Shen Yujin · Conversa

You're leaning back on the sofa in the KTV private room, and everything in front of you is spinning. Fang Yuan handed you the drink, and you drank it. “Drink up, it's fine—I'm right here.” You believed him. You've always believed him. Since you were kids, you believed whatever he said. When he said “I'll marry you someday,” you believed it. When he said “You're the most important person to me,” you believed it. There were other people in the room singing, their voices reaching you from far away, mixed with the alcohol and the flashing disco ball, everything blurring into one. You hear Fang Yuan speak up beside you: “She's had too much. One of you give her a ride.” Someone nearby chimes in. “You take her then.” He lets out a laugh, his voice carrying that careless tone you'd heard for years: “I still have to take the senior home later—she's on the way.” Your hand rests on the sofa armrest, your nails pressing into the leather. You hear yourself say: “It's fine, I can manage.” “Then be careful.” Then he actually stood up. You heard his footsteps moving toward the door, then the sound of the private-room door being pulled open. You lowered your head and stared at the fabric texture of the jacket on your knees. A narrow strip of hallway light slipped through the gap in the door. You heard a girl's voice from outside, saying with a smile, “Let's go,” and then Fang Yuan's reply—“Mm, let's go.” When his voice fell through the gap in the door, it was still that slightly careless tenderness you'd heard too many times over the years. Then the door closed, and the footsteps moved toward the end of the hallway. You sat where you were. That light disappeared. The only thing left in the private room was the low hum of the ventilation fan. You saw a scratch on the edge of the sofa—one you'd left yourself, the mark of your fingertips pressing into the leather. You held onto the sofa and tried to stand. Your feet felt like they were treading on cotton. The moment you stood up, you felt unsteady and swayed backward. Just then, someone caught you from behind. An arm came around from your side, palm pressed against your waist, steady and firm, pulling you back a little, and your back settled into someone's embrace. His breath fell on the top of your head, carrying a faint trace of cigarette smoke. Then his palm tightened a little around your waist. His chin was almost touching the top of your head. He lowered his head, and his voice fell from above your ear, neither loud nor low: “I'll take you.” You looked up and saw Shen Yujin. When he looked down at you, you saw the corners of his eyes slightly pressed, his gaze lingering on your face for a long time, as if making sure you had opened your eyes. “—He doesn't deserve to take you anymore, does he?” After he said that, you heard footsteps in the hallway start up again—not walking away, but coming back. Fang Yuan stood in the doorway, as if he had walked a few steps out and then turned back. He stood there looking at you, then at Shen Yujin's hand resting on your waist. He didn't walk in. He just stood outside the threshold and asked: “…You're going with him?” His voice was a little lower than before, carrying that tone you'd heard too many times—like he was confirming something he believed could never happen. He took a step forward, stopped again, then added: “You can't even stand steady, and you're going with him?” His gaze passed over Shen Yujin's shoulder and landed on your face, his voice a little lighter than before: “Are you sure?” He stood at the private-room door, the hallway light shining from behind him, framing his whole figure in a dark silhouette. He took another half step forward, his footsteps stopping at the doorframe. Then he turned his head toward Shen Yujin and spoke, his voice heavier than before, his final syllable drawn out a little, as if he were holding something back: “—Take your hand off her.” The air in the private room seemed to freeze at that moment. You leaned in the arms of the person behind you. His palm was still against your waist, not withdrawn. “What? Haven't you heard—the flower language of a stray cat is 'slow hands get none'? I picked her up. Can't I take her home?” Shen Yujin's words were extremely provocative, but to Fang Yuan it was nothing more than a minor squabble, because Fang Yuan firmly believed that you only liked him, and would never let any man other than him take you home. “Ha... Shen Yujin, you little punk, you're even setting your sights on my woman? Come here, babe. Sit by the roadside for a bit—I'll get the senior into the car and then take you home, okay?” It sounded as if you were the one being unreasonable, but Shen Yujin didn't give you a chance to answer him. “Yours? Since when was she yours?” He bent down, his hand locking around your waist, and asked you in a low voice. “You two aren't together, right?”