It was late when they arrived home on that rainy night. Fortunately, the power was back on.

Though tucked under the raincoat, the beauty masks Yan Xi bought—Wang Qiang, Lu Zhu, Hong Xian, and Wen Ji—were still damp. Their eyebrows and eyes, which looked as if painted with real rouge, showed signs of running. Yan Xi frowned, stepped onto the loft, retrieved the hot air fan used for drying paintings, and turned it on full power to dry the masks.

A Heng watched those delicate hands carefully holding the masks near the fan, maintaining the position for a long time without any sign of impatience. He was always unbelievably devoted to things he cared about.

A Heng smiled, glanced at him, and quietly sat on the sofa knitting a scarf.

Yan Xi pursed his lips: “Why so serious? For those one, two, three…”

A Heng was puzzled: “What one, two, three?”

Yan Xi raised his eyebrows: “One is one, two is two, three is three!”

A Heng burst out laughing: “And four is still four!” What nonsense.

“The gray one, is it for Si Wan?” Yan Xi glanced sideways, his black pupils gleaming with a hint of disdain.

A Heng froze, looked at the gray yarn in her hands, and nodded vaguely.

“Hmph.” He flipped over Wen Ji’s mask, slightly pouting. His thick, soft black hair covered his eyes, making him look exceedingly childish.

More time passed, long enough for the rain outside to intensify with the wild wind, accompanied by an endless succession of thunder and lightning.

“Looks like the rain won’t stop tonight.” A Heng put away her knitting needles and looked up with a smile at Yan Xi.

Yan Xi had long since dried the masks and was now sitting cross-legged on the sofa, idly playing with the beauty masks. He was focused on this, determined to ignore A Heng.

A Heng stood up and yawned softly: “You should get some rest too.” As she turned to leave, someone caught the hem of her clothes from behind.

“A Heng, tonight, I’m sleeping with you.”

A Heng frowned: “Why?”

Yan Xi pointed outside, half plaintive, half serious: “It’s raining.”

She turned around, patted the young man’s head, and said pleasantly: “You’re male, I’m female, understand?”

Yan Xi declared righteously: “It doesn’t matter, you can be my son all the same. I don’t mind that you’re a woman.”

A Heng smiled slightly and pushed away his hand: “Sorry, but I mind that you’re a man.”

She turned and went upstairs.

When she turned on the radio, her favorite channel was just starting.

The time before last, the hotline caller was a mother worried about her daughter’s puppy love; last time, it was a white-collar man under heavy work pressure; this time, it was a wife whose husband was having an affair.

She wasn’t gossipy enough to be particularly interested in others’ family matters; she just wanted to hear the hopeful tone in the voices of those helpless people when they dialed in. Like the last piece of driftwood grabbed by a drowning person. It was that moment when gentle electric currents struck the eardrum, the unstoppable moisture at the corner of one’s eyes, simply because amidst loneliness and heartbreak, there finally arose a desire to confide, regardless of whether the “dear sister” or “dear brother” on the line was truly understanding.

“You believe in this?” Yan Xi stood at the doorway holding a pillow, looking at the radio, his tone somewhat dry.

A Heng looked up at the young man, wearing soft pajamas, his features quiet and desolate.

She pressed her lips together and smiled: “Listening to this is just a habit. Besides, whether I believe or not isn’t important, is it?”

What’s important is whether those who confide still have the instinct and impulse to trust others.

“But if human suffering could be solved with just a few words, would this world still make sense?” he spoke plainly, with a touch of coldness.

“What kind of world makes sense?” A Heng narrowed her eyes.

“The kind where the strong prey on the weak, where traps lie everywhere…” Yan Xi smiled faintly, his palm skin wrinkling, “The kind that gives you lots of warmth, then shatters and destroys it in an instant with a reality a hundred times more cruel than that warmth; the kind that allows you to resist when fate humiliates you, yet brings more humiliation when you do resist; the kind where when you want to live well for a warm reason, the whole world sees you as a monster.”

A Heng furrowed her brows in silence, contemplating something.

He came forward, gently knelt on the bed, and smiled at her at eye level: “A Heng, more than the way this world is, I’m afraid of the way you are, the way you think about things. It’s as if, in the next second, you’ll see right through everything.”

A Heng watched him with her delicate, clear gaze, frowning: “Yan Xi, what you’re afraid of isn’t me, but yourself… I was just wondering why you suddenly appeared in my room.”

His right hand held a tin of milk cookies, offering them somewhat awkwardly: “I wanted to ask if you’d like some cookies?”

What a poor excuse. A Heng sighed, smiled, and shifted slightly to the right under the covers: “Come in, it’s cold outside.”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted cookies.” He turned his face away, blushing slightly as he slipped in, carefully closing his eyes, yet not touching even the edge of A Heng’s clothes.

“I know.” A Heng pulled the blanket up to cover him and pulled the table lamp cord.

“Still want to listen to this?” In the darkness, Yan Xi’s finger rested on the radio’s “Stop” button. From the radio came a man’s characteristically warm, magnetic voice; the hotline segment had ended, and he was now playing some popular music.

“These songs will keep you awake,” Yan Xi’s head sank into the soft pillow, “How can there be so many people neither dead nor alive after breakups, with nothing better to do than sing love songs?”

A Heng smiled faintly, used to it. She reached out her arm, reaching past Yan Xi to turn off the radio, but touched clear, delicate finger bones.

She froze, breathed, withdrew her hand, and spoke plainly: “Turn it off then.”

Then she closed her eyes, though the fingertips of her left hand still tingled.

“A Heng, are there any good fishing songs from Wu Shui?” He rustled, and turned over, his back to A Heng.

A Heng curved her lips: “I suppose… there are.” She asked him, “Would you like to hear one?”

Yan Xi reached out, gently took her hand, and wrapped it in his palm, swaying it up and down softly, a nodding gesture.

Her voice was soft and sweet, not suited for bright fishing songs. But even if she sang off-key, however terribly, she would only let him hear it.

“In the Wu Mo mountains oh, in the Wu Mo waters oh, Wu Mo maiden oh, start singing oh, reunion at the song platform brings joy oh, fish from all directions come oh; to sing we must sing fishing songs oh, to plant flowers we must plant them in rows oh, painted eyebrows won’t call without radiance oh, mountain songs make the heart bright when sung oh…”

Yan Xi burst out laughing: “Oh oh, indeed, I’m still more suited to listening to rock music.”

A Heng’s voice halted, she opened her eyes, her pupils bright but pained: “Yan Xi, do you want to hear the rest?”

Yan Xi held her hand, every inch of her fingers almost burning, gently swaying her fingers in a head-shaking gesture.

A Heng fell silent, slightly turning her gaze to the young man, his features peaceful, as if about to fall asleep at any moment.

Suddenly, she had a wild thought, constantly echoing in her mind: was this perhaps the only chance in this lifetime to sing for him?

She opened her mouth, seeming to start with a gentle, clear voice, but her throat caught, and she only mouthed the words, silent.

She would silently finish this fishing song, just for this young man beside her, frozen in her heart at such a beautiful age, so precious.

Wu Mo water clear oh;

Fish swim in clear water oh;

Brother asks sister oh, who sings best oh;

Tree’s connected flowers half bloom oh, this wind chime rings most touching oh;

Lotus stem breaks but the water lotus connects oh, that oar pushing waves sounds clearest oh;

Sister yearns oh, sister’s true heart brother also knows;

The spider weaves web at Wu water’s mouth, oh, water can’t break true silk oh;

Brother yearns oh, brother’s true heart sister also knows;

Selling lotus roots at crossroads oh, knife can’t cut thread from thread, thread from thread oh;

A Brother knows and sister knows, fish with knowledge gather together oh;

Flowers with knowledge bloom together;

Birds with knowledge fly in pairs oh;

If people know oh;

Match for a hundred years oh.

If people have knowledge match for a hundred years.

She thought, he would never know the second half of this song, no matter how melodious. Then, she fell into deep sleep.

That night, she slept so sweetly.

Only, after some unknown time, as if the clock’s marks were slowing, he quietly sat up, gently releasing her hand from his grasp.

He curled up his legs, his long fingers covering her sleeping eyes, smiling beautifully: “A Heng, let me tell you a story, will you listen quietly?”

He smiled softly, his slightly upturned mouth corners showing the purest expression.

He said, A Heng, do you know the fastest way to destroy a man’s dignity? A Heng, I’ll tell you, it’s very simple, just get a group of people, when he’s conscious and able to struggle, gang-rape him until he can’t struggle anymore; when he loses consciousness, splash him with cold water to wake him up, make him watch, eyes wide open, as he’s taken by a group of… men.

He said, A Heng, especially when the person behind all this is someone you trust and respect the most.

He said, A Heng, I lied, I told Grandfather it was done by one person. Grandfather asked me what that person looked like, and then, my head hurt so much. Such heavy rain, so many people, which one should I describe? The one with the long beard, or the one with the hooked nose? The one whose wart above the left eye turned red at the climax, or the one who broke my ribs? I saw everything so clearly, clearly enough to draw every stroke, yet I couldn’t describe it to Grandfather. Strange, isn’t it…

He said, A Heng, Si Wan knows too. I lied to him as well, I said it was a woman who did it, then, I said I was drugged. But, A Heng I wasn’t drugged, I was so clear-headed…

He said, A Heng, my A Heng, will you be like Lin Wan Wan, who, when learning the truth from Si Wan, looked at me with sympathy while constantly holding back vomit, will you…

He said, A Heng if I don’t lie to you the same way, would even you think I’m filthy? Would you…

His right palm pressed against the pillow, supporting his entire body, bare ankles, quietly watching A Heng, that kind of time-stopping quietness, staring at her intently, with the sadness and despair of a trapped beast.

A Heng, A Heng, to trust is to be hurt. If I don’t trust anyone anymore, will I not be heartbroken?

A Heng, if it’s you, I’d rather not trust.