When Spring Awakens - Chapter 8

“I remember.” Wen Wanbing belatedly realized she was being teased, her ears growing faintly warm.

She straightened up and quickly closed the car door.

Even as the car drove away, it felt as if Fu Junxue’s silvery laughter still lingered in the air.

The wide road, soaked by rain, blended into the night. Cars flowed like water, their headlights shimmering through the mist like a long, silent rope connecting them.

A peculiar sensation filled Wen Wanbing’s muddled mind, lingering until she arrived home.

The living room was empty. The gifts Hai Ling had given were stacked in the corner of the entryway by He Xiuying. The space was already cramped, and now the shoe cabinet door could only open halfway, making it difficult to take out or put away shoes.

Wen Wanbing glared at the obstructive gift boxes and sighed.

He Xiuying emerged from her room, walked to the living room, and noticed the kettle was empty. Carrying it to the kitchen, she passed the entryway and saw the scene.

Her brow furrowed slightly before relaxing again. Rubbing her temples, she said, “You’re back.”

Wen Wanbing immediately composed herself and replied with a quiet “Mm.” Then she pulled out her phone and messaged Hai Ling: Thank you for your kindness, but we don’t need these things. I’ll return them to you tomorrow please refund them.

“Xiao Shui.” He Xiuying leaned against the wall, eyeing the pile of gifts, and finally voiced the question Wen Xing had interrupted during their video call earlier. “How are things between you and Hai Ling?”

“What do you mean, how are things?” Wen Wanbing frowned. “I don’t like him.”

“Why not?” He Xiuying was puzzled. “He’s such a good catch.”

Hai Ling replied: Those items include skincare for you, health supplements for your mom, and toys for Xingxing. They’re not random things, I thought you might need them.

Wen Wanbing typed back: I don’t like owing people. If I need something, I’ll buy it myself. Please don’t spend money on us anymore.

He Xiuying continued, “See, you can’t even give a reason. You just say you don’t like him. I think Hai Ling is great tall, handsome, well-off, and most importantly, he’s good to Xingxing.”

“Mom, I told you, I don’t like him. I could never like J—” Wen Wanbing swallowed the words before they escaped.

“Nothing’s impossible,” He Xiuying said dismissively. “You might grow to like him if you give it a chance.”

At the same time, Hai Ling sent another message: This isn’t about owing me anything. I don’t expect anything in return, don’t overthink it.

Wen Wanbing ran a hand through her hair in frustration and took a deep breath.

Suddenly, she understood why Fu Junxue always left her with such an inexplicable feeling.

Because no one had ever cared about what she liked or disliked.

It was like catching a glimpse of light in the shadows something so rare and precious that the caged beast buried deep within her began to stir in its slumber.

Her phone buzzed, vibrating against her palm. Behind her, He Xiuying rambled on, “What’s the use of just liking someone? Look at what happened before you liked the wrong person, and what was the result? He didn’t even care about his own child and ended up causing trouble everywhere. It’s better to find someone with good character who treats you well. Feelings can develop over time.”

“But having a good impression of someone and them being a good person aren’t mutually exclusive, it’s not an either-or choice,” Wen Wanbing interrupted He Xiuying’s nagging. Pulled by her emotions, her words came out rushed and sharp. “Besides, I already said it’s impossible for me to like him. Impossible means even if I were to die.”

A loud clang cut her off, the sound of a kettle hitting the floor.

Her heart lurched in panic, and Wen Wanbing immediately turned to look at He Xiuying.

“What nonsense about dying?” He Xiuying’s face was deathly pale, her eyes hollow, as if she couldn’t comprehend Wen Wanbing’s words.

She licked her lips repeatedly, sinking into a state of extreme anxiety. Pacing back and forth, her words became disjointed: “Why talk about dying? I’m only doing this for your own good! I just want you want you to have a good future! You can’t, you can’t keep getting tangled up with that person, don’t you understand? He’s just like your father!”

Her voice suddenly halted. He Xiuying’s eyes widened as she clutched her head, murmuring, “Mom was wrong, Mom was wrong. I shouldn’t have said these things to you. But Mom only wants what’s best for you.”

Her words grew increasingly disordered, her voice not loud but sharpening with each syllable, tinged with unmistakable sobs. It was like a rough, pointed beak pecking relentlessly at Wen Wanbing, chipping away at her upright posture until her spine bent little by little.

She should have noticed earlier when Wen Xing lost control of her emotions, He Xiuying would be affected too.

Her phone vibrated a second time, but Wen Wanbing had no time to care. She stepped forward and gently pulled He Xiuying’s hands down. “I know. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know.” He Xiuying gripped Wen Wanbing’s wrist tightly, staring fixedly at the scar on her hand. Large tears rolled down her face as she choked out, trembling, “You don’t know. Shui Shui, if you were gone, how could I go on living? How could I? Mom was wrong, Mom was wrong. I shouldn’t have said these things to you.”

He Xiuying rubbed the scar as if to confirm its existence, pressing harder and harder without pause until the skin turned red.

It hurt, the pain seeped from the scar straight into her heart.

Wen Wanbing’s long lashes trembled faintly, her eyes reddening as glistening tears welled up. She patted He Xiuying’s hand soothingly, her throat as rough as if scraped by coarse sand, her voice hoarse as she forced out the words: “I won’t disappear. It’s okay. Mom didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

Under her reassurance, He Xiuying took deep, shuddering breaths.

Once she had calmed somewhat, Wen Wanbing guided her to the sofa, turned on the TV to her usual channel, and sat with her, hoping to distract her.

Only when He Xiuying finally released her grip did Wen Wanbing stand up.

He Xiuying immediately grabbed her again, tense. “Where are you going?”

Wen Wanbing patted her hand and managed a strained smile. “I’m going to boil water. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

He Xiuying loosened her grip, slowly and hesitantly.

Wen Wanbing picked up the kettle and went to the kitchen to boil water. Once it was ready, she poured a cup, waited for it to cool slightly, then stirred in a sleeping aid before bringing it to He Xiuying.

She stayed by her side until the medication took effect and He Xiuying grew drowsy, then helped her to bed and watched her fall asleep before quietly retreating to her own room.

The room was large but sparsely furnished, making it feel hollow. Yet Wen Wanbing still felt suffocated, as if the four walls were pressing in on her.

She tugged at her collar, desperate for air.

With a forceful tug, the thread snapped, and the button flew off, landing on the floor with a sound that was neither crisp nor dull.

As she took off her shirt, her phone slipped from the pocket and fell to the floor, the screen lighting up to show two missed calls.

Wen Wanbing’s fingers curled around the hem of her camisole, pausing just two centimeters away from the uneven scar. Her gaze lowered, fixed on the phone screen.

The calls she had deliberately ignored weren’t from Hailing, they were from Fu Junxue.

Once again, the image of Fu Junxue sitting in the car, speaking to her, surfaced in her mind those soft, alluring red lips parting to say words that stirred something deep within her.

The screen dimmed, plunging the room back into darkness. Wen Wanbing, like a deflated balloon, slowly crouched down and leaned against the bed, picking up the phone. She pressed the screen to life and hesitated for a moment in the faint glow before dialing back.

Ring after ring echoed, almost syncing with the pounding of her own heartbeat.

It felt like an eternity, though in reality, only about twenty seconds had passed before the call connected.

“Hmm?” Fu Junxue’s voice sounded as if she had just woken up, the syllables lazily clinging to her tongue, muffled yet laced with a certain intimacy as she called out, “Wen Wanbing?”

Wen Wanbing glanced at the clock on the bedside table 1:15 a.m.

It was very late.

A soft thud and the sticky mewl of a cat came through the phone, followed by Fu Junxue’s exasperated yet fond sigh.

Her voice drifted in and out, distant then close.

“You little troublemaker. Wen Wanbing.”

Thinking Wen Wanbing hadn’t heard the first call of her name, Fu Junxue repeated it into the phone.

Strung together, it almost sounded as if the coquettish “little troublemaker” had been directed at her.

Wen Wanbing swallowed, offering a sincere apology. “Sorry, I didn’t realize the time. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”

Fu Junxue chuckled on the other end, the sound light and pleasant. When she spoke again, her voice still carried a hint of sleepiness and the dry rasp of a parched throat. “I’m not blaming you.”

Wen Wanbing lowered her lashes slightly. Moonlight spilled across the floor, stretching all the way to her hand. She curled her fingers, as if she could feel the temperature of the silvery glow.

Fu Junxue seemed to be drinking water Wen Wanbing could hear the soft sound of swallowing, faint yet distinct in the quiet.

Unbidden, the image of Fu Junxue with a flattened straw between her lips, throat bobbing as she sipped lemon tea, replayed in her mind. Wen Wanbing closed her eyes briefly before steering the conversation back on track. “Why did you call me earlier?”

“Oh! I called to tell you that the original material for the stars isn’t available anymore. But there’s something similar we can use instead, it’s just not with me. I’ll have a friend bring it over tomorrow.” Fu Junxue said. “Bring the clips with you too, so I can see how to work with them. You can also pick out what you like.”

“Okay,” Wen Wanbing replied.

“Mmm…” Fu Junxue drawled lazily, stretching the single syllable into three.

Silence followed. Logically, the call should have ended there, no need to waste more time. But at this moment, Wen Wanbing didn’t want to hang up.

Even if there were no words, just hearing the other person’s breath would be enough.

The other side wasn’t completely silent either. There was the sound of movement, followed by what might have been a door or a window being opened.

Fu Junxue said, “It’s raining again.”

“Is it?” Wen Wanbing looked down, noticing how the moonlight had grown faint.

“Can you hear it? The sound of the rain.”

Fu Junxue’s voice grew distant, as if she had moved the phone away. Wen Wanbing could hear the wind, though she wasn’t sure if it carried the rain with it.

“You know what,” Fu Junxue said, “the sound of rain in the city is different from the sound of rain in the mountains.”

Wen Wanbing thought of the camping photos in Fu Junxue’s social media feed.

“Fu Junxue.” It was the first time she had called her by name.

On the other end of the line, Fu Junxue fell silent for four or five seconds. “Hmm?”

Wen Wanbing curled her legs up, shrinking into the smallest possible form, completely melting into the shadows. “How can one briefly escape the city?”

Fu Junxue seemed stumped by the question and didn’t respond.

Wen Wanbing didn’t wait either. Her fingertip tapped the center of a hair tie that had fallen to the floor, and she let out a soft breath through her nose something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Have you ever felt trapped by something?”

“Yes.” This time, Fu Junxue answered quickly.

A flicker of surprise passed through Wen Wanbing’s eyes.

Elegant and refined manners, a carefree and unrestrained attitude, direct yet polite questions even her bold and unconventional career, all these signs had led Wen Wanbing to believe that Fu Junxue was someone who couldn’t be bound by anything.

She had only asked casually, yet the answer had caught her off guard.

The rain grew heavier, pattering noisily against the window across from her. The misty haze deepened the night outside, blurring the darkness.

“Wen Wanbing, you’re unhappy.” Fu Junxue’s voice carried concern, soft and gentle.

A statement, not a question.

She didn’t ask, “What’s wrong?” There was no follow-up, leaving the choice to speak entirely in Wen Wanbing’s hands.

With precision and tenderness, she had pierced the transparent bubble encasing Wen Wanbing. Pop, it burst in an instant, scattering droplets that refracted a kaleidoscope of complex colors before dissolving into the heavy night.

“I’m not unhappy,” Wen Wanbing said, her voice calm and steady. “It’s late. I won’t disturb your rest any longer.”

Before Fu Junxue could reply, she decisively ended the call.

After a moment, Wen Wanbing unlocked her phone. The screen showed no notifications.

Fu Junxue hadn’t reached out.

Wen Wanbing exhaled in relief, though she didn’t feel any lighter.

Absentmindedly, she opened her social media feed and suddenly remembered she hadn’t liked her colleagues’ posts. She scrolled through the afternoon tea photos they had shared, tapping the like button on each one.

When she returned to the top, a new post appeared:

[Snowflake]: “Actually, as long as you dare to take the first step, every step after becomes easier.”

The accompanying photo had a vintage, old-film aesthetic under the glow of a dim streetlamp. In the center of the frame, a delicate hand reached out, fingertips touching the rain, freezing time in that moment.

Wen Wanbing stared at it for a long time before leaning back against the edge of the bed, tilting her head up until the back of her skull rested against the mattress. Her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she took a deep, slow breath, trying to steady herself.

She felt like someone who had been adrift at sea for far too long, suddenly coming across a beautiful island.

Yearning to swim ashore for a brief respite, yet acutely aware that the island held not just beauty but also unknown dangers.

And one day, the island would disappear.

When that happened, she would return to where she started, drifting even more alone than before.

Wen Wanbing closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly. When she opened them again, her gaze landed on a small clip resting on her pillow.

The aquamarine planet on the clip faintly shimmered with light.

Wen Wanbing reached out and grasped it in her hand, the broken edge of the metal ring pressing uncomfortably against her palm.

“Accompany the other person to do what they want to try but dare not attempt alone.”

The words from the interview video replayed incessantly in Wen Wanbing’s mind.

She knew very well it wasn’t necessary.

Yet she stood at the edge of reason, lucidly succumbing to confusion.

The digital clock by the bed flickered numbers continuously. The rain had stopped, and the screen displayed the time: 02:51:48.

Fu Junxue received a WeChat message.

[“Let’s give it a try.”]

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