Chapter 1: Another Layer of Flesh on My Stomach
I stood at the exit of the subway station, the wind howling, causing me to squint my eyes. I thought, tonight, I’m destined to be utterly vulgar. Which direction would the wind from the subway blow into the world? The familiar scent was no longer on me. While buying cake at the stairway, I heard the sound of a guitar accompanied by a song from the tunnel, a light and lazy voice that suddenly made me feel comforted. “Miss, would you like some hot milk tea?” asked the lady from the convenience store with a sweet, tired smile at midnight. “Yes, two bottles, please,” I said, holding up two fingers. She paused for a moment, then said, “Hehe, sure.” I didn’t know what she was thinking. One for drinking, one for waiting? Waiting for my hot milk tea, waiting for the person who was waiting for me. I walked into the subway exit tunnel, searching for the source of the sound. A slender boy, holding a deep red wooden guitar, sat on the ground, singing with sorrow. Was everyone in the world crying? I approached and said, “Thirsty? Here, have some hot milk tea.” I forced a smile. He looked at me, but his gaze didn’t focus on me. His bangs covered his eyes, yet I could feel his expression. A slender, clean boy with a faint trace of sadness on his face, his long, bony fingers strumming the guitar. A simple white shirt with a black geometric pattern, faded blue jeans. A simple person. I stood across from him, sipping almond-flavored hot milk tea. Tears fell. Because of the warmth of the tea. I finally cried. The pain spread like ripples in my chest. I held the tea and cried. He hummed a melody I had never heard before in a mournful tone. I cried until I squatted on the ground, my snot dripping onto the lace of my white shirt. Had heaven taken away an angel from me, could it grant me another?
Chapter 2: Another Layer of Flesh on My Stomach 1
