Inertial Dependence - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: What Did You Give Me to Drink? So Hot

The plum rain season is truly that loathsome.

The pitter-patter of the rain instantly submerged An Chixu’s ears. She felt as though she were drowning, yet she no longer struggled; her clear eyes watched the rising and falling bubbles as she herself sank heavily, until only a single beam of light remained in her vision.

Yan Ciwei never avoided eye contact.

In the year they met, Yan Ciwei loved looking at her like this. Back then in the classroom, Yan Ciwei sat behind An Chixu and counted every single strand of her hair. She would quietly braid her hair, write words on her back… This top-three student did every “bad” thing imaginable to An Chixu.

Since then, An Chixu remembered Yan Ciwei’s gaze. It was always blunt and complex. It held more than just affection.

An Chixu lowered her eyes and glanced again at the IV catheter on the back of Yan Ciwei’s hand. She really did have a fever. She shouldn’t have gotten out of the car; she shouldn’t have brought the umbrella; she shouldn’t have stood in the rain. An Chixu had many “shouldn’ts” to return to Yan Ciwei, but in the end, she said nothing.

The rain grew heavier, confusedly driving away the fans who had come for the promotional event. Shen Jibai was a bit of an unlucky soul; nothing she did ever seemed to hit the mark. An Chixu was powerless; she couldn’t stop the unpredictable whims of the heavens. Nor could she stop a feeling of longing.

An Chixu gave up.

“Jibai, are you ready?” She walked toward her designated position. She needed to help Shen Jibai go over the upcoming performance.

“Sister An.” Shen Jibai’s excitement was evident; the light on her face was more colorful than before. “I’m a bit nervous. This is the first time I’m attending this kind of event alone—well, not alone, I mean the two of us.” She was only sixteen and couldn’t yet hide her emotions well. When she was happy, her eyes looked like amber.

It wasn’t that An Chixu didn’t notice. It was just that Shen Jibai was too young, and their relationship was complicated. She couldn’t be the “bad adult” who poked a hole through the paper window, nor could she give Shen Jibai the love she wanted; she could only wait for the teenager’s longing to fade.

“Is there anything I’m scheduled to do?” Her understanding of the “persona” was still stuck on the instructions from above.

An Chixu had originally prepared a plan. At the event, what Shen Jibai should say to maintain her persona, and what she should do to make the fans believe she was a rebellious “cool kid”—the version of themselves they couldn’t be. Every detail of the event had been preset. Even the fans leading the cheering and the fans asking questions were actors arranged by the company.

Real fans were too uncontrollable. The pedantic high-level executives hated that feeling of uncontrollability.

An Chixu met Shen Jibai’s iridescent eyes, and her hand reaching for the plan suddenly paused. The company’s arrangement was unreasonable. An Chixu had known this for a long time.

Some people adapted to playing a persona very well. Take Pei Luochen, for example—onstage and offstage were completely different worlds. She etched the distant, cool side onto her surface, while her true, casual, and flighty nature remained untouched. Others integrated the persona into themselves. Zhou Yanxi had a shy and gentle persona; after playing it for a long time, she became that slightly timid and pitiful person in real life.

But Shen Jibai was different from them.

Shen Jibai was not a good actor. She was enthusiastic and hardworking, but she couldn’t grasp the essence of a persona; she could only follow the written instructions she was given. So, was it necessary to follow the company’s orders?

An Chixu glanced to the right. In the shadows, the most familiar silhouette loomed; a sliver of light quietly reached her, grasping her. Like a pull, a control—the thing Yan Ciwei was always doing. …But also like encouragement.

An Chixu withdrew her hand.

“Shen Jibai.” An Chixu placed her palm on the teenager’s shoulder. Once, no one had ever said these words to her. The person she loved most had worn down her courage and her sense of self. Ten years later, this was the only way she could remind her past self.

“Just be yourself.” This was the only “persona” she left for Shen Jibai this time.

Shen Jibai looked up in shock, her mouth hanging open.

“Go do what you want to do. Say what you want to say. Haven’t you always wanted to thank those few fans who come to see you every time? You even wrote replies to them. Go tell them what you’re thinking.”

As An Chixu spoke, her expression was so different. Shen Jibai stared at An Chixu, feeling that the halo around her had expanded slightly, so dazzling she almost didn’t dare look directly at it.

“But, but Sister An,” Shen Jibai withdrew her gaze, subconsciously defending her habit. “What if it fails? What if they don’t like me like this?”

An Chixu couldn’t give her a guarantee. An idol “being themselves” was different from her doing so. As an adult, An Chixu could withstand a professional failure. But could sixteen-year-old Shen Jibai handle the backlash of deviating from the setting?

“Then, here is the backup.” An Chixu still brought out the script she had prepared. No one can escape their past in a single step—not even twenty-five-year-old An Chixu. Placing her ideals onto a younger sister was still too heavy. Her own self-salvation shouldn’t involve others.

An Chixu said no more.

Shen Jibai went to the side to memorize the script, looking quite pained. The persona was too different from who she was; she had actually been dissatisfied with it for a long time. When the previous persona planner was in charge, Shen Jibai had to spend several times longer than her teammates to figure out the persona and rehearse, which greatly affected her professional training. Her singing and dancing levels declined, and her popularity dropped even further.

That was why that planner had been transferred away. After An Chixu arrived, Shen Jibai’s life had become much easier. Only An Chixu would spend time with her, learn her habits and preferences, and build her mask based on her reality. Yet, even with all that pain, Shen Jibai had never thought about breaking free from the persona and showing her true self.

The next steps had nothing to do with An Chixu. She turned her head to look for Yan Ciwei, only to realize that the gaze that had been fixed on her had disappeared at some point.

Gone?

An Chixu’s brow furrowed slightly, but within a breath, she put the matter aside. Better to see what Shen Jibai chooses.

“What is she to her? Are they close? Can’t her liking be seen?”

An Chixu just wanted to go to the restroom when she heard the familiar voice. It was quite sour. In her memory, Yan Ciwei was always confident, possessing a commanding arrogance and a refreshing humility. It had been too long since An Chixu heard this tone; her sealed memories began to stir. Her breathing stopped for a second, but without much hesitation, she walked toward the corner where Yan Ciwei was.

“You didn’t leave.” It was as if she had no awareness of catching Yan Ciwei badmouthing someone behind their back. An Chixu’s tone was as calm as ever.

On the contrary, after being caught red-handed, the tips of Yan Ciwei’s ears turned as red as a sweet guava. She bit her lip, and a stray tear inexplicably appeared at the corner of her eye. She quickly hid the item in her hand behind her back.

An Chixu’s gaze was drawn to her movement, and she caught a glimpse of a mass of cotton—it seemed to be a punctured cloth doll. Was Yan Ciwei… stabbing a doll to vent her anger?

An Chixu didn’t quite understand Yan Ciwei’s actions, so she simply ignored her abnormality. Yan Ciwei adjusted quickly. In an instant, aside from the misty tears in her eyes, she had returned to the version An Chixu was familiar with.

“Tuantuan, were you looking for me?” Only now did An Chixu realize Yan Ciwei’s voice was a bit hoarse. She was still wearing the fever patch and the IV catheter. Coming to such a crowded place with a fever… a ripple of emotion flashed in An Chixu’s eyes.

“I was looking for you.” An Chixu shook her head, took out a spare mask, and handed it to Yan Ciwei. Yan Ciwei took it subconsciously, then felt a pang of regret. What a missed opportunity; I should have lowered my head and let An Chixu put it on for me.

“Will you still be here later?” An Chixu watched as Yan Ciwei put on the mask. The cloth doll she had hidden had disappeared. Yan Ciwei only had the fragility of her fever left; the mist in her eyes wouldn’t dissipate, and her breathing carried the light panting of a cough.

“Where do you want me to be?” Her voice came through the mask, muffled. It was as if there was a thick fog between them. An Chixu could barely even see Yan Ciwei’s face clearly. Was that long-awaited face still carrying a smile of affection? Did Yan Ciwei not have a single trace of the bitterness of longing or the pain of separation?

An Chixu looked away.

“You… here is fine, too.” She had originally wanted to let Yan Ciwei decide, but she had subconsciously handed the power back to her. An Chixu was slightly annoyed, her brow furrowed prettily.

“Wait for me for fifteen minutes.” Having said that, An Chixu left without explaining what she was going to do. Yan Ciwei silently watched her go. Looking at her alluring figure, her heartstrings trembled. Only An Chixu could treat her like this—abandoning her or remaining silent. And she drank in the pain like it was sweet nectar.

An Chixu really did come back. She walked toward Yan Ciwei carrying medicine and a thermos. Yan Ciwei was like her obedient doll; for the entire twelve minutes, she hadn’t moved a step. Her eyelashes remained lowered, clinging to unshed tears. Her cheeks were still flushed, half-hidden by the mask.

Seeing An Chixu arrive, she looked up, her eyes as lovely as flower petals.

“Tuantuan.” Yan Ciwei’s joy was irrepressible. She was like a young girl of fifteen or sixteen again; seeing her crush, her invisible fluffy tail wagged into a blur.

An Chixu handed the medicine to Yan Ciwei and unscrewed the thermos lid. It was a bowl of hot ginger sugar water. Yan Ciwei didn’t know how An Chixu had prepared so much in just fifteen minutes. This was the best thing to happen recently. Yan Ciwei tried to slow her blinking, wanting to stretch out their time together.

“Drink some.” An Chixu held the thermos to Yan Ciwei’s eyes.

Yan Ciwei pulled down her mask and lowered her head. “I want Tuantuan to feed me.” She was quite shameless.

An Chixu knew her well and gave a light sneer.

“Yan Ciwei.” She didn’t perform such an ambiguous act. The thermos landed steadily in Yan Ciwei’s palm. “I feel that, since you’re this sick, I am also responsible.” It wasn’t that she wanted to accept her again.

An Chixu’s eyes held a trace of a smile. Yan Ciwei stared for a long time before she realized it wasn’t joy or attraction. It was mockery.

She slowly swallowed the ginger sugar water. It was clearly her favorite sweetness, but the ginger was spicy and choking, stimulating a heat throughout her body.

“You told me to hate you.” An Chixu remained silent for a long time before leaning beside her and speaking slowly. Yan Ciwei’s brain hummed in anticipation. She wanted to stop An Chixu from continuing but was powerless to do so.

“I tried, but I can’t do it.” After saying that, An Chixu looked at Yan Ciwei. There was no hate in her eyes. Hating Yan Ciwei brought her no pleasure. But there was no love either.

The sixteen-year-old An Chixu had long been buried by time. They shouldn’t have a relationship anymore.

Yan Ciwei’s gaze trembled; it was an earthquake. Within her eyes, heaven and earth were collapsing; tears were a tsunami about to burst forth. On the surface, only her teeth chattered slightly. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something.

Hate me, An Chixu. Hurt me, sting me, scold me, hit me. I beg you…

In the end, Yan Ciwei only murmured, biting her lip in pain. An Chixu saw everything and felt a sense of guilt, so she caressed Yan Ciwei. Unwilling to have further entanglements, she merely touched the back of Yan Ciwei’s hand.

“Then come back and love me,” Yan Ciwei spoke hurriedly, trying to grab An Chixu’s hand. “I need you, Tuantuan, I…” Yan Ciwei met An Chixu’s eyes.

The indifferent, tactful rejection extinguished Yan Ciwei. They stared at each other for so long—long enough for the ginger sugar water in the thermos lid to turn completely cold. An Chixu finally withdrew her gaze before Yan Ciwei could cry.

“Take care of yourself.” An Chixu left. She didn’t look back, just like that night of the sudden downpour. Parting was also a sudden storm. Yan Ciwei, in the end, couldn’t stop it.

As her lover’s figure vanished into the clamor, Yan Ciwei miserably bit through her lip, her tears washing away the color of the blood. She pulled off the mask, wanting to throw it away but unable to bear it; she folded it cherishedly and hid it in her pocket.

Yan Ciwei ripped the IV catheter from her hand. The pain helped her find herself again. The continuously rising fever made her heart race. Her blood was overturned by a bowl of ginger soup, turning into scalding lava.

Yan Ciwei slumped to the floor, burying her head to hide the bean-sized tears and the mess beneath her. She couldn’t tell anyone. During these two days of separation, these two days of high fever—that “ghost” had not let her go.

In the moments she missed An Chixu most, she could only rely on the “ghost’s” touch and her imagination. The fever wouldn’t break. Her heart, too, had a fever. It was like a great flood descending between her skirts.

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