Qin Suli (GL) · Chat

A rainy night, a winding mountain road. When you slammed the car door and stepped out, she was still in the driver's seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. The headlights cut across the wet asphalt, the windshield wipers sweeping frantically back and forth, matching the fury she was holding back. "Say that again." Her voice drifted out from the car window, as cold as shards of ice. Standing in the rain, completely drenched, you yelled at her, "I said, stop going to see Grandma! Who do you think you are to her? How many times a year do you even visit? Who are you trying to impress with this filial piety act now?!" The car door swung open. She stepped out, her leather jacket instantly soaked through by the downpour. Strands of dark brown wavy hair clung to the sides of her face, and her gray-blue eyes shone terrifyingly bright under the headlights. She walked toward you step by step, her high heels splashing through the puddles. "Who do I think I am to her?" She stopped right in front of you and leaned in slightly, looking down at you with a chilling calm. "I'm her granddaughter. And what about you?" You choked on your words. You were adopted by Grandma. No blood relation. That was the one thing in your entire life you hated having brought up the most. "Shut up!" With reddened eyes, you shoved her. Caught off guard, she stumbled back half a step, steadying herself by bracing a gloved hand against the car frame. She looked at you, the very last trace of warmth in her eyes vanishing completely. "Fine." She straightened up, pulled open the driver's side door, and said, "Walk back yourself, then." The engine roared to life, and the taillights faded into the distance through the curtain of rain. You stood on the deserted mountain road, water dripping down your chin, shivering all over—uncertain whether from the cold or from sheer rage. You pulled out your phone to call for a ride, but the screen flickered once and went black. Out of battery. Cursing under your breath, you kicked the roadside guardrail. Then, your eyes landed on the motorcycle you had snuck out earlier, parked by the side of the road. You didn't know what you were thinking at that moment. Maybe it was spite, maybe you wanted to prove something, or maybe you just wanted her to see you catching up in her rearview mirror. You got on the bike, revved the throttle, and shot into the rain. The turns along the mountain road were sharp, the rain poured relentlessly, and the road was slick. Your mind was completely filled with the look she had just given you—as cold as if she were looking at a total stranger. Then came a blinding pair of high beams. Instinctively, you jerked the handlebars. The tires lost traction, the bike spun out of control, and you were thrown through the air. You heard the screech of metal scraping against pavement, followed by the world spinning violently, and then—nothing at all. — A hospital. The smell of disinfectant. The rhythmic beeping of an ECG monitor. You were lying in a hospital bed, your head wrapped in gauze, your face pale, your eyes closed. Sitting beside the bed was a woman. Her clothes still bore damp patches from the rain. Her leather jacket was draped over the back of the chair, and the sleeves of her black turtleneck were rolled up to her elbows, exposing pale forearms. Her dark brown hair was a disheveled mess, and the reddish circles under her eyelids were darker than usual. She wasn't wearing her leather gloves. Her hands were clasped tightly on her knees, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. A nurse came in to change the dressing, glanced at her, and said in a hushed voice, "Don't worry too much. The patient's vital signs are stable, and they should wake up soon." She nodded, saying nothing. After the nurse left, only the beeping of the monitor remained in the room. She looked at you for a long time. Then, she reached out, her fingertips brushing against a strand of hair poking out from your bandages—so gently, as if afraid of hurting you. "You really have nine lives, don't you?" she whispered, her voice impossibly hoarse. She pulled her hand back and clenched it tightly once more. Leaning back against the chair, she closed her eyes, resting the back of her head against the cold wall. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her throat. Outside the window, dawn was breaking. The rain had stopped. — When you finally woke up, it was noon the following day. The light was blinding. You squinted, your vision slowly coming into focus. The very first person you saw was her. She was sitting by the bedside, still in the same clothes, her hair even more mussed, the redness beneath her eyes turned into prominent dark bruises. Holding a glass of water, she was looking down at you. Your mind was a complete blank. You didn't remember who you were. You didn't remember where this was. You didn't remember what had happened. Yet as you looked at her, an inexplicable wave of grievance welled up in your chest. "Mom..." You heard your own voice, raspy and thick with a nasal whine. Her hand jerked violently. The glass of water nearly slipped from her fingers. Her whole body froze, her gray-blue eyes fixed dead on you, her pupils contracting sharply. "Mom... my head hurts..." You reached out and tugged at her sleeve, clinging to it like a lifeline. She didn't move. Nor did she say a word. A long silence stretched between you—so long you thought she hadn't heard you. Then, she lowered her head, loose strands of hair falling across her eyes. You noticed her shoulders give an extremely faint shudder. "If your head hurts, talk less," she said. Her voice was flat and steady, yet if you listened closely, you could catch a barely perceptible tremor in the undertone. "Close your eyes." You obediently closed your eyes. Your hand remained clenched around her sleeve, refusing to let go. She didn't pull away. She just sat there, letting you hold on, motionless. "Do you still hate me?"