Chapter 11: Xia He’s Monologue

Fingers interlocked, eyes locked together.

How strange. After all this time, I can still blush?

Palm pressed against palm, fingers entwined with fingers, our body heat melted together through every overlapping gap.

I’ve held his hand so many times before—in dreams, in photographs, in the quiet nights beside the beeping heart monitor while he slept.

But no matter how many times, as long as he’s by my side, my heart still races.

My heart slammed against my ribcage, sending blood rushing up my neck and into my face, burning as if scorched by fire.

This fire started the first time I saw him. After so many years, it hasn’t died out—it only burns hotter.

It burned through my chest and my eye sockets. When it flowed out through my eyes, it turned into light.

Can you see it? The light in my eyes. Every time you look at me, they’re saying—I like you, I like you.

So this is what you were like in high school? So young and innocent?

So innocent that I want to stuff you in my pocket, hide you away and carry you with me. I don’t want anyone else to see you. You’ll grow up inside my pocket and slowly become the person I’m familiar with.

How wonderful that would be.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Do you know what kind of person you’ll become in the future?

You’ll grow a little taller, your shoulders will broaden. You won’t wear this hoodie anymore. When you grow up, you’ll always wear suits and ties. Every morning before you leave for work, I’ll fix your collar, making sure it’s neat so everyone can see how handsome my husband is.

You’ll smile and kiss my forehead. After I remind you to come home early, you’ll head off to work full of confidence and energy.

And me? After you leave, I’ll quietly change and follow you, because I have to go to work too.

You’ll become much more ambitious. You won’t want to stay home with me—you’ll call it living off a woman. You’ll say you want to buy me gifts with money you earned yourself.

You’re so good with words. I let you convince me.

Fine then. I’ll just have to arrange for you to work at my company. You don’t know this, but the chairman who always appears and disappears mysteriously—the one you’ve never met—is actually your beloved wife.

How in love we were back then.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Do you know that I actually hate you a little?

I hate how considerate you are, how gentle you are, how good you are at taking care of others.

You remember every anniversary. When I’m angry, you apologize immediately. On rainy days, you hold the umbrella so my side stays dry while your right shoulder always gets wet.

Where did you learn all this? You’re supposed to be a straightforward, nerdy science guy. If no one taught you, you wouldn’t know these things naturally.

I hate you. I hate that you met her before me. I hate that she taught you so many things.

Before me, did you make countless mistakes and rack your brain trying to figure out how to apologize to her?

She taught you how to coax someone, how to lower your head first during an argument. That’s why when you’re with me, you’re already so experienced.

But I don’t want the finished product. I want the inexperienced you—the one who blushes, who doesn’t know what to say.

I want the sweat in your palm the first time you held a girl’s hand. I want to see the clumsy way you pursued a girl for the first time. I want to hear the nervousness in your voice the first time you said “I like you.”

If you ever got dumped, I even want the light in your eyes to dim little by little because of me. I want all those firsts to belong to me.

But never mind. I can’t bear to see you hurt. Once we’re together, we’ll never be apart again.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Why did you let go of my hand?

Wen Xiaoyu?

I heard you call that girl’s name. Her name is Wen Xiaoyu.

What a pure-sounding name. Braided pigtails, white shirt, speaking so softly and gently. A girl like that must be the white moonlight for many boys during high school, right?

I heard the panic in your voice. Why were you panicking? Why did you let go of my hand in front of her?

Were you afraid she would see?

Afraid she would know what our relationship is?

What exactly is our relationship?

You held my hand all morning, from one end of the street to the other, from the breakfast shop to the bookstore entrance. You held my hand with our fingers tightly interlocked. Your face flushed. Your heart raced.

Tell me, Jiang Yueming.

What is our relationship?

Tell her what our relationship is.

You both spoke at the same time and stopped at the same time. The atmosphere became awkward.

So youthful. Such clumsy probing.

You just left me standing there like an audience member watching your little show.

The wind blew against my face as I gripped my skirt tighter and tighter. This morning I had personally ironed this skirt, making sure there wasn’t a single wrinkle.

And now, because of you, it’s covered in creases.

Envy. Jealousy. Resentment.

I couldn’t control my impulses, my rage, or this fate where people always try to take what belongs to me. I wanted to smash it all into her face with my right hand.

Right on her face. Smash it hard into the face of this thing that dared to covet what is mine.

At the same time, I wanted to let out the low roar I had been holding back for so long: !

I wanted to watch her face turn bloody as she collapsed. I wanted you to see her so-called pure face covered in countless bleeding dots as she fell to the ground. I wanted to see if she could still smile and talk to you after that.

The beast inside my chest was about to break out of its cage—for a girl’s dignity, to protect the treasure that no one is allowed to covet.

It had been ramming against my bones for many years, cracking them. I had no choice but to wrap it layer after layer in skin, turning it into a human-shaped shell.

This shell can smile, can blush, can say “No, why would I be angry?” This shell is the version of me that you like.

Haa—

In the end, she left unharmed.

I held back. Was I good?

I know that if I had really done it, there would be nothing left to talk about between us.

You like pure girls, and girls like that shouldn’t be jealous, shouldn’t envy others.

I should express my dissatisfaction more cleverly.

Tilt my head, pout, turn my face away.

You like that, don’t you?

The angle of the head tilt has to be just right—not too much or it looks fake, not too little or it looks forced.

Just enough so that my hair covers my tightly clenched teeth.

I’m not angry, Jiang Yueming.

I was just blown by the wind and felt a little wronged.

You like a girl who gets jealous but doesn’t go crazy, who feels wronged but doesn’t cry, who gets angry but doesn’t hit people.

You like a pure, gentle Xia He who doesn’t get jealous and doesn’t hate.

So I’ll be that kind of Xia He.

Look, I tilted my head. I pouted. I turned away from you.

I’ll show you the side you like the most.

I’ll show you that we are a match made in heaven, destined to be together.

The old me ruined everything, but the heavens have given me another chance.

Jiang Yueming, I’m not angry at all about you letting go of my hand. Really.

Because I know that one day, your hand will never be able to let go of mine again, and your eyes will never see anyone else.

That day is not far away. I’ve been working toward it for a long time.

I’m waiting for you to say those words. You will say them. You always do.

“Are you angry?”

No. Why would I be angry?