undercurrent
Since the silent contract by the well that night, the relationship between Lin Xueyin and Song Zhiyuan has undergone a subtle yet drastic change.
That change is not a superficial intimacy, but a turbulent undercurrent beneath the calm surface, an omnipresent and fully stretched tension.
Lin Xueyin was no longer assigned to heavy work. Zhao Jianguo seemed to have completely ceased his activities. Even Zhao Xiaofeng had become unusually quiet. Although she still occasionally cast resentful glances at him, she dared not take any concrete action.
Lin Xueyin's job was temporarily assigned to the commune's radio station, reading scripts or helping with paperwork. She was incredibly idle. She knew that Song Zhiyuan was behind this.
He no longer just showed up "by the way" as before, but was more directly involved in her life.
Every morning, he would appear outside the female educated youth dormitory on time, and without hesitation, he would take anything of even the slightest weight from her hand, even if it was just a net bag containing a lunch box. His fingers would always "accidentally" brush against her fingertips, and the warmth and roughness of that brief contact would always make Lin Xueyin's heart skip a beat, and she would quickly withdraw her hand, her ears reddening.
He would take her to the radio station, and when she read the script, he would lean against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest, gazing at her quietly.
That gaze was no longer a simple gaze, but one filled with blatant admiration and possession, like an invisible net, enveloping her tightly. Lin Xueyin often felt uneasy under his gaze, her voice unconsciously trembling as she read from the script, and she mispronounced words several times. And the corners of his mouth would curl up in a faint, almost joyful arc.
After work, he was practically inseparable. When they walked side by side on a country road, he would deliberately slow down to accommodate her. When a bicycle bell rang or a child ran by, he would naturally reach out, put his arm around her shoulders, and pull her toward him.
The palm was broad and powerful, its scorching heat nearly burning her skin through the thin fabric of her clothes. Lin Xueyin would stiffen each time, trying to break free, but the arm was like an iron hoop, holding onto her with undeniable strength. Only when the danger was over would it slowly loosen, but the fingertips would linger on her shoulder for a fleeting moment.
He began to bring her things, sometimes a few bright red wild fruits, sometimes a rare old book, sometimes even a small package of sweet-scented osmanthus cakes carefully wrapped in oil paper, which could only be bought in the county town.
Whenever he handed it to her, he would always get very close, so close that Lin Xueyin could smell the crisp and clean scent on him, mixed with the smell of sunshine and tobacco, which forcefully invaded her senses.
"Try it." He looked at her with deep eyes and a calm tone, but with an irresistible meaning.
Lin Xueyin took it and ate it in small bites, her heart pounding. She could feel his gaze on her face, watching her chew and swallow, his gaze so intense that she felt almost at a loss.
The tone of his voice had also changed. It was no longer the pure calmness of the past, but was now tinged with a low, magnetic husky. Especially when he called her "Xue Yin", the two words that flowed from his lips always carried a kind of intimacy and entanglement that made Lin Xue Yin's heart tingle.
This omnipresent and highly aggressive approach made Lin Xueyin panic and helpless, but deep down in her heart she felt a secret throbbing and addiction that she herself was unwilling to admit.
She knew she should push him away, keep her distance. But every time he approached, when he looked at her with that deep gaze, when his calloused fingers "accidentally" brushed against her skin, it was as if something in her body was quietly melting, leaving her without the strength to resist.
That evening, Song Zhiyuan took her back to the educated youth center. When they reached the familiar grove near the river, he suddenly stopped.
"My hair is messy," he said.
Lin Xueyin subconsciously reached out to adjust her braid.
"Don't move." He stopped her in a low voice, then took a step forward and raised his hand to gently brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.
His movements were gentle, but his fingertips carried a burning warmth as they slowly brushed across her forehead and temples. Lin Xueyin held her breath, her body frozen in place, her heartbeat clearly pounding like a drum.
His fingers did not leave immediately, but moved down along the contour of her cheek very lightly and slowly, finally stopping near her slightly trembling lips, caressing them vaguely.
Sparks seemed to crackle in the air. Lin Xueyin raised her eyes, meeting his so close. A thick, indissoluble ink swirled within them, revealing undisguised desire and aggression.
He lowered his head, and his warm breath sprayed on her face with a fatal temptation.
Lin Xueyin's mind went blank. She felt her whole body go limp, almost unable to stand. She should have pushed him away, but her hands felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.
Just before his lips were about to touch hers, Liu Xiaoling's voice calling her suddenly came from a distance.
Song Zhiyuan paused, a flash of annoyance and displeasure flashing across his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. He slowly stood up, and his fingers pressed lightly against the corner of her lips one last time, with a kind of lingering intimacy.
"Go back." His voice was hoarse than usual.
Lin Xueyin felt as if she had been pardoned. Her cheeks burned incredibly hot and she almost ran away.
Even after running a long way, she could still feel his touch on the corner of her lips, and the look in his eyes that had almost devoured her. She leaned against the wall of the educated youth settlement, clutching her still pounding heart, her legs so weak she could barely stand.
This man... was too dangerous. His proximity, his touch, carried a powerful, suffocating sexual tension that left her unable to resist and retreating step by step.
And she realized, with a sorrowful and throbbing heart, that she didn't seem to truly want to escape this danger. The closeness born of dependence was sliding at an uncontrollable pace into a deeper, more entangled situation. She, like a butterfly trying to escape the storm, was ultimately swept into its center, and he, who controlled the storm, clearly had no intention of letting her go.
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