Chapter 83 Hug Me, It Might Be a Little Presumptuous
He was silent for a moment, and did not answer immediately.
The wind blew in through the window, making her hair flutter slightly, like tiny nerves exposed to the cold.
Although the indoor heating was on full blast, Ye Yuying felt a chill that seemed to grow from the depths of the earth, so cold that her tongue was trembling and her eyelashes felt like they were covered in ice.
After a long while, I heard him say in a low voice:
Where are you now? I'm coming to find you.
His voice wasn't loud, but it was extremely steady, though it still carried a slight tremor as it came from the other end of the phone, offering a sense of security that only he could provide.
She didn't speak, but looked up at the sky outside the window. The warmth of the sunlight seemed to have been stripped away, and the whole sky was tinged with the dim gray of approaching dusk.
Ye Yuying remained silent for a long time before letting out a very soft sigh.
"Just answer me."
The voice on the other end of the phone lowered further, a calm masking underlying tension, carrying a hint of melancholy:
“I’ll tell you to your face.”
With a solemn tone, each word seemed to have been carefully considered before being spoken, and with surging emotions, every sentence was meticulously crafted.
Ye Yuying's throat tightened, and she almost couldn't breathe.
*
She ultimately didn't tell Cheng Mingdu where she was. Instead, a sudden fear gripped her heart, and she hung up the phone as if trying to escape. It was only much later that she regained consciousness in her zombie-like daze.
As she walked out of the building and headed straight for the entrance, she resisted the urge to turn back.
Trying to suppress the last glimmer of hope in my heart, I imagined whether those beautiful eyes were watching me from behind the window of some hospital room.
Imagine, is this heart-wrenching family love nothing more than a nightmare?
When she woke up, she realized she had just woken up from a dream. Her mother, wearing an apron and holding a spatula, hurriedly called out at her bedroom door, "Yuying, get up quickly, the fried eggs are ready, don't be late for school."
She was almost overwhelmed by the image, one she had seen in TV shows and movies, but none of which she had experienced herself.
A cold wind blew past her ears, and she hugged her coat tightly, as if trying to hold onto the last bit of warmth.
The season is still cold, the willows are sprouting, and the slender branches are being swept up by the wind, but the vitality described in the poem is nowhere to be felt.
The wind whispered behind her, questioning why she was deceiving herself and why she still longed for her mother's love.
She was about to quicken her pace when she suddenly stopped.
Outside the iron gate ahead, on a quiet suburban street, stood a tall figure, who, like her, seemed to be standing on another isolated island.
Ye Yuying's gaze pierced through the layers of cold air, landing on his shoulder. She observed this figure as if it were a phantom.
That's probably the look in the eyes of a music student with dreams when they first see the golden stage.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
She answered the call instinctively, without saying a word, and slowly approached the figure from a distance, leaning on her cane.
Cheng Mingdu's suppressed voice came from the other end of the phone, low, hoarse, and restrained:
"I'm right here..."
He paused, looked up abruptly, and his gaze pierced through the massive, gate-like iron bars, instantly locking onto her figure in the open space of the sanatorium.
He stood against the gray sky, with the yellowish-green wind behind him, his feet rooted to the spot, motionless.
Ye Yuying was still wearing her winter clothes, because she was more afraid of the cold than most people, but her figure still looked thin in the wind.
She leaned on her cane and walked slowly toward him, step by step.
The call hadn't ended; the wind whistled through both ends. Neither of them spoke, yet their breaths became distinct and heavy in each other's ears, intertwining and inseparable.
As Ye Yuying approached, she stared at his familiar face for a long time before saying softly, "How did you know I was here?"
Cheng Mingdu's throat bobbed, his voice so low it seemed to sink into his bones:
"I'm guessing you've come to see your mother."
Ye Yuying didn't say anything, but her fingers, hanging by her side, clenched tighter, her knuckles turning white.
She swallowed the complex emotions welling up in her throat. "Yes, I think it's ridiculous of me now. I thought things would be better if she didn't recognize me anymore, but I never expected..."
A smile sprouted from the bitter soil: "She can still remember to hate me even when she's gone mad, which shows... she really hates me."
Cheng Mingdu's eyebrows twitched slightly, as if something had pierced his heart.
He tried to take a step closer, standing in front of Ye Yuying, his words heavy with suppressed emotion:
What she truly hated was the life she was powerless to change.
His tone always carried a reassuring resilience, mixed with the sediment of the past:
"She really had no choice. Her early years were full of too many unfortunate coincidences, so she dumped all the malice she felt about losing control of her life onto you... trying to construct your world with pain."
Cheng Mingdu simply looked at her quietly, without comforting her with a hug, as if deliberately leaving her a little space to breathe.
After a moment, he whispered:
"You're not the one who caused her pain, you never were."
Ye Yuying's throat tightened, and tears welled up in her eyes instantly.
"But I'm innocent too... I can't decide who brought me into this world. No matter how cruel she was to me, as long as I'm grateful to be alive, I have to thank her for not aborting me back then..."
Cheng Mingdu gazed at her with a deep look in his eyes, like the light of a lighthouse that could shine into the depths of the night sea, trying little by little to pull her out of the tsunami of emotions.
He remained silent for a long time, as if waiting for her to finish crying, waiting for her to exhaust all her stubbornness and resentment.
Only when Ye Yuying finally lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly, did he finally reach out and, just as he had done many years ago when they were still young, very gently touch the back of her hand.
That was Cheng Mingdu's way of comforting her.
The way they could embrace back then.
Cheng Mingdu said in a low voice, "Of course you are innocent, and you had no choice."
"You can hate her, resent her, run away, and never try to understand her for the rest of your life."
"Even though you are bound by family ties, you are still willing to see her, even though she has hurt you deeply."
Do you know what this means?
He paused for a moment, as if afraid that he might say something too harsh and break her last remaining support.
But in the end, he still said:
"This means that you and she have embarked on completely different destinies."
"You took this pain and didn't let it corrupt you; that's brave enough and strong enough."
Ye Yuying was startled, raised her eyes, and looked at him.
He looked down at her, the tenderness in his eyes almost suffocating: "For the rest of your life, do not spend a single second atoning for her sins, Ye Yuying..."
He paused, his gaze falling on her moist yet clear eyes, and repeated softly:
"You've remained kind, which is already very good."
She stood before him, her shoulders trembling slightly, her whole being like a tree that had endured a long winter and was finally beginning to melt.
After a long silence, she spoke in a voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible:
"I'm actually... very scared."
He slightly raised an eyebrow and asked softly, "What are you afraid of?"
“I’m afraid all of this will never get better.” She lowered her eyes, her eyelashes clinging together wetly. “I’m afraid I’ll never have a decent home, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to escape the shadows cast by my blood ties.”
At this point, she looked up at him, her voice trembling, "Am I beyond saving?"
Cheng Mingdu's throat moved, his eyes as deep as the moon submerged in water.
He didn't answer immediately, but reached out and slowly smoothed her wind-blown hair, his fingertips as light as feathers, as if he were stroking the fur of an injured little animal.
A moment later, his voice rang out in a casual tone:
"Why is it beyond saving?"
As he said this, the corner of his lips twitched slightly, and he whispered, "Isn't there still me..."
As soon as these words were spoken, Ye Yuying's eyes stung and her throat tightened.
The wind was still blowing, the willow branches trembled slightly, and the air still seemed cold.
But she suddenly felt that the figure standing with her in the wind gave her a greater awareness of the outside world.
Why is it that, over the years, he has changed a little, yet seems to have remained the same at all?
In the wind, Ye Yuying felt as if her soul had shrunk, carrying some of the naivety of her younger days.
Years ago, she almost had an emotional breakdown because of this thought.
She always had something on her mind, something that would reach her throat when she was at her lowest point, but she didn't dare to say it until she kissed him as an adult.
At this moment, those words were on the tip of my tongue again.
She didn't want to dwell on it for too long, and thinking about her crucial surgery that was coming up, she couldn't help but feel a bit more like living for the moment.
"Could you... hug me?"
“Comforting, the kind of comforting, familial love…” she tried to explain.
As soon as she finished speaking, she immediately felt that the embarrassment she had expressed actually helped her to pull herself out of those complicated emotions.
Cheng Mingdu paused, his gaze lowered, the wind swirling around the hem of his coat, the gray light enveloping him, as if even his breathing was tinged with restrained hesitation.
He looked at the person in front of him as if he were witnessing the soul of a little girl through her body.
The stubborn and rebellious little girl of the past now stands in the wind, wearing a heavy coat and leaning on a cane, as if she had traversed a long wilderness to stand before him.
Her eyes held awkwardness and shyness as she made an unusual self-disclosure in front of him, extending a hand covered in scars to him.
His throat moved, as if he was trying hard to suppress something.
"Family ties?" he repeated softly, his voice slightly hoarse.
Ye Yuying nodded, but didn't dare to look up at him, instead focusing her gaze on a button on his chest.
I didn't want to pressure him, nor did I want my vulnerability to cause trouble for others.
"It might not be convenient right now," she added, as if hastily preparing an escape route for her request. "I'm being a bit presumptuous..."
Her voice was as low as a dried butterfly specimen, as if it would shatter at the slightest touch.
She had barely finished speaking when she was about to change her mind.
The next second, my shoulders tightened, and I was enveloped in a familiar warmth.
Cheng Mingdu stepped forward and, with a light yet firm touch, pulled her into his arms.
His movements were slow, but rather hesitant yet resolute, as if he was using all his restraint to maintain the sense of propriety under the guise of brother and sister.
Ye Yuying was held in his arms, completely still.
His embrace was broad and steady, just like it had been years ago, only now it held a greater sense of maturity.
But Cheng Mingdu was still young, and every muscle on his body was still perfectly sculpted.
The wind was still blowing, her hair clung to his clothes, and her cane slipped onto the paving stones with a soft "click".
He was supported by him without making a sound, even though he had lost his crutches.
At that moment, the wind stopped.
Time seemed to stand still between them for a moment, as if all was silent.
Ye Yuying stood in his arms, her whole body trembling slightly.
Much later, she gently reached out and hugged him, burying her face in his chest, her mind a jumble of thoughts.
She didn't bring up the answer to the question from that phone call, but she felt it was best not to.
The wind picked up again, but she no longer felt cold.
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Author's Note: 50
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