Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 37

Chapter 37

“For the next few days, listen to the doctor. Pay attention to what you need to. In a few days, I’ll ask your aunt which ointment is best for preventing scars.” Step-mom looked over Luo Mu’s scar, her voice faint, as if afraid of scaring the child before her.

Luo Mu looked up at her. Step-mom’s gaze was filled with a tender affection that seemed innate. Yet time had been unkind, carving the marks of years at the corners of her eyes.

“Step-mom, I won’t scar,” Luo Mu reminded her.

“It’s not good for a girl to have a scar on her face,” Step-mom murmured, seemingly not grasping her meaning, tilting her head to examine the mark on Luo Mu’s face.

The wound traced the corner of her mouth, splitting all the way down to her right jaw. Though the wound had scabbed over, even a slight lift of her lips or a whispered word brought a dull, lingering ache.

But Step-mom didn’t ask for the cause; her compassionate eyes merely trembled slowly. Worry and dread mingled, a deep sorrow rising from within.

Luo Mu sat obediently on the sofa, watching Step-mom take a fingertip-sized amount of ointment from a jar. Her movements were gentle and practiced as she dabbed it onto Luo Mu’s wound. A sudden wave of coolness mixed with pain, and Luo Mu instinctively shuddered.

Once the ointment was applied, Step-mom gazed intently at Luo Mu’s face, her fingertips lightly brushing her cheek.

“The little girl has grown into a fine young lady—wait, have you been crying?” Step-mom paused.

Luo Mu blinked, masking her exhaustion, and said in a low voice, “No.”

“I see red streaks in your eyes the moment you walk in, and even the corners are flushed.” Step-mom gently rubbed the corner of Luo Mu’s eye. “You’re a big girl now. You have things on your mind that you don’t tell your step-mom anymore.”

At the memory of that blurred yet familiar face under the streetlights, Luo Mu’s nose stung. She took a deep breath and made up a random excuse: “The wind was quite strong on the way back.”

Luo Mu quickly pressed the corners of her eyes. Her vision cleared, and her emotions steadied slightly.

Only the two of them were in the cavernous house. Her father was staying out tonight and had specifically told Luo Mu to take care of her step-mother, talk to her, and not make her angry.

“The wind in Chujiang is indeed quite strong,” Step-mom lowered her head, repeating Luo Mu’s words.

The atmosphere fell into silence. Outside, tree branches brushed against the window frame with a rustling sound, embracing the cold moon. There were far fewer night lights in winter than in summer, adding a sense of solemnity.

After a long while, Luo Mu rose to bring over some brewed ginger tea. She blew gently to cool the steam and handed it over once she felt the temperature was right. Step-mom whispered her thanks, her gaze merciful.

Step-mom took a few sips and placed the porcelain cup on the coffee table. Luo Mu noticed that even the act of putting it down was accompanied by tremors; the veins on her arms stood out clearly, lacking the padding of healthy fat, looking like withered limbs.

“Perhaps this house is a bit too quiet,” Step-mom said with a faint smile, looking down.

In her younger years, she was elegant and tall, the epitome of feminine charm. Confident, graceful, and beautiful. But anxiety had coiled around her; her tight nerves kept her from getting a single good night’s sleep. Physical and mental exhaustion tortured her, causing her to waste away day by day.

In one’s most frustrated and trapped moments, what one looks up to and believes in is often religious theology. One dreams of seeking a saint’s blessing for health or a guide to point out a correct path that leads to happiness.

Thus, her wrist was perennially adorned with a sandalwood bracelet sought from a temple.

Luo Mu shifted her gaze; she truly wanted to ask a question that had been buried for a long time.

“Back then, why didn’t you plan to have another child with my dad?”

Luo Mu pursed her lips, her expression unnatural. She understood her father’s temperament; in his traditional worldview, bloodline was paramount—yet it was the shackle and yoke she could never unlock in her lifetime.

Step-mom was startled for a moment, then her expression smoothed out as she took a sip of ginger tea.

“Because having A-Shu and A-Mu is enough for me.”

Step-mom’s gaze was soft, her tone gentle.

Luo Mu understood; those were her true feelings.

Luo Mu always felt that she was born to be a mother. Step-mom hadn’t read many books; her love for children stemmed from her love for life, from her reverence for life and natural law—a mythological color condensed between heaven and earth. Step-mom had her faith, but Luo Mu always felt she was more merciful than the gods themselves.

Step-mom was only twenty-nine when she married into the family. Her relatives and family members had always urged her to have another child to “tether” Luo Zhicheng, the nouveau riche. Even Luo Zhicheng had dropped hints more than once. Though she was mild and gentle, her will was firm; she resolutely refused.

That resolve was born after seeing Luo Mu a few times. Nine-year-old Luo Mu, thin and dirty, would hide under the table like a startled hedgehog, curling herself into a dark corner. If anyone approached, she would let out a piercing scream. Her gaze was like that of a ferocious small beast—highly alert, yet flickering with fear.

Relatives had tried to comfort and win over the stubborn child, but as the attempts mounted, fatigue and annoyance set in. They eventually waved their hands and gave up on teaching her.

But that day, Step-mom stayed near her from dawn until dusk.

Step-mom had never told Ji Rongshu or Luo Mu about these things.

“Having you both is enough for me.” Step-mom tilted her lips slightly, her fingertip brushing away a stray hair from Luo Mu’s eyes. A traditional woman, long indoctrinated with the “Three Obediences and Four Virtues,” found her satisfaction in a happy home, the health of her family, and the growth of her children. That was all.

She was a daughter, a wife, a mother—but never herself.

“Watching you become excellent people… no, becoming the people you want to be.” Step-mom looked up, gazing at the swaying branches outside the window, and couldn’t help but smile. “How wonderful would that be?”

Luo Mu listened quietly to her murmurs and nodded slowly.

“Then what about you?” Step-mom suddenly asked her.

“What?” Luo Mu snapped back to attention.

“A-Mu, what is it that has trapped you?” Step-mom smiled faintly, showing a spark of pure tenderness.

What could possibly trap you?

Always looking compassionate, calm yet gentle, yet she always made people feel a lack of intimacy—much like the ungraspable wind at the peak of a green mountain. Yet her pupils trembled, like wild grass tortured by wind and rain, praying for a single drop of merciful nectar.

Luo Mu sat in a daze for a moment. Step-mom instead pouted slightly, complaining in a low voice.

“But A-Mu never talks to me about these things.”

She looked very much like an unreasonable young girl.

But perhaps Luo Mu had forgotten that the woman before her, soaked in the passage of time, was indeed once a young girl too.

Luo Mu let out a sigh. After several hesitations, she finally managed to utter a sentence.

“I always feel… like I’m a very bad person.”

It was true in the past, it was true now, and it would be even truer in the future. Always cruelly pushing away the person who trusted her most, never even giving that person a chance to ask why. Facing gods, facing mercy, she always wished for a power to recognize her own narrowness, her own shallowness, and her hidden dark side. A powerful defense mechanism bound her; the ethereal void made her live in shame.

But facing fate, she couldn’t bear it. She didn’t want that person’s pride to fall because of her; she couldn’t let that person bear a pain and tribulation that didn’t belong to her.

Luo Mu believed in fate too much.

“I always instinctively reject other people’s emotions, living like a hedgehog.” Luo Mu’s gaze was lowered, devoid of light, her hands inadvertently rubbing against each other. Her tone was full of self-blame. “But when faced with love, I become timid and hesitant.”

“Countless times I have fervently prayed for someone to tell me my future path, yet when I find out, I am so afraid.” Luo Mu suddenly choked up, her eyes moist.

What exactly am I afraid of?

“If I believe those words, I feel intense pain every time I see her. If I don’t believe them…” Luo Mu’s emotions were difficult to define, her thoughts turning chaotic. “If I don’t believe them, and if I really do make an extreme choice one day in the future and drag her down with me…”

Luo Mu’s eyes were crimson; she couldn’t go on.

Despite this, if faced with the same proposition again, Luo Mu would still make the same choice.

That person should live in the light, enjoying an environment of praise, walking toward a brilliant and glorious future, welcoming the gifts of life with a smooth path ahead. From then on, she should walk in the opposite direction of people like Luo Mu, never to meet again.

Since returning from Lingyang, for every inch Luo Mu drew closer to her, that prophecy was like a dagger, slicing through her skin. The heavy smell of blood spread rapidly from her nose and mouth. The wounds festered and oozed, constantly scabbing and constantly tearing—numb with pain, yet powerless to scream.

An intense sense of dread crashed against her rationality, announcing the arrival of a tragedy.

If someone avoids pain, someone else will bear it. It’s like a gamble, a confrontation, an endless dead knot.

—”Qingzhu, perhaps we aren’t suitable.”

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

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

But when Luo Mu said those words to Yan Qingzhu, there was no blame in Yan Qingzhu’s eyes. Instead, there was more shame and regret.

Her gaze had shattered along with the moonlight.

—”This is your choice. I respect you.”

Her tone was light, without a word of complaint.

And that Yan Qingzhu, who had looked up with trembling eyes, was destined to become Luo Mu’s yearning and her endless, painful regret. The kindness once shown to Luo Mu would cause her to chew over those memories repeatedly during countless tossing and turning late nights, aching so much she could find no peace.

So what trapped me?

Everything trapped me.

When Luo Mu returned to her bedroom, she realized the clock had passed eleven. Her body felt weak as she slumped into her chair, her gaze dazed, idly scanning her desk. Suddenly her gaze froze; she noticed the photo frame in the corner, containing a picture from last year’s Foreign Language Festival.

A red rose, posing with unbridled arrogance and cynicism, cut through the crowd’s line of sight to rest its gaze on its beloved white flower bud.

And that white flower bud had no name; it was just a wild flower that anyone among the masses could see, utterly ordinary. It even had flaws, barely able to peek its head out among a hundred flowers.

But that wild white flower was only innocently thinking it hadn’t woken up yet, unaware that love had arrived.

Luo Mu slammed the photo frame face down on the desk. After a few seconds of stunned silence, a wave of bitterness suddenly surged. She buried her face in her arms, unwilling to let anyone see the contortion of her features. The deeper she buried her head, the deeper her fingernails dug red marks into her arms. She didn’t cry heart-wrenchingly; there was no trembling, not even a single sound.

The tears were bitter and silent.