071 | (Seventy) Unhappy
At one corner of the street, cars rush by and people weave through the crowds.
Xie Qingyan hid under the umbrella, like a lost butterfly retreating back into its chrysalis. Her courage was exhausted, and she relied entirely on her pride to support her and prevent her from falling. She refused to lower her head, kept her back straight, and stiffened her neck, staring blankly ahead, not daring to look at Su Xingmao again.
Panic can cause emotions to crumble.
Only out of the corner of her eye, she was certain it was only in the corner of her eye, flashing extremely quickly and arrogantly, did she catch a glimpse of his thin chin, where his two thin, sharp lips slowly opened and closed, as if in a helpless sigh, or as if he had something to say to her.
Xie Qingyan pricked up his ears, his eyes darting back to the center of his eye sockets, remaining alert.
She thought to herself that if Su Xingmao dared to criticize her, she would definitely yell back and refuse to go with him. But if he begged her to come back, she could be more magnanimous and temporarily forgive him.
After waiting and waiting, the person holding the umbrella had already walked to the street. The traffic lights were flashing frequently. They were like two parallel drops of water, disappearing into the noisy crowd. They followed the pedestrians, crossed the zebra crossing, and came to another street.
"Let's go home," he said softly.
...
Just this sentence?
The damp, cold wind tousled her long hair, which, along with the cool rain, clung to her cheeks.
Xie Qingyan couldn't quite describe his feelings. His mind was blank, but it was immediately filled with some kind of emotion, probably a sense of loss mixed with the bitterness of tears, simmering in his heart, a strange and complex mix of emotions.
Is Su Xingmao blind? Can't he see that she's in a terrible mood, all because of him, the culprit?
He didn't offer a single word of comfort.
She was depressed and sullen, her lips pursed.
She doesn't want to go home at all!
She followed closely behind the person's footsteps, then suddenly stopped, standing rooted to the spot, no longer moving.
Su Xingmao stopped and turned to look at her.
His gaze was detached and indifferent.
He didn't speak, his gaze falling on her red nose and her clear, blue eyes, which were misty with tears. Her thick, dark eyelashes blinked, and she flew low like a dragonfly spreading its wings, as if a rainstorm was about to break out, just waiting for a thunderclap to bring down a torrential downpour.
My heart is pounding. It feels like pain.
For her emotions.
He held his breath.
Xie Qingyan stood ramrod straight, sniffed, and stubbornly bit her lip, leaving teeth marks.
"It's all your fault. It's all because of you that I had a fight with my mom."
Su Xingmao lowered his head and did not respond immediately. After a long while, he said, "I'm sorry."
hypocritically!
Xie Qingyan didn't appreciate it; she raised her head and turned her face away dejectedly.
"Look at how pathetic I am, you must be very proud and happy right now."
Su Xingmao looked at her through the drizzling rain and asked, "Xie Qingyan, why do you think I'm happy?"
They weren't far apart, just an arm's length apart, and her forced yet foolish expression was obvious at a glance.
Tears were welling up in her eyes, glistening with moisture, and her eyelashes were trembling. She held back until her eyes ached, but she didn't want to blink, afraid that the tears would fall uncontrollably.
People laughed at me.
The constellation Mao scooped up her tears, which were about to fall but hadn't yet, and which were wetting her eyelashes.
—Gazing into your eyes brimming with tears, even as the entire sky seems to be raining, I feel no joy.
A car sped past, skidding along the curb, splashing water up from the low-lying area. Su Xingmao quickly grabbed Xie Qingyan's hand and, in a flash, stepped aside to shield her from the splashing water, his dark blue school uniform stained with light brown mud spots.
Su Xingmao couldn't see it; he fixed his gaze on Xie Qingyan.
With a stubborn persistence, they did not dodge or back down in the slightest.
The gray sky resembled a face that had been crying, and the yellow light from the streetlights shone through it, making him appear half-asleep.
His feelings for her were just as vague as they had been on many occasions when he had seen her before.
She didn't understand.
I don't understand why she wasn't the only one swayed by emotions. Those uncontrollable thoughts and those monotonous days were like a gray canvas, painted with vibrant colors. How could I bear to let it fade again?
At night, he would wonder if colors could be held in the palm of his hand.
As the sun rises and the moon sets, and the years pass by, the gaze grows ever longer, the laughter ringing like silver bells, and the smiling eyes with their shallow hooks.
Many times, even the constellation Mao couldn't remember how many times, the memories were countless, and the images remained clear.
The girl skipped and hopped ahead, occasionally turning her head to the side with a light, carefree smile on her lips, urging him to hurry up.
His heart skipped a beat, and he felt an incredible throbbing in his chest. He was stunned and puzzled. Was it a butterfly flapping its wings? A hurricane swept through his mind.
Perhaps the butterfly effect can also be verified in humans.
Day after day, countless times have passed, and subtle emotions have been stirring within my heart ever since.
Faced with unpredictable emotions, even the most brilliant mind becomes a fool, and the constellation Mao is in a state of utter chaos.
At first, Su Xingmao didn't know what was wrong with him.
He couldn't understand those unfamiliar, surging, itchy discomforts. When he saw her, his body would feel slightly hot, his heart would pound, and his blood would rush through his body, like the sweltering heat of eating a chili pepper.
This feeling is irresistible and cannot be stopped.
My cochlea was buzzing, and my soul felt like it was swinging on a swing, being pulled up and down by her.
Su Xingmao silently watched her.
He tried to treat her like a difficult math problem; the longer he looked at the problem, the more likely he was to find a solution.
Not long after, on the first day of school, whether it was junior high or high school, they were assigned to the same class. Xie Qingyan, with his familiar, sly and clever smile, patted the shoulder of the student in front of him and chatted and joked with a male classmate.
The scene seemed so familiar, just like many years ago when they first met, separated by iron bars, he was quietly reciting his lessons, and Xie Qingyan leaned in and gently patted his shoulder.
It was early spring, a hazy day, the entire mountaintop shrouded in white fog, barely visible in the distance.
The sun hadn't risen yet. She blinked, grinned, and said in broken Mandarin, "...Hello, what's your name?"
The pearly white teeth gleamed before my eyes, as the sunlight arrived ahead of time.
The words have never changed.
Su Xingmao was holding a book and standing not far away when something suddenly collapsed.
A surge of emotion stirred within his calm heart, and he suddenly understood.
My various feelings during this period.
His inner conflict, anxiety, and sleepless nights all found a definite answer.
What's this?
This is jealousy.
At that moment, his knuckles were so hard they turned white, and his fingernails were digging into his flesh. He was completely stunned, as if he had been acupunctured.
Xie Qingyan's behavior towards him was not special because of him.
She is an optimist, free-spirited, unrestrained, and can get along with anyone.
Her happiness comes from herself.
It's not about him.
He felt as if he had been struck on the head, completely bewildered and confused for the entire day.
The words in the book, the titles under my pen, I no longer know where to begin.
When school is over, the draft paper is no longer covered with formulas, but with names that have gone from neat to messy.
The paper was torn off and crumpled in his palm, the writing blurred and the strokes jumbled. He knew he was trying to cover it up, almost brainwashing himself into believing that these illegible characters were just a name.
But his mood, so terrible and numb, was laid bare.
The constellation Mao can no longer deceive itself.
Desperate to paint a rosy picture, hastily crumpled characters, her name... Is it really just a name, or has this name, which he has called since childhood, taken on a different meaning for him from some unknown time?
All his senses and thoughts were tangled together by those three words, tearing his reason and self apart in a bloody and devastating way.
The answer is right in front of us.
Understanding this, from this day forward, is seeing Xie Qingyan every day a blessing or a punishment? Is seeing her never-sparing smile for others bitter or sweet?
According to the constellation of Mao, perhaps slowness is a form of kindness.
It's better not to know than to know.
After entering high school, Xie Qingyan became more popular than ever before, which was only natural. The girl's bones grew tall and slender, her figure as graceful as a bamboo shoot, and her voice was clear and melodious.
And that undisguised pride—it's dazzling to everyone who sees her. When she's happy, her eyes crinkle into a radiant smile; when she's unhappy, she tilts her head and gives you a cold look. No matter who you are, she doesn't care and never bows her head.
Bright, lively, fiery, confident, full of emotion, and brimming with vitality, like the red chili peppers commonly found in Jincheng, hanging on the highest branches, absorbing sunlight and nutrients. Not only is its skin dazzlingly beautiful, but its temperament is also unrestrained, unwilling to be sweet and ingratiating, but insisting on being pungent, wanting people to remember it deeply at first glance.
The burning pain in her mouth stung, hot and spicy, scalding her and burning her throat. How wicked she was, wanting you to willingly endure this pain, wanting you to never forget her, wanting you to know that she is who she is, unique and irreplaceable Xie Qingyan.
Spicy food is a prolonged sensation of pain that can be addictive.
Many times, Su Xingmao asked himself, what did she mean to him?
Her sharpness is like a needle buried in her flesh and bone when she was a child. So much time has passed that her blood vessels and flesh have grown together with the weapon, and even though they are bloody and mangled, they are inseparable.
He let it grow, letting it slowly erode the pain receptors, turning the burning spiciness and sharp needles into a long, damp, and cold agony.
Su Xingmao was probably the first person to become addicted to this.
But he wanted to be the last one.
This is a greedy thought.
This is an unhealthy obsession.
The constellation Mao is perfectly clear.
He restrained himself, waiting for the right moment to pick the chili pepper.
The base thoughts and increasingly intense emotions accumulated over the years, and the person who remained silent all year long finally collapsed into a single sentence at this moment.
"I'm not happy."
As Su Xingmao spoke, he placed his warm hand on her shoulder, took one hand, and pressed it against his throbbing chest.
His calm and indifferent face, his steady tone, spoke of his feelings over the years: "Xie Qingyan, my feelings are the same as yours."
The streets were bustling with traffic, yet the honking of horns remained deafening.
"You don't understand me, do you?"
The low voice of Su Xingmao reached her ears.
Xie Qingyan turned his head, his face stiff, and stared blankly at him.
She wanted to argue, how could they be the same?
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