Chapter 23
I successfully completed all the formalities and headed home.
The lazy rays of the setting sun fell upon me, warming my neck. I didn't turn around to find the exact location of the heat source; to look directly into the sun was simply a pipe dream.
There were all sorts of people outside the hospital; vendors selling daily necessities and mobile stalls were struggling to survive, afraid someone might step on their basins or knock over their wares. Sweat dripped from their eyes, and I realized the weather wasn't actually that cold, just fluctuating with the sun. Sunny days felt hot, and the stuffy air made everyone sweat.
I weaved through the crowd, smelling the musty odor of sweat, the smell of fermentation, body odor, bright and shiny perfumes, faint scents of soap, delicious food, and autumn flowers in full bloom. I struggled to walk out of the crowd, and for a moment, it felt like I was in another world, almost unable to recognize where I was.
I kept walking with that feeling. At the next spot, I'd turn left, and the setting sun would shine on my profile. But I wouldn't look to the side.
The aroma of meat buns wafted through the air, mingling with the familiar scents of home-cooked meals. The soy milk simmered, just boiling, its steam rising in all directions. I glanced up to see what kind of meat it was: *xiang*. I should know it's a word that comes with the character *xu*, meaning school. But I couldn't quite place it; I only remembered it being an animal with a sheep-like body and a horse-like head, its four hooves as heavy as a pig's. It was also a cheap meat, just like pork, as evidenced by the "pork buns" listed below "xiang meat buns."
It might be cheaper than pork.
I kept walking, but I still couldn't get out of the hospital area. The most common, ordinary seven sisters leaned out from the railing and handed me the flower's heart that had disappeared.
I don't think I've ever seen a thornless member of the Rosaceae family. I thought to myself, even though I've only ever seen roses, hybrid tea roses, and seven-sister roses. I gladly accepted her gift; the tiny thorn drew blood from my fingertip. Influenced by the seed, it grew vigorously, and from its trembling center blossomed a flower that could truly be called exquisite.
I watched her grow with a gentle smile. She was sweet, fragrant, and seemed to gather together in unity and huddle. Her petals were a vibrant red, like blood squeezed out. Bees and butterflies, drawn by the sight, came and danced among her. I stroked one of her flower heads, and she shyly made way for me.
The seven sisters, growing excessively and spreading to the ground, willingly became a carpet, staining the stone pavement with fragrance.
As I walked out of her, I looked back and saw her delicately preening her branches and struggling to climb the railing.
My mood is neither good nor bad.
I guess I've long since gotten used to this kind of thing.
A tranquil breeze whispered secrets to my ear, and those strange creatures rode it to my side. Most of them were transparent, with only their outlines showing a color that blended into their surroundings while ensuring they could be recognized.
The smaller ones landed on my shoulders. The larger ones clung to my back. Those no smaller than dust particles stuck to my clothes and clung to my skin, relentlessly attacking me until I opened my mouth to speak.
Seeing that they were about to crawl into my eyes, seal my nose, stick to my lips, and force me to hear sounds amplified, I raised my arm to shoo them away: "Get away from me."
My heavy body suddenly felt lighter, and I realized that what I had just seen around me was also a replica; my eyes had not received any real things.
I continued walking, then had to stop at the traffic light. Small flying insects fluttered beside the flashing countdown timer; their wings were strong and powerful, their exoskeletons hard and smooth, their legs had multiple pairs of small legs and hooks that wouldn't let go once they hooked their enemies—they could be considered warriors or beauties among insects.
I might—I should—actually, I didn't want to, but I probably made eye contact with it. Those compound eyes remembered me, and the frequency of its wingbeats changed from warning of danger to excitedly sharing food.
I:"……"
Okay. Couldn't today really be next Thursday? That way we could avoid experiencing this again. Judging from what's happened since this Thursday, there's only going to be more and more things daring to surround me.
It's only been two days. Will I ever have another chance to say "Stay away from me"?
The insects were kept outside by an unknown creature; though soft, it wasn't an easily breached shield. I hurried past, my cheek unexpectedly scorched.
I realized something and unconsciously glanced up at the sun. It was bright, gentle, and vibrant, not befitting the approaching six o'clock, but rather matching every painter's impression: on the shimmering river surface—beside the rugged snow-capped mountains whose peaks are perpetually covered in snow and mist—a sun hangs in the sky, both real and surreal. Its red was so dreamlike that one might mistake it for sunset at dawn and dawn at sunset; it seemed shrouded in mist, or brushed with a layer of hazy white powder, or coated with a thin layer of water. In short, it not only appeared ethereal itself, but its surroundings were also imbued with beautiful colors.
Staring at it for too long, one feels bewildered. The human eye is stung by the sunlight, yet one is unwilling to look away from it. Its light is sacred and pure, remaining there since the beginning of time, until now. Then people will begin to sing its praises, to depict it with their brushes, to write about it with their talents, and to forever sing its great deeds with their voices.
People begin to experience blurred vision, with flashes of white appearing before their eyes. Dark spots begin to appear on their eyeballs, resembling sunspots described in the Science Daily. The sun gradually fills the eyes of those admiring it with its own sunspots, thus lightening its own burden.
Finally, a person will feel a stinging pain in their eyes, and feel that they are about to go blind, yet they are still reluctant to leave the sun while shedding tears. The person is gradually melted by the sun, the blood and tears flowing from their eyes are the sun's red, the melting fat in their body is the sun's atomization, and the so-called 70% water is the river beneath the sun.
Hair is like ripples on the water. Bones are like boats and people.
I woke with a start, my back drenched in sweat. The distorted sky returned to normal, the sun setting where it should be now. Its peaceful temperature was gentler than a breeze, making the burning sensation I had felt earlier seem like an illusion.
My cheeks were burning; standing in the twilight for too long always made me feel that way. I hastily pressed the relatively cool back of my hands against my face, trying to cool them down.
I wandered aimlessly until the sun began to set. The ever-present heat finally disappeared, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't fear, but it was like the little insects I'd seen before, always following me closely, ready to attach themselves to my body and become one with me.
I checked its departure again, and my steps slowly came to a stop. This city isn't small, but it's definitely not big either; otherwise, how could I explain what I'm seeing now, especially since it's from a time when I've never memorized the route?
The building, which resembled ruins, remained ruins. In the early night, it was illuminated by dim white lights that could only light up an area of ten meters around it.
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