Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Luo Mu slowly looked toward Yan Qingzhu, her eyelashes trembling. Her tone mixed with exhaustion, she gave a slow smile.

“You knew I was faking it, so why didn’t you expose me?”

“If I had exposed you, neither of us would have gotten out of there.” Yan Qingzhu held the steering wheel with both hands, driving along a familiar route.

Dim light and the halo of street lamps intersected and overlapped, hitting half of Yan Qingzhu’s face. Her thin bridge of her nose cast a light shadow under the side-glancing light. The incense in the car was a warm ebony, mixed with a hint of licorice and mint; the sense of weight and harmony was just right.

“My mother asked you to come back—how much did she give you?” Yan Qingzhu manipulated the steering wheel, her gaze sharp.

“Three hundred thousand.” Luo Mu tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, resting her chin on one hand as she watched the scenery outside the window.

“That little money was enough to get rid of you? How embarrassing.” Yan Qingzhu’s tone carried a hint of mockery. Back then, Luo Mu wouldn’t return no matter what was said, yet now she bowed for money.

“That money is enough for me to work for half a year without eating or drinking.” Luo Mu looked back at the person beside her, rubbing her silver wild rose earring.

This wild rose earring—no, it should be a stud—rightfully belonged on that person’s ear cartilage. Now, there were only a few red dots left on that person’s ear, devoid of any decoration.

Luo Mu stared at her, lost in thought.

In her memory, Yan Qingzhu was still the girl who drank in frustration because she failed her driving test, lying in Luo Mu’s arms and acting spoiled. Now, the wind of Chujiang City blew through the car window, tossing Yan Qingzhu’s hair. This woman navigated the steering wheel with ease, driving on any road in Chujiang she wished to take.

That was a freedom that even the wind could not lock down.

Luo Mu watched the buildings and greenery move rapidly past the window. There used to be a delicious bakery on this road; now it had become a large-scale food enterprise, the building overall simple and grand. Luo Mu wondered if the taste could still be the same as before.

Yan Qingzhu told her that all the white buildings with fences she saw now were properties under the name of their high school friend, Ye Nanqiao.

“Is that so? I’m truly happy for her.” Luo Mu looked up at the many white cubic buildings, thinking that it was indeed Ye Nanqiao’s style.

After driving for a long while, during a moment waiting for a green light, Luo Mu saw several students in red-and-white jackets crossing the street. Among them were two girls of different heights, one in front of the other, which inevitably brought back memories of the person beside her.

“That’s Tianzhong High up ahead, right? But the uniforms don’t look like it.” Luo Mu’s tone was languid, but her eyes were already moist.

Recalling their student days, evening self-study at Tianzhong was voluntary—at least in principle. Luo Mu used to cut self-study to watch the underclassmen’s rehearsals with that person, embracing by the school’s artificial lake.

But sometimes, she would stay until the very last second of evening self-study because she hadn’t finished her math homework or hadn’t finished memorizing vocabulary.

Back then, she thought things would be fine once they got into university.

If only they could stand out and succeed.

“The uniforms changed a few years ago. The summer ones stayed the same—white short sleeves and thin jackets. But for winter, they added a red windbreaker. It’s quite ugly.”

Yan Qingzhu explained slowly. When the light turned green, the scene outside the window began to move again. Luo Mu couldn’t help but look back at the group of students, as if obsessively trying to chase down the long-dissipated, ignorant memories of youth.

Yan Qingzhu wanted to tell her: those memories will always be there, it’s just that new lives will perform them all over again.

Some rise like spray from a wave, while others vanish in the tide. Returning to the deepest part of the sea, after thousands of years, it becomes a new story.

Year after year, rushing and never ceasing.

“I remember there was a park near Tianzhong. Back then, you liked to go there after drinking, and I’d go there to pick you up.” Luo Mu’s gaze was misty. Even though the memories hit like a giant wave, she was long past the age where she would cry the moment she was moved.

Luo Mu couldn’t recall the specific time; she only remembered that in the second year of high school, this fool bombarded her with messages, and she only went to see her after finishing her math.

She didn’t know how many years it had been since then.

Year after year.

Yan Qingzhu glanced at her: “Jiuhu Park.”

“Ah right, Jiuhu Park,” Luo Mu realized. “How is it now?”

“Dug up. That plot of land was bought by someone.” Yan Qingzhu was exceptionally calm, indifferently recounting the changes in Chujiang over these years. She turned the steering wheel to the left; it would take a bit longer to reach Nanming.

Luo Mu: “Then where will I find you when you’re drunk in the future?”

Yan Qingzhu: “I don’t drink anymore.”

I don’t drink.

Those few words jolted Luo Mu’s heart with a sharp pain. She knew the reason well, yet even so, she was powerless to share Yan Qingzhu’s burden. She hadn’t even seen her for a final glance before leaving.

What was it that made her abandon Chujiang, abandon the friends who fought alongside her, and abandon the lover trapped in that situation?

She didn’t even leave a single look behind.

She just left without ever turning back.

Luo Mu didn’t dare admit it—that was her selfishness.

“Drop me off at the Qinghe Hotel nearby. All my things are there,” Luo Mu murmured. Her flat tone actually made Yan Qingzhu feel confused.

“You’re not going back to Nanming?” Yan Qingzhu scanned her with her peripheral vision, but Luo Mu gave no emotional feedback; she was like a pool of stagnant water.

Go back to Nanming? Do I still have the face to go back?

Luo Mu paused and sneered: “My own father paved a grand path for a foster son with no blood relation. If I go back now, wouldn’t I be ruining their father-son bond?”

Yan Qingzhu heard the implication and stopped asking.

But if they were still together, Yan Qingzhu would certainly have comforted the person in front of her, telling her that everyone and everything has karmic retribution.

And those principles were exactly what Luo Mu had taught her.

Now, both were silent.

Yan Qingzhu stopped the car at the main entrance of the Qinghe Hotel, staring at Luo Mu who was about to get out: “Do you need me to help carry your luggage up?”

“No need, I had someone take it up.” Luo Mu unfastened her seatbelt smoothly and closed the car door.

Luo Mu walked a few steps and found that the other woman’s car hadn’t left. Looking back, she saw that the person had rolled down the window and was watching her with the same gaze.

If only, back then, they could have looked at each other like they did now.

Luo Mu’s fingertips were frozen icy and pale in the cold wind. Her lips trembled slightly, a thousand words stopping at her mouth.

“I heard from Manager Wang that you wanted to go to Japan. Do you still plan on going?” Luo Mu’s voice mixed with the wind, carrying a hint of blurriness.

But Yan Qingzhu heard it clearly and smiled faintly: “I thought about it before, but now that you’re back, I don’t want to go anymore.”

Luo Mu nodded slightly and turned to leave.

“Oh, right.” After a few steps, Luo Mu turned back.

Yan Qingzhu smiled faintly, leaning against the car window: “What?”

Luo Mu just said a light, airy: “Azhu, Happy Birthday.”

Yan Qingzhu stared at that familiar figure, reaching out her hand as if to touch it, but like the wind passing through fingers, it couldn’t be kept.

I only hope that next time, you remember to look at me from afar and wave goodbye.

Back at the hotel, Luo Mu used a towel to dry the water droplets from the tips of her hair. The first message she opened was from her foster brother with no blood relation.

Ji Rongshu: Why did you suddenly come back to the country?

Lomo: Because I have a sponsor.

Ji Rongshu: How come I don’t have a sponsor backing me up!

Luo Mu sneered through the screen. This was the foster son her father valued—the one for whom her father abandoned her and invested his entire heart and soul.

This was the foster son for whom her father had long paved the way, while Luo Mu was discovered only after she had grown up savagely and painfully.

Ji Rongshu: Whatever, just remember to send me the report for the tea products.

Luo Mu flipped through her photo album, sent the latest photo of a report, and then lay down on the large bed. The covers wrapped around her, giving Luo Mu an indescribable sense of security. Her thumb slid across the phone screen; every photo had a unique story.

Her finger stopped at the very bottom of the gallery on a photo of a red wooden prayer plaque at a temple.

Until this day, Luo Mu could never recall exactly which day the first meeting Yan Qingzhu spoke of during their student years actually was.

But she knew clearly that everything would change, and life would turn this page from now on.

Her thoughts suddenly pulled back to age seventeen—

A wisp of agarwood—smoke from the world of mortals flowing through the fingers of the gods.

Moss on the stairs, a prayer with every step.

Ji Rongshu lightly blew out the open flame of the incense stick, his clear eyes carrying the unique sharpness of youth, seemingly out of place here. Yet the sandalwood prayer bracelet on his left hand spoke of his reverence for the gods, a sigh indicating he was a most loyal believer.

“Yours,” Ji Rongshu handed the incense stick to Luo Mu beside him. “What did that old fortune-teller say to you just now?”

Seventeen-year-old Luo Mu looked up slightly. Within her sight was an old wall newly painted red, where mottled and broken stories of years past were painted over once again.

Was it like this before?

Did I meet someone here, and did someone stay—

She no longer remembered.

“Said I would encounter a ‘noble benefactor’ in this life to help me, and told me to be careful and keep my wits about me.”

Luo Mu held the incense stick, silently praying toward the divine statue, the strands of hair falling on her shoulders wrapped in the sandalwood scent unique to the temple. Her gaze was cold and fragmented, giving off a vibe of “strangers keep away.”

The wealth from demolition, the reorganization of her family—fate had pushed her to the edge of the abyss, and now it told her: someone would save her from the fire and water.

Bullshit noble benefactor, Luo Mu cursed quietly.

She tried to play the role of this noble and pious prayer, but her eyes had already exposed a long-hidden greed.

Luo Mu hesitated.

There is no private affection before the Buddha—Luo Mu told herself this as well.

Is there really no selfishness?

“Don’t you have enough wits?” Ji Rongshu glanced at her. “Are eight hundred ‘heart-eyes’ not enough for you to use?”

Luo Mu asked him back: “Did the fortune-teller say you’re a ‘love-brain’?”

“Song Chenxi from Class 5, Grade 11, right?” Luo Mu teased, as if watching a farce born of love: “Next time, don’t spell the girl’s name wrong.”

“What wrong spelling?” Ji Rongshu paused, suddenly pulling a small wooden plaque with a name already written on it from his backpack. “I remember I wrote it right.”

“It’s not the ‘Xi’ for ‘hope’ (希). Can you please read a bit more?” Luo Mu leaned in to look at the small wooden plaque in her brother’s hand. “Otherwise, the gods won’t know who it is when they see it.”

“Then do I need to report Song Chenxi’s ID number to the Buddha?” Ji Rongshu smiled playfully. “I’m afraid the Buddha might bless the wrong person.” The dimple on his right side dipped slightly; under the sunlight, he truly was a bright young lad.

“You’re crazy,” Luo Mu bumped Ji Rongshu with her elbow. “Even the Buddha would shake his head hearing that.”

“Why don’t you pray for the Buddha to make you grow taller?”

“Why don’t you pray for the Buddha to make you talk less?”

Luo Mu helped Ji Rongshu correct the name on the prayer plaque and then told him to hang it on the ancient locust tree in the temple. Legend said the ancient locust tree in this temple was spiritual; as long as you wrote down your wish, the tree spirit would choose a fated person to grant it. Year after year, whether it was true or false wasn’t actually very important; at this moment, it was just a prayer for peace.

Ji Rongshu hung the small wooden plaque on a branch. Dense red strings and prayer plaques were embedded among the leaves and branches.

The seven emotions and six desires of the mortal world intertwined, longing and waiting for the salvation of the gods.

“Did you secretly write one behind my back?” Ji Rongshu’s expression became somewhat hesitant, filled with doubt.

“Writing one and not telling me… is it that you don’t know how to pick the day or I don’t know how to pick the day?”

Hanging prayer plaques depended on the season, but Luo Mu didn’t understand what the person in front of her was talking about.

“Are you crazy again?” Luo Mu looked up and saw Ji Rongshu grab a prayer plaque. That plaque was particularly exquisite; a red tassel hung from the end, and the red ink handwriting on the wood was neat and beautiful—standard regular script, relaxed yet forceful. It lacked a bit of childishness and possessed more of an indescribable loneliness—weary but carrying a certain strength.

One could tell at a glance it was the work of someone trained in calligraphy.

“Even if fate is rugged and painful, one must kneel before the gods and break one’s head to pray for your life to be a smooth path,” Luo Mu read word by word, her brow gradually furrowing. “To A-Mu.”

No date, no signature.

The red ink used for the handwriting had a slight shimmer; it was truly deliberate.

Luo Mu suddenly felt like laughing—it was just, quite ‘chuunibyou’ (edgy/immature).

She thought it was a boring joke by some child, but the strokes were distinct; the solemn font always made one imagine some great master’s favorite disciple lingering in this small ancient temple, leaving behind some famous quote to warn the world before departing, silent as a light feather.

This wasn’t something drawn casually; it was clearly a piece of art.

Luo Mu’s heart trembled slightly, and then she slowly laughed out loud.

This handwriting—perhaps she had seen it, perhaps not.

That person’s figure surfaced in her mind, only it was difficult to see the face clearly.

Was it a new person she hadn’t met, or an old friend she had long forgotten?

She didn’t remember.

Did that person’s wish carry not even a bit of selfishness?

This season coincided with the peak of the crowd’s worship. Sentient beings followed one after another; as for fate, it was only in that one brush of shoulders.

A chance encounter, nothing more than a casual chat.

Meeting if there is fate, passing by if there is none.

The world is vast, and there is no lack of prayers for emotion, love, and desire.

Except for children seeking fun, no one looks back at the mortal fireworks they have seen enough of.

Only Luo Mu did not know that the person had already stopped and looked back long ago, kneeling to pray to the gods to let them meet.

Exactly who it would be, she expected it to be in a decent manner.

To meet again.