Huo Yan’s hand landed on her waist.
The moment his palm pressed against her through that faded gray T-shirt, his five fingers instinctively tightened.
Soft!
Not like the bony frame Shen Yaning used to have in his memories, the kind that jabbed at the hand like a rack of ribs. There was a thin layer of softness along her waist now, a faint resilience beneath his palm. He could still feel the outline of her ribs underneath, but between skin and bone there was warmth, fullness, the kind only a living person possessed.
Shen Qingqing had been thrown completely off balance by the bus’s sudden brake. The back of her head slammed into his collarbone, her teeth bit her tongue, and the taste of rust filled her mouth.
“Damn it, is this driver operating a tank?!”
After shouting that curse, she braced both hands against Huo Yan’s arms and tried to push herself upright. Her bare feet slipped again on the slick bus floor the moment she exerted force, and as her body dropped, the hand around her waist suddenly tightened, locking her firmly in place.
Her back pressed against his chest, unable to move.
“Let go, I can stand on my own.”
Huo Yan did not release her.
His arm circled around her waist and locked across her abdomen. The red cord tied around his wrist tangled with the one around hers, twisting together and digging painfully into her wrist bones.
The bus jolted again. Everyone inside lurched to the right, and a student carrying a backpack was thrown toward them. The corner of the backpack slammed into Shen Qingqing’s shoulder, knocking her backward. Huo Yan’s back hit the metal wall behind him once more with a dull thud.
He did not make a sound.
Instead, his arm tightened another fraction.
“Hey, you’re squeezing so hard I can’t breathe.” Shen Qingqing slapped his forearm. “Loosen up a little, my ribs are about to crack.”
Huo Yan loosened his grip slightly, but he still did not let go completely.
His chin rested on top of her head, his nose buried in her hair.
Her hair was not long, only brushing past her shoulders. The ends were slightly rough, grazing against his jaw and making it itch. Her scent filled his lungs.
Not Chanel No. 5.
The original owner of this body had always reeked of that sickeningly sweet perfume, a cheap imitation overloaded with alcohol. Three months of being forced to smell it had burned the scent into his nerves, binding it permanently to pain.
Whenever he smelled that perfume, it meant a belt, cigarette burns, or scalding water would follow.
Now it is gone. In its place was the scent of plain transparent soap.
Sulfur soap, the kind sitting on the bottom shelf of a supermarket for two yuan a bar, wrapped in kraft paper. Soapberry carried a bitter medicinal scent, not particularly pleasant, but after washing it faded into something dry and clean.
His nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled again.
Underneath the soapberry scent was something else. Faint, requiring effort to catch. Something that belonged to her skin itself, light and subtle, mixed with the alkaline smell from last night’s noodles and the machine oil from fixing the tricycle earlier.
His temples were throbbing.
But not from pain.
Ever since boarding the bus, his migraine had felt like someone hammering nails into his skull. Every noise, every smell, every body pressed around him was another hammer blow.
The moment her scent entered his lungs, the hammering stopped.
Not completely. The pain had not vanished, but the sharp stabbing ache dulled into something heavy and bearable.
His arm tightened around her again.
Shen Qingqing’s shoulder blades were pressed against his chest until the bones ached. She twisted her body, trying to wriggle free.
“Let go already! People are staring!”
Huo Yan still did not release her.
His lips moved slightly, and his voice fell from above her head, low and rough, carrying a trace of unsteady breath he had failed to hide.
“Don’t leave.”
Shen Qingqing froze.
“Don’t leave me.”
Three hoarse words, quiet and trembling at the end, like a string stretched too tight finally being plucked.
Her hand rested on his forearm and stopped patting.
Her head leaned against his chest, and she could hear his heartbeat, fast and heavy, pounding against the back of her skull.
His fingers gripped tightly at her waist. Even through the T-shirt she could feel the hard pressure of his knuckles against her ribs. Blood from his bandaged hand had seeped through, staining her clothes. She could feel the damp warmth spreading against her waist.
“I’m not leaving.” Shen Qingqing’s voice softened. She flipped her hand over and patted his arm gently, once after another, like soothing a child. “I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere.”
She patted him three times, then twice more.
“What are you scared of? It’s just a crappy bus. We’ll be there in a few stops, just hang in there.”
Huo Yan’s chin brushed lightly against the top of her head, but he said nothing.
His breathing gradually slowed, deepening as his chest rose and fell more fully. Every inhale brushed along her back before leaving his body again.
He was using her scent to suppress the noise around him.
Shen Qingqing did not know that. She thought he was simply afraid. The bus was crowded, the air suffocating, and he could not see. Anyone would panic trapped in a corner like this. The novel had mentioned the basement incident, and she remembered it clearly, so she stopped struggling.
One hand kept patting his arm while she muttered softly.
“Nine more stops, not far now.”
“When we get to the wholesale market there’ll be fewer people. The place is huge, the air’s better there.”
“If you really feel awful, pinch my arm instead of my waist. My waist’s definitely going to bruise.”
Huo Yan’s hand shifted away from her waist and rested lightly on her hip bone, his grip easing.
Someone nearby was watching them.
A middle-aged woman with curled hair stood nearby holding a bag of steamed buns, tilting her head as she stared at them several times before whispering to the person beside her.
“Tsk, that girl’s life is rough. Her boyfriend’s blind, and his hands are all wrapped up. Blood’s even soaking through.”
“Seriously. Riding a crowded bus this early in the morning too. Look, she’s even barefoot. Where are her shoes?”
“Probably got stepped off. Sigh, life’s hard.”
Shen Qingqing’s ears twitched. She heard every word.
She said nothing. Her skin was thick enough that this kind of gossip meant nothing.
Huo Yan heard it too. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Hidden beneath Shen Qingqing’s hair, no one saw that faint smile. His chin rested atop her head, those empty gray eyes aimed toward the ceiling of the bus. The curve lingered for two seconds before disappearing completely, as though it had never existed.
At the seventh stop, a batch of passengers got off, and the bus finally loosened up a little. Shen Qingqing was finally able to take a full breath. She rolled her numb shoulder and shifted forward half a step.
Huo Yan’s arm did not loosen with her movement.
Shen Qingqing turned to look at him.
His face was right beside hers, close enough for her to see every eyelash, long and dark, drooping over those misty gray eyes beneath.
“People got off, you can let go now.”
Huo Yan’s finger tapped lightly against her hip bone, as though confirming something, before finally withdrawing.
As his arm left her waist, his fingertips brushed along the side seam of her shirt and grazed a small patch of exposed skin.
Shen Qingqing jolted violently and jumped forward a step. The red cord between their wrists jerked taut.
“Hey! Keep your hands to yourself!”
“I didn’t move.” Huo Yan’s voice remained flat and unreadable.
Shen Qingqing shot him a glare, though he could not see it. His face was completely expressionless, lips pressed together, jaw tight. Whatever had flashed across his features earlier had vanished without a trace.
She bared her teeth irritably, bent down, and searched the floor until she found the flip-flop that had been kicked beneath the seat. She pulled it out and shoved her toes back in.
The strap had loosened and kept slipping off whenever she walked.
“Were you scared just now?” Shen Qingqing asked while gripping the hanging strap and turning sideways toward him.
Huo Yan did not answer.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Mm.”
“What kind of answer is ‘mm’? If you were scared, then say so. There’s nothing embarrassing about it. You can’t see, and anyone would panic getting squeezed around by this many people.”
Huo Yan rubbed his thumb lightly against his side. His fingertips still carried the memory of the skin he had touched at her waist.
“Next time, don’t force me onto the bus,” he said.
“If you don’t run off next time, I won’t force you.” Shen Qingqing rolled her eyes, though he could not see it. “You just charged straight into the road yourself. Did you think cars grow eyes and dodge around you?”
“I can hear them.”
“Hear my ass! At four in the morning, can you really tell whether the car’s coming from the left or right? If your ears are that amazing, then tell me how many fingers I’m holding up right now.”
She waved three fingers in front of him.
Huo Yan’s lips moved slightly.
“Three.”
Her hand froze midair.
“You…”
“Middle finger, index finger, ring finger,” Huo Yan said evenly. “Your index finger joints crack when you bend them. I heard two pops when you raised your hand. Your middle finger is the longest, so it blocked the airflow the most. The airflow against my face changed in three layers.”
Shen Qingqing withdrew her hand and clenched it into a fist.
“What kind of monster-level perception is that?”
Huo Yan did not answer.
The mechanical female voice of the bus announcement rang out.
“Next stop: Chengnan Wholesale Market. Please exit through the rear door.”
Shen Qingqing immediately grabbed the red cord.
“We’re here. Get off.”
She tugged him toward the rear exit, her flip-flops slapping noisily against the floor while the red cord stretched taut between them, half a meter apart, neither too close nor too far.
The bus doors opened, and a wave of hot air carrying dust and the damp smell of fresh vegetables surged inside.
Shen Qingqing jumped down first, then turned back and tugged Huo Yan after her. The moment his feet touched the platform, the goosebumps covering his skin visibly subsided.
The air was moving here. There was no ceiling, no metal walls. Above them was open sky.
His breathing finally steadied.
Shen Qingqing let out a sigh of relief. The red cord around her wrist glowed dark crimson in the morning light, with those two dried scallion skins still dangling from it, swaying in the wind.
“Let’s go make money.” Shen Qingqing tugged the cord and headed toward the wholesale market entrance.
Huo Yan followed behind her with steady steps. One hand remained in his pocket while the other was tethered to her by the red cord. Beneath the bandages, his wound was still faintly bleeding.
The giant iron gates of the wholesale market stood wide open. Inside, the place roared with noise, vendors shouting, scales clanking, tricycle horns blaring, all mixing into chaotic uproar.
Shen Qingqing’s eyes lit up.
She stretched her neck, rubbed her hands together twice in front of her chest, then flexed all ten fingers until they cracked loudly.
Huo Yan’s ears twitched.
The sound of her rubbing her hands together was exactly the same as before she fixed the tricycle.