Chapter 16
Only one light was on in the living room, and the light fell on the coffee table beside Zou Ping.
The sofa was not very soft, but she did not plan to sleep elsewhere. She thought that if he felt uncomfortable, she would be the first to notice it when she opened the door.
She just lay on her side, holding the sketchbook, her eyes occasionally glancing towards the closed door not far away.
A warm yellow light shone through the crack in the door, it was very thin and looked like it would be blown out by the night wind at any time.
She didn't know whether he was asleep or awake, and she didn't think to ask. But the light was like a thread, hanging her heart inch by inch.
She recalled the way he'd taken the medicine with the wine. It wasn't reckless, but it wasn't restrained either, as if he'd tacitly accepted that pain was a part of life. She didn't have any strong emotions, just a slight sense of oppression, as if a damp cotton cloth was pressing against her chest.
In fact, she really wanted to walk over and knock on the door twice.
Say, "This too shall pass."
Or, place a cup of hot water by his bed.
Even if you don't say anything, just look at him.
But in the end she just sighed softly.
It's not that she doesn't care, she just knows that at this moment, he doesn't need her care, or rather, he can't accept it yet.
She sat up against the sofa, hugged her legs, rested her chin on her knees, stared blankly at the edge of the coffee table, and traced circles on the edge of the coaster with her fingertips.
He just hugged her and then quickly let go.
She closed her eyes and slowed down the circles her fingertips drew on the edge of the coaster.
She didn't react at that moment, but her heart suddenly tightened. It was like stepping on air, or being woken from a dream, and there was no time to grab anything.
But even so, she liked him even more.
It wasn't because of the hug, but because he could control himself.
She had never thought that "love" could be such a quiet thing. It wasn't a sudden heartbeat, nor was it someone doing something earth-shattering for someone else, but rather, on a night like this, he hugged her and then gently let her go.
It's like a cup of warm water is brought to your lips, but then stops.
It made her feel cherished.
It also made her feel a little aggrieved.
She didn't want to be a little girl who needed to be rescued, nor was she a child who didn't understand feelings. She just happened to like him and was willing to accompany him for a while, just as he had accompanied others for a while.
She hugged her knees tightly, resting her face on her arms, and slowly recalled her momentary hesitation.
"I do like him," she admitted silently, "but I don't want him to look back at me right away."
Liking someone doesn’t mean you want him to respond to you immediately, but you are willing to wait until he recovers and learns to look at the world again, and you are still there.
"If you take another step forward, I won't dare to like you anymore."
Zou Ping felt conflicted. Sometimes she really wanted to be with him, and when you like someone, you naturally want them to like you. But today, she suddenly felt unsure. She felt like she liked them just the way they were now, a distance that was neither too close nor too far.
It wasn't that she was really afraid of him getting close to her, but she was afraid that he would get close with a false sense of humor. She didn't want to be someone's replacement when they were feeling down, nor did she want to be praised too highly and then gently brought back down to earth.
She liked him, very much, but she was still young and not afraid to wait.
She turned her cell phone to silent mode, as if she was afraid the ringtone would wake someone up, or as if she was forcibly pulling herself out of a certain thought.
The night was getting deeper and deeper, and it was so quiet outside the window that it seemed as if the whole city was asleep. Only the ticking of the clock's second hand silently reminded her that she was still awake.
She lay down on the sofa, but found that no matter how she lay there, she was not very comfortable. In fact, it was not the sofa that was the problem, but she was a little confused.
So she simply sat up and took out the drawing board and paints from the studio, a small box of oil paints, and a few worn-out pens.
It's not that she has to draw something now, but at this moment, drawing seems to be a better way for her to catch her breath than sleeping.
She turned to a new page in her sketchbook and, without making a draft, dipped her brush directly into the dark blue and slowly spread the nightscape across the canvas. Wherever her brush passed, the blue was as blue as the light of the sky after it had sunk to the bottom of the water: thick, slow, and without ripples.
She felt the tip of her brush touch the canvas, the blue spreading slowly and unhurriedly, thick as cement, yet tinged with a silent sadness. She didn't want to deliberately define the shapes, simply letting the colors speak for themselves, slowly accumulating like those unspoken secrets of the night.
Two hands gradually emerged in the picture, so close, yet separated by an invisible crack.
The crack is not a break, but a silent distance, a boundary that one dares not touch. The world described in the pen has no gorgeous embellishments, but only straightforward loneliness and tenderness that is reluctant to speak.
She closed her eyes, the pen stopped in mid-air, and her heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by something.
At that moment, his embrace was like a shadow blown by the wind, a light touch, but it disappeared in an instant. She didn't dare to continue thinking about it, for fear of getting herself into it too deeply.
"I like him." She muttered to herself, her voice so low that it was almost inaudible.
She sighed softly and put down her brush again. Blue and gray intertwined, like the abyss of the night, like her thoughts.
She knew that this kind of love did not require too many words, but only silent companionship and waiting for him to slowly walk back into the light.
The next morning, faint light came in through the gaps in the curtains and fell on the floor.
Tang Yuchuan pushed open the bedroom door and saw Zou Ping curled up on the living room floor, tears still wet in the corners of her eyes. Her clothes were still the same as last night, lazy and messy, as if she could wake up and go back to sleep at any time.
He didn't say anything, but just took a clean coat from the closet, walked over silently, and gently covered her shoulders.
Zou Ping opened her eyes and looked at him dazedly. Her first words were, "Ah! I'm almost late for work. I have to take my child back to the studio today. The parents' association will pick him up."
Tang Yuchuan lowered his eyes to look at her, his voice low but with unquestionable tenderness: "No need to go. Tang Junrui's father made a scene in the studio, and Secretary Miao said she would help you coordinate. The studio doesn't want you to go today, so don't worry about these things for now."
"Okay," Zou Ping sat on the carpet without saying another word, just lowering her head, "...I'm a little tired."
Before Tang Yuchuan could respond, she continued, "I'm going back to my room to sleep for a while."
She stood up slowly, her hair hanging down beside her ears, covering a little of her face, "Don't worry about me."
After she finished speaking, she turned and walked towards the bedroom.
The door closed quietly without making a sound.
Tang Yuchuan stood there, watching her disappear, and he noticed her sudden low mood.
What was the reason? Was it because yesterday's sketching went badly, or was it because of some inappropriate behavior on his part? It seemed to be both, and more than that. He noticed that her mood had hit rock bottom at that moment.
Don't have to go to the studio today?
It's not right to want to work in a studio so much.
He has a rare free day today.
The merger and acquisition deal brokered by Gu Xing was officially finalized yesterday. The acquirer offered a low price and took away their heaviest debt. It was like removing a mine that was about to explode, leaving only some rough weeds to be cleared.
Once the actual hidden dangers are resolved, there is no need to rely on any other appearances to stabilize people's hearts.
Gu Xing acted quickly, steadily, accurately, and decisively, without any hesitation. He was very good at handling these types of "troublesome debts." Even when others asked him to solve the problem, he always managed to resolve it through restructuring, debt negotiation, legal means, and other means, ultimately making a profit.
Tang Yuchuan recalled that a few years ago, Gu Xing asked her to go to the Beijing Academy of Fine Arts to find a girl named Zou Ping and "give her some appropriate help."
What is their relationship?
Why doesn’t Gu Xing go by himself?
Tang Yuchuan has always had a strong sense of boundaries. Generally speaking, he never asks about things that the other party doesn't say.
But this time, he suddenly became a little curious.
The room was dim, the curtains were not drawn, and the air was like a heavy cloth, pressing down on her.
Zou Ping sat by the bed for a while, took off her coat, and lay down with her eyes still open, as if waiting for her emotions to subside.
But she still fell asleep.
The exhaustion that was so deep that she couldn't control herself was like a silent wind that swept her into a dream.
The dream began in a corridor.
The light was dim, the lights flickering one by one, and the sound of footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. She was running forward, her shoelaces loose, but she didn't dare stop. She remembered someone in front of her, a vague figure, turning the corner without looking back.
"Mom!" she shouted.
No one responded.
She ran faster and faster, her voice starting to pierce, "Mom! Wait for me!"
No one stopped. The corridor seemed endless, and behind every corner was another equally empty corner. Her fingers touched the wall, and it was as cold as glass.
Sometimes she dreamed of a hospital, sometimes a shopping mall, and sometimes the small street where she grew up. The scenes in her dreams kept changing, but the figure always had his back to her, never looking back.
She stood there, not knowing where to go, her throat dry, as if she had just cried but couldn't cry anymore.
In the distance came the cry of another child—
"I want my mother..."
As soon as that voice came out, the light of the dream seemed to be twisted.
She saw the owner of the voice standing at the door of the building where she lived as a child. It was Tang Junrui, wearing yesterday's clothes, with red eyes. He stood in the wind, sobbing and looking inside.
He looked at her, as if his dream had suddenly come back to him.
"Sister, have you seen my mother?"
Zou Ping opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly found she had no voice. She stood there, trying to raise her hand, but her body seemed to be trapped by something.
At that moment, she suddenly understood - he was not asking her, but she was asking him.
They seemed like echoes in each other's dreams.
She walked in her dream for a long time... She couldn't find the exit... Mom!
She suddenly opened her eyes and was surrounded by a snow-white ceiling and curtains, with dazzling morning light slanting in.
She struggled to sit up, but her head swelled and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her hands were clenched tightly, her fingertips stiff as if frozen. The corners of her eyes were wet, and she couldn't tell if it was from the dream or from waking up.
It took her a long time to catch her breath.
"Don't move." Tang Yuchuan's voice sounded from the side.
Where is this?
Is he by my side?
She turned and saw him sitting by the bed, his coat draped over the back of a chair, his sleeves slightly rolled up. His expression was restrained yet a little tired. There was a suppressed tension in his eyes, just like the gray-blue color on her canvas last night, rich and quiet.
"…What's wrong with me?"
"You slept for a long time," he said. "You still had a low-grade fever at home, but you couldn't be woken up. When we brought you to the hospital, your temperature was already 38.7 degrees Celsius."
Her throat was sore and she just nodded.
"What time is it now?" She said in a weak voice.
"I brought you to the hospital for dinner yesterday. It's just past nine o'clock now." Tang Yuchuan looked at his watch.
She closed her eyes, feeling a little embarrassed, but more tired than before.
Tang Yuchuan poured her a glass of water and handed it to her: "Drink some water first."
She took it, her fingertips touching the wall of the cup, feeling a slight burn. The slight warmth made her want to cry.
Zou Ping's voice was a little hoarse: "Have you ever dreamed of not being able to find someone?"
He looked at her and nodded: "Yes."
Zou Ping's voice became softer: "I dreamed that when I was a child, I couldn't find my mother."
Tang Yuchuan didn't say anything.
She took a deep breath and spoke as if she were telling someone else's story, "When I was a kid, I was terrified of getting sick. Every time I had a fever, I would have the same dream. In my dream, I ran out of the hospital, looking for my mom everywhere. Every door I pushed open wouldn't open."
The room was quiet again. Zou Ping stared blankly at the ceiling, as if lost in some memories.
Tang Yuchuan noticed that she seemed to be lost in some memories, but did not interrupt her.
"Every time I dream, I can't see my mother's face." Zou Ping murmured.
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