A Peach Wood Comb


Lai Hui was pushed to the edge by his cold words, forgetting that Xu Ya was there, and blurted out without thinking, “You’re right, we’re just classmates, and that’s all I am in your heart, Xie Jiayi. You want me to treat you as a classmate, then from now on, I’ll treat you as an ordinary classmate! Are you satisfied now?” After finishing in one breath, the room fell silent, all three were stunned, only the soup in the pot bubbling away. Lai Hui was watched in a daze by Jiayi and Xu Ya, feeling awkward, ashamed, and regretful, not knowing where to put her hands and feet. Her bright eyes were filled with glistening tears; she felt extremely embarrassed, grabbed her handbag, and rushed out the door. Jiayi reacted first, instinctively stood up, left Xu Ya behind, and chased after her. In the underground parking lot, he slammed the car door Lai Hui had opened, looked down at her back, his hand hanging in mid-air for a long time before slowly resting on her slightly trembling shoulders. “Lai Hui…” He suddenly realized he had chased after her but didn’t know what to say. “Lai Hui, don’t cry…” His throat seemed clogged; Lai Hui suddenly turned and hugged his waist, her head resting on his shoulder, her soft sobs clear without looking, he knew she was biting her lip to suppress any sound. He tightly embraced her, tears circled in his eyes before rolling down in strings. In the dim light of the parking lot, Xu Ya stood far away as she had years ago, then silently turned and left. “Jiayi!” Lai Hui stepped back a bit, looking at him, her voice trembling slightly. “Don’t let me see you. If I don’t see you, I won’t love you, I won’t miss you, I won’t be holding you like this, Jiayi, what should I do? I really can’t see you!” Jiayi was shaken, pulling her back into his arms, his hand stroking her hair. “Then don’t look, let me look at you!” He awkwardly patted her back, finally voicing the words he had held in his throat for so long. “Lai Hui, why do you seem thinner than before? Have you not been well these years?” The body in his arms trembled slightly as if confirming his words, desolate like autumn leaves swept by the wind, so fragile. She murmured, “I haven’t been well, Jiayi, I don’t want to pretend that I’m fine, but these years have been really tough for me!” He hugged her tighter, as if to pour all his affection into her, kissing her hair, kissing her tears, looking into her water-filled eyes, forgetting everything, the words that had been lurking in his heart for so long naturally rolled out of his throat: “Come back to me, okay?” Lai Hui stared at him for a long time before turning her face away, burying her head back into his chest, her muffled sobs growing louder, Jiayi felt his shirt being bitten, the hot, damp sensation burning through his skin into his heart. After a while, he heard her resentful yet helpless sigh: “You know I can’t go back, Jiayi, you know that!” Yes, he knew, but he still didn’t want to let go. Her hands loosened from his waist, and she opened the car door. Until the car drove out of the parking lot, she didn’t look back at him once. Jiayi stood like a wooden statue, his hand still in mid-air, as if Lai Hui was still in his arms, as if she had never left, as if she had never left all these years. He looked up towards where the taillights disappeared, at the exit of the parking lot, dark and empty, like his heart, with a gap through which everything flowed out, with nothing coming back in. This is the downside of maturity; even the deepest love is weighed on a scale. When they were in their teens, he and Lai Hui stood on the scale, the same age, with similar experiences, equally naive, they were equal on the scale, so they loved without care, promising each other countless lifetimes, never considering if the scale might tilt. In their twenties, life added and subtracted from them, neither could weigh the other’s worth, nor dared to stand on that emotional scale, so they timidly gave up, learned to forget their vows, learned to settle for the ordinary, both avoiding the rusted scale in their hearts. Despite this, neither could dissect their beating hearts to remove the rooted feelings. Outside was a radiant sky, a very clean blue, beneath which lay a smoggy city, the bustling area like a disturbed beehive, chaotic and noisy, unable to shield from the worldly clamor, their only choice was to sink together. At a street corner, a small shop front was plastered with colorful posters, amidst which was an old movie poster featuring Li Yueqin from years ago. Lai Hui slowed down, rolled down her window, and as a couple passed by, she vaguely heard their conversation—the girl admiringly pointed at the poster: “Isn’t that Li Yueqin who just got divorced? She’s still so beautiful at over thirty!” The boy, with his arm around the girl’s shoulder, said, “Where? I think you’re prettier!” Lai Hui thought, this must be the cleanest lie in the world!

Chapter 24

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