She feared that she would slowly forget everything about Qianluo.
She fears she will become someone who can "live well without Qianluo".
I fear that one day mentioning her will feel like talking about a stranger.
She spoke of it so casually, as if stating something utterly ordinary.
It's as if she stood under our balcony, watching Qianluo pick mint, watching us make coffee together, and even hearing us bicker.
Cold sweat trickled down my spine, soaking the edges of my shirt and sticking uncomfortably to my skin.
Even my shoulder blades felt icy cold, as if a cold wind was seeping into my bones.
I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it was blocked by something, dry and painful. My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth and rubbed against it repeatedly, and even my mouth tasted bitter.
After a long pause, he managed to squeeze out a few words, his voice trembling uncontrollably, unable to even hold his breath, and the last syllable still had an uncontrollable tremor, as if the wind had blown it out of tune.
"How...how do you know all this? These things...besides me, only a few of Qianluo's colleagues know about them, and no one would remember such details. Who exactly are you?"
What exactly is your relationship with Qianluo? Did you already know us?
Countless thoughts raced through my mind, as tangled as a ball of yarn, getting more and more chaotic the more I tried to untangle them.
Was it revenge by drug dealers? But her face was too dazzling, and had been repeatedly polished by the camera. Even the mole at the corner of her eye and her habit of raising her eyebrows when she spoke had been thoroughly studied by fans.
Drug dealers are most afraid of revealing their whereabouts and will never let such people stand in the spotlight, causing them unnecessary trouble.
Is it someone Qianluo knew? Like a former partner, informant, or a distant relative she didn't mention to me?
But what kind of old acquaintance could see into the deepest struggle in my heart, the "forgetting" that I myself am unwilling to admit, and the fragmented memories about Qianluo that I deliberately avoid?
She was able to pinpoint the problem so accurately? Could it be... that her relationship with Qianluo is closer than I imagined?
So close that they know every little detail of our lives, so close that they can see through the fear hidden in my heart?
The evening breeze, carrying the coolness of pine needles and the unique chill of the cemetery, blew my wisps of hair across my forehead, which then brushed against my cheeks and slid away, but couldn't dispel the sticky, cold sweat on my body.
I stared intently at Xin Ziming's profile, clearly seeing the taut curve of her jawline, the tiny mole on her earlobe, and the faint blue veins on her neck.
She was looking up at the last rays of the setting sun on the horizon, that orange-red hue like a flame that had burned out, gradually being swallowed by the gray-blue twilight.
Only a faint sliver of light remained at the edge, reflected in her eyes, yet it did not stir the slightest ripple.
Her profile, in the dim light, resembled a cold, hard sculpture, devoid of any emotion, even the corners of her mouth were taut and straight.
Only her fingertips were still gently caressing the wine glass, as if my question hadn't even reached her ears, but had been carried away by the evening breeze without leaving a trace.
She glanced at me, her gaze lingering briefly on my hands, which were tightly clutching my pockets and my knuckles were white.
The movement was as fast as sweeping a fallen leaf, yet it precisely caught the tension I was hiding under the fabric. Without asking any further questions, it tilted its head back and drank the wine in its glass.
The wine slid down the curve of his Adam's apple, clearly visible in the deepening twilight. Even the frequency of his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and the taut veins in his neck were clearly discernible.
Finally, he clicked his tongue softly, as if savoring the slight bitterness in the aftertaste, or as if trying to relieve the numbness on his tongue caused by the alcohol.
The celadon wine pot was tilted again, and the amber-colored wine flowed down the spout, filling the plain white cup once more.
The foam slowly slid down the side of the cup, accumulating in a thin layer at the bottom, clinging to the faint lines along the rim, like a white border around the cup.
She never looked at me directly, her face turned to the tombstone, a few stray hairs still clinging to the tips of her ears, blown by the evening breeze, and the strands of hair at her temples trembling slightly in the wind.
But it was as if it had eyes in the back of its head, seeing through all my little movements hidden in the shadows, and said calmly: "Put the alarm in your pocket away."
Don't disturb the patrol comrades unnecessarily—they are on duty at the cemetery at night, and they have to walk around the entire forest of steles several times in the dark.
They brave wind and rain, sometimes without even a hot meal. Don't let them make a wasted trip; it's not worth it.
My fingertips suddenly paused, and the grip on the alarm loosened subconsciously. The bluish-white color of my knuckles faded slightly, but the stiffness from when I was gripping it remained.
She even noticed that—it was an emergency device issued by the company, a palm-sized metal casing, the surface of which was somewhat shiny from my touching.
There's a small chip on the edge, but pressing the red button connects directly to the security center, and even my real-time location is sent there.
I was so startled by her words that my fingers involuntarily reached into the inside pocket of my coat, my knuckles pressing against the cold button.
She herself didn't realize that her movements were so obvious, and she didn't expect that her attention would be so keen as to capture such a subconscious reaction hidden in the shadows.
“I am Xin Zimo,” she said, slowly twirling the wine glass halfway in her palm, the rim brushing against the calluses on her fingertips, making a soft “rustling” sound.
Like sandpaper rubbing against wood, his voice was deep and slow, tinged with the smell of alcohol. It had lost its previous playfulness and gained a more genuine and relaxed quality, as if a layer of disguise had been removed from his body.
"You're also a friend who cherishes Qianluo deeply. You want to ask why I know these trivial matters, why I didn't show up after she left, and why I'm only coming to find you now..."
"Don't rush, let me finish this pot, then I'll tell you slowly. It's getting dark slowly today, and the evening breeze is cool; we have plenty of time."
I stood frozen in place, my fingertips moving away from the alarm, the cold touch of the metal casing still lingering on my fingertips.
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