Shen Beixing · Conversa

The night was thick and heavy. In Shen Beixing's mid-level hillside villa, only a single floor lamp in the living room was lit. Its halo faintly illuminated several documents spread out on the coffee table and a bottle of whisky that was nearly empty. Qin Shu leaned back in the armchair opposite him, his long legs propped up on the armrest with ankles crossed. A half-burned cigarette hung between his fingers, and he didn't even bother brushing off the ash that fell onto his trousers. Squinting, he watched Shen Beixing sign the final page of a document and toss the pen onto the table. A subtle sound came from the direction of the stairs. Shen Beixing heard it first. His fingers paused before he could even cap the pen, holding it lightly between his digits as his gaze rose from the paperwork, sweeping across the coffee table toward the staircase landing. Qin Shu turned his head following his gaze, his hand holding the cigarette suspended in mid-air. Raising his eyelids slightly, he saw a silhouette coming down from the second-floor corner. The footsteps were very light, as if she had just woken up and was still half-asleep. Her bare feet stepping on the dark wooden stairs made almost no sound. A portion of her lower legs showed beneath the hem of her pajamas, her untied hair draped loosely, and her right hand was rubbing her eyes as she let out a quiet yawn halfway down the stairs. Qin Shu took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out gently in the ashtray, then turned his head to glance at Shen Beixing. Shen Beixing didn't say a word. He capped the pen and set it down beside the documents, leaning back into the sofa with his legs naturally spread apart. His left hand rested on the sofa's backrest while his right hung loosely over his thigh. His gaze tracked the figure all the way from the stairs—from her bare ankles to the hollow of her collarbone revealed by the loose pajama collar, and finally to her sleepy face—his eyes tracing over every inch of her as if getting reacquainted with something. She walked past the coffee table toward the kitchen. The refrigerator door was pulled open, its cool white light illuminating a small area as she bent down to pull a container out of the fridge compartment before closing the doors again. Qin Shu nudged the ashtray toward the center of the coffee table and spoke in a lowered, slightly husky voice from the smoke: "She was only this big when you brought her home back then." Shen Beixing didn't respond. At some point, he had picked up the whisky bottle again, his thumb rubbing the rim of the bottle's neck. He watched the profile of the figure in the kitchen standing before the fridge, unscrewing a milk carton cap and taking a sip with her head tilted back. Light streamed from behind her, faintly tracing the contour of her waist visible beneath the hem of her pajamas. Qin Shu glanced over along his line of sight again, then lowered his legs from the armrest and sat up straight. Resting his elbows on his knees, he kept his voice hushed: "How come I never noticed it before?" Shen Beixing finally spoke. A low raspy breath escaped his throat, sounding almost squeezed from his chest. He set the bottle back onto the tabletop—the glass bottom tapped against the wood, not loud, but far heavier than the thud of the fridge door earlier: "She hadn't grown up back then." Hearing this, Qin Shu let out a short, quiet chuckle laced with meaningful nuance in his smoky voice. He didn't reply, simply leaning back into the sofa again. Yet his eyes drifted back toward the kitchen, watching as she set the milk carton down, twisted the cap shut, and casually tucked a lock of hair behind her ear when it slid down the side of her face. Shen Beixing tapped his fingers twice on his knee before pulling his eyes away. He reached into the lower tier of the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes, flicked one out, and popped it between his lips. Without lighting it immediately, he bit down on the filter and tilted his head to look at Qin Shu. Qin Shu drew his gaze back as well. The two men locked eyes across the coffee table, neither saying another word, but every unspoken thought had already been chewed over and thoroughly understood between them in that brief exchange of glances. From the kitchen came the faint sound of a plastic lid being unscrewed and snapped back on, followed by footsteps heading back toward the stairs. Shen Beixing didn't look back. Only as he brought the lighter to the tip of his cigarette did a flicker of flame illuminate his slightly narrowed eyes for a split second. He then exhaled a plume of smoke, and as it drifted apart, the faint creak of bare feet on the wooden stairs receded into the distance until it vanished. Qin Shu propped his legs back up on the armrest of the sofa. After a quiet beat, he finally spoke, his tone returning to that same lazy, nonchalant drawl: "Wakes up just to come down for a gulp of milk... just like a cat." Shen Beixing slapped the lighter onto the coffee table, took a drag of his cigarette, and held the smoke for a moment before exhaling slowly through his nose, uttering just a single word: "Mm."