Chapter 26
As I approached the entrance to the residential area, my stomach began to rumble. Clearly, it was as vulnerable as my legs were when I was moving quickly. I forced myself to walk to the trash can and knelt down before vomiting.
"..."
Thankfully, it didn't vomit all over me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of eerie green eyes deep in the alley, and for some reason, I sensed a hint of mockery in them. Although I wouldn't bully a cat when I'm strong, I still fantasized that if I weren't so weak right now, I would definitely chase it away.
But I always felt that it wasn't them. I always felt that the people I saw weren't them. The calm memory didn't sprout; it still watched my endless fantasies and unfounded hopes.
A sense of déjà vu told me there was sunlight, several empty bottles of beer, and a few smiling people. Smoke rose from chimneys in front of me, and a thin mist couldn't obscure the distant sun. I couldn't hear their voices, but I knew what they were talking about. But when I tried to discern the content more closely, it all became a blur. I pondered, beyond the clear certainty, which movie or novel this image came from.
I wasn't really looking for an answer, though I hadn't given up either. I pulled out a tissue to wipe my mouth; nothing came out. Of course, I hadn't eaten anything today. This morning, I tried to stop those two brothers from fighting, then I fell asleep in my hospital bed at noon, and last night I walked a long way. A sour, bitter taste lingered in my mouth; the alcohol still hadn't been diluted.
I started to wonder if this was the legendary lethal dose of flavoring.
I slowly stood up, supporting myself against the wall, my steps relatively steady. I kicked my legs and swung my arms, but of course, it wasn't to the point where I needed to do a set of calisthenics to confirm it.
Actually, I don't really want to go back right now.
I don't want to go back to that rented house.
I don't want to face those two children.
I don't want to turn on my phone, I don't want to talk to my neighbors, and I don't want to walk through the winding paths.
I don't want to see this world.
I closed my eyes, feeling the distant wind carrying the dampness of rain from elsewhere onto my face. My hands gripped the nearby pole tightly, the cool touch slightly lowering the feverish heat from the alcohol. I'm not good at drinking, so I felt like I was acting out of control: I didn't want to go back; it felt like a drunkard throwing a tantrum. I didn't want to face those two children; it felt like a drunkard shirking responsibility. I didn't want to turn on my phone, didn't want to talk to the neighbors, didn't want to walk through the winding paths—these were signs of a drunkard escaping social interaction and deliberately ignoring the effort and consequences of personal growth.
I don't want to see this world, a drunkard whose heart is filled with the smell of alcohol against the backdrop of the night, throwing his yesterday, today, and tomorrow, as well as everything silent and commonplace in this world, into the flames, and then closing his eyes to see the flames soaring into the sky.
Standing under the broken streetlight, I suddenly realized how wide the path was for pedestrians. So wide that when the stars above blinked, the clouds seemed to weep involuntarily.
The journey through the night is long and the stars are far away. The grievances of illness and the questions about the world are all brought out by alcohol as a catalyst.
I never said I wanted to live. My past cannot sustain my desire to find my home, nor can my will fuel my desire for a happy life. No one asks for my opinion, and I even have to question my hazy memories—what if it's just that you don't remember? If I want to remain rational, I must wage an endless battle against this world; if I want to go with the flow, who is willing to live in a world where there may be conspiracies?
I start to question why I feel this conspiracy is definitely targeting me. I start to question why I think of myself as so important.
I wasn't like this before. Regardless of the memory, whether blurry or clear, the protagonist is never someone who wallows in self-pity in life. I should prefer trying new things to complaining, and breaking new ground to sticking to old ways.
I try my best to trust my intuition.
Sometimes I want to go home.
My head was spinning, so I squatted down and leaned against a lamppost to catch my breath. My vision was blurry, my ears were ringing, and my lungs felt like they were being squeezed; otherwise, I wouldn't be having trouble breathing.
I looked up in the direction of home. There was a person standing there, and I didn't know how long they had been standing there.
At first glance, his appearance fits most people's aesthetic standards for men. I'm referring to the aesthetic standards for men in terms of face, physique, etc. He has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, is tall with long legs, has a nice-shaped mouth, fair skin for an Asian, and his eyes are fixed on me with a deep, enigmatic gaze.
It took me a moment to realize, and I still couldn't figure out, why I could still see his face even from such a distance, when the light wasn't even falling on it.
It was as if my retina was automatically struck the moment I saw him, or perhaps he possessed the ability to "remember everything I see," though I didn't remember him either.
But I was definitely startled.
I stared intently back at those eyes, which I could no longer discern whether they were looking at me, and felt I'd seen them somewhere before. I pondered, thinking there must have been some adornment on his face. Perhaps a dot between his brows, or a line drawn at the corner of his eye, like a fox mask. Tachibana Miki was an expert in this area. Thinking of what had happened around me, I paused, then couldn't help but wonder if he might be the one who had taken over Tachibana Miki's body.
But he doesn't have those things on his face now. Tachibana Miki once told me that for them, makeup is the most important thing in the world.
He seemed to have gotten tired of watching and turned to leave. I watched him go, his khaki trench coat disappearing behind the door. I shook my head, trying to banish those thoughts, and then patted my face. My eyelids felt hot, probably from the alcohol, and my head still felt a little sore.
I pursed my lips, trying to move my facial muscles. Even though I really wanted the two kids to be asleep by now, I was still worried about them sitting in the living room.
I dragged my weary body back, nodding slightly as I passed the security room. The excessively cold wind and icy touch were no longer of any concern; all I wanted was to see that little peach tree that would never grow. Things here are truly either one or the other—either they grow wildly or they remain completely still.
The lights in every house were off. I should have overturned my previous views sooner; this shouldn't be a slum, nor should it be a place where all sorts of people who violate social morality live. At night, it's more like a tomb, not yet burying anyone, but about to bury everyone.
The door in front of me suddenly opened with a creak, startling me. Before I could ask what the family was up to at night, I was about to walk over when someone called out to me, "Finally, I see you."
The landlady looked at me with a smile, holding a lunchbox in her hand: "I finally caught you back from Qinghe! I just made something delicious. Come on, take this!"
I hesitantly glanced at the box. Seeing that I didn't move, she took a few steps forward and shoved the box into my hand: "Why aren't you taking it? You've become distant after just a few days? Coming back so late, you must be very tired today." She deftly tiptoed and patted the top of my head. I stiffly followed her and lowered my head, but by then she had already withdrawn her hand. Before I could even feel embarrassed, I noticed her patting it again.
My eyes welled up with tears.
She told me to eat it while it was hot, but it tasted good even when heated. She also told me to get some rest and not to neglect my health for work. I wanted to tell her that I take very good care of myself and have never suffered, but in the end, I could only manage a curt "Mmm."
She looked at me with concern and a kind expression. I walked away from her, my back pressed against her gaze.
When the little peach tree saw me come home, it shook its leaves. I put my lunchbox on the table and went into the bathroom to wash my face.
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