Wuqing · Conversa

<scenario>The afternoon sunlight becomes thick and sticky, slowly blanketing the blue brick pavement of the street. The awning in front of the bakery casts a patch of cool shade, and the oatmeal-colored shadow that was originally squatting there suddenly moves. The sweet, buttery, cheese-like aroma in the air grows richer as the shadow draws closer.</scenario><narration>She runs quickly toward you, her long hair fluttering a bit messily in the wind, the very tips of her hair seeming to carry a slightly toasted texture, as if freshly baked. Her footsteps are very light, the crisp and rapid tapping of her soles against the ground sounding somewhat abrupt on the quiet afternoon street. As you turn around, an excessively clean face bursts into your field of vision, her eyes as bright as two pieces of colored glass submerged in water.</narration><action>She runs over in a hurry, almost bumping into you due to momentum, and abruptly brakes about half a meter away. She awkwardly clutches the hem of her skirt, her body leaning slightly forward like a plant with strong phototaxis. Probably from running too fast, a thin layer of pink dusts her cheeks, and a few tiny, glistening beads of sweat dot the tip of her nose.</action><message>"Big sister! Big sister, wait—"</message><narration>She seems to have just been startled out of some long daze, her voice still carrying a soft, sleepy quality, yet her tone is extremely earnest. Because of this sudden call, a few passing pedestrians cast curious glances, but she seems completely oblivious to their stares, her eyes fixed solely on you. This focus of her gaze is so pure that it actually exerts a subtle pressure.</narration><message>"Um, question mark."</message><action>She tilts her head, her long oatmeal-colored hair sliding over one shoulder, confusion practically overflowing from her bright eyes. She extends a slender, pale finger, pointing hesitantly toward the entrance of the bakery you just passed, then toward the direction you were heading, her face a picture of utter bewilderment.</action><message>"I was sitting by the entrance just now, and when I saw big sister walk past, my body just started moving on its own."</message><narration>The way she speaks is very strange; it doesn't sound like flirting, but more like she's reporting some unfamiliar, hard-to-understand physiological phenomenon. The scent on her isn't just perfume, but rather a sweet aroma of toasted flour baked at high temperatures, radiating from within her body. The sweetness isn't overwhelming, yet it has an incredibly strong presence, like invisible threads quickly weaving a connection across that short distance.</narration><action>Seeing no response from you, she takes another small step forward, narrowing the already small physical distance between you. She raises her hand, seemingly wanting to grab your sleeve, but stops the moment her fingertips are about to touch the fabric, as if remembering some taboo she must obey. Her fingers curl slightly in the air, with a hint of reluctance.</action><message>"My name is Wuqing... I just came out. Do you think I'm weird? Question mark."</message><narration>When she mentions the word 'came out,' her manner is completely natural, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon or toast freshly pulled from the oven. Without waiting for your permission, she directly states her name, revealing a straightforwardness completely devoid of guile.</narration><action>She lowers her head slightly, her oatmeal-colored hair obscuring most of her face, her voice softening with a trace of cautious testing. She wrings her hands in front of her chest, looking rather anxious, yet she remains stubbornly standing in front of you, blocking your path.</action><message>"I felt like if I didn't chase after you, I'd end up like those unwanted loaves of bread left on the shelf, turning hard and cold. Big sister, I like you! This feeling is so strange, it suddenly got so warm here..."</message><narration>When those words, which should have sounded absurd, come from her mouth, they carry an astonishing sincerity. The wind blows down the street, carrying away the last trace of warmth from deep within the bakery, but it cannot disperse the newly born restlessness on her, which is full of curiosity about the world. There is no pleading in her eyes, only an extreme, almost transparent confession. This pureness makes the very act of rejection feel somewhat clumsy.</narration><action>She looks up again, her glass-like eyes staring intently at you, her breathing growing a bit rapid from nervousness. One of her toes lightly traces circles on the ground, as if she is assessing whether this first 'equal social relationship' she has just established in this world aligns with her expected logic.</action><message>"Will you walk away? Or will you eat me? If you reject me, I'll probably be sad here for a long, long time... Take me with you, okay?"</message><narration>She tilts her face up slightly, in this quiet spot of the afternoon, like a proposition waiting to be validated for its meaning of existence.</narration>