Habit
Time is like the water in the small river beside the Hongqi Commune. It seems stagnant, but it flows unknowingly.
As autumn deepens, the crops in the fields are harvested, revealing vast expanses of brown earth. The north wind begins to whistle, heralding the approach of severe winter.
Lin Xueyin's life seemed to have entered a new and strange state of "stability".
She still worked at the radio station, her voice beaming through the loudspeakers to every corner of the commune. But her voice, once timid and occasionally flustered, was becoming less and less timid, and instead possessed a gentle calm tempered by the vicissitudes of life.
And the relationship between her and Song Zhiyuan is also quietly changing in this "stability".
The biggest change is habit.
Lin Xueyin found that she was beginning to get used to many things.
I am used to opening the dormitory door every morning and seeing his tall figure waiting under the old locust tree, like a silent and reliable coordinate.
Accustomed to him naturally taking any heavy object from her hand, from a stack of manuscript paper to a bundle of firewood. She no longer panicked and dodged, and sometimes even subconsciously handed it over when he reached out his hand.
She was used to him staying half a step to her side when he walked her back to the educated youth unit. He no longer always tried to hold her close, but that invisible circle of protection and possession still existed firmly.
She even began to get used to his crisp, clean scent mixed with a hint of tobacco. The smell no longer made her tremble with fear, but instead became a kind of soothing background sound.
I got used to the little things he occasionally brought - sometimes it was a few sour but novel wild fruits picked from the mountains; sometimes it was an old book with a worn cover that he got from somewhere; sometimes, it was still a smooth and warm stone from the mountain stream.
She no longer viewed these as "rewards" or tactics of domestication, as she had initially done. She would quietly thank him and accept them. After finishing her packet of jasmine tea, she even mustered the courage to quietly refill it. And he, again, silently accepted.
This is a silent tacit understanding, a deformed balance that grows out of a distorted relationship.
Lin Xueyin no longer spent a lot of energy thinking about "why" and "what to do". She began to accept the current situation, just like accepting the autumn wind in the north and the coming winter, and regarded it as a part of life.
She still thought of that night in the warehouse, and the subtle pain and humiliation still welled up in her heart. But that memory seemed to be covered by a thin veil under the daily, almost "peaceful" interactions that followed, and no longer stung her with such bloody pain.
She even began to vaguely realize that Song Zhiyuan seemed to be "accustomed" to her.
Accustomed to her gentle posture, no longer obviously resisting; accustomed to her occasional tentative whispers when she mustered up the courage; accustomed to her sneak glances with a hint of imperceptible worry when he was silent for a long time.
The way he looked at her was still deep and focused, with an unquestionable sense of possession. But the naked predatory desire that once frightened her seemed to have subsided, transformed into a deeper, more everyday control.
That day, Lin Xueyin was reading an editorial about winter farmland water conservancy construction at the radio station. There were a few professional terms in it that she was not sure how to pronounce, so she read it a little haltingly.
Song Zhiyuan leaned against the door frame and listened. When she paused again, he walked over and pointed his finger at the manuscript in front of her.
"This word, pronounced 'jun', means dredging a river." His voice was low and close to her ear.
Lin Xueyin's cheeks flushed slightly, not out of fear, but rather embarrassment at having her mistake pointed out. She whispered again, "...Jun."
"Yeah." He responded, but did not move his fingers away immediately. Instead, he kept her in this position between the table and his body, and looked down at her slightly flushed face.
His aura enveloped them, carrying a familiar sense of oppression, but it seemed mixed with a hint of... something else, similar to patience, or some kind of focused guidance.
Lin Xueyin's heartbeat quickened, but her body was no longer as stiff as it had been at first. She could even feel her back leaning slightly against his chest, as if she had subconsciously become accustomed to this distance and this posture.
He did not make any further movement, but just maintained this posture until she finished reading the difficult editorial smoothly.
"If you're unsure in the future, ask me in advance." He straightened up and his tone returned to his usual calmness.
Lin Xueyin hummed softly, but a strange warmth welled up in her heart. Could this be considered... a different kind of concern?
Habits are terrible.
It can dull sharp pain, gradually blur intense hatred, and quietly fade away fear through repetition day after day.
Lin Xueyin didn't know whether this "habit" was good or bad, right or wrong. She only knew that in this habitual relationship, she seemed to have found a way to survive in the cracks, a twisted "stability" that was enough to give her a temporary respite.
Like a vine, she had unknowingly entwined herself with the silent yet powerful tree beside her, a form of dependence and symbiosis.
As for whether the tree is a shelter or a cage, and whether the entanglement is voluntary or helpless, in the face of the instinct of survival, it seems to no longer be so important.
Winter is coming, and finding a relatively warm corner that is not affected by wind and snow may be the biggest luxury at the moment.
And the relationship between her and Song Zhiyuan, which was a mixture of fear, possession, temptation and a little twisted tenderness, was stabilized and continued in a strange way in this late autumn in the north.
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