Chapter 95: The Wish
Autumn rain was very different from the torrential downpours of summer. Summer rain was violent and forceful, beating against the earth like a rock and roll drumbeat, relentless and unrestrained; autumn rain, however, was melancholic and lingering, a lament for lost love, its droplets shattering like fragile tears, scattering across the ground.
The autumn rain fell on the balcony, on the camphor tree, into the room.
Xiang Er opened all the windows and stood there, letting the rain soak her hair, her face, her eyes, her entire body.
She felt parched, despite the rain, her heart a desert, her tears dry and brittle, unlike the soft, gentle rain.
The doctor used to visit three times a day, then, after being kicked by Xiang Er, had reduced his visits to once a day. Recently, he hadn’t dared to come at all, Xiang Er’s condition worsening, her refusal to see anyone intensifying.
The state had arranged for the best therapists, but it was no use, Xiang Er would become violent, throwing them out, refusing to listen to a word they said.
But autumn still arrived, and Xiang Er, who hadn’t seen Akhe return in late summer, continued to wait.
If Akhe didn’t return today, she would wait tomorrow.
Damn it, telling her not to wait, how dare she interfere, she would wait, for as long as it took.
Xiang Er stood in the rain, her face turned towards the sky, the grey clouds heavy, the rain like needles, piercing her eyes.
She stared, her eyes stinging, but she didn’t blink. She wanted to see through the sky, beyond it, to the furthest reaches… she wanted to see Akhe.
But she couldn’t see, she couldn’t see anything.
She screamed in frustration, her throat raw, the rain pouring down her throat, a salty, metallic taste.
She turned and spat out a mouthful of blood, watching it mix with the rain.
At first, An Yue and the others, worried about Xiang Er’s suicidal tendencies, had installed security cameras in the apartment, but Xiang Er had quickly destroyed them.
Xiang Er found it ridiculous, suicide? How could she commit suicide, she hadn’t seen Akhe return, how could she possibly…
She had to take care of herself, live her life, wait for Akhe’s triumphant return… she had tried, in the beginning, she had really tried.
She would wake up every morning at the same time, wash up, go to the kitchen and attempt to make breakfast, the results always a disaster, inedible, yet she would force herself to eat it, then wash the dishes. After breakfast, she would take the small eyeball for a walk, holding its black tentacle, strolling through the compound, looking at the flowers, the trees, buying some groceries and fresh flowers. Back in the apartment, she would have lunch, then read or practice calligraphy, and when it was time, she would go to bed.
She never closed her bedroom door.
But every night, the investigators stationed nearby would hear her screams, her cries, her hysterical laughter.
They all knew she was losing her mind.
But the next morning, she would wake up at the same time, and repeat the same routine.
After a while, the nightly madness intensified, the daytime walks with the small eyeball growing shorter and shorter.
The small eyeball had stopped speaking, its slit-like mouth opening and closing, only incoherent babbling sounds escaping, its face contorted in pain, its tentacles limp and listless.
Xiang Er would hold it and say:
“Say ‘Mommy,’ say ‘Mommy!’”
The small eyeball would open its mouth, but no words came out, its tentacles weak and limp.
It spent more and more time sleeping.
Soon, Xiang Er could no longer maintain her routine, she couldn’t take the small eyeball for walks anymore, and her carefully constructed schedule crumbled.
Xiang Er stopped getting out of bed, stopped eating, stopped sleeping, wandering through the apartment like a ghost, wrapped in layers of blankets.
Blankets knitted by Akhe.
She wandered, holding the small eyeball, crying and screaming in the dark, empty rooms, until her eyes were red and swollen, then collapsing onto the floor, falling asleep.
Every night, she went to bed with a sliver of hope, praying that when she woke up, Akhe would be there.
But after so many disappointments, she didn’t even want to sleep anymore.
Anything remotely dangerous had been removed from the apartment, and An Yue would come every day with a doctor, to check on Xiang Er, to forcibly administer tranquilizers and nutritional supplements.
Everyone knew this couldn’t continue, but… there was nothing else they could do.
No one knew if, or when, Akhe would return, or how long Xiang Er’s current state would last.
An Yue even tried to heal the small eyeball, but human understanding of such entities was limited, and the small eyeball just continued to weaken, with no other obvious symptoms.
An Yue considered taking the small eyeball, as instructed in the letter, to provide it with better care.
But as soon as she said:
“Maybe we should take the small eyeball to the hospital…”
Xiang Er stared at her, her gaze intense, her body huddled on the sofa, her arms wrapped around herself, like a protective mother.
There wasn’t much sanity left in Xiang Er’s eyes.
Her amber eyes, dilated from the darkness, stared blankly, unblinking, their gaze cold and distant.
An Yue chuckled awkwardly:
“Forget I said anything.”
Xiang Er looked away, cradling the sleeping small eyeball, gently kissing its head.
The small eyeball, with a tentacle, nuzzled against the warmth of Xiang Er’s neck, its eye closed, and continued to sleep.
Every day now was a torment for Xiang Er, a slow descent into madness, and An Yue, watching, felt a growing sense of helplessness.
By October, Xiang Er had developed a tolerance to the medication, the sleeping pills and tranquilizers no longer effective, requiring stronger, more experimental drugs, with potentially harmful side effects.
Another sleepless night, Xiang Er sat by the window, her body thin and frail, her skin pale as paper, as if it might crumble at the slightest touch.
She liked watching the sunrise from the window, the warmth of the sun a reminder that she was still alive.
But it had been raining constantly lately, no sunrises, and she felt herself decaying, a growing suspicion that she was already dead, only a lingering attachment keeping her tethered to this world.
The small eyeball had been asleep for three days now, and for three days, she hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten or drunk anything, just holding the small eyeball close.
The room was as silent as a cave in the heart of a snowy mountain.
A faint touch on her finger made Xiang Er’s body stiffen, and she looked down.
A thin, black tentacle was clinging to her finger.
A flicker of hope, a long-forgotten emotion, and she thought the small eyeball had woken up, and she followed the tentacle with her gaze…
An egg.
The small eyeball… had become an egg.
A translucent egg, the size of her fist, thin, black tentacles, like veins, pulsing faintly on its surface.
Xiang Er lifted her hand, holding the egg up to the light, a dark mass visible within the translucent shell.
And the black tentacle on her finger, slowly, withered.
It became a thin, black thread, and fell away.
Gone.
Xiang Er stared at the egg, her vision blurred by the misty morning light.
She slowly climbed down from the windowsill, cradling the egg, her movements slow and deliberate.
Her legs, thin as matchsticks, no longer moved with their usual grace, she shuffled forward, like a cave dweller, wrapped in a faded, worn blanket.
Through the bedroom door, through the living room, through the dining room.
She reached the refrigerator.
Her hand, trembling, like a withered branch, opened the refrigerator door. It was empty, but spotlessly clean.
Xiang Er no longer felt the cold, and she wondered if it was plugged in, but the light was on. But it wasn’t cold.
She held the egg, examining it one last time. A dark mass within the pale grey shell, the veins on its surface no longer pulsing.
Utterly still.
The hum of the refrigerator was clearly audible.
It wasn’t cold, the coldness was in her heart.
Xiang Er’s lips moved, and she kissed the eggshell, a silent farewell.
A faint red glow emanated from the eggshell, a fleeting flicker, like a hallucination.
Xiang Er placed the egg in the refrigerator.
She closed the door.
And for a moment, she was transported back to that evening, a naive, unsuspecting girl, returning home from work, opening the refrigerator, seeing an egg inside, and screaming in fright.
Xiang Er opened her mouth, a silent scream. But her voice, hoarse and raspy, like an old woman’s, couldn’t form a proper sound, just a broken, guttural cry:
“Ah… ah… guh… ah…”
She screamed, just like she had that evening, the first time she had seen the egg, she screamed.
It wouldn’t die, it would be okay.
Xiang Er opened the refrigerator door again, looking inside. The egg lay motionless on the shelf, no red glow, no pulsing veins, no shimmering light, nothing.
Xiang Er closed the refrigerator door.
She shuffled forward, her movements slow and uncertain, unsure where she was going.
There was nothing… no life left in this room. She herself was barely alive.
She sat down heavily on the floor, her thin body hitting the hard surface, a sharp pain in her hip, and she smiled, a bitter, broken smile.
Tears, thick and cloudy, streamed down her face.
Her voice, for once, clear and steady, said:
“Akhe, my wish is… for you to come back.”
The words echoed through the quiet, empty apartment, the dim morning light filtering through the balcony window.
Xiang Er suddenly saw a red glow, a brilliant red light filling the room.
Her heart leaped, a sudden, sharp pang, and she stood up, clutching her chest, and ran to her bedroom, opening her bedside table drawer.
There, the translucent, heart-shaped gem.
The gem… was glowing!
A brilliant red light, illuminating the entire room! A clear, beautiful, dazzling red light!
Xiang Er stared, her eyes wide with disbelief, her breath catching in her throat, her eyes stinging, she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time!
It was Akhe’s heart! Akhe had answered her wish, no matter when, no matter where… Akhe always answered her wishes!
Xiang Er reached out, her hand trembling as she carefully touched the heart-shaped gem, lifting it from the drawer, holding it up to the light…
Then… a soft “crack.”
A very soft, almost inaudible sound.
At the peak of its brilliance…
The heart shattered.
Crumbling into dust in her hand, fine grains of sand slipping through her fingers, falling to the floor.
Leave a Reply