panic. She immediately sat up on her knees in bed, both hands reaching to feel Xue Tong’s wrist. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She even cradled her wrist, pursing her lips to pretend to blow on it, chanting apologies from her throat like a mantra.

What was this?

A slap, then a date?

Xue Tong pulled her hand back quickly. “Good. Maintain this vigilance.”

“I was just a little scared, that’s why I reacted,” Lu Shimiao knelt on the bed, explaining pitifully. Hearing the Instructor’s harsh tone, she asked nervously, “Are you angry?”

The light from outside the window kept Xue Tong from clearly seeing Lu Shimiao’s tense expression.

She was a little disappointed.

“Yes.” She leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. “Angry.”

She wanted to see Lu Shimiao’s nervous face, kneeling on the bed, one more time.

“Then… then I…” Lu Shimiao wanted to respond quickly but couldn’t find the words. Her hands rested on her knees, sitting up straight in a kneeling position. Her face grew redder and redder—whether from the fever or anxiety, it was unclear. “Then I…”

Yes, nervous to the point of helplessness.

Xue Tong was satisfied with this expression.

“Then… you lie back down.” She poked a single finger against Lu Shimiao’s forehead, forcibly pressing her back down onto the mattress. “Sleep.”

“Then where… where will Instructor Xue sleep?” Lu Shimiao’s neck muscles strained, but her head didn’t lift. It was as if she was nailed to the bed.

“Couch.”

Her house didn’t have a second bed, because Xue Tong believed no one would ever live in this place as long as she lived.

“No way!” Lu Shimiao sat up from the bed. “I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

…

Xue Tong stood there, speechless.

Did this person have a masochism kink or something?

“Then we’ll sleep together.” Xue Tong walked back to the bedside, sat down, paused calmly for half a second, and glanced at the two-meter bed. “If you feel sick during the night, you can wake me up.”

She sounded like she was finding an excuse for herself.