(Continued from Part 1)
In the cafeteria, Su Wanqing carried her tray to a corner spot. She placed one bowl of rice across from her, ate her own. The opposite bowl steamed, chopsticks resting on the rim, as if someone might come to eat it at any moment. People came and went. No one noticed that untouched bowl. No one noticed Su Wanqing.
Lin Yuan carried his tray over and sat down across from her. He looked at that bowl of rice, hesitated.
"Who's that for?"
Su Wanqing didn't answer. She picked up a piece of tofu, put it in her mouth, chewed for a long time. The tofu was soft, broke easily under her chopsticks. She scooped it up with a spoon, then put it down.
Lin Yuan didn't ask again. He lowered his head and ate his own food. Halfway through, Su Wanqing stood up, picked up the opposite bowl of rice, walked to the trash can, and dumped it. The rice slid out of the bowl, scattered in the trash. Grain by grain, mixed in with leftovers. She stared at that pile of rice for two seconds. Then put the empty bowl back on her tray and walked away.
Lin Yuan sat there, watching her leave. The cafeteria lights were bright. Her shadow was short. He remembered the last time he ate with Su Wanqing, at the malatang shop by the school gate. She talked a lot. About her brother. About training. About the scrap yard. Today she didn't say a word.
He looked down at his own bowl. Plain rice, no side dishes. He finished every grain.
---
No. 17 Southeast Road.
Iron gate. Lock. Concrete slabs. Steps. Moss. Water droplets. Dripping sounds. Darkness.
On the ground by the entrance stood a bottle of water. Unopened, condensation on the outside. Not left by him. Someone had been there.
The yellow dog was tied to the iron post. When it saw Lin Yuan, it wagged its tail. He crouched down, patted its head. The fur was dirty, but its eyes were bright. He pulled a cracker from his pocket, crumbled it, and put it on the ground. The dog lowered its head and ate. Its tongue licked his palm. Wet. Warm. He left his hand on the dog's head for a while. The dog didn't move away. The dog wouldn't ask him "where are you going" or "with who" or "when are you coming back." The dog just wagged its tail. The dog just licked his palm. The dog just stayed here even when he wasn't here.
He stood up, walked around to the iron door. Moved the concrete slabs. Broke the lock. Pushed the door open.
Steps leading down. Walk. One step, two steps, three. Water droplets on the walls reflected in his phone light, like eyes. The air was cold and damp, seeping into his collar. He shivered. It was like this last time. And the time before. Every time. Yet he still came. Didn't know why.
A drop of water hung from the pipe. It grew slowly, wobbled, hesitated. Lin Yuan watched it. It hung there, as if unsure. Then it fell.
Drip.
Bottom. Narrow hallway. Footsteps echoed. Step by step, like someone was following him. He stopped. The echoes stopped. The whole corridor was as quiet as a grave.
He kept walking. Reached the wooden door. Pushed it open.
The basement. Thirty square meters. In the corners, piles of old clothes, moldy cardboard boxes, a broken thermos, half a newspaper, a rusty wire. Water dripped from the pipes overhead. Drip. Drip. Drip. He stood at the entrance, sweeping his phone light across every corner.
The shadow was gone.
That shadow that had crouched in the corner. That shadow that had counted drips up to a hundred thousand. That shadow that had forgotten who it was waiting for — gone. On the ground lay a dark gold fragment, like something that had flaked off. Lin Yuan crouched down and picked it up. The fragment was warm against his fingertips. Not the warmth of a nightmare. Another feeling — cold. Stinging. Like an ice pick.
He stood up, turned around.
A man stood at the door.
Black jacket. Brim pulled low. The darkness of the corridor spread behind him, the phone light couldn't reach the end. The man didn't move. Just stood there, like a dead tree.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer. He stepped forward. Lin Yuan stepped back, his back hitting the wall. Cold water droplets seeped from the wall, soaking his clothes.
The man reached out his hand. In it was another fragment. He put the fragment on the ground, then turned and walked away. Not fast, not slow. Every step steady. Soon he disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
Lin Yuan chased after him. The narrow hallway was empty. Only his own footsteps, bouncing back and forth between the walls. He ran up the steps, pushed open the iron door, ran into the yard. The yellow dog was still tied to the iron post. It looked at him and wagged its tail. Outside the iron gate, the streetlights were on. Orange light spilled on the ground, stretching the shadows of fallen leaves long. No one.
Only wind. Only fallen leaves. Leaves lifted from the ground, spun in the air a few times, then fell again. One leaf landed on his shoulder. He didn't brush it off.
He stood there, holding two fragments in his palm. He pulled the coin from his pocket and put all three together. The fragments and the coin resonated, the vibration growing stronger. Not twice as strong. Several times. Like they were calling to each other. Like they were saying, you've finally come, we've waited so long.
He looked up. The sky was almost dark. Thick clouds hid the moon. In the distance, a streetlamp. Beneath it, a moth circled the bulb, round and round, again and again. Lin Yuan watched that moth. It didn't know that was a lamp, not the moon. It didn't know it would never reach it. It just circled, kept circling.
---
Back in the dorm. The light was off. Zhao Lei had already lain down, facing the wall, blanket pulled up to his neck. The keyboard sounds had stopped. Only his breathing, soft and even. Lin Yuan didn't know if he was really asleep.
He didn't turn on the light. He felt his way to the bed, sat down, took off his shoes. The fragments and the coin were still on his pillow. He clenched them in his palm. The edges were a bit sharp, cutting into his flesh. It hurt a little. He didn't let go.
Wind blew outside. The curtain lifted, then fell. Moonlight slipped through the gap, falling on the floor, white, like frost. He thought of his grandmother. Her bright eyes when she said "you're not ordinary." He thought of that coin. That night he first dreamed of the dragon. Fire. Ruins. Golden eyes. He thought of Old Zhou. His expressionless face when he said "you were never the invisible man." He thought of Su Wanqing. Her calm tone when she said "my brother died," like she was talking about someone else.
He thought of that woman waiting for the button. That shadow that forgot who it was waiting for. That person on the playground who crouched down and buried their head in their knees. Zhao Lei's back facing the wall.
He thought of that piece of braised pork. Fatty, glossy. Lying on the white rice like a small piece of凝固的黄昏.
He swallowed. The taste still seemed to linger in his mouth.
The last braised pork, he didn't finish it.
The piece he didn't finish was the one Zhao Lei had given him. The one Zhao Lei pretended not to like. The one Zhao Lei had given him with that hand he'd dodged.
Three months. Ninety days. Two thousand one hundred sixty hours. He'd already lived forty-seven days. Forty-three days left. One thousand thirty-two hours. Maybe fewer. Maybe tomorrow would be the last day.
He shoved the fragments and the coin back under his pillow. Turned over.
The pillow was a little damp.
Don't know if it was sweat. Or something else.
(End of Chapter 8)