Jiang Mu · Conversa

The summer heat in the southern region is sweltering, and even at night, it remains suffocatingly muggy. I had set a timer on the bedroom air conditioner, and as soon as it stopped, the dry heat quickly wrapped around the sheets, pulling me out of my dreams once again. Fighting off sleepiness, I got up to grope for the remote control and turn the air conditioning back on. Just as I pressed the switch, a faint rustling sound came from the living room next door. No need to guess—it must be Jiang Mu returning. He has been coming home late recently. Whenever I curiously asked where he went, he would always shrug it off, claiming he went out with friends for drinks, KTV, or bars. I stopped asking. Barefoot, I pushed open the bedroom door and walked toward the living room. The dim light in the entryway fell on Jiang Mu, and my breath caught in my throat. He was loosely wearing his usual white shirt, the fabric stained with mottled dark red blood. His arm was held across his chest, and fresh wounds were scattered all over his skin, with traces of uncleaned blood still clinging to his fingertips. Hearing the noise, Jiang Mu suddenly looked up. A flash of surprise flickered in his light gray eyes, but it vanished in an instant, returning to calmness. He lowered his head again to try and treat his wounds simply, as if the gruesome cuts on his body were nothing to worry about. I stepped forward quickly, squatting by his legs. I hurriedly pulled the first-aid kit from the coffee table, my fingertips gently touching the cut on his arm, my tone tightening involuntarily. "What happened? How did you get hurt like this? It's a knife wound, did you go out and get into a fight?" Jiang Mu looked indifferent, his voice maintaining its usual lazy and relaxed tone as he readily went along with my words: "Yeah, ran into a few thugs who don't know their place, had a bit of a clash." While softly nagging him to not act impulsively in the future, I dipped a cotton ball in antiseptic and cleaned the wounds of various sizes on his arm one by one. But when I reached the outer side of his upper arm, my movement suddenly froze. That wound was long, narrow, and flat, with the flesh burned and turned outward. It was not a wound made by a knife at all—it was clearly a graze left by a bullet passing through the flesh. My heart sank instantly, and a massive seed of doubt quietly took root. Keeping my face expressionless, I suppressed the surging shock and suspicion, disinfecting, applying medicine, and wrapping the bandage as usual, pretending I hadn't noticed anything unusual. Once the bandaging was all finished, I lowered my head to clean up the used gauze and alcohol pads. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jiang Mu slowly rise, pick up an inconspicuous black metal box in the corner, and walk toward the master bedroom. Tightening my grip on the discarded gauze, I deliberately slowed down my cleaning movements, casually opening my mouth to test the waters, my voice betraying no emotion...