And he hadn’t even gotten anywhere yet, but Wei Qingyue was already tied up in knots of awkward confusion.
Hey, wake up — Jiang Du hasn’t even agreed to be with you. Whatever happened to that passionate pursuit? He heard a small voice shouting somewhere inside his heart.
The shadows on the ground thawed. Wei Qingyue was about to speak when he heard a faint “I’m sorry” from Jiang Du.
She was crying.
She offered no explanation for any of it — only cried.
Fine, then, he thought. Wei Qingyue was surprised by how quickly he forgave her. He said on his own initiative: “Was I too harsh just now? I didn’t mean to be harsh with you.”
Jiang Du shook her head. Tears had wetted her face.
“Would it help if I held you?” Wei Qingyue’s heart was being kneaded and wrung out, suffused with tears. Having said it, he stepped forward and took Jiang Du in his arms. Girls are so soft, he thought with surprise — soft, and fragrant, and impossibly light. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and the heat crept gradually up to the tips of Wei Qingyue’s ears, burning there.
Jiang Du leaned against his chest, her heartbeat thundering up to her ears. The garment on her shoulder had slipped half-off; Wei Qingyue settled it back into place, wrapping her entirely — frail and delicate as she was — and pulled his arms tight. Wherever he gripped, the jacket creased in folds.
The world was dark. She caught that dreamed-of scent of orchids again. Jiang Du closed her eyes. Both hands clutched at his shirt. Her nose — greedy as a small dog’s — breathed in deeply, drinking in the scent of him.
Once, she had not dared even to look at him. But now, Wei Qingyue was holding her.
“Have you held anyone else?” Jiang Du’s voice surfaced from somewhere in his clothing, trembling faintly along with the rest of her.
Having asked it, she buried her face and hid even her breath.
Wei Qingyue felt his chest grow damp. His eyes held the dim light that fell from the street lamp; his voice was equally hushed and shadowed: “No. I only hold you.”
No one but Jiang Du was worth drawing close.
A direct declaration. Jiang Du heard it. She thought she could die at any moment now without regret. Of course, she didn’t want to die — she absolutely refused to die. She wanted to be properly in a relationship with Wei Qingyue, and then get married, and then have children, and then grow old together, and then — at the very thought of death, Jiang Du began to cry again.
She didn’t want to be separated from Wei Qingyue ever again. No, that would not do — she would have to die first. But no, no, no — if that happened, Wei Qingyue would be alone again.
“Wei Qingyue,” Jiang Du was struck by a wave of osmanthus fragrance drifting over, the dense, heady scent making her shiver. She lifted her face a little, but her eyes still dared not meet his — the way they always had — only her eyelashes flickering wildly. “You might not know this, but I have so many faults. I hate talking. I’m not good at socializing. I don’t earn much money. I get lost easily — I’ve been in this city for years and I can still take the wrong subway line. My cooking isn’t good. At home there are only two elderly people, getting older and older. Do you know — not long ago, a colleague’s boyfriend broke up with her the moment he found out her father had suffered a stroke… I’m not young anymore, but I’ve only grown older in years without growing much in wisdom. I’m plain and ordinary. The world is not worse off for having me, nor better off for lacking me. I’m not being pessimistic, and I’m not putting myself down — I’m just telling you about myself now, very objectively, very rationally. What I’m trying to say is —” Taking a long breath and driving herself to look Wei Qingyue in the eyes, she looked like a small, mournful lamb. “Do you still want to be with me? If you’ve had second thoughts, you can take it back. I can understand how a momentary impulse might lead to a wrong decision.”
She quickly bowed her head again.
“Miss Ghostwriter,” Wei Qingyue took hold of her chin, fingers moving to pinch both sides of her mouth so her cheeks bunched up adorably, and he frowned at her. “Listening to you, your qualities really don’t seem like much. Have you ever done one of those matchmaking sessions? Never mind, you’d probably sit there like a statue — already aged into quite the spinster, though just look at the coincidence: I have a terrible temper, a sharp tongue, a cold heart, I’m not good at accepting favors from people, and I too am quite the aging bachelor. My only redeeming quality is probably that I still manage to make a modest living — enough to raise a couple of kids. If you think that’s barely passable, well — shall we make do?”
His tone was teasing, but his gaze was intent, as if he wanted to look straight through to the back of her eyes.
Jiang Du’s face was still wet with tears, but at his words she was crying one moment and laughing the next. She couldn’t help a small smile breaking through. Her nose was painfully, achingly tight — and yet sweet and honeyed, like a little bee that had tumbled into a sea of flowers.
“All right then, I’ve made up my mind,” she said slowly. Because he was pinching her face, she looked adorable and comical.
Wei Qingyue looked at her deeply and let go, and in the instant he leaned down, Jiang Du blocked him with one hand. In a panic she said: “You — what are you doing?”
Wei Qingyue didn’t answer. He pressed his finger to her parted lips, played with them gently, then cradled the back of her head with one hand, tilted his head, and kissed her.
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