Lin Zhexia’s vision was blocked by the scarf.
Suddenly, she couldn’t see anything; only a blurry and soft whiteness remained.
Her nose felt even more acidic: “Can you not see me?”
She couldn’t see Chi Yao’s face, only hear his voice very close to her: “Wrapped up like this, do you think I have X-ray vision?”
“But looking like this,” as she spoke, the tears that had been circling her eyes finally fell, “I look so stupid.”
She was already wearing an oversized coat, and now her head was completely wrapped in a scarf.
Anyone who saw her would think she was crazy.
Chi Yao’s lazy voice sounded again: “No one knows it’s you, the only one who’ll be embarrassed is me.”
“…”
That seemed to make sense.
After the tears fell, the rest of the words became easier to say.
She sobbed: “My mom… is pregnant.”
“She hasn’t told me yet, I overheard it by accident.”
“I’m happy for her too, actually, before this, I’ve thought about it many times,” she hiccupped while crying, “she and Uncle Wei will have their child, I’ll have a little brother or sister… but all these years they never had children.”
“I used to wonder if it was my problem, if they were considering me, so they didn’t have children, if I… became their burden.”
“So I am very happy.”
Lin Zhexia spoke with a choked voice, sometimes stopping for a few seconds in the middle of her sentences.
She sniffled and continued: “Happy as I am, I seem to be a bit petty.”
“They’re going to have a child now, and I feel like I might become an outsider.”
“I’m afraid of being left behind, of feeling that in that home, between them, they might be the closest relatives.”
Hidden beneath the scarf, she couldn’t see Chi Yao, nor did she know what expression he had now, or with what kind of gaze he was looking at her.
Would he also think she was petty?
But the next second—
She felt a very light pressure on her head.
It was Chi Yao’s palm.
His palm pressed on top of her head, like gently stroking a stray cat or dog.
“This isn’t pettiness.”
She heard Chi Yao’s voice saying, “It’s cowardice.”
His voice became very gentle, even the mocking tone softened: “And you still say you’re not a coward.”
Some things are clearer to an observer.
And he was an observer who understood Lin Zhexia better than anyone else.
He had long known about her fear, dread, and all the insecurities beneath her exterior.
“It’s you who doesn’t dare to truly accept them, and now you’re turning it around, thinking they might abandon you. If you don’t open your arms to embrace them, how would you know that you’re not the person closest to them?”
As these words fell, Lin Zhexia suddenly froze.
Chi Yao continued: “When I went to your house before, I saw Uncle Wei bring you gifts several times. Have you ever told him that you don’t like pink?”
Lin Zhexia opened her mouth: “I…”
She hadn’t.
She had always been so “well-behaved.”
Never joking with Wei Ping, never making requests of him.
All along, she had played the role of a “qualified” daughter, keeping her distance.
Early on, it might have been genuine unfamiliarity, but later, only insecurity remained.
Because she had been abandoned before.
The unforgettable thunder, the pleading voices.
And in her memory, the blurry figure of a man resolutely leaving.
What Chi Yao said was right; she was just a coward.
She always lacked a sense of security, so she had been avoiding, presumptively keeping a safe distance from others.
“I don’t know,” she cried, “I don’t know why I don’t say it.”
Chi Yao’s hand still rested on her head.
Although he didn’t say a word, the light pressure on her head seemed to give her a tiny bit of courage, so she continued: “Maybe I’m afraid that making requests will make people dislike me, will make people reject me.”
As she cried, she let go of her pride.