Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Do you want it?”

“Do you want it, jie-jie?”

On that scorching highway in the northwest five years ago.

The six brief months of memories I shared with Xie Lian.

They were all tangled bodies.

Ever since I was little, I had been the obedient good girl who followed every rule.

My father was a middle school teacher, and my mother taught elementary school. In everyone’s eyes, I was docile, quiet, easy to raise-the child other parents compared their own to.

But only I knew the truth.

I was timid and cowardly, had no opinions of my own, and always went along with what everyone else said. I was afraid of conflict, afraid of disappointing people, afraid of taking one wrong step.

I was suffocating more and more.

And hating myself more and more.

So when I was twenty-eight, I made the most rebellious decision of my life.

I quit the job that was choking me, permed my neat long hair into wild waves, took off my five-hundred-degree glasses, and put on a little floral camisole dress…

Then I rented an RV and set off alone on National Highway 318.

It was on that endless Gobi highway that I picked up Xie Lian.

He was twenty-three then. He had been injured while cycling and was sitting alone by the side of the desolate road in no-man’s-land, looking worn down and dispirited, a gloom in his eyes that wouldn’t fade.

Like a young beast trapped by something invisible.

I stopped the RV, hooked one finger over my sunglasses and pulled them down a little, then called to him with a bright smile.

“Hey, want to get in? I’ll give you a ride.”

He refused in silence.

Then he got up and limped forward, pushing his bike.

I drove off in a flash.

But before long, I drove back.

He still ignored me.

I crawled along behind him, coaxing and threatening him by turns.

“Kid, I’m really not a bad person. I just want to do a good deed, that’s all.”

“It’s about to rain, you know. You don’t want to end up like a drowned rat, do you?”

“I heard this road is haunted…”

He suddenly stopped.

Then he turned to look at me and said expressionlessly,

“You talk too much.”

“So are you getting in or not?” My eyes curved with my smile.

He got in.

I knew he was probably going through the darkest time of his life, but I didn’t ask a single question.

Who came all the way out here alone without something like that behind them?

I took him to spread his arms in the gale and scream as wildly as we wanted. I dragged him to lie shoulder to shoulder beneath a sky full of stars and talk nonsense. I spent an entire day helping Tibetan locals search for a missing lamb. In that cramped RV, I made him half-cooked chestnut braised chicken.

Out in a world where no one had to define me, I seemed to become, naturally and completely, the opposite of the old “Cheng Ling.”

Free, passionate, fearless.

An interesting and slightly savage “older sister.”

I was always smiling brilliantly, my voice bright and soaring.

Partly to save him.

And partly to save myself.

Bit by bit, Xie Lian’s eyes grew brighter. Bit by bit, his smile became clearer. When he looked at me, the cool distance he had at first turned focused-even scorching.

I discovered that beneath his gloomy exterior, deep in his bones, he was actually a proud, brave, resilient big boy.

Xie Lian was the opposite version of me.

On a night lit by countless stars, in an RV surrounded by a silent world, we squeezed together on that narrow little bed.

Everything happened so naturally.

Like sleeping when you were tired, drinking when you were thirsty.

The most primal desires merged as one in the most primal wilderness.

There was no age, no identity, no past.

Only burning skin and heavy breathing.

All the rules were crushed to pieces.

Desire was magnified without limit.

And so was pleasure.

We became addicted, unable to pull ourselves free, like two children who had tasted candy for the first time, desperately trying it again and again, constantly wanting more.

He liked to walk his index and middle fingers slowly over my body, stopping somewhere, his voice so hoarse it barely sounded like him.

“Jie-jie, I want to go in.”

“Do you want it?”

“Can you still take one more there?”

“Let’s try…”

During that journey, we stopped and started, drifting on the road for six months.

That day, the sun was setting, and the whole world felt gentle.

He and I sat by the window, sharing dumplings.

“Jie-jie, wait for me for one year. Once I’m done handling my family’s affairs, I’ll come to your city to find you, okay?”

His expression was rarely so serious.

“No can do.” I laughed it off.

“Why not?”

“I’m five years older than you. I can’t afford to wait. Besides, relationships between an older woman and a younger man with too big an age gap never end well. By then, I’ll have gray hair and you’ll still be in your prime. From then on, I’ll turn into a paranoid, bitter wife. I don’t want that!”

As I had so many times before, I spouted nonsense.

He froze a little.

He looked rather dazed.

I couldn’t bear it, so I smiled.

“Fine. Then tell me first-what do you like about me?”

He thought about it, then answered solemnly,

“I like that you live freely and passionately, that you’re carefree and fearless, that you live like your true self.”

I lowered my eyes, picked up a dumpling, and stuffed it into my mouth.

A few days later.

In a small border town, I left behind a note.

And ran away.

The me he saw in his eyes.

Was not me.

We were merely two gusts of wind that happened to meet on the road, briefly tangling and blending under a certain set of circumstances and temperatures.

In the end, we each went our own way.

I returned to my original city, put my glasses back on, cut off my curls, and changed back into the suit that made me feel safe.

I became Cheng Ling again, the one everyone else knew.