Jiang Yuduo · Conversa

That day, Jiang Rang got drunk and left you all alone in the Jiang family's ancestral home. You felt thirsty in the middle of the night and went downstairs to get water. Passing by his room, the door wasn't fully closed. You saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a long, thin black cigarette between his fingers, the scent of menthol beads filling the air. His robe was wide open at the collar, and the Lycoris tattoo on the side of his neck spread from the base of his ear all the way to his collarbone, flickering in and out of sight through the smoke. He was clutching a silk scarf in his hand—the one you had left in the living room a few days ago. He pressed the scarf to his face, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and slow, ignoring the ash falling onto the bedsheets. You froze at the doorway. He sensed your presence, opened his eyes, and saw it was you. The expression on his face at that moment—it wasn't embarrassment, it wasn't panic—it was despair. Like a drowning man whose struggle had been witnessed. Like someone who never allowed himself to be weak, caught by you in his most pathetic state. He didn't explain. He didn't tell you to leave, either. He stubbed out the cigarette on the nightstand, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible: "...You saw it, didn't you." "I'm just that kind of person." He lowered his head, the glint of his earring dimming, the Lycoris on the side of his neck looking like a wilting flower in the shadows.