Girls are softer than velvet. Brilliant roses, blooming and withering in turn, sealed berries bursting open. As the tide receded, she asked him whether the wounds on his body still hurt.
On the tip of a tongue scorched by the fire in his heart, no complete sentence could find its way out. Wei Qingyue simply kissed her hair again and again.
Jiang Du had scratched up his back, so the first thing he did was hold her hands up to the light to look at them. Ah — Jiang Du’s nails needed trimming. Pink and tender nails, like flower petals, but clearly their owner had never paid them much careful attention, nor had she, like other fashionable girls her age, gone to get her nails done beautifully.
“Shall I trim your nails for you?” Wei Qingyue asked her. His body bore scars that were anything but attractive, scattered across his taut muscles. Jiang Du said yes, then pressed her lips softly against the scar on his shoulder, her face burning red.
Wei Qingyue touched her cheek, then climbed out of bed, found the nail clippers, and began trimming Jiang Du’s nails.
Her hands seemed boneless, their color like fine porcelain — like the rest of her body. Wei Qingyue had always been astonished by how fair she was; a person could actually be this pale. But right now she glowed like a sweet, fragrant peach.
Crescent-shaped nail clippings fell away. He worked with careful, deliberate movements, not forgetting to ask: “How am I doing?”
“Not particularly well, it seems,” Jiang Du said, head bowed, her hair puffed out on both sides like clouds. Her smile was hidden deep, keeping her face out of his sight.
Wei Qingyue refused to believe it. “Nonsense — what exactly is wrong with how I’m trimming them?” He spread her hand open in his palm, pressed his thumb down, and held it up toward the lamp. “They couldn’t be more beautiful. No one else could cut such a perfect arc for you.”
Jiang Du’s face was still very, very red. She murmured, “You’ve always been this self-absorbed, haven’t you?”
Wei Qingyue gave a dismissive laugh. “How could you call this self-absorption? It’s simply objective fact. Whatever I set my mind to, I do well.”
“Then why did your startup go bankrupt?” Jiang Du continued in a low voice.
Wei Qingyue replied with perfect nonchalance: “Selling at a premium — not everyone is worth that price.”
Jiang Du’s gaze drifted lightly to the blanket beside them. She said, “Oh, if you’re that valuable, what am I supposed to do — I don’t have much money.”
“What?” Wei Qingyue was momentarily confused. His robe hung loose and careless on his shoulders. Then he seemed to catch on. He cupped her face and turned it toward him, his eyes burning with sincerity and something warmer still, his breath spilling across her face. “If it’s you — I don’t want money. I’ll give you money. All of it. Every bit I have.”
He spoke like a man drunk.
Jiang Du had to press her lips together with great effort to hold back her smile.
Yet Wei Qingyue suddenly pulled himself back. He picked up the nail clippings one by one, wrapped them in a tissue, and placed them inside the bedside drawer.
Jiang Du tugged at him. “Why are you keeping those?”
Wei Qingyue just smiled. The drawer slid shut. He got up and poured her a glass of warm water. Wherever he walked, Jiang Du’s gaze followed — Wei Qingyue moved barefoot across the carpet, making no sound at all.
Once she had finished drinking, he pressed back down over her again, holding her by the shoulders, pinning her down. And then he began to touch her. The bed seemed to sink and collapse beneath them.
Jiang Du didn’t dare meet his eyes. Her breathing grew more and more rapid.
But then Wei Qingyue frowned. He said suddenly, “The sheets seem to be wet. Did you not notice?”
Jiang Du’s face went scarlet. She stiffly pushed him away and sat up. “I suppose they are,” she said.
Wei Qingyue pulled the wardrobe open, took out a fresh set of sheets and duvet covers, and flung them at Jiang Du’s face. “I hate changing these more than anything. Can you handle it?”
Jiang Du yanked the sheet off her head and emerged, her hair a complete bird’s nest.
She began changing the sheets — the fitted sheet first, then the duvet cover. Her arms were still just as weak as ever; she couldn’t shake them out properly, and they fell onto the bed in wrinkled heaps.
Wei Qingyue had been standing there with his arms crossed, watching. He lasted only a few seconds before walking over, nudging her firmly to one side with his hip, and taking over. “I’ll do it.”
His strength made it easy work. When he snapped the sheet into place, the air it stirred up was cool and billowing, sweeping across their faces.
On the old sheet, there was a small, dark red stain — very small. Wei Qingyue paused mid-motion, bringing it closer to examine it. Before he could get a proper look, Jiang Du snatched it away. She clutched it to her chest, lips pressed together. “Where’s the washing machine? I’ll go wash it.”
Wei Qingyue laughed — a slow, glowing laugh, like a cigarette’s ember fading in and out.
Watching her head toward the balcony, he flung out one arm to block her, refusing to let her pass. His gaze filled inexplicably with teasing warmth. “Haven’t asked you yet — are you feeling alright?”
Jiang Du ducked low, trying to slip beneath his arm. Wei Qingyue caught her and pulled her back, trapping her in the corner beside the wardrobe. He leaned down over her, eyes unblinking, and pulled the balled-up sheets and duvet covers straight out of her arms, dropped them on the floor, and kicked them aside with one foot.
“We’re not washing anything.” Wei Qingyue gathered her up sideways against his chest and pressed her down onto the bed, pinching her earlobe while murmuring against her, “Would you like to do a thorough study of me?”
Jiang Du’s hands scrambled free from his, her fingers breaking loose in a panic. His leading touch was dangerous. Trapped beneath his control, she trembled without being able to stop herself, wanting to squeeze her eyes shut.
Wei Qingyue glanced at the bedside lamp and switched it off. In the darkness, he bit her ear and said, “Don’t be so afraid of me, sweetheart.”
He borrowed the term from her grandmother.
Jiang Du felt her heart cave in just like the bed. She said suddenly, “Wei Qingyue, I’m so happy.” And as she said it she felt like crying. In the dark, her courage seemed a little bigger. “Are you happy? I want to know if you’re happy.”
A soft laugh escaped from Wei Qingyue’s throat. “Silly.”
“Are you happy?” Jiang Du asked again.
“Happy.” He hinted at her with sly suggestion. “If you were willing to study me a bit more thoroughly, I’d be even happier.”
And so, Jiang Du was compelled to conduct an in-depth study of his body. Wei Qingyue said, I have to reciprocate in kind — I ought to study yours as well, don’t I?
---
When they woke the next morning, Wei Qingyue’s phone would not stop ringing. Jiang Du was still asleep. He got up, took his phone out to the balcony to take the call — a last-minute industry salon had come up, requiring his attendance.
Wei Qingyue felt like cursing.
It was the first time he had ever thought that work was a complete and utter nuisance. A salon — a salon — what kind of nonsense was this.
Whatever happened to staying in bed for three or five days?
He was already out of bed, and now he had to find food, get dressed, put together an outfit — and there was a sweetheart still in that bed who needed looking after.
Wei Qingyue went to check the refrigerator. There was nothing in it but mineral water, milk, and sports drinks. All liquid.
It was only then that he remembered his kitchen had never once been used. Sometimes the housekeeper would bring him homemade lunches from her own cooking — those were the only occasions he ever got to eat simple, home-style food.