Chapter 65
Mo Daoyan peeled off her clothes layer by layer like peeling an onion. When her white bra was revealed, he stopped and walked straight to the bedroom, leaving her standing there alone. Her exposed skin was invaded by the cold wind and covered with a layer of fine particles. She followed him in to retrieve her clothes. As soon as she stepped into the room, she heard the sound of a lock being locked behind her.
He leaned against the door panel, his chin slightly raised, as if to say to her, this is the right way.
She had no interest in playing cat and dog with him, so she reached out to grab the clothes: "Give it back to me."
He twisted his wrist, waiting for her to fall into his arms. Then he lifted her up and buried his face in the snow-white undulations. Her short hair pricked her skin, and she shivered as the cold and itchiness hit her simultaneously. He carried her to the bed again, wrapped her in a cashmere blanket, and let her sit sideways in his arms. She had complained about him messing up her hair, but he didn't mess with it anymore. Instead, he gently combed her hair with his fingers, sliding his thumb and knuckles down her face, from her brow to her jaw, and finally between her lips.
She bit down hard as if in response to stress.
His eyes darkened slightly, and his smile deepened: "Can you help disinfect the bite wound?"
"No."
She glared at him angrily, her eyes round, half innocent, half reproachful. In his eyes, she was full of temptation. He never suffered any loss. When bitten, he bit back, avoiding her neck that she had to see in public, and biting below the collarbone, where the skin was thin and there was little flesh. A light bite could reach the bone. The numbing sensation immediately spread like ants swarming into her bones. She trembled and let go of her mouth, subconsciously hugging him tightly, panting and speechless for a long time.
"If you have the guts, bite me to death today. If you can't, you'll have to be with me forever." He uncovered the cashmere blanket and used his body temperature to warm her. "You have to accept it even if you don't want it."
As she was about to start, she whispered, "No."
"Wash it after you're done."
A bath lasting more than half an hour is enough to dilute all impulses and restore rationality. Before that, he must use the most primitive way to re-tighten the fragile bond between the two of them. This method is not fair and even a bit despicable, but when faced with an emotional deadlock, he often fails to find the right method and does not have the same ease as in the workplace.
It was still the yellow lamp that he moved from the second bedroom to the master bedroom. The lampshade was pressed on the base, like a hunched little man with his knees bent to the extreme. The postures of the two at this moment resonated strangely with the lamp. She was the load-bearing base, looking up at him day after day, but there were also moments when she occasionally saw him bowing his head. Mo Daoyan was the hanging lampshade, always pressing down on her, but kneeling between her legs, manipulating her with a slight gesture of goodwill, like the darkness before dawn. In order to wait for the light of day, all restlessness must be suppressed.
When doing this, he always wanted to study her every micro-expression thoroughly, more rigorously than in an experiment. He often used the word "hypocrisy" to describe her. Then, wouldn't a great doctor who suppresses his emotions on the outside but indulges himself on the inside be extremely hypocritical? Her hypocrisy is forced by life, while his is self-castration, which makes him even more pitiful than her.
Ah Q-like association made a faint smile flash across her eyes. Mo Daoyan misunderstood this smile, and her passion suddenly ignited. She was eager to eliminate the last bit of distance. Her rationality immediately dissipated, and her headache was splitting. She didn't understand why it was like this. The marriage could fall apart at any time. Was this paying off a debt, or self-exile?
She should hate him, but not the hatred of being driven away.
That year, Tong's mother took advantage of Tong Zhaoyang's absence to kick her and her brother out of the house along with their luggage. The rain turned the world into a maze of water-curtain caves. Two soaked figures wandered the streets, their luggage was swept away by the muddy current, and her sick brother rolled in the mud, refusing to move forward a step. She cried and cried. When a bus drove through the rain, she almost went crazy. She suddenly wanted to push her brother under the bus and then jump into the river to end it all. It was a kind old man who passed by who used an old umbrella to cover her with dry space, pulled Ye Yimo up, and sent them to the shelter.
Later, Tong Zhaoyang searched the whole city for her, but she gave up her relationship with him. The warmth given by others can be taken back at any time, and the eternal home can only be earned by oneself. As long as Tong Zhaoyang is still around, she will still hold on to unrealistic fantasies, and give Tong's mother a second chance to hurt them.
She once vowed to become strong enough to never be chased around like a stray dog again.
But here with Mo Daoyan, she once again experienced the embarrassment of being kicked out, but she was not angry. She only blamed herself for not being strong enough and not being able to save enough capital to leave. Perhaps it was because she had never been truly accepted by him, and she had not completely given her heart to him, so she did not feel deeply disappointed. Besides, she still had her home waiting for her far away, so she just left.
What she really hated was that he always held his head high, refusing to bow his head for her, nor allowing her to bow her head occasionally.
Just like now, the light was like the shadowless lamp on the operating table, illuminating her completely, while he was still neatly dressed, with not a single button of his shirt messed up. Occasionally, his eyes would pass over the fluttering curtains, and he could appreciate the night scenery in all its shades. Only a person who was sure of victory could be so calm and composed.
She glanced at him and reached out to untie his tie. With a rage in her heart, her movements were inevitably rough. "Why don't you take off your clothes?"
The veins on his neck bulged out: "It's not like I don't take it off every time."
"Why don't you take it off every time?"
"I took yours off, so why do I have to do it myself when it's my turn? If you want to watch, do it yourself."
"OK."
She pushed him to sit up and calmly unbuttoned his clothes. This man who always seemed unpredictable to her finally appeared before her without reservation. When the last piece of clothing slipped off, her cheeks burned red, like the charcoal fire in the stove that was about to burn out, so red that it almost dripped blood. Her heart was beating like a drum, but she still stubbornly pushed him down and leaned over to press him.
He neither resisted nor complied, but just lay quietly, like a felled cedar. His tall body, which he used to have to look up to, was now spread out before his eyes, with clear muscle lines and handsome face. He looked like such a sunny and cheerful man, but there was always an inextricable gloom in his eyes, which turned into cold rain and poured down on people from time to time.
She kissed him so hard that a mark was left wherever she went. Every bone on his neck, collarbone, and shoulder was red, so red that it turned purple, with a tinge of bruises. He didn't scold her, nor did he push her off him. He just looked at her silently, his expression unchanged.
When you come to see monkeys, you probably won’t be so calm.
"Do you have to be so invulnerable? You'll just look cold-blooded. No, you are cold-blooded."
He was the one being bitten, but she was the one crying. Warm tears flowed from her even hotter eyes and hit his face. She reached out to wipe those tears, and her fingertips touched his trembling eyelashes. His expression relaxed slightly: "I don't like this, but if you need me to, it's not that I can't cooperate. It's just that you see, your choice may not be right, and revenge won't make you feel good." He also raised his hand to wipe her tears. "I've understood since I was a child that people can't force themselves to do things they are not good at, otherwise they will only get hurt. In fact, what is pain? The most terrifying thing in life is to make a choice that you will regret and cannot turn back. That's wanting to cry but having no tears. The same principle applies to you." After speaking, he sighed softly, "I'm tired of being reasoned with, right? This is what I'm not good at. Let's do something else."
She murmured softly, "We're not going to get anywhere."
"There will be, as long as you don't do things you are not good at."
"You like doing experiments so much, why don't you allow others to do it?"
"Because what you're doing is not an experiment at all."
When she calmed down, he turned over and held her in his arms, maintaining his usual posture: "I still like to see you dance the most. Dance for me, ok?"
Her whole body was crushed by him, and the sounds that came out of her were broken into pieces. Dancing was her dream and unspeakable pain, but it was also a tool that he used to flirt with her at this moment. Instead, she was like a beginner with uncoordinated limbs, being dragged into a frenzied dance party, and tirelessly performed all the introductory dance moves.
He occasionally paused and asked her softly, "Do you want to?"
Or: "You are so good at loving others, why can't it be me?"
And: "You can only love me."
She didn't respond explicitly, but her trembling breaths, her tightly wrapped arms, and the kisses that she actively deepened... were responses everywhere, which made his movements even more frenzied, as if he wanted to penetrate that body and get into that beating heart to see how much of that fist-sized space he occupied.
The blood was surging in her veins. Just when she had calmed down one tremor, a new wave surged up. Tears and emotions burst out together, like a head crashing into a dam and smashing thousands of stars, flashing before her eyes. Her faint consciousness was shattered, but she still heard his last words clearly.
"I've already taken a step back, and I won't back down again. He's not worth it."
-----
Tong Yufei was awakened by the continuous ringing of the phone in the living room. The moment he opened his eyes, he found that he was looking down at him. He was leaning against the head of the bed. He had already taken a shower. The wet ends of his hair were like swords and spears, rushing forward in unison. His unfathomable eyes were clear and transparent at this moment, and his beautiful nose was standing out.
"There's a change of clothes prepared in the second bedroom. Go take a shower first, then go out to eat. After dinner, go to the movies."
He made the arrangements, got out of bed, touched her head, and went out to answer the phone.
The bedroom door was not closed. He was talking on the phone, his eyes still fixed in her direction. The caller was Qiao Zhuocheng, who excitedly recounted his experiences in Hong Kong. He said he met a girl at the Regent Hotel and would bring her to him later. He would definitely be interested.
"Not interested, come back and get together."
His response was simple and restrained, and he quickly hung up the phone and returned to his room.
She had already gotten up and was sitting at the head of the bed, wrapped in the quilt, revealing a pretty face: "Mo Daoyan, I want to eat tomato and pork rib soup."
"There are no tomatoes at home. I'm going to the night market." Although it was late, he grabbed his coat and went out. Before leaving, he turned back and kissed her forehead, "Wait for me to come back."
She didn't go to the second bedroom to get clothes, nor did she go to the bathroom to take a shower. Instead, she went to the study, took out a pen from the drawer, wrote a note on the sticky note, and then pushed her bicycle out of the community against the night wind. From a distance, she saw Mo Daoyan standing at the intersection in front of her, wearing a black coat, handsome and elegant, and standing out from the crowd. While the traffic police was directing the crowd through the intersection, he quickly crossed the zebra crossing, his clothes fluttering, as if running towards a happy future that was within reach.
At the same time, she got on the bike and stepped on the pedal, sliding into the night in the opposite direction. Her new home was located at the two ends of the diagonal of the city.
Thirty minutes later, Mo Daoyan, with a chill all over his body, rushed through the door at the fastest speed and was swallowed by darkness. The room was left with only silence. This ending was not unexpected to him, but when those warm fragments came to his mind, he was still a little frustrated. He thought her body temperature was warm, her lips were warm, and her heart was also warm.
He sat on the sofa for a long, dejected moment, waiting for the moonlight to fill the floor before he retrieved the note that had been pressed against the dining table by the pager. The note was written neatly and contained a concise message: "If you insist on not getting a divorce, we will separate. Please don't bother me. When you find a good match, you can come to the newspaper office to see me and handle the relevant procedures."
She gave him a dream, but when he woke up she refused to give him a reason. What was she thinking?
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