Emergence - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I was panting heavily, sitting cross-legged on the ground. My black woolen coat, covered in dust, was now draped over her shoulders. The back of the ill-fitting white shirt I wore underneath had been torn open, its sleeves ripped off, hanging from my body like tattered rags and exposing the thermal underwear beneath. The cold wind whistled past, and my body grew numb, but I paid it no mind. My attention was focused entirely on the woman before me.

After what felt like a century of frantic struggling, clawing, crying, and screaming, she had finally calmed down. Now, she knelt on the cold concrete floor, as still and numb as a corpse. Her long hair was a complete mess, as if it hadn't been washed in days, clinging to her forehead in greasy strands that formed a pathetic sight. The knit sweater she wore was grimy and torn with several large holes, and the long dress underneath was in tatters. She was gaunt, and though it was hard to make out her face in the dim light, it couldn't have been a pretty picture. Her features hadn't changed much, but she was like a completely different person from the woman I once knew. For more than ten minutes, I kept questioning who I had just met, unable to believe what I had just been through.

I couldn't believe my eyes. My heart was pounding violently, as if it were about to leap out of my throat. This wasn't the excited nervousness of lovers reuniting after years apart; it was a complex emotion I couldn't describe, a roiling feeling that the wheels of fate were mercilessly crushing my fragile nerves. My temples throbbed, my hands were numb, and I neurotically clenched and unclenched my fists.

The air filled my nostrils with the metallic scent of dust and blood mixed with the cold. I raised a hand and wiped away the blood trickling from my nose. I've always been prone to nosebleeds, and she had unintentionally slapped me hard across the face earlier.

I think I had just endured the most difficult fight of my life. My opponent followed no rules. She clawed, thrashed, and bit like a wild beast trying to devour me. All I could do was dodge pathetically. I didn't dare fight back, afraid I would hurt her. She was so thin and frail; her arms were so slender you could see the bones, as if they would snap with the slightest force. And yet, she was so powerful. Her strength came from her frenzy. An unbelievable force erupted from her bones, and her bloodshot eyes were filled with a resentful, sorrowful hatred, as if she were facing an enemy that had devoured her young—desperate and crazed.

I didn't understand what she had been through, and at that moment, I didn't have the courage to touch her story. I don't think I was mentally prepared. I was just taking it one step at a time. I had to save her life; I couldn't just stand by and watch her jump. Thankfully, I had finally managed to subdue her. She was no longer trying to throw herself off the edge, and I was grateful I wouldn't have to face a mangled corpse, like a pile of mud, after a hundred-meter fall.

But the woman before me now was, perhaps, even harder to face. I couldn't even bring myself to ask her anything. I could only remain silent, waiting for my boiling blood to cool, for the cold to become unbearable, for my friends and colleagues to finally realize I was gone and start searching for me, blowing up my cracked phone with calls.

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I called them back and told them I had to leave for an emergency and not to worry. After hanging up, I approached her again and saw her flinch, a clear defensive gesture. Something caught in my throat. I didn't stop, instead pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my coat pocket. She remained rigid the entire time.

I moved away from her, and I could feel her palpable relief. I expertly took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. Standing up, I stomped my feet, trying to warm myself. After pacing a couple of steps, I stood before her, cigarette between my fingers. After a long pause, I turned the cigarette around, offering it to her.

"Smoke?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised her gaunt right hand and tremblingly took the cigarette. She placed it between her chapped, pale lips, squinted, and took a long drag, then began to cough violently.

She didn't know how to smoke.

I took the cigarette back and placed it between my own lips. She didn't resist. I thought for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "Let's go. Where do you want to go? I'll take you."

She remained woodenly in place, not answering for a long time.

"Lin Yi, do you remember me?" I asked tentatively.

I saw the corners of her lips twitch downward ever so slightly, and a flicker of movement in her vacant eyes. It was a clear micro-expression, a sign of emotional fluctuation. I had specialized in applied psychology in graduate school, and with my years of work experience in a profession that required me to be observant, I had long since mastered the art of reading people's micro-expressions.

"Come home with me. No one else lives there, just me," I said in a relaxed tone.

She still said nothing.

I didn't wait for her response. I walked over and pulled her to her feet. She was like a puppet, seemingly having forgotten how to resist. Her arms were truly too thin, all bone to the touch. Her body was so light I suspected a gust of wind could blow her away. I led her off the rooftop with no effort. She followed numbly behind me, her steps unsteady, as if she were drunk. We entered the elevator, and under the strange gazes of a packed car, I remained composed, pulling her along to endure the "baptism" of their stares.

Once outside the building, I hailed a cab and took her home. Throughout the ride, she was silent, not saying a single word, as if she'd given up completely, utterly indifferent to her situation. She remained that way even after I sat her down on my sofa. My migraine was acting up again, my temples throbbing. I pressed a hand to my brow, deciding to first check if she had any injuries.

Again, I chose my words carefully. After a long pause, I said, "Let's get you a shower. Do you mind if I look at your body? I want to see if you're hurt so I can treat your wounds."

After a long while, I saw her give a faint shake of her head. I couldn't tell if it was a yes or a no. I decided I needed to be more assertive and stop asking for her permission. So I pulled her up again and said, "Come with me."

I grabbed a clean set of pajamas from my closet and a new set of underwear, then led her into the bathroom. Seeing her stand there numbly, I asked, "Are you going to wash yourself? Or should I help you?"

Still no answer.

I sighed, thinking I must have owed her a debt from a past life. I didn't even care that I was filthy myself; my first thought was to bathe her. I pulled her closer and, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, began to undress her. She was half a head shorter than me, so I could freely observe her downcast eyes. I saw those eyes that had always captivated me, her thick, long eyelashes, just as they were back then. For a moment, it brought back the heart-pounding feeling from my youth, and my breathing couldn't help but grow a little heavier.

I slipped my black woolen coat off her, then removed her tattered knit sweater. Feeling a weight in the fabric, I reached into a pocket and found a phone. It seemed to be hers. Seeing no reaction from her, I quietly slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans. Then, almost holding my breath, I unzipped her long dress. I was standing behind her as I did it. When I saw her thin frame, little more than a skeleton, my heart clenched painfully.

The dress fell, pooling around her feet. With trembling hands, I unhooked her bra. Then, to my surprise, she suddenly pulled the bra off herself, tossed it far away, and spun around. She wrapped her arms around me, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me fiercely.

My mind went blank with a buzz. I was completely frozen, unable to move. In the quiet, enclosed space, our heavy breathing was clearly audible, but we made no further moves. We were both frozen in place. I couldn't understand what this behavior meant, and even after she finally let me go, my mind was still a complete mess.

She stood before me, naked from the waist up, a strange smile on her face. For the first time, she spoke to me, in a flat tone and at a normal pace. But her words pierced my heart, leaving me almost unable to breathe.

She said, "Sorry, I just wanted to see what it's really like to be gay. Gu Fan, I know you used to have a crush on me. Can you tell me what that feels like? Or is it just about sex? About making love, obsessed with the bodies of the same sex, like the desire you're showing now as I stand before you?"

I stood frozen before her and, for the first time, closed my eyes. I didn't understand why she would say such a thing. If she knew I used to like her, she should have known how much words like that would hurt me. The expression on my face must have been something to see—an attempt at a smile that looked uglier than tears. I felt like a foolish clown. Was everything I had just done for her nothing but a farce?

But I was glad, glad that she wasn't looking at me. Her head was bowed, the strange smile frozen on her face, her gaze fixed on the floor. I tilted my head back and took a deep breath, forcing down the anger that had flared up in an instant, swallowing the grievance and heartache that followed. I told myself she didn't mean it, that she was just speaking recklessly. She wasn't that kind of person. There had to be a reason, and I needed to find out what it was, not lash out at her without understanding anything.

Pretending her words hadn't affected me at all, I began to gather the clothes from the floor. Once I had them all, I held them in my arms, opened the bathroom door, and left her with a single sentence: "Wash yourself. I'll be waiting outside."

Once again, I had fled from her in disarray.

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