Chapter 14

“I’m willing.”

~~~

The sea waves ran deep and dark, distant buildings overlapping in the haze, dotted here and there with lights like stars fallen to earth.

Xia Zhuxi reached out to stir the seawater. Ripples spread outward in layers, scattering glimmers that melted into the water and shimmered with every wavelet.

Xia Zhuxi asked Shen Jingsong, “Which is better, the sea in Shengjing or the sea in Liulin?”

Shen Jingsong released a beached little fish back into the water. “They’re both good.” She added, “I’ve seen them both with you.”

Xia Zhuxi’s eyes reflected the starry lights dancing on the water as she pondered Shen Jingsong’s words. When she said they were both good, did she mean she liked the seas of both cities, or did she like them because she had seen them with Xia Zhuxi?

Either way, as long as the sound of the waves could carry away Shen Jingsong’s unhappiness, that was enough.

A rift opened in the thick clouds overhead, and the wind gently bore them away.

A crescent moon emerged, slipping down into the sea.

Shen Jingsong walked slowly along the edge of the tide. Unlike the way she had taught Xia Zhuxi to walk her worries into the sand, she bent down instead to scoop at the moon wobbling in the water.

Xia Zhuxi walked beside her, watching her fingertips slice through the spray as the crescent shattered into shards of light amid the waves.

It was a mirror flower, water moon—something illusory that couldn’t be grasped by force. The moon wouldn’t let itself be caught; all one could do was find a way to let it fall into one’s palm of its own accord.

Shen Jingsong’s voice followed the moon’s rippling glow. “When I was little, my mom told me that scooping up the moon brings good luck.” She noticed Xia Zhuxi’s gaze and stopped her futile grasping. “Pretty silly, huh? It’s obviously impossible to catch.”

“Sister Jingsong.” Xia Zhuxi cupped a handful of seawater. “Cup your hands, palms up, like this.”

Shen Jingsong held her hands together. “Like this?”

“Mm-hmm.” Xia Zhuxi looked up at the night sky and took a few steps to the side. Shen Jingsong followed. Xia Zhuxi stopped, slowly raised her own hands, and let her fingertips trail down. The water she held spilled into Shen Jingsong’s palms.

The water wasn’t cold—it carried Xia Zhuxi’s warmth. They both looked down. From this spot, the moon fell perfectly into Shen Jingsong’s hands.

Xia Zhuxi beamed. “There’s your good luck.”

Shen Jingsong’s eyes sparkled like rippling waves. “Wow.” She looked up with a smile. “A gift from Xiao Xi.”

Xia Zhuxi said, “The moon likes you.”

Shen Jingsong offered the moon to her. “Now Xiao Xi has good luck too.”

Xia Zhuxi felt the gentle warmth in her palm. “I like the moon.”

Shen Jingsong, you are my moon.

The crescent didn’t linger long in the sky before dark clouds swallowed it again.

A cold wind swept in from the distant sea, carrying a faint salty dampness.

On the drive back to Bixi Huating earlier, a few fine rain threads had drifted across the windshield, but it hadn’t poured yet. Now the storm was arriving.

Xia Zhuxi spotted Shen Jingsong’s figure on the beach. “Sister Jingsong, should we head home?”

Shen Jingsong turned toward her just as fat raindrops began to pelt down.

Xia Zhuxi shrugged off her jacket, splashed through the seawater and fine sand to reach her, and held it over Shen Jingsong’s head. The rain muffled her voice. “Let’s get to the car first.”

The downpour grew torrential.

Gray sheets of rain cascaded outside the car windows, sending ripples racing across the glass.

Xia Zhuxi sat in the passenger seat. “Sister Jingsong, there’s a backpack under the back seat.”

Shen Jingsong, in the back, said, “Got it.” She picked it up. “Do you want it?”

“Yeah.” Xia Zhuxi had shed her jacket, and the dark single layer underneath was soaked through, clinging heavily to her skin.

She unzipped the backpack and pulled out two spare pieces of clothing: a gray long-sleeved shirt and a white button-up. She handed the white button-up, which had slightly narrower shoulders, to Shen Jingsong. “Sister Jingsong, change into this.”

“Thanks.” Shen Jingsong’s back and shoulders were damp from the rain, but nowhere near as drenched as Xia Zhuxi. She took the shirt, catching its faint scent of softener—clean and fresh white ylang-ylang. She noticed the transparent buttons engraved with snowflake patterns.

Thinking it might be awkward for her, Xia Zhuxi turned off the light. “Is this okay?”

The car plunged into dimness, rain lashing the windows. In the cramped space, the scent of rain-soaked skin mingled with the downpour.

Xia Zhuxi listened to the soft breaths and rustle of fabric from the back seat. The rearview mirror caught only a hazy silhouette.

A beam from the lighthouse on the sea cliff swept past the front of the car, offering a fleeting glow. In that instant, Xia Zhuxi glimpsed Shen Jingsong in the mirror, half into the shirt. Her head was bowed, eyes lowered, damp strands curling over her fragrant shoulders. Her pale wrists slid through the sleeves, the hem unfolding as she fastened the buttons from the bottom up, concealing the delicate lace beneath.

For a split second, a glimpse of smooth, luminous white flashed into Xia Zhuxi’s view—like white methane ice, igniting a spark deep in her heart.

But only for a moment.

Shen Jingsong spoke softly. “Xiao Xi, are you done yet?”

Xia Zhuxi snapped back to herself. “Almost.” She stripped off her underlayer and pants together, pulled on the clean long-sleeved shirt, and draped her pants over the driver’s seat. Then she fished out two Magic Hug Pillows from the backpack, unzipped them, and spread them out like blankets—one for Shen Jingsong in the back, and one over her own legs.

Shen Jingsong pinched the blanket. “Your car is like a treasure chest.”

Xia Zhuxi smiled. “Not really. Sometimes I sleep overnight in the car, so I keep some essentials in every vehicle.”

Shen Jingsong asked, “Are we sleeping in the car tonight too?”

The rain pattered louder against the windows.

Xia Zhuxi glanced at the blurred windows and wiped the water droplets from her cheeks with a tissue. “Honestly, in this weather, I don’t dare drive either.”

In truth, she wanted to take Shen Jingsong somewhere quiet and warm to rest. Xia Zhuxi figured Shen Jingsong had no desire to return to Bixi Huating, so she could drop her off at another place to stay or take her to a hotel—either would do.

For now, though, there was no better option. Safety came first.

She had no idea when the rain might stop.

Shen Jingsong took it in stride. “Let’s just sleep here then.” She lay back barefoot on the rear seat.

“Alright.” Xia Zhuxi reclined the passenger seat flat, aligning it with the direction of Shen Jingsong’s head.

Their breaths came warm and soft, each attuned to the other’s.

“Sister Jingsong?”

“Hm?”

“Does it feel uncomfortable?” Her heart, and her body still damp from the rain.

After two seconds of quiet, Shen Jingsong shook her head, her long hair rustling against the seat. “No. I’m fine.”

Xia Zhuxi lowered the window shade. “Good night.”

She wanted to ask Shen Jingsong so many questions—about her family situation and how she might help, how the past nine years had treated her, what had happened that summer with Pei Ziying.

But she couldn’t just come out and ask.

To Xia Zhuxi, everything about Shen Jingsong felt like the moon reflected in a palmful of water. She could only wait for the moon to fall into her hand of its own accord, rather than shatter it through rashness.

Xia Zhuxi closed her eyes, and it felt like a long time passed. She had no idea if Shen Jingsong was asleep and didn’t want to disturb her, so she held still in one position, careful not to make a sound.

Eventually, she drifted into a hazy sleep.

Perhaps burdened by her worries, Xia Zhuxi slept fitfully. She woke several times in the small hours to the steady patter of rain. By the occasional sweep of a distant lighthouse beam, she checked on Shen Jingsong and tugged the fallen blanket back over her.

The rain finally stopped at dawn.

The sky was growing light, seagulls crying overhead. Xia Zhuxi checked her phone—it was just shy of six o’clock. Shen Jingsong lay curled against the seat, half her face buried in the blanket.

Xia Zhuxi gazed at her for a long moment. Her skin gleamed like snow, her lips soft and full. Shen Jingsong’s delicate brows were slightly furrowed, and the memory of last night’s ugliness tightened Xia Zhuxi’s own mood in sympathy.

Xia Zhuxi reached out toward her, inching closer until her hand hovered just shy of Shen Jingsong’s cheek. She paused there, a flicker of longing, heartache, and reluctance chasing through her eyes in rapid succession.

Sigh.

She drew her hand back.

Oh moon, oh moon—won’t you share half your sorrows with me?

Shen Jingsong, oh Shen Jingsong—won’t you share half your unhappiness with me?

~~~

Vaguely, she sensed something very warm drawing near.

“Haah—” Shen Jingsong opened her eyes. She was propped on a small cushion, wrapped in the blanket.

She glanced around the unfamiliar car interior. Her sleepy eyes gradually sharpened as she came fully awake.

On instinct, she looked toward the front seat. The passenger side was upright again, and Xia Zhuxi was nowhere to be seen.

Right in the center of the windshield sat a snowflake-shaped car freshener, its transparent bottle shimmering with pale blue light.

Another snowflake.

Shen Jingsong sat up and touched her collar. Xia Zhuxi’s white shirt hung a little loose on her. She checked her own clothes, the ones she’d changed out of—they were dry now. Shen Jingsong slipped back into her original outfit and unlocked her phone. Missed calls from Pandi filled the screen. She frowned, her thumb hovering over it, then after a moment’s hesitation, added her to the blacklist.

She sat there, mind blank, for a few minutes. Then she drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest. She peered out the side windows—nobody in sight.

Where was Xia Zhuxi?

She lowered her feet toward the floor, reaching for the door handle, but then slowed and stopped.

—“Shen Jingsong’s just a country girl who ran off from some backwater mountain, with a pack of bloodsuckers dogging her heels. No wonder she tags along for a few cheap trinkets—like that stray cat under my dorm. At least the cat lets you pet it. Shen Jingsong won’t.”

The sharp words from memory leaped out, stabbing at her heart.

It had been the tail end of summer, just before senior year started. She’d been sitting in the back seat like this, freshly awake, the person up front vanished. Thinking they were nearby, she’d gotten out to look for them—and overheard the phone call.

That was when Shen Jingsong learned how some people saw her: a stray cat that came running at a whistle but wouldn’t let you touch it.

Shen Jingsong pressed a hand to her chest, forcing the memory to stop there. Letting it play out would only let those barbs erode her dignity all over again.

But Pei Ziying had gotten one thing right.

She was from the poor mountains, with a bunch of bloodsuckers trailing behind her.

No one wanted to accept her as she was—not even after the Shen Family had adopted her, severing all ties to that mountain village. Her classmates, friends, and colleagues knew nothing of her true past. She didn’t dare let anyone find out.

And that included Xia Zhuxi.

From her faint past impressions and their recent interactions, she knew Xia Zhuxi was a warm-hearted person.

Xia Zhuxi was wonderful. But Shen Jingsong lacked the confidence that she would accept every part of her once she learned about her origins.

Shen Jingsong felt so foolish. Not every moth had the right to fling itself into the flames, nor every mayfly to chase the sunlight.

Xia Zhuxi had helped her, and repaying that kindness politely was enough. How could she greedily crave her warmth and enthusiasm?

She would only disappoint Xia Zhuxi. She would only bring her trouble…

Shen Jingsong opened her bag and applied a light layer of makeup. She glanced at the rearview mirror from afar, swiping on some everyday lipstick, doing her best to look more spirited.

The sea fog had lifted.

Shen Jingsong raised one hand to shield her face from the sea breeze as she followed the footprints along the beach.

Far in the distance, she spotted someone pacing back and forth by the waves.

“Xiao Xi?”

Xia Zhuxi looked up abruptly, a flicker of panic in her eyes. She froze for a moment before running over.

“Are you hungry, Sister Jingsong?” Xia Zhuxi smiled, stepping in front of her and pulling a pack of small cookies and a few seashells from her jacket pocket. “Something yummy and something pretty—all for you.”

Shen Jingsong took them, leaning sideways to peek at what Xia Zhuxi was hiding. Xia Zhuxi quickly leaned with her.

But she was a beat too slow. Shen Jingsong saw it.

Words covered the sand, snaking along with the waves toward some distant, unseen point on the coastline.

——Take away all of Shen Jingsong’s unhappiness.

So many words—she had no idea how long Xia Zhuxi must have spent writing them.

“I’m sorry, Sister Jingsong. I really want to know more about you, but I understand I have no right to pry. So I thought…” Xia Zhuxi turned her head, gazing at the crooked letters she’d scrawled in the sand. “At least I could use the method you taught me to help you out. I hope it brightens your mood a little.”

Shen Jingsong stood there, stunned.

She didn’t understand.

Why, after seeing her at her most pathetic, did Xia Zhuxi still want to know her story? Why not just ask outright, instead claiming she had no right to interfere? Why walk so far along this cold seaside in the early morning? Why place such faith in the notion that “the waves will carry away the troubles written on the beach”—something no ordinary person would believe?

Because you’re a kind little sun, Xia Zhuxi?

The sea breeze tousled Xia Zhuxi’s orange locks as the rising sun illuminated her radiant smile.

Shen Jingsong took a step forward and nodded gently. “It’s gone.”

Xia Zhuxi’s expression softened. “Hm?”

Shen Jingsong closed her eyes. “Listen.”

Xia Zhuxi closed her eyes too.

The sound of the tide rolled in from afar.

The dawn sun gleamed like gold, waves kissing the sand as one shadow drew near to another.