Push away
3 a.m., Las Vegas, Tsar Casino rooftop private room.
At the end of the poker table, Viktor Drakovic slowly spread out his flush, his golden canines flashing under the light, like a final blow to his prey.
Yu Chen stood at the altar, her long black hair reaching just to her waist, the ends dyed a deep black, with only a single strand close to her ear showing an undeniable red hue in the light—like a fire enveloped by the night.
She remained expressionless, pushing the empty chip tray forward, her voice chillingly drawn out: "Congratulations, sir, you've won everything."
Suddenly, Vickery reached out and hooked a strand of her hair with his fingertips, his voice low and hoarse: "Cheng Yan, four years, this is the eighteenth time you've lost to me. Aren't you tired of it?"
Yu Chen's knuckles tightened silently, but the corners of her lips curved into a perfectly timed smile: "Winning, sir, is my job."
She turned around, her high heels clicking crisply on the ground, like drumbeats accompanying her failure.
The wind was strong on the rooftop, sending a chill down her spine, but it couldn't dispel the metallic taste in her chest—
The eighteenth attempt failed again.
Her enemy was still laughing, and she was still dealing cards, like being trapped in a nightmare on a loop.
Back in the staff dormitory, the ceiling was gray, the walls were gray, and even the air we breathed was gray.
She opened her laptop; the screen was blindingly bright.
[Revenge Progress: 18/18 Failed]
[The enemy's status: Living well, laughing well]
She suddenly burst into laughter, the sound echoing wildly in the empty room like a fist blast that couldn't find its way out.
After laughing, she grabbed her coat and rushed into the night—
"Go buy some liquor, the strongest kind."
4:10 a.m., 24-hour convenience store.
The freezer door was opened, and a rush of cold air mixed with the scent of mint wafted out.
Yu Chen's knuckles turned red as he pulled a bottle of the cheapest whiskey from the shelf. He twirled the cap around his fingertip but couldn't unscrew it.
She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against the glass of the freezer, as if she were looking for a cold towel for a high fever.
Consciousness began to blur, and the light bulb appeared as a white circle on my retina—
Suddenly, a person walked out of the white circle.
A black sleeveless vest, gray sweatpants, and a hat pulled down to her brow bone, revealing a familiar, tingling minty scent.
184 cm tall, 23 years old, with broader shoulders than I remembered, yet still possessing that "I've traveled the whole world, but I only stop by your side" demeanor.
Yu Chen blinked once, then blinked again—
It's a hallucination, it must be a hallucination.
She even chuckled, her voice barely audible: "Xiao Wei...you've come to laugh at me?"
Illusion didn't answer, but took two steps closer, reached out, and snatched the bottle of whiskey from her fingertips. The cap clicked open, and the mint scent became even stronger, as if the entire atmosphere of the boxing ring from four years ago had been brought over.
Yu Chen stepped back, his back pressed against the freezer, the cold air seeping through his thin shirt like adding fuel to a high fever.
The illusion leaned forward, bracing its left hand against the freezer glass, and lifted her chin with its right hand—
The action is lighter than memory, yet heavier than memory.
My lips were enveloped in the scent of mint, carrying the familiar warmth of a memory unseen for four years, like forcibly continuing an unfinished analysis.
She could even hear the other person's heartbeat—
Thump, thump, thump, faster than a countdown.
Her consciousness was ignited by the minty scent, and she suddenly became fully awake—
It's not an illusion, it's a real person.
It was Xiao Wei, the person she hadn't dared to contact even once in the past four years, the most vulnerable point that shouldn't have surfaced after her eighteenth failure.
Fear preceded the kiss; she shoved him hard on the shoulders and back with both hands—
"Don't touch me!"
His voice was split and trembling, like putting a final seal on an unexploded bomb.
Xiao Wei was pushed back half a step, his hat brim lifted, revealing his entire face—
Colder and harder than I remembered, yet a layer of mist lingered in his eyes.
She didn't speak, not a single word, just looked at him as if watching a dream from which she had to wake up.
Then, he turned around and rushed out of the convenience store—
Her long black hair swung in the night wind, arcing like a severed fuse, sparks flying and lightning flashing all the way, but no one dared to chase after her.
Xiao Wei stood still, his knuckles silently tightening on the bottle cap, the minty taste lingering on his lips like a fire that had been pushed away but had not been extinguished.
She didn't chase after him, nor did she shout. She simply lowered her head, tightened the bottle cap again, and spoke in a voice so low it was barely a whisper.
"Yu Chen, can you push me away, but can you push yourself away too?"
She looked up and gazed at the convenience store entrance—
There, the long black hair had disappeared into the night, but a very faint red strand remained, flashing briefly under the streetlight, like drawing a delayed coordinate for an unfinished analysis:
—I can push it away, but I can't forget it.
You can escape, but you can't hide.
Four years, the eighteenth failure, a kiss that was pushed away but did not fade away.
—For the rest of my life, I will continue to search, continue to wait, and continue to fight the unfinished game to its final chapter.
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