Shadow and Sunlight
In August 2011, the racetrack was scorched by the scorching sun, and the asphalt pavement was steaming in twisted waves of heat. Xiaofeng stood at the starting line, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the zipper of her racing suit—this was her first time on the track, and she was riding a Kawasaki Ninja 400 given to her by her fourth uncle.
The cheers of the players on the sidelines, the encouragement of the coach and the whistles of the audience mixed together, and Xiaofeng could only hear his own accelerated heartbeat.
The moment the starting light turned green, Xiaofeng yanked the accelerator, sending the car careening onto the track like an arrow. She achieved near-perfect angles for the first two turns, even sending sparks flying as the car leaned. But the third turn proved crucial: Entering the turn slightly too fast, she instinctively eased off the throttle, missing the perfect opportunity to turn in. The front of the car shuddered slightly, the tires squealing in protest at the critical juncture.
"Hold steady!" Xiaofeng screamed in her mind, but her vision was already blurring. In the rearview mirror, her teammates were closing in at an alarming speed. She gritted her teeth, using every last ounce of her strength to pull the car back on track. As she crossed the finish line, the number "3" on the electronic screen stood out.
Xiaofeng took off her helmet, mechanically unhooked her protective gear, and walked to the sidelines like a puppet with its soul taken away. Fourth Uncle patted her arm and said, "Xiaofeng, very good!"
Xiaofeng pouted, her hands clutching her helmet drooping limply at her sides, her head bowed. Wenqing stepped closer, extending his arms and encircling her in his embrace. "You're great, Xiaofeng," his voice steady and precise, as if finely tuned. "This is your first race. Just finishing safely is already a success."
Xiaofeng's shoulders trembled slightly in his arms, and Wenqing's fingers slowly slid down the indentation of her spine with a soothing warmth.
The sound of a vibrating phone suddenly shattered the tranquility. Wen Qing let go of Xiao Feng and answered the call. An apologetic expression crossed his face as he hung up. "Something urgent has to happen. I need to get back to the office. Have Fourth Uncle take you home tonight. I'm... not sure when I'll be back."
Xiaofeng nodded aggrievedly, tears welling in her eyes, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall. Back home, she mechanically went about her chores like a puppet, until Wenqing's message popped up: "Have you eaten yet?"
"No appetite."
Wen Qing's heart tightened at the sight of these four words. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. He simply couldn't understand why Party A had insisted on holding this meeting today. His thoughts drifted away like a kite with its string cut, gravitating towards the figure alone at home.
In the conference room, Mickey sat to Wenqing's right. Noticing his absent-mindedness, he stood up, made a cup of coffee, and handed it to him, along with a note: "Mr. Jiang, we just reduced the 519 square meters to 400 square meters." Wenqing nodded in thanks, but his fingers grabbed his phone and quickly typed: "Go to bed early."
Mickey turned to the Party A representative and politely asked, "Mr. Li, should we discuss the room replacement further, or confirm that it will be completed within 45 days?"
"Let Vice President Li take the lead, Engineer Zhang from the Engineering Department preside over it, and the Deputy Chief Engineer..." The meeting continued, and boring terms flooded Wenqing's ears like a tide.
The phone buzzed again. It was Xiaofeng's "Goodnight." Wenqing held the phone in both hands, his fingertips practically digging into the case. He quickly typed back "Goodnight" before slamming the phone down on the table—a hasty move that made a "snap" sound, drawing everyone's gaze.
Before he could recover, his phone vibrated again. It was Xiaofeng again, and the words were still "Good night".
Wen Qing was so upset that he replied "Good night" again, but the screen immediately lit up with a new message: "I want to hear you say, come home immediately."
Wen Qing suddenly stood up from his chair as if an eject button had been pressed, and the chair legs scraped against the floor with a piercing scream. "That's it for today," he said, and rushed out of the meeting room without looking back.
Everyone in the meeting room looked at each other in confusion. After a while, someone tentatively asked Mickey, "What's the rush?"
Mickey raised an eyebrow: "We're in love."
Mr. Li, the party A, casually asked back, “You’ve never been in love?”
Mickey swallowed the words "We've never talked about this" that were on the tip of his tongue and put on a smile instead: "Mr. Li, do we still want to continue?"
Everyone tacitly began to pack up the documents. Mr. Li waved his hand and said, "Just do as you say. Give me the memo to sign later."
Mickey tilted his head and grumbled quietly, "Then why bother with all this effort today?" A second later, he smiled again, "Okay, Mr. Li, I'll see you out."
Wen Qing slammed on the accelerator, and the black sedan cut a shadow through the sweltering night, its shadow etched in the impending rainstorm. The scent of tea from the car's insulated inhaler mingled with the dampness before the rain, but it couldn't suppress the burning anxiety surging in his chest. The moment the fingerprint lock clicked open, the sensor light suddenly illuminated, revealing his leather shoes, which had been discarded in the hallway—the toes tilted, the laces undone, a perfect reflection of his unbalanced heartbeat.
The footsteps from the second floor were quicker than expected. Xiaofeng's bare feet touched the teak floor, and with two steps to the ground, she suddenly leaped up, tracing a graceful parabola through the air. Wenqing caught her steadily, and the tip of his nose was met with the sweet peach scent of her hair, mixed with the warm fragrance of shower gel, causing his Adam's apple to roll. Xiaofeng's ankles tightened around his waist, and Wenqing's palms, which supported her hips, were covered with sweat.
"Wenqing..." Xiaofeng's voice was hoarse as if it had been rubbed by sandpaper. His hands rubbed his body in a disorderly manner, carrying with them the grievance that had been suppressed for a long time.
As they slumped onto the leather sofa, the cold air from the air conditioner lifted the hem of Xiaofeng's nightgown. Wenqing's coat slipped off and fell to the floor. He sucked on her swollen lower lip with an almost brutal, eagerness, until the faint taste of rust on his tongue jolted him awake. His hand, retracting as if struck by an electric shock, still lingered on the delicate touch of her waist. He grabbed his coat to cover his stomach in such haste that his knees slammed against the coffee table with a resounding thud.
Wen Qing scratched his hair, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar: "Excuse me, can you get me a glass of cold water?"
Xiaofeng silently straightened the messed-up clothes, "Good night." She placed the water cup next to his trembling hand. The heart that had just been ignited and then extinguished sank heavily. She turned and walked up the stairs and into the bedroom.
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