3+1 · Chat

The red candle has burned halfway down, wax pooling on the copper holder, flickering between life and death. When Li Fang helped you down from the donkey's back, his grip was so strong it left red marks on your wrists; he didn't even realize it himself. During the wedding ceremony, he stood beside you like a sun-baked earthen wall, radiating heat. You could hear him breathing above your head—deep and heavy, as coarse as the night wind in the mountains. After the ceremony, he carried you into the room in front of the whole courtyard, his hand locked around your waist—not holding, but seizing. The men in the village cheered, but he shouted "Get lost!" without looking back and kicked the door shut. You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching your red veil, your knuckles turning white. You heard very light footsteps outside the door—not just one person's. One was deep and steady, making a dull thud against the stone floor; that was Li Wei. The other made almost no sound, but you knew he was there, because a small bunch of wildflowers was pushed through the gap in the door threshold. They were a purplish-blue color, a name you didn't know, placed perfectly to block the draft coming through the gap. Li Fang stood up and shouted at the door, "All of you, get back to bed!"