Hedgehog's Belly - Chapter 62

Chapter 62

The summer night in Lingyang was dry, and the cold air from the central conditioning made one shiver. The atmosphere suddenly turned dead quiet, as if sugar-coated glass shards had been exposed—enough to slit the other person’s throat.

Luo Mu’s gaze was sharp, prepared to tear away the facade of this fictional dream.

“Some things are not as simple as they seem.”

A look of startle flashed across Yan Yu’s face, as if she had grasped half the truth. Then, her expression gradually calmed; the composure and gentleness radiating from her bones made even the light in her eyes look pitiful.

“But Muzi-jie,”

She called out softly, her delicate voice mixed with the slight rasp unique to a teenage girl’s voice changing: “This is fundamentally something worth being happy about.”

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you, Muzi-jie.”

A smile bloomed at the corners of Yan Yu’s mouth, like a freshly baked butter cookie, wafting a sweet milky scent. Her arms curved slightly as she pulled Luo Mu into an embrace.

A very simple hug.

Just like when they were little and her Sister (A-jie) found out she’d won an award and would ask what reward she wanted. Yan Yu would shake her head, wanting nothing but a hug from her Sister.

It was a reminder to her that whether she was healed or scarred, she could receive a tenderness that money couldn’t buy.

“As long as there are no regrets.”

Yan Yu’s voice was light, just as her Sister had once told her.

It was like a tide of soft emotion that could reform all things, gradually dissolving the slight arrogance and bossiness Luo Mu had revealed.

Luo Mu’s face showed a flicker of surprise and hesitation. Looking at Yan Yu, she actually felt a surge of guilt. At this moment, this child truly shared a few similarities with Yan Qingzhu.

She slowly reached out, her fingertips gentle, and rubbed the younger girl’s cheek. The features were exquisite and refined, the bridge of the nose high; in both appearance and temperament, one could find traces of Yan Qingzhu in this child.

The most peculiar detail was the tiny mole embedded at the root of her nose—hiding an ultimate, secret allure within its peacefulness.

As expected, the child protected by Yan Qingzhu turned out this beautiful. Elegant and gentle, wrapped in respect and love, she had no need to direct sharpness at others.

Nor would she allow a blade to be pointed at herself.

Luo Mu nodded, acknowledging her words, her tone gradually weakening: “Yes, it is fundamentally a happy thing.”

“Yan Yu, I won’t regret it.”

Luo Mu’s eyes half-closed, her mellow, low voice hammering against her own heart. She lowered her gaze to the petals on the marble tabletop, picking them up one by one with care, the elegant floral scent staining her fingertips.

Of course, she wasn’t saying that for Yan Yu to hear.

Perhaps it was for Yan Qingzhu.

Or perhaps for Luo Mu herself.

Yan Yu caught her subtle emotional shift in a daze. She naturally knew that some things could be said and dared to be said, while others could only rot in the stomach, never to be voiced in a lifetime.

Once some words are spat out, they inevitably reveal one’s own narrowness and emptiness.

The sharp edge was destined to pierce through mercy. As an outsider, a helpless smile appeared between Yan Yu’s brows.

That was, after all, the person her Sister had personally screened to keep by her side.

After a few brief pleasantries, Yan Yu turned to return to her room: “Mm, goodnight. Muzi-jie, I wish you sweet dreams.”

Luo Mu admitted at this moment that Yan Yu was very smart.

Unfortunately, she was too smart.

Yan Yu naturally knew Luo Mu was trying to avoid the issue, but even so, she chose not to pursue it. On this point alone, she was indeed too similar to Yan Qingzhu.

The most terrifying person is always the shrewd one who plays the fool.

If Yan Yu had asked just a few more questions, it might have at least stirred a sense of compassion in Luo Mu.

But none of them did.

Luo Mu crushed several crimson, lustrous petals in her palm, rubbing them repeatedly. The thin sensation gradually vanished along with the clock hands pointing to 2:00 AM, leaving behind only shriveled, shapeless remains.

With the passing of years, her extremes were gradually surfacing.

Luo Mu threw the curled, broken petals into the trash can. If she really were to leave this time, she might choose never to come back.

Obsession. It was an obsession.

Her father’s enterprise was setting its sights on East Asia, and the Japanese market was destined to be a tough bone to pick. Lin Qiyun had many informants and had already pointed out a seemingly smooth path for Luo Mu.

The current Luo Mu was a moth waiting for an open flame. All she sought was that pathetic sense of validation from her father.

The warm-toned vintage crystal lamp had many pendants, the light refracting into fragmented shadows. The strap of her soft white silk dress slid off the corner of her shoulder, exposing a thin shoulder blade. Luo Mu’s eyes were half-closed, her pale fingers trembling slightly, struggling with complex, unbearable emotions.

In the corner of the obscure shadows, a distinct boundary was formed. The other woman slowly lifted her long lashes, taking everything in, her breathing unnaturally calm.

The place Luo Mu stayed most often was the living room.

The floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Lingyang river view were covered by thick curtains, instantly dimming the room. A Japanese youth drama was playing on the TV; the unique, delicate warm-yellow filter and the broad rooftop gave it an inherent sense of atmosphere.

Luo Mu sat cross-legged on the carpet, lazily leaning against the sofa. Her eyes were sharp as she whispered along with the protagonist’s intonation from the series.

Oppressed, yet mixed with a trace of comfort.

Yan Qingzhu brought over iced watermelon. On the coffee table, an opened aluminum can of Coke still bore traces of cold frost, accompanied by the sound of bubbles rising and bursting.

At that moment, the girl in the drama stood on the rooftop. The wind brushed past a corner of her school uniform skirt and made her ears turn red. The innocence of a new adult, combined with a bit of courage, led her to clumsily express her feelings to the girl she had long crushed on.

Suki desu.

I like you.

Yan Qingzhu caught the Chinese subtitles, an involuntary smile touching her lips as she intentionally leaned closer to Luo Mu.

Mimicking the girl’s lines from the TV, like a preschooler learning oral language, she whispered into Luo Mu’s ear: “Tsuki.”

Having never been in contact with Japanese, it was inevitable that her pronunciation was unclear.

Yet Yan Qingzhu insisted on playing smart in front of a professional.

Luo Mu’s brow furrowed slightly. Having worked as a Japanese tutor for high school seniors a few times, perhaps it was an occupational habit, but she instinctively corrected her: “It’s Suki.”

It’s “like,” not “moon.”

“I always feel like the word Tsuki is very familiar.”

Yan Qingzhu wasn’t interested in Japanese, but she felt this word had a sense of belonging, like an old friend. She lowered her head to rest on the corner of Luo Mu’s shoulder, the bridge of her nose slightly upturned, her profile lines very distinct.

The scent of bitter orange leaf slowly spread to the heart, rich and deep, melting into a bubbling hot spring. Glug, glug.

“It means the moon.”

Luo Mu explained, standing up to spear a piece of watermelon with a toothpick and stuffing it into Yan Qingzhu’s mouth.

But with the watermelon in her mouth, Yan Qingzhu tasted the sweetest part. She pondered for a moment, then shook her head and answered vaguely: “No, it doesn’t seem to mean that.”

Luo Mu couldn’t help but laugh, pinching the tip of her nose: “You know better now?”

Luo Mu looked up in a daze; Yan Qingzhu’s smile hadn’t faded. Luo Mu was suddenly stunned. The Yan Qingzhu before her had eyes like a peaceful shallow pond—a mere dragon-fly’s touch would be enough to startle layers of ripples.

It was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

The ambiguous background music of the drama began to play, and the montage-style halo shots made time stretch slowly.

Yan Qingzhu hadn’t forgotten, of course. Luo Mu had taught her.

Perhaps Yan Qingzhu didn’t understand, but Luo Mu did.

She really had taught her.

On the day of the hundred-day oath ceremony, wisteria hung down at the experimental building, and the scorching summer wind made the leaves rustle.

Yan Qingzhu had asked her to say a Japanese word, and without thinking, she had said her own name.

Tsubaki.

Only back then, even Luo Mu hadn’t expected that their next meeting would be two years later.

Two years later, Yan Qingzhu still remembered.

“Is it liking Tsuki?” Luo Mu’s nose felt a bit acidic. She gazed at the person before her with a gentle smile and spoke slowly.

Gradually, she pointed to herself: “Or liking Tsubaki?”

Yan Qingzhu grinned mischievously, intentionally mispronouncing the sounds: “Liking 487.”

Fine, she did understand.

“Okay, you win.” Luo Mu admitted defeat, nodding reluctantly: “You did that on purpose.”

Yan Qingzhu let out a low “He-he” like a child being stubborn. She habitually hugged Luo Mu from behind, burying her head in her shoulder and neck, her lips stealing a kiss on the small mole in the hollow of her collarbone—a hidden sense of charm mixed in.

Their hair tangled together, making Luo Mu’s neck itchy, yet she let her play.

She often felt that sometimes this person was like a cat.

A stray cat seeking comfort.

Warm breath dispersed on the smooth skin of her neck, like a dance of push and pull. It declared the emotions of this moment—like the final piece of silence before a mountain of snow collapses.

“Stop it.”

Luo Mu’s palm lightly pushed Yan Qingzhu’s jaw, allowing the two of them to retain a shred of remaining reason.

After an unknown amount of time, Luo Mu’s gaze returned to the TV screen. The filter in the drama was no longer bright, replaced by a continuous, damp rainy season. The crowd became low and heavy, and raindrops sliding off umbrellas soaked the suit of someone about to go for an interview.

As the plot progressed, the emotions of the show became gradually heavier. It was as if as soon as it touched the colors of reality, everything was covered by a grey, misty haze.

Everything lost its vitality, and emotions were no exception.

Yan Qingzhu held Luo Mu in her arms and asked airily: “What happened to them in the end?”

Luo Mu bit the straw of her Coke can and answered calmly: “It seems they separated.”

“Why did they separate?” Yan Qingzhu asked in surprise.

“Probably because of life.” Luo Mu’s tone was light. She watched the once-innocent girl in the drama start to calculate the pros and cons of life.

On a path full of flaws, one is destined to hear the sound of skin and bone tearing, of flesh and blood turning traitor.

Yan Qingzhu followed up habitually: “Opposition from those around them?”

“Probably… yes.” Luo Mu recalled plots of similar themes; it seemed that was the reason for most of them.

She also remembered a student she had tutored confiding that he had liked a girl for many years, but had faced long-term obstruction from his family. Even into university, that romance did not have a good ending.

Even if they liked each other very, very much.

Luo Mu’s long lashes flickered, her breathing slightly stagnant.

“Muzi-jie, are you afraid?” Yan Qingzhu interrupted Luo Mu’s thoughts, taking her slightly cool hand and interlocking their fingers.

Luo Mu felt a blurred sense of grievance from her and let out an involuntary laugh.

Suddenly, Luo Mu turned around and hooked her arms around Yan Qingzhu’s neck. Her lips lightly touched her skin, a brief and shallow taste.

The halo of light stealing through the curtains outlined their silhouettes.

On the TV screen, the lovers meeting again after many years were also moving through the surging crowd, their eyes meeting in the rain.

“I’m not afraid.”

Luo Mu’s answer was very natural—so natural she believed it herself: “I’ve cast the divination blocks to ask; the gods and Buddhas told me to rest easy.”

“Then did the gods ever say,”

Yan Qingzhu’s tone grew gradually solemn. Her knuckles lightly lifted Luo Mu’s chin, as if she were admiring a perfect piece of artistic porcelain.

Exquisite, yet most easily broken.

“Between you and me, who exactly is the one… with ulterior motives?”

Word by word, they landed on the floor.

But they could not be broken down to be understood.

Like an invisible dagger hidden in every detail of pleasure. Waiting for the chance to strike, to sever all of the other’s dignity.

At the moment of stalling, Luo Mu’s breath condensed into a tight, untouchable line.

These words were exceptionally jarring to her.

“Oh?”

Luo Mu lowered her gaze, her clean, slender fingers tracing Yan Qingzhu’s brows and eyes.

“Are you suspecting that I… have secrets from you?”