“I am the parched moon, waiting in silence for your dewdrops of light.”
The second floor of the barbershop was dim and silent, with only the occasional rustling of fabric as someone turned over. I stood frozen at the doorway, staring into the pitch-black room, as if gazing into an abyss that could swallow one’s soul.
I knew what was inside.
I didn’t want to go in.
“Gu Yin?” A voice, languid and syrupy, slipped through the crack of the door, carrying a scent both sickly sweet and strangely metallic.
I glanced down at my hands—dry, peeling. Turning to leave, I was suddenly seized by the arm.
I didn’t want to turn around. That hand gripping me—its posture, its existence—was like some wretched spirit reaching out from the depths of a swamp.
I brushed away that bruised, needle-marked hand. “Mom, take a break. Stop… getting high for now.”
“Gu Yin has grown up, hasn’t he? Come play with Mommy~”
So light, so airy—her voice, soft and fluffy like plant-based cream, sweet to the point of being sickly.
That hand crept along my waist, fingers fumbling to undo the buttons of my shirt.
At that moment, the rhythmic sounds of rutting spilled from the room. The pulsating waves of noise crashed against my eardrums, making me heave. I bent over, gagging, my hand slowly moving toward the boot knife.
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Her throat was right within reach—so frail, so powerless. I could peel open her carotid sheath as easily as slicing through pear skin.
After all, does one really need that much rationality?
Sweat dripped into my eyes as I plunged the blade into her heart—angled upward.
May the Lord hasten her release from suffering.
She collapsed, dissolving into a thick, foul-smelling pool of tar.
The repulsive cacophony fell silent with her disintegration.
Drenched in cold sweat, I gasped for breath, slumping into a corner. Tears rolled down my cheeks, mingling with my sweat.
Then I began sobbing—uncontrollably, shamelessly.
Snot dribbled down, saliva too, as if every orifice in my face was weeping. I wanted to stop, but the moment I blinked, more tears gushed out, an unstoppable spring.
I rubbed at my face messily.
Chu Yi should be here now, I thought.
Every time I broke down like this, he was supposed to appear.
“With that look on your face, what do you expect me to do?”
From the pitch-black room, Chu Yi emerged, his footsteps scattering the lingering darkness.
He walked with such beauty that I wanted him to keep stepping—right onto my face.
I tilted my head back, watching the sunlight illuminate his translucent white profile. Even the faint pulsing of veins beneath his skin was visible.
I wanted to taste every inch of him, to drown him in a swamp, to enshrine him in a temple.
I wanted to belong to him.
I wanted him to belong to me.
Perhaps I should dissect him—slice him into six-micrometer-thick sections, label each one with my mark, examine them under a scanning electron microscope, and preserve every detail.
Then, whenever I missed him, I could flip through him like a book.
Step by step, he drew closer, and my body trembled harder, overtaken by an uncontainable thrill.
He crouched before me, his gaze locked onto mine.
My tears had likely dried, my eyes had probably betrayed everything inside me.
But I had already surrendered to instinct.
Truly, I was an untamed beast, beyond redemption, incapable of grasping the sickly, false love humans disguise as affection.
Yet he showed no fear of my aggression. His eyelids remained half-lowered in that perpetually indifferent way.
He met my stare with such unguarded ease that it shattered me, entranced me.
Tilting his head slightly, he let out a small chuckle, resting his chin in his hand, utterly at ease.
“You’re so weak, Duan Gu Yin.”
I should have felt shame, or defeat.
But all I felt was pure, unfiltered joy.
After all, I was just a dog starving for affection.
His fingers loosened slightly—then suddenly, he slapped me across the face.