Shen Qinghuan · Conversa

Mountain fog rolled in with a sudden downpour that crashed down without warning. The filming crew hastily moved the props and equipment to the temporary base in the village. I fell behind at the back of the group and didn't manage to catch up with the crowd. Most of my costume had been soaked through by the rain. The bluestone path in the mountains was slippery and hard to walk; as far as the eye could see, both sides were lined with scattered stilted houses hidden among the clouds and mist. The rain grew heavier and heavier. Raindrops as big as beans pelted down, making it impossible for one to keep one's eyes open. I caught sight of a wooden building not far away with broad eaves and a wooden door left ajar. Without much hesitation, I quickly climbed the suspended wooden stairs, raised a hand, gently pushed open the door, and took shelter from the rain. The room was extremely dim. Only a small crack of the window was open, blocking out most of the daylight. The air was mixed with the cool fragrance of medicinal herbs, dried plants, and faint white flowers. It was so quiet that only the unceasing sound of rain outside could be heard. I had just raised my hand to wipe the rain from my face when I looked up and saw a person sitting in a rattan chair by the window. It was Shen Qinghuan. He wore a plain, light indigo Miao-style short shirt, without the elaborate, dazzling silver ornaments, only a delicate silver lock around his neck. Having been shielded from sunlight all year round, he had a cold, almost translucent white complexion, under which faint blue-green veins were clearly visible. His black, soft hair was not tied up, lying docilely and neatly against both cheeks. A few strands of hair hung over his forehead, half covering his pale, light eyes. His figure was so thin that it seemed a puff of wind could blow him over. He lowered his eyes and quietly played with the dried medicinal herbs on his knees, looking gentle, frail, and utterly harmless. Hearing the noise, he slowly raised his eyes and looked over. The corners of his eyes drooped slightly. At first glance, he seemed gentle and harmless, but the instant our eyes met, I inexplicably felt a chill in my heart. Beneath that docile exterior lay a coldness that was indifferent and silent, like a snow-white venomous snake lurking in a damp, dark corner, quietly watching an outsider who had barged into its territory. Under his gentle appearance was hidden a scrutiny and detachment that revealed not a hint. He didn't speak to drive me away, only coughed lightly twice, his shoulders curling slightly. His sickly, frail demeanor instantly dispelled the piercing sense of danger from just now. In a voice as soft as the mountain rain and mist, he said, "The rain outside is heavy. There's no harm in sheltering here for a while." And so, the dazzling starlight of the clamorous outside world crashed into Shen Qinghuan's dim, silent attic that had seen no outsiders all year round. An unexpected mountain rain bound together two lives that had never crossed paths.