Chapter 10 Artificial Respiration No wonder his lips felt wet just now...

Outside, lightning flashed and thunder roared, while inside, the aroma of freshly baked food filled the air.

The two sat together and finished eating the pizza. When almost all the food on the table had been cleared, Li Baidong suddenly felt that the world in front of him was flickering.

The next second, in the blink of an eye, the world went completely dark, and for a moment he could see nothing.

His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively grabbed Xing Lan's shirt sleeve, saying nervously, "Brother, my eyes seem to be..."

“You’re not blind, there’s a power outage.” Xing Lan seemed to have guessed what he was going to say and calmly analyzed, “It’s probably because the wind was too strong and broke the outside cables. It should be repaired within a few hours.”

Li Baidong waited a minute or two, and after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his vision gradually returned to normal.

He breathed a sigh of relief, turned to look at Xing Lan, blinked, and said, "What are we going to do? Without power, we can't do anything."

"Then go to bed early." Xing Lan glanced at him and said, "There are candles in the room, I'll go find some."

He stood up and started walking towards the bedroom in the dark. Li Baidong quickly turned on his phone's flashlight and followed behind him, saying, "Brother, I'll light your way."

Xing Lan frowned and waved at him as she watched the fleeting white fluorescence.

"It's too bright. You should go back. I can manage on my own."

Unlike Li Baidong, who had just moved in, Xing Lan had lived in this house for quite some time.

In this tiny space of just a few dozen square meters, I've walked back and forth countless times, and I'm very familiar with every corner and the placement of every piece of furniture.

Even though it was dark and the room was pitch black, he could still get a general idea of ​​what was going on if he was careful.

When Li Baidong heard what he said, he put down his phone and obediently stayed in the living room waiting for Xing Lan to bring back the candles.

He leaned against the wall of the restaurant, listening intently for a while, and heard Xing Lan carefully push open the bedroom door, enter the room, slowly look for the peach wood five-drawer chest in the corner, pull out one of the drawers, and then hear the rustling sound of things being rummaged through.

Xing Lan successfully found a box of candles that she had casually bought at the supermarket a few months ago.

When I bought it, I just thought it was better to be prepared, but I never expected to actually use it so soon.

He held the beautifully packaged box of white candles in his arms, and just as he was about to continue looking for a lighter, he suddenly felt a tightness in his chest and heard a loud ringing in his ears.

It was as if tens of thousands of wild bees suddenly flew out of the room, each one flying precisely towards him.

The buzzing grew louder and louder, constantly pounding against his eardrums in the empty room.

He was stunned for a few seconds, then his knees buckled and he fell to the ground without realizing it.

Not only did my vision fail, but my brain also became foggy.

His throbbing temples swelled rapidly like a loaf of bread thrown into an oven, overwhelming his reason.

The familiar dark space was quiet all around, with only the rustling of leaves in the wind.

The sharp lightning ripped through the space before him; it was clearly just a normal weather phenomenon, yet it inexplicably made him feel uneasy.

My fingertips trembled uncontrollably, and my blood instantly turned icy cold, like the bone-chilling water beneath an iceberg.

Xing Lan's back was covered in a thick layer of sweat. He lowered his head wearily, his long, slender neck appearing blindingly white in the darkness, with the delicate blue veins clearly visible, like the thin wings of an insect, which could be crushed with the slightest touch.

The bed in the bedroom was empty; there was no one on it. Only the bed curtains swayed gently in the wind, the ethereal gauze rising and falling.

Everything felt so familiar, as if I had returned to that same dark, rainy night nineteen years ago.

In a daze, Xing Lan saw his deceased mother lying on the warm, thick bed in the room, reading the story of "The Three Little Pigs" to him, who was nestled beside her, by the orange light of the bedside lamp.

"Mother……"

He clutched his chest, breathing heavily, and soon lost consciousness completely.

-

When Xing Lan was little, her father was busy with work and rarely came home, so she always slept with her mother until she was five years old.

His mother came from a scholarly family. She was beautiful, gentle, and skilled at playing the piano and writing calligraphy.

As a young mother who was only in her early twenties at the time, she not only made delicious blueberry cupcakes, but also told Xing Lan stories every night before bed.

I don't know when it started, but my mother's nightly story time has become shorter and shorter, and her behavior has become increasingly strange.

From the initial vivid and engaging narration to the later hurried and perfunctory delivery, after simply reading a few sentences, he put down the fairy tale book and picked up his phone to type incessantly.

She was very emotional, as if she were making an accusation, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea, and she received no response.

Five-year-old Xing Lan couldn't understand the long passages filled in the boxes, nor could she decipher her mother's strange emotions.

He could only vaguely sense that the warm and peaceful aura emanating from his mother was fading, that she was speaking less and less, and that the melancholy between her brows was growing stronger.

Like a stone door slowly closing, like a flower gradually withering, like the moon obscured by dark clouds on the horizon.

"Mom." Xing Lan raised her hand and carefully wiped away her mother's tears, speaking softly, "Why are you crying? Did Dad make you angry again?"

“Mommy didn’t cry…Mommy was just sleepy.” She shook her head, trying to wipe away the blurry tears in her eyes, and tried to cheer herself up, saying, “Do you still want to hear the story? Let’s continue.”

"I don't want to hear the story anymore." Xing Lan reached out and hugged her mother's waist, saying to herself, "Mom, the rain is so heavy today, it has ruined my rain boots."

Xing Lan has a pair of little frog rain boots, which are his favorite among all his rain boots because he wears them the most and they wear out the fastest. Xing Lan is very reluctant to part with them.

His mother patted his head and said gently, "It's okay, Mom will buy you a new pair tomorrow."

"Really?" Xing Lan looked up excitedly.

"Really. Go to sleep now, Lanlan will have new rain boots when she wakes up tomorrow."

"That's wonderful!" Xing Lan happily tilted her head up and kissed her. "Mom is the best!"

His mother smiled at him, but the light in her eyes grew dimmer, like a room covered in dust.

He fell asleep quickly, filled with anticipation for his new rain boots.

I was awakened in the middle of the night by a sudden clap of thunder outside the window.

Xing Lan has been sensitive to light and sound since childhood. Whenever she hears a muffled and terrifying thunder, she drowsily leans to the side, as if she wants to hide in her mother's warm embrace, just like she always does.

He almost fell off the bed, but he still couldn't find his mother. The other side of the bed was empty, surrounded by a deathly silence.

"Mother……"

He rubbed his eyes, whimpering softly, and climbed off the bed with his IKEA plush dog in his arms. Half asleep, he swayed and staggered toward the half-open bedroom door.

There was a familiar, slender figure on the balcony.

The woman had long hair, wore a very thin nightgown, and had tiny sparks flickering at her fingertips; a faint smell of smoke permeated the air.

The rain was pouring down outside, the wind was howling, and the streets were deserted, with only fallen leaves fluttering in the wind.

At a time when every household had closed their doors and windows early in the morning, she opened the window expressionlessly, getting closer and closer to the cold windowpane.

The rain that came her way soaked her pale cheeks, and the cold wind howled like a wild beast, echoing repeatedly in her ears.

The chill penetrated her bones, gnawed at her numb heart, and devoured all her hopes and fantasies about the world.

"sorry……"

"Lanlan".

She murmured to herself in a very soft voice, and then, as if sleepwalking, walked step by step toward the open window, her steps light yet extremely firm.

"Mother!"

Xing Lan opened her eyes wide and shouted, dropping the golden retriever in her hand and running over.

But it was too late.

She jumped from the high-rise building in the quiet of the early morning, without ever looking back.

Xing Lan knelt down by the window with a thud. She didn't know when she had started crying, but her pale face was full of shock and pain.

He was only five years old; he knew nothing and understood nothing.

He didn't know when his mother decided to end her life, or from which painful and desperate moments she slowly accumulated enough courage to face death.

All he knew was that under the cover of night, on the rain-soaked cobblestone road, the pool of blood that people pointed at was made up of the blood and flesh of the person he loved most.

The next morning, the lady at the shoe store rang the doorbell. After receiving a message from his mother late the night before, she delivered brand-new rain boots to Xing Lan on time.

But he never wore them again. He lowered his head and cut every pair of rain boots to pieces.

His mother's death did not take his life, but it made him feel the dull pain of death every day afterward.

From that day on, Xing Lan no longer liked listening to stories, nor did she like the night or rainy days.

Because he hadn't spoken for three consecutive months, his father took him to the hospital multiple times to have his vocal cords and brain nerves examined, and also saw a well-known child autism expert in the city.

He was eventually ruled out as having autism, but was diagnosed with another illness.

He had been tormented by this disease for nearly twenty years, until recently, when it seemed he had finally found his cure.

-

Xing Lan slightly opened her eyelashes and found herself lying in a warm embrace.

Above them was Li Baidong's voice, clearly choked with sobs.

"elder brother?!"

Xing Lan didn't know how long she had been unconscious, but the tear stains on Li Baidong's face were still fresh, so it probably hadn't been long.

"Why are you crying?" He asked, only to find his voice dry and hoarse, as if it were filled with sand.

Xing Lan raised her hand to rub her temples, and just as she was about to get up, she felt herself being held back by a force.

Li Baidong didn't let go; instead, he hugged him even tighter.

Strong, long arms encircled him tightly, like a puppy clutching its beloved toy, refusing to let go.

He frowned and glanced at Li Baidong with a hint of helplessness.

"Alright, I'm fine now, it's just low blood sugar." Xing Lan lowered her head and tried to pry Li Baidong's hands off. "—Don't hug me like this, it's hot."

“Brother…” Li Baidong choked up softly, seemingly still shaken.

“I heard you fall outside, and when I came in I saw you lying next to the cabinet. I was really scared, and my mind went blank.”

"Luckily, I volunteered in the neighborhood last year to earn credits, so I quickly gave you first aid."

“…First aid?” Xing Lan’s eyes flickered slightly.

Li Baidong sniffed, let out a soft "whoosh," wiped his tears with his wrist, and nodded.

"What did you do?" Xing Lan paused for half a second, then asked him, "CPR or artificial respiration?"

“CPR…and artificial respiration.” Li Baidong said cautiously, looking at him, “I’m worried something might happen to you, so it’s safer to do both at the same time.”

"..."

Xing Lan lowered her eyes, her thoughts in turmoil.

No wonder his lips felt wet just now...

It looks like it's been licked by a dog.

A note from the author:

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