I believe you.
--
At this moment, Fang Juexia's entire body seemed to be glowing.
Pei Tingsong couldn't describe what that feeling was. Obviously, they were both pursuing their dreams, but the ways and means with which he and Fang Juexia chose to go about doing so seemed to be completely different.
He was directly rushing up and dashing his head bloody against the bars of his cage, wanting to see a freer world.
Fang Juexia groped around patiently in the dark, looking for the button that would trigger the light.
Pei Tingsong couldn't help laughing out loud. "This world really has many solutions."
Fang Juexia didn't understand the meaning of his words, but he realized that he had said too much.
Plainly speaking, his relationship with this person in front of him had been just like that between fire and water a few weeks ago, but now, he could actually tell him about how his train of thought had developed, something that he had never shared with others before.
This wasn't like him at all, he wasn't a person who would casually share such things with others.
"I didn't actually think you would answer my question," Pei Tingsong said.
Fang Juexia was internally surprised by this tacit understanding, but his expression was indifferent as he replied, "I also didn't think you would go watch that movie."
"You said it moved you." The corners of Pei Tingsong's mouth carried a smile. "I was very curious, what kind of thing could move you?"
It wasn't that easy to shake an iceberg.
"You are so curious." Fang Juexia began to clean up the dishes, putting all the dirty plates away, in preparation to leave.
"Since you already said that," Pei Tingsong said, "I have another question."
Fang Juexia put the plates into the sink and quickly washed them.
Pei Tingsong directly took his silence for acquiescence. He went over and leaned on the kitchen counter.
The shualala sound of the water didn't manage to drown out Pei Tingsong's voice.
"What actually happened when you were at Astar?"
After asking this question, Pei Tingsong felt that this was incredible of him. In the past, he definitely would not have been so careful when questioning someone, it was completely impossible for him. Right now, not only was he thinking about how to make the wording of his question more euphemistic, but was also eager to not be misunderstood.
Most of all, after he asked that question, he actually felt uneasy.
Fang Juexia took the plates out of the sink, turned off the tap, dried his hands, and then looked up at Pei Tingsong as he said, "This question, I may not be able to give a detailed answer to you."
When he saw Pei Tingsong's puzzled expression, he added, "In fact, if you ask me directly whether I have really participated in the hidden rules business before, I can answer that clearly."
He looked straight into Pei Tingsong's eyes and said, "I haven't."
Pei Tingsong instinctively blurted out, "I know." He then realised that he had reacted too fast, so he paused before speaking again, "I mean, I believe you."
The tone with which he said these words was so certain that Fang Juexia was almost shaken.
"That's not what you used to be like." Fang Juexia laughed and took the dishes back to the cupboard.
Pei Tingsong immediately replied, "People's cognitive processes regarding things are always spiralling."
Fang Juexia stopped and turned to look at him. "Things?"
When Pei Tingsong thought of the "ice", "wood", "silly goose", and other assorted metaphors he had come up with for Fang Juexia, he felt a little guilty. "….and of people."
Fang Juexia closed the cupboard door and asked, "So how can you be so sure that I'm not lying to you right now?"
"If you are, then you are too cunning." Pei Tingsong's voice carried a bit of a complaint here.
Fang Juexia let out a rare audible laugh. "One good turn deserves another." But he soon restrained his smile. "I didn't lie to you. However, I can't tell you what happened back then. The only thing I can say is that I haven't done anything I feel ashamed about. I left AS simply because I didn't want to change myself."
Pei Tingsong believed this sentence, because it was completely in line with Fang Juexia's philosophy.
He knew that his relationship with him wasn't close enough for him to speak his mind freely, so he didn't press on.
Fang Juexia's frankness at this moment was already a surprise to him.
The blue light of day gradually leached into the dark night outside the window. None of them thought that they would actually be able to spend such a long time with each other, and even get along with each other peacefully during it.
"Go back to bed ba. It's almost light outside." Saying that, Fang Juexia got ready to leave, but Pei Tingsong grabbed his wrist again. Only this time, he could clearly feel that Pei Tingsong wasn't using much strength.
He was just holding on gently.
"That song you wrote, I haven't listened to it yet."
Pei Tingsong explained himself, "I just wanted to tease you at that time. Originally, I was going to return it to you, but I didn't expect you to just throw it at me with angry words accompanying it."
Yeah —Fang Juexia internally complained. He also hadn't expected that he would get angry.
"It's okay. If you don't want to listen to it, then just…"
"I actually do want to listen to it." Pei Tingsong interrupted his sentence mid-way, "But I want to ask for your consent first, so that it's not out of a fit of pique, but that you're really willing to let me listen to it."
Fang Juexia suddenly froze.
"Are you willing?"
Insomnia and hurriedly coming out to resolve his hunger, coupled with more than ten hours of work—all of these factors had led to his mind becoming fuzzy.
Fang Juexia wasn't very clear-headed right now.
He nodded but didn't know why he was doing so.
This song hadn't been heard by anyone else but him since its birth. When he first wrote it down, he had never imagined that the first audience member to hear it would be Pei Tingsong, a person diametrically opposed to him.
"Then I'll listen to it thoroughly." Pei Tingsong released his hand and said, "I'm done talking." He made way for Fang Juexia as he added, "You can go back and rest."
With the residual warmth on his wrist, Fang Juexia headed towards his room. They walked back together, with him in front, and Pei Tingsong behind, and as soon as they got to the door, Fang Juexia suddenly turned around. He hadn't expected Pei Tingsong to be so close to him, and ended up nearly colliding into him.
Pei Tingsong was obviously also startled, and he reflexively caught hold of Fang Juexia's elbow and whispered, "What's the matter?" He thought that Fang Juexia had left something outside.
In the dark, Fang Juexia's eyes, which were looking straight at him, seemed especially bright as he said, "I want to read that book."
Book? Pei Tingsong didn't understand, but he saw Fang Juexia nod, and then continue in a very quiet voice—
"The Roots of Romanticism."
Pei Tingsong let go of his hand.
For the first time, he found that the title of this book could actually sound so nice when said out loud.
Their busy schedule made it so that none of them were able to even remember the date, so a week passed by in the blink of an eye, and it seemed as if their insomnia driven nighttime chat had just taken place.
If the magazine hadn't gotten in touch with Fang Juexia midway through and asked them to help put together a monologue, he would have remained under the impression that they had just finished that job.
Fang Juexia finished the recording according to the materials distributed by the magazine, and then gave Cheng Qiang full authority over everything else related to it without any further questions.
Kaleido's popularity was climbing higher and higher. With the industrious efforts of their agent Cheng Qiang, the whole group had recently won a highly nationally recognized food brand's spokesperson job. The last spokesperson for this brand had been a well-known singer. Coincidentally, on the day everyone was shooting the advertisement for this job, the magazine released a promotional trailer and some highlights from the photoshoot. Pei Tingsong's clothes weren't the right size, so he was waiting for the replacement while everyone else was getting their make-up done. Ling Yi suddenly cried out, "Wow, Juexia, Xiao Pei, the magazine you guys did a photoshoot for last time just released some stuff! How wonderful!"
Lu Yuan was playing a game, but his hand slipped because of Ling Yi's howling. "Ah, Ling Yi, don't cry out like a pig, I was about to carry this match ah!"
"You're the one crying like a pig! If you have the ability, open up your mic, and I'lI howl until your teammates shoot you!"
Almost at the same time, Fang Juexia received a message from Cheng Qiang, who was asking him to forward the magazine's ad on his Weibo.
He Ziyan was quick. "Really, it's a video."
"So fast ah?" Jiang Miao said, "I'll go and give it a like."
Fang Juexia clicked on the Weibo link they had sent in the groupchat and opened up the highlights video that had been posted.
Ling Yi stressed, "You must put on earphones, you must!"
"Okay." Fang Juexia took out his earphones and put them on.
The beginning of the video was pitch black, and the faint sound of wind whistling appeared in his ears, making it seem as if he had entered a cold winter day. Two or three seconds later, in the center of the screen began to appear a horizontal gap, and within that gap was a vast expanse of white. He could faintly hear a voice saying the word "winter" repeatedly. The voice was very light and deep, and he could almost imagine the image of the tip of his tongue touching the back of his teeth while articulating this word.
Gradually, the scene on the screen widened, and what appeared was actually him with a silly smile on his face while he was sitting on the snow.
It was that particular scene of his that Pei Tingsong had taken.
Accompanying this was a red, handwritten English word in the middle of the screen—Imprisoning.
Imprisoning.
All of a sudden, the wind stopped. Once again, the image disappeared, and the screen turned black. He heard the low voice again, and it was one that he couldn't be more familiar with, only this time, he was sure of who it was.
"Beg me."
The sound of music appeared, and every picture that flashed by was stuck between low drum beats —his back as it was hidden by the snowy forest when he entered it step-by-step; a pair of slender hands pushing aside the array of colorful flowers to find the trembling eustoma; him glancing backwards through the cold and dense fog; in a room full of spring colors, a stem that was being held and twirled around; him lying in the snow, his eyelashes trembling as he closed his eyes; the close-up shot of lips and teeth biting into the plump and white flower petals.
Being sensitive to music, Fang Juexia quickly recognized the sounds hidden in the background— of broken glass and of chains being dragged on the ground.
The camera kept zooming into the torn white petals, eventually transitioning into a field full of white daytime sunlight. The music had also changed, and a romantic and tender guitar tune now played in the background.
Fang Juexia's own voice then sounded out from his headset.
"Spring..."
The sound had been processed into a worn-out sound— it was very light, and when repeated slowly, sounded like a whisper, or more like a cry for help. Under the swaying sunlight, the image shifted and cut to a sunlight-filled greenhouse. Pei Tingsong, who was sitting inside, looked up at the camera. Superimposed by using a double exposure shot, on the fresh flowers behind him appeared the faint image of the cold snowy forest, and of Fang Juexia as he lay in the middle of that snowy forest.
The narration appeared again. It was still Pei Tingsong's voice, but he wasn't speaking in Chinese or his American English, but instead spoke in Spanish. Subtitles appeared at the bottom of the video—
"You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
As a bunch of flowers, every day, between my hands."
In the next scene, he mercilessly tore off the snow-white petals. The next second, a close-up of Fang Juexia's face appeared. His eyelashes, which were brushed with snow, quivered faintly, and the look in his eyes was perfectly straightforward—both fragile and tough—very contradictory.
"You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened."
The torn petals fell down in slow motion. The sound of the piano that played in the background sounded just like how cold beads of water dripped after the ice and snow melted, and they fell faster and faster, faster and faster.
The next images cut back and forth with the sound. Fang Juexia having difficulty breathing in the snow and exhaling white breath with his mouth open; a close-up of Pei Tingsong's finger going deep into an agate like red object; the melting ice-cube on his soft lips; a body bound with vines; countless beautiful flowers that couldn't be named.
"I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains,
bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses."
The music stopped, and the background sound shifted to the sound of rapid breathing. The next close-up shot showed the tip of Fang Juexia's tongue as it pushed out the ice cube that was making his lips red. The image gradually moved up to the red birthmark next to the wet corner of his eyes. A drop of blood dripped onto it, and the scene cut to a cherry lying in the palm of a hand.
Pei Tingsong picked it up, and his sharp teeth bit through the membrane and went deep into the flesh of the fruit, with bright red juice flowing down his lips.
"I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."
The screen went dark for the last time, the background music disappeared, and all that was left was just the sound of wind and snow whistling, as it had been at the beginning of the video. An image gradually emerged— a pair of legs walking in the snow.
Fang Juexia's unique cool voice appeared, narrating the ending.
"I'm the last on your path."
This person took one step, then another. The trampled snow let out a creaking cry for help.
"The last springtime."
He stopped, bent, and picked up something lying in the snow.
"The last snow."
The camera moved up, and there was a snapping sound.
"The last struggle not to die."
Surrounded by snow, he broke a dead branch into two.
—
The author has something to say:
The two poems are:
Neruda's "Every day you play…." and Paul Éluard's "The Phoenix".