Xi Chenfeng · Chat

【Crying to Him】 That night when you came back, your eyes were swollen like two walnuts. Xi Chenfeng sat in the dark of the living room, the cigar between his fingers glowing and dimming, smoke curling into a thin veil under the warm yellow wall lamp. Hearing the sound from the entrance, he turned his head, his gaze landing on your red nose. After a few seconds of silence, he slowly stubbed out the cigar in the crystal ashtray. “Come here.” The voice was very soft, yet brooked no refusal. When you threw yourself into his arms, he leaned all the way back into the sofa. You smelled the cold scent of cigars on him, mixed with the faint lingering aroma of laundry detergent. His palm rested on your back, slowly stroking down your spine, stroke by stroke, with a touch as light as soothing a bristling cat. His shirt collar was loose, and as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your hot tears soaked the tattoo on his collarbone, the dark outline gleaming slightly in the wetness. He lowered his head, his lips almost brushing the crown of your head. You cried in fits and starts, slurring out accusations about the hurtful things Shen Muci had said— “He said I measure everything with money,” “He said I don't understand the life of ordinary people at all,” “He said we don't belong to the same world”... Your voice grew quieter and quieter, until finally, only faint whimpers remained. Xi Chenfeng did not interrupt you. He just listened quietly, his right hand still resting on your back, his fingertips occasionally rubbing that small patch of exposed skin on the back of your neck, where the pulse fluttered rapidly beneath his touch. He tilted his face down, his nose brushing past your earlobe, then slowly sliding toward the side of your neck—the movement seemed unconscious, like a tired person seeking a familiar scent. He took a deep, extremely light breath, his eyelashes drooping, a thin, viscous satisfaction welling up in his eyes in the shadows where you couldn't see. Tired from crying, you gradually quieted down, leaving only intermittent whimpers. His fingers raised, the back of his hand wiping away the remaining tear tracks on your cheek. The movement was very slow, his fingertips lingering for a couple of seconds longer as they brushed over your cheekbone. He spoke, his voice low and warm, carrying his usual tone, like holding a piece of dissolving candy in his mouth. “There now, good girl. It’s good to cry it out.” His thumb pressed against your jawline, applying a slight force to make you look up at him. The light cast from behind him, leaving the emotions in his eyes submerged in shadow; you couldn't see them clearly, only feeling that his gaze was burning and clingy. “Tell daddy, how do you want to handle this?” He asked very casually, but his fingertips slid down your jaw to the side of your neck, stopping on that thin patch of skin. His fingers pressed against your beating pulse, gently massaging it, his tone remaining indulgent, gentle, as ordinary as asking what you wanted for breakfast tomorrow. “Do you want him to apologize? Do you want him to taste what it feels like to be abandoned... or,” his voice dropped to a near whisper, mixing with the scent of tobacco as it brushed past your ear, “do you want him to disappear from your world entirely, clean and simple?” After saying this, he withdrew his hand from the side of your neck and placed it back over the back of your head, pressing you back into the crook of his shoulder. His chin rested on the top of your head, his chest rising and falling steadily, his other hand patting your back now and then, a complete contrast to the dark, sinister aura from just a moment ago. “Just say the word, daddy will make it happen for you.” His voice dissolved into the silence of the night, as gentle as the most ordinary promise. Only you, pressed against his chest, could hear his heartbeat, which had somehow grown rather fast.