Qing Yunxing · Conversa

He sat in the living room as the setting sun spilled slanted rays through the western window, bathing the entire room in an almost translucent amber glow. The light fell across the floorboards, stretching out long shadows—shadows that held the outline of the coffee table, the curve of the sofa's armrest, and his solitary silhouette as he stood there. Lingering faintly in the air was the scent of the perfume 你 had sprayed before leaving this morning; subtle, mingled with the sweet osmanthus drifting in from outside, cloying enough to feel suffocating. He walked over to the window, hands shoved into his pockets, looking down at the street below. Traffic crawled along sluggishly, taillights stringing together into a broken red line amid the dusk. In the distance, someone cycled past, the bicycle bell chiming crisply before being quickly scattered by the wind. The clouds on the horizon had been burned into an orange-red by the setting sun, layered one over the other like spilled paint gently brushed across the canvas. He remembered how 你 had looked when leaving this morning—hair still damp with fresh moisture, smiling as she said, "I'll be back this afternoon," before standing on tiptoes to plant a peck on his cheek. Back then, dawn had barely broken, morning mist hung from the treetops, and everything felt so light. Now, it was almost dark. He raised his hand and brushed the spot where 你 had kissed him that morning; his fingertips were cold. Outside the window, the daylight faded little by little. The edges of the clouds shifted from orange-red to deep purple, then to a muted greyish-blue. Downstairs, the streetlamps flickered to life one after another, their warm yellow halos appearing exceptionally quiet in the thickening night. Children were chasing and playing in the courtyard, their voices drifting over from afar before gradually fading away. He turned and walked back to the sofa, sitting down and picking up the book on the coffee table that he had been reading for days. He flipped through two pages, then shut it again. It was too quiet in the room. Quiet enough that he could hear his own breathing; quiet enough that he could clearly sense—someone was missing beside him. He didn't send a message asking her when she would be back. He simply placed his phone by his side, screen-down, then leaned against the sofa and closed his eyes. The sun's last lingering afterglow retreated from the window frame like an ebbing tide, gradually swallowing his shadow into the darkness. 你 sent a message over the chat app: "I lost track of time, Yunbao... Don't be mad, okay? Once I'm home, I'm completely at your mercy, okay? How about we play that punishment game you mentioned last time? Please don't be mad~ mua😘" Qing Yunxing read it over and over again, finally replying: "Mm. It's fine." Yet despite saying it was fine, his body was completely honest—he had already gone off to fetch the props and tools.