Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 36

Chapter 36

The nodes of fate are like a hand of cards; whether they are good or bad is not for man to decide. But if the deck is reshuffled at a crucial moment, all those possibilities that had yet to appear vanish instantly.

Only one certainty remains.

Yet there are always girls who do not believe in destiny, crossing through countless possibilities just to find that one lucky card.

A young girl does not understand much of the world’s logic. More than these principles, what she needs is experience, passion, courage, and to live life to the fullest—nothing more. There is no need to consider if it is worth it, nor any need to ponder if there is a concrete meaning.

Yan Qingzhu approached her, her steps heavy, her gaze devoid of light. She slowly crouched down, her left knee touching the ground, the pad of her right thumb stroking the area around the scab. Luo Mu met her eyes; the scene was silent, leaving only the sound of their breathing. Yan Qingzhu looked up at her, her pupils trembling, mottled and broken.

“Does it hurt?” Yan Qingzhu’s voice was hoarse and low.

Time and again she hesitated, her words finally distilling into three.

The corners of Luo Mu’s mouth lifted slightly, her eyes a warm, ripplesome sea.

She slowly shook her head.

How could this count as pain?

Compared to the ignorance and helplessness of her childhood, the struggle and painful growth during days of displacement, what did this bit of pain amount to? Those who believe in gods and Buddhas pray fervently for the bitterness to end and sweetness to come. But for her, it was enough if the pain simply dissipated.

If the suffering ended, that would be enough.

How could she dare to cry out in pain?

Like driftwood tossing in the tide, helpless and scarred. A child who isn’t loved spends a lifetime searching for the shadow of love. Having no luck in being socially graceful, she forced herself to recognize an ending she couldn’t understand.

Luo Mu gazed at her, placing her right hand over Yan Qingzhu’s hand that was touching her face, feeling the other’s warmth.

Yan Qingzhu, can I cry out in pain?

Can I?

Luo Mu lowered her eyes, her gaze focusing on the girl before her.

Even Yan Qingzhu’s breathing was filled with caution, enduring every minute and second with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Yan Qingzhu waited for her to say something.

Anything would do.

After a long while, Luo Mu smoothed back her stray hairs ruffled by the wind. The soft, broken light fell on her face, leaving shallow shadows. Her eyes were like cold, deep pools that no one visited. A few withered leaves drifted there, causing ripples, filled with a sense of brokenness.

Luo Mu moved Yan Qingzhu’s hand away from her face. Yan Qingzhu instantly felt the coolness of her knuckles as she wiped away a sorrowful tear hanging from the corner of her own eye.

Yan Qingzhu’s brows knit tight.

How long have you been staying here?

Don’t you know how cold Chujiang winters are?

Why did you care about me?

Don’t you dislike the feeling of being bound?

Yan Qingzhu’s lips trembled, but before she could speak, Luo Mu let out a soft, faint laugh.

“I happened to pass by the broadcast station on my way, and I just happened to see that person. I didn’t know what grudge he held against you, but in that moment, I was so stupid—I just charged right into him.”

Luo Mu murmured slowly, her eyes soft and frank, yet she mocked herself: “You have no idea, I was like a bomb back then.”

How could she describe it?

Luo Mu looked up at the halo of the streetlamp; her vision lost focus, and in a daze, the hazy feeling felt like a dream.

“Later, I didn’t know what the corner of my mouth scraped against, but it just hurt like crazy, and then it wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Luo Mu’s gaze returned to her, a few tremors escaping from between her teeth, as if she were comforting the person in front of her.

But at that time, Luo Mu’s vision had clearly been blurred, her hands shaking and covered in crimson. Then, the intense, tearing pain had surged like a tide, paralyzing all the reason in her brain.

Yet, she had not made a single sound of pain.

“Fortunately, I’m the type who doesn’t scar.” Luo Mu smiled naturally, bright and beautiful.

Word by word, Yan Qingzhu heard it clearly.

But Luo Mu’s smile suddenly froze. A hot tear slashed across her cheek, landing right on the back of Yan Qingzhu’s hand.

Yes, she was the type who didn’t scar.

But those wounds that repeatedly festered and rotted, the tribulations she endured, the hopeless pain—they existed in reality, and yet they existed no more.

The bullying by the village children in her youth, being engulfed by poverty and low self-esteem, the sense of doom with no one to back her up—it was like a bloody scab that would heal again after a short time.

The cycle repeated, until no trace could be found.

With no trace left, she didn’t even have the ability to look back.

The light and shadow broke, refracting into countless fragments. Yan Qingzhu sighed softly, as if a broken blade had stabbed into the depths of her heart.

Luo Mu’s eyelashes fluttered like a butterfly with broken wings, helplessly beating against the air, dreaming of flying through an endless rainforest.

Like a madwoman, she believed that someone would be waiting for her not far away.

But no one was waiting for her.

Perhaps, she should have known long ago.

“Yan Qingzhu,” Luo Mu’s gaze was bitter yet carried a sliver of calm, her voice hoarse, mixing with the sound of the wind.

“Is it I who makes you unfortunate?”

The air was thick with suppression and gloom.

“What?”

Yan Qingzhu instinctively frowned, instantly feeling a powerful force pressing down so hard she couldn’t breathe.

“You told me not to care about you, but how could I not care? How could I watch you be slandered in public? I—” Luo Mu suddenly choked up, all her emotions halting at that second.

How could I have the heart to witness them devouring your dignity?

Yan Qingzhu lowered her eyes, her breath mingling with the cold wind; she couldn’t feel a trace of warmth.

“Sister Muzi,” Yan Qingzhu finally spoke, “that wasn’t slander.”

“It was the truth.”

It was the truth; Ke Anzhi was right.

Yan Qingzhu steadied her breath, her tone solemn as she opened her heart to the person before her: “I only found out later that my mother asked the teacher for a spot in the Chemistry Olympiad. If I were successfully selected, I could get into the ‘Strong Base Plan’ for Huahai University.”

“That spot wasn’t something you could just get; my mother even stuffed money for it. But in the end, I still refused.”

“And,” Yan Qingzhu paused, taking a breath, reopening the long-buried scar: “I am indeed an illegitimate daughter.”

Luo Mu’s pupils trembled slightly, but Yan Qingzhu crouched naturally beside her. She tilted her head, revealing her slender white neck; her eyes were clear, possessing a melancholy, broken beauty that made her look pale and frail.

Yan Qingzhu knew the consequences of letting down her guard and speaking from the heart. Every instance of honesty was a gamble, but with every attempt, Yan Qingzhu hoped to get a little closer to her, just a little closer.

It was too foolish.

Then let it stay foolish.

Yan Qingzhu closed her eyes, resting her arm on Luo Mu’s knee, her head leaning slightly against her. She cautiously used her solitary courage to bet on an outcome. The worst consequence would be nothing more than becoming a joke for others after dinner—the sharp blades forged from defensive gazes becoming barbs that stabbed back at herself.

But facing Luo Mu, she never thought of these things.

She had never even considered them.

Luo Mu’s hand rested on Yan Qingzhu’s hair, the strands tangling around her knuckles. She stroked gently, as if smoothing the fur of a frightened cat.

“Yan Qingzhu, we are both too guarded. You are, and so am I,” Luo Mu murmured, tenderly stroking Yan Qingzhu’s hair.

Two lonely souls are destined to create friction, and friction gives birth to estrangement and defense. They either fight to make the other compromise, or they tear open their own scabs to seek the mercy of love.

“But I’ve been on guard for so many years, I no longer know what kind of person I really am,” Luo Mu said with a slight lift of her mouth, mocking herself.

If one day she truly let down her guard and barriers, it would instead plunge her into anxiety and guilt.

Even Luo Mu couldn’t explain what that feeling was.

“Qingzhu, perhaps we aren’t suitable.”

Luo Mu paused. Yan Qingzhu instantly looked up at her, filled with confusion.

“Or perhaps it’s because we are too suitable.”

Luo Mu spoke frankly. After hesitating for a long while, she said in a low voice: “But I don’t like this feeling at all.”

A feeling where, in a daze, one can share their heart and face the other honestly; a feeling that tells her she can finally let down her guard and love with all her might. Luo Mu didn’t know where this feeling was going to take her.

Luo Mu didn’t know if it was here to save her, or if it was the next bottomless abyss. So she always stayed in the place closest to the light source, yet because of fear, she would hide back into the deep sea of the night.

She had always been a coward, not daring to bet on an unknown ending.

“Yan Qingzhu, Luo Mu isn’t good at all,” Luo Mu smiled faintly. “But she really hopes you are well.”

Luo Mu pulled Yan Qingzhu into a hug. The gentle, deep sandalwood scent made the tip of her heart tremble slightly. Luo Mu buried her head in the crook of Yan Qingzhu’s neck, her breathing shallow.

A person as proud as Yan Qingzhu shouldn’t be followed by pain and melancholy.

“We… are perhaps not suitable to be friends at all.”

I am not suitable to be your friend. I don’t even have the ability to protect you.

The known fate was like having glanced at the folded corner of the future. If you have to bear even more difficult pain for me later, how could I ever accept that?

Facing an atheist, how could she understand Luo Mu’s repeated tearing and struggling with her own faith in the void?

How should I explain my pain to you—

Luo Mu’s voice was tremulous, a slight sob mixing into the empty silence, but it too dissipated with the wind in a daze, leaving no trace.

Yan Qingzhu was suddenly speechless. The hand that was about to stroke the person in her arms froze in mid-air upon hearing these words.

Is it because I broke the red string that you don’t want me anymore?

Is it because I’m always at odds with you and joking with you that you don’t want me anymore?

Is it because my hideous side scared you that you don’t want me anymore?

Slowly, she withdrew her hand. Yan Qingzhu nodded, her voice weak but without hesitation.

In that second, Luo Mu also heard the sound of something breaking.

“This is your choice. I respect you.”

In that moment, Yan Qingzhu spoke, but she did not try to make her stay.

Just like the dark alley corner after a childhood rain—the clear, deep blue eyes of that gray cat filled with escape and terror. On the wet and uneven ground, Yan Qingzhu had been afraid the cat would slip and fall; she didn’t know that cats weren’t afraid of falling at all. But facing the person from the past, that cat didn’t choose to return to her side; it only wanted to flee.

That was the cat she had searched for for a long time.

But she didn’t try to make it stay either.

Yan Qingzhu rose slowly. Having crouched for too long, her head spun as she stood up abruptly, and she couldn’t help but stagger. Just as Luo Mu moved to support her, Yan Qingzhu waved her off and laughed naturally: “With your tiny frame, if I leaned on you, you’d be flattened.”

As if nothing had happened.

Teasing Luo Mu just like before.

Luo Mu’s nose stung, as if ten thousand ants were biting her heart.

“Rest well. Good luck on the second mock exam tomorrow.” Yan Qingzhu stood steady, rubbed her temples, and slowly turned to leave.

The streetlights cast halos, illuminating her path home and throwing a long shadow.

But Luo Mu could no longer see that person’s pride.

The starlight had fallen.

Yan Qingzhu, as she always did, habitually looked back and waved to her: “Early goodnight. I wish you sweet dreams.”

I wish you a good dream—one where I am not there.

I’m only taking you this far. For the road ahead, you must walk slowly.