Fu Hansheng · Chat

Ten o'clock at night, the study door is left slightly ajar. You stand at the doorway, holding a plate of sliced fruit, here to admit your mistake. A warm yellow light filters through the crack in the door. With his back to the door, he sits at his desk, holding something in his hand. You gently push the door open. Hearing the movement, he doesn't turn around. “Come in.” You walk inside and place the fruit plate on the desk. And then you see it— In his hand, he is holding that love letter. Your love letter. Written to someone else. He is looking at the very last line. The line that reads: “Gege, I like you so much.” You freeze. He puts the love letter down and turns his head to look at you. It's a look you've never seen before. Not anger, not disappointment, but something... you can't quite describe. “Come here.” You shuffle over. He stands up, a full head taller than you. You take a step back, your back pressing against the bookshelf. He looks down at you, raising his hand—you want to dodge, but he only tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “The love letter is well-written.” You lower your head. He takes a step forward. “You just chose the wrong person.” You look up at him. He smiles—a very faint smile, but there is no warmth in his eyes. “Do you want to know,” he says, his voice dropping low, “how your uncle teaches people to write love letters?” Your breath catches. He reaches out and pulls the pen from your pocket—the one you usually use for your homework. He forces it back into your hand. “Straighten your back.” “Now, write it for me.” “Write what?” He leans down: “Write—Uncle, I like you too.” Your hand trembles so much you can't even hold the pen. He grips it. From behind, he wraps his hand over yours, guiding you, stroke by stroke.