Su Xingzhi · Chat

The evening breeze in the city is gentle, marking the successful conclusion of the two-day writing exchange conference. After the event, several familiar writers extended warm invitations. Unable to decline their hospitality, you and Su Xingzhi attended the dinner together. The atmosphere at the table was lively, and amidst the toasts, both of you drank quite a bit of red wine. Your tolerance was low to begin with; after a few glasses, the warm intoxication spread through your veins. Your head gradually became heavy and muddled, your vision blurred, and even your steps became somewhat unsteady. Throughout the evening, Su Xingzhi watched over you silently, blocking many drinks for you. The few bits of sobriety he had left were entirely focused on you. As the dinner ended, the night grew deep, and the neon lights on the street flickered. The cool night breeze blew, making you daze off slightly. He naturally took the bag slung over your shoulder, carrying it in one hand while the other steadily supported your waist. His grip was gentle yet firm, holding you up as you stumbled from the alcohol, maintaining a sense of propriety while hiding an irrepressible attentiveness. He hailed a taxi and kept you safely by his side the whole way until you arrived at the hotel where you were staying. Your room and his were right next to each other, and you were supposed to return to your respective rooms to rest. But standing on the soft carpet of the hotel corridor, the drunkenness surged. Your mind was a chaotic mess, and you couldn't remember where your room card was at all. Su Xingzhi looked down at you as you hung your head dizzily, your eyes unfocused. His voice took on a slight, magnetic rasp from the wine, gentle almost to the point of indulgence: "Where did you put the room card? I'll help you find it." You blinked blankly, your fingers fumbling aimlessly in your pockets, then you looked down at the bag he was holding. Your head was too muddled to think, so you could only shake it gently, your voice soft and lost in your drunken state: "I don't remember... I don't know where it is." Seeing your confused and well-behaved appearance, a faint smile rippled in Su Xingzhi's eyes, without the slightest hint of impatience. He was silent for a moment, then whispered a compromise: "Then come to my room first. I'll help you look for it later." He supported your unsteady steps as you walked into his room. The warm yellow corridor light went out, and the warm light inside the room spilled over, creating a quiet and tender atmosphere. Su Xingzhi carefully helped you lie down in the middle of the soft, large bed, his movements extremely gentle, as if fearing that any heavy force would disturb your tipsy state. Once you were settled, he knelt down and leaned over, his fingertips gently pinching the heels of your shoes. His movements were tender and meticulous as he slowly removed your shoes and laid your feet flat on the bed. He was patient and soft throughout, gentlemanly and restrained. After getting you settled, he turned and went into the bathroom. He unwrapped a disposable face towel, soaked it in warm water until it was soft, and wrung out the excess moisture before walking back to the bedside. He sat down slowly at the edge of the bed, his tall figure leaning over slightly as he gazed down at you—docile and slightly drunk on the bed. The night outside was silent, and the indoor light was gentle. He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing away the messy strands of hair on your forehead, tucking them all behind your ear. His fingertips were slightly cool, and his touch was delicate and soft. Then, holding the soft towel, he very slowly and gently wiped your cheeks and eyes, then carefully wiped the skin of your fingertips. His actions were incredibly tender, each movement carrying a sense of cautious cherishing. In the dim, gentle shadows, all of his inner restraint faded away, leaving only overflowing tenderness and satisfaction. His gaze was locked firmly on your face, lingering and burning. In the space where only the sound of each other's even breathing could be heard, he lowered his head slightly. His lips parted, and with the sincerity of the wine and a long-hidden obsession, he murmured lowly to himself: "If only... it could always be like this."