Because it was her first kiss, Jiang Du was tremendously clumsy. Her teeth seemed to insist on clenching like the bars of a tightly shut gate, and her breathing wasn’t quite right either. The more nervous she became, the more rigid her whole body grew. It was rather embarrassing to admit — twenty-eight years old, and kissing a man for the first time?
Wei Qingyue slowly knit his brow and said: “You’re the same as ever — the look of you doesn’t suggest a great deal of intelligence.” He spoke deliberately close to her skin, his voice low and laced with amusement. The warmth of his breath was a light, tickling graze — like the brush of a feather.
That was a real blow to her self-esteem. Jiang Du blinked with intense embarrassment, stammered for a moment, and said: “I’m not very practiced.” But she couldn’t help defending herself, and turned it back on him: “Are you very experienced?”
“It’s my first time too, but I can do it properly.”
Wei Qingyue was in the best of spirits. His fingertip brushed over her lips, tracing and retracing, confirming their temperature and texture. He smiled with gentle intimacy, lowering his voice again: “Shall we try once more? These things always improve with practice, don’t you think?”
The hour was late, and the compound had noticeably fewer people. Now and then a dog walker strolled past — a languid owner leading a gleeful, dim-witted Husky — glancing at the two of them and then continuing on.
Wei Qingyue suddenly took Jiang Du by the hand and guided her across the lawn, into a corner beyond the reach of the street lamps and out of sight of any passersby. His fingers parted the loose strands of her hair, and then once again he took hold of those soft lips.
Kissing was truly wonderful — like rising in a hot-air balloon. Breath mingling with breath, sounds weaving and tangling. Jiang Du had the sensation of doing something forbidden in the dark, both nervous and thrilling. She clutched Wei Qingyue’s shirt out of shape, gripping it tight — after all, her mouth was busy, and if her hands weren’t anchored somewhere, things felt strange.
At last, her lips went numb — almost like an allergic reaction. Jiang Du suspected her mouth had swollen to the size of a cocktail sausage — one about to split from the heat.
Wei Qingyue released her with a light, unsteady breath. He seemed to laugh softly and asked: “Better experience this time?”
Jiang Du burned with embarrassment. Completely off-topic, she said: “You should head home — it’s very late.”
“Is it? Maybe I should just stay at your place?” Wei Qingyue teased her. Sure enough, Jiang Du’s expression turned to pure alarm, and she shook her head rapidly. “That’s absolutely not possible.”
Wei Qingyue then pulled her close and buried his nose and mouth in her curls, rubbing against her like some kind of animal, asking what brand of shampoo she used — it smelled so good.
Well? Twelve years ago he was cold and dismissive, and one word from him could send you straight into a wall. Now he was being a big fluffy puppy? Jiang Du’s heart pounded in erratic leaps, and she suddenly understood what it meant for two people to be so close that they practically breathed each other in.
Wei Qingyue began to kiss her hair, then her ears. Wherever he kissed, Jiang Du shivered. He also liked to call her “Ghostwriter,” that penguin account of hers — she hadn’t used it in years, the avatar gone grey a long time ago.
“Why do you call me Ghostwriter?” Jiang Du couldn’t help asking in the midst of a pleasant shiver.
Wei Qingyue smiled and countered: “Why do you think?” He seemed particularly fond of her hair — he would coil it around his fingers, then let it fall loose, then coil it again.
Jiang Du’s face was red. Her gaze dropped to the ground: “How did you know?”
“Because I’m clever,” Wei Qingyue said with considerable arrogance. “Unlike you — oblivious to everything, like a block of elm wood no matter what I say.”
“What did you say?” Jiang Du’s eyes stung. You never said you liked me.
“I hinted three times and more that you could keep writing to me. You either played dumb or genuinely didn’t understand. Didn’t you?” Wei Qingyue held a meaningful half-smile.
Jiang Du said in a muffled voice: “Why didn’t you write to me? Why was it always me writing to you?”
Wei Qingyue’s smile faded. He adopted a serious tone: “I did write. Before I left the country, I tucked the letter inside the last issue of Shucheng magazine. I thought my feelings were clear enough — if even then you couldn’t understand, I genuinely had nothing more to say.”
Jiang Du looked at him in bewilderment: “You wrote me a letter?”
“Why would I lie to you? Didn’t you see it?” Wei Qingyue’s eyes wavered. “You liked Shucheng, didn’t you? And you didn’t read it?”
Jiang Du’s lips parted, and she shook her head silently.
“How could you be so foolish? Didn’t you say you loved to read? I gave it to you and you didn’t even look at it?” Wei Qingyue seemed to flare up again — a helpless kind of anger that wouldn’t quite ignite and yet refused to be let go.
“Why do you always call me foolish?” Jiang Du was quite good at seizing on that. She thought of the pecking order at Mei Middle School — being a humanities student was synonymous with having insufficient intelligence.
Wei Qingyue just had to tease her: “Upset? Jiang Du — so you’re the kind of person who can’t hear the truth? Do you think you’re clever? Not exactly, right? You nearly failed physics back then.”
Jiang Du couldn’t argue with that, so she quite naturally reached out and gave him a light tap. That tap, in its tone, carried the playful pique of a girlfriend. She didn’t realize it herself — but Wei Qingyue felt it. Hands in his pockets, he tilted his head, leaning down slightly, eyebrows raised, watching her with a smile:
“You’re admitting it, then? Good. Not the cleverest, but at least honest — I’ll give you that. May I ask one more question? Jiang Du — I was your first love, wasn’t I?”
This man truly had no shame.
How had she never noticed before just how narcissistic and thick-skinned Wei Qingyue was? Jiang Du pressed her lips into a flat line and said nothing.
“You’re being stingy? Not willing to say? Then I’ll tell you something frankly — you were my first love.” Wei Qingyue said it with complete openness. Having said it, he felt thoroughly lightened, as though the sludge that had been clogging his chest for twelve years had been swept clean in one go. He couldn’t resist teasing the easily-flustered Jiang Du once more: “You don’t know what ‘first love’ means, do you? After all, you didn’t know what ‘Ghostwriter’ meant, either.”
Old stories from years past, still worth pulling out for a bit of gentle ribbing. Jiang Du was easily flustered, and easily confused jokes with reality — but watching Wei Qingyue’s subtle expression, she would never mistake one for the other.
And besides, the most important thing: all her lipstick had been eaten by Wei Qingyue. Suddenly realizing this, Jiang Du promptly said: “Spit it out.”
She rummaged in her small crossbody bag and handed him a tissue. “You can spit on the paper, or just wipe your mouth.”
What an odd, strange request. Wei Qingyue laughed first, and then with patient good nature said: “Spit out what? You’re really something, Jiang Du — I’ve never heard of someone asking you to spit after a kiss.”
He received the tissue with considerable amusement, and though he said this, he did as she asked — compliant and accommodating. Jiang Du had always, truly, been kind to him. Of that, Wei Qingyue had never doubted. Without that, he didn’t know how he would have made it through three years and three years again.
Jiang Du took the tissue back, walked to a rubbish bin, and dropped it in. She stood in the light: “It really is very late. Head home now. Be safe on the road, and —” she took a deep breath — “you must call me once you’re home.” Otherwise she would not sleep a wink all night.
She didn’t explain why she had asked him to spit, and Wei Qingyue did not ask. He said “all right” and wanted to watch her go up, but Jiang Du said no — she would watch him go. She insisted on walking him to the compound gate.
“I don’t like people watching my back.” On this, Jiang Du was stubborn, and Wei Qingyue could not argue with her. His car keys had a Tweety Bird charm on them — very old — and they swayed restlessly in his hand every time he pulled them out. Jiang Du had noticed long ago and had held back, saying nothing, asking nothing. Some things were too obvious. She kept encouraging herself that there was no need to wonder anymore — agree to him, agree to him, agree to everything he says.
When Wei Qingyue had opened the car door and was about to swing his leg in, Jiang Du suddenly called out: “Wei Qingyue.”
Wei Qingyue looked up at her.
“Is your health all right?” Her voice, asking this, was heavy with pain.
Wei Qingyue — sharp-tongued as ever — grinned wickedly: “Would you like to find out? You can find out yourself sometime soon — tonight, even. I wouldn’t mind.”
This man was terrible. Heaven knew with what guilt and sorrow she had asked about old wounds — but why was he still smiling? Jiang Du didn’t catch his implication at first. She asked, baffled: “Me? How would I test your health? I’m not a doctor.”
“The female rabbit faints dead away, I suppose — don’t worry, I won’t. I’m more afraid you’ll be the one to faint.” Wei Qingyue had both hands on the steering wheel, turning his head to look at her and smiling the whole time. That popular science magazine she had in her living room — she had probably forgotten about it herself.
Jiang Du froze for a moment, then understood, and the roots of her ears went red. Goodness — how had Wei Qingyue become like this? Was this appropriate behavior?
“Go on then.” Jiang Du muttered, urging him to leave.