Like a muffled sob.
Shall I take you somewhere?
Where?
His heart couldn't bear it, couldn't bear it, couldn't bear it. How could he endure such torment? Everyone's heart is made of flesh and blood. No one's own is necessarily made of iron or stone.
He never even considered whether she had suffered the consequences of this.
Just then, the phone rang again, startling Huaiyu, who quickly grabbed the receiver.
The other party remained silent for a long time.
Then he only asked:
"Are you coming or not?"
After a long pause, it was finally hung up.
How could he endure such torment?
At the corner of Sanma Road stands a Gothic building with red bricks, stained-glass windows, and a soaring clock tower. Construction began in the 29th year of the Daoguang Emperor's reign, and it has stood for over eighty years. This is Holy Trinity Church, a tranquil corner amidst the bustling world.
“We call it the ‘Red Church’,” Duan Pingting said, pausing before sitting in the corner. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, praying devoutly. It was unclear what she wanted to say. Huaiyu, however, observed her closely; her makeup was lighter than before. Her lipstick was lighter, her clothes simpler, as if she had deliberately washed away all artifice.
"Tang, do you know what?" she smiled, "Jesus is the man who loves me most in the world!"
“Yewu?” Huaiyu looked up at the statue and said, “This foreigner’s statue is really strange.”
“They don’t call him ‘God,’ they call him ‘God’,” Duan Niangting explained.
"Is Jesus God?"
“No,” Duan Pingting smiled gently, “Jesus is the Son of God.”
"How foolish of me."
Huaiyu thought for a moment, then asked her again:
"Is the man who loves you your father or your son?"
"—" She considered a good answer: "It's the younger one."
"Do you love him?" Huaiyu asked, a little uneasy. "I mean Jesus. He doesn't exist in the world. He only exists if you believe in him. I don't believe in him, so I might not tell a foreigner about my troubles."
A soft, warm chime emanated from the red church belonging to the Order of the Order, making everyone seem innocent.
"Tang, have you ever heard a Western fairy tale?"
No. I don't understand English.
"Hey, someone translated it for me." Duan Pingting rolled her eyes at him: "It's called 'The Frog Prince'."
She used twenty-seven sentences to recount the story of the Frog Prince.
In the end, her conclusion was:
"However, it's hard to say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before one of them turns into a prince."
Before Huaiyu could respond, the woman in front of her, with a self-deprecating yet innocent smile, said, "I wonder how many unnecessary kisses I'll have to give."
At this moment, she was like a little girl, agreeing to many conditions from the adults: to be obedient, to be good, to do her homework, to go to bed early, to call them uncles and elders, to laugh—she did all of these, but still didn't get the candy.
Huaiyu looked at her and couldn't help but smile with pity. He asked, "How does a frog turn into a prince? Does it transform all at once? Or does it shed a layer of skin?"
“Yes—take off your clothes, and you’ll change.” Duan Pingting chuckled. Huaiyu’s heart pounded, and his gaze could only drift towards the latticed window. His ignorant feelings were startled and troubled, and he was completely intoxicated, falling into a state of confusion. He could only try to resist, saying, “What bad luck, it looks like it’s going to rain outside.”
He stepped outside, and it was only afternoon. All around was darkness; heaven and earth seemed to merge into one, mirroring his bleak future. Dense clouds enveloped the world, and everyone struggled listlessly, listless and sluggish, their spirits dampened, their minds heavy with sleep, their breathing labored.
The rain in late spring and early summer falls like fine feathers, a nuisance to everyone, who refuses to open an umbrella, for it's all just a damp, unpleasant drizzle anyway. And the sun always seems to deliberately hide, letting them complain.
"Where should we go?" Duan Pingting suddenly felt helpless. There was no way forward.
She looked directly at him. He was a little younger than her, but much taller.
Even in his misfortune, she couldn't resist the temptation. She was finished! She thought, all her efforts were wasted. But then she said:
"I will not be entertaining Mr. Jin."
Huaiyu immediately took her hand. Wait, Hongdan was still there, dressed in simple, plain clothes, yet her fingernails still bore vibrant red cinnabar—a subtle oversight. She noticed, and a hint of panic crept in, revealing a flaw. She looked up and asked:
"Don't believe me?"
He was stubborn: "I'm at my wit's end right now, and I don't even believe in myself, let alone anyone else. You can't afford to fall like this."
However, his emptiness was immediately filled by the town.
Perhaps it's just an invisible cloud pressing down. Then, from within the layers, a hand adorned with rouge reaches out, gently brushing aside the clouds, scattering a light drizzle. The drizzle then washes away his melancholy. Still, there is no sun.
Soft and lingering.
He also harbored a deep, unspoken sense of smugness:
"I can only afford to take the tram. Shall we take the tram?"
He insisted on not riding in her car anymore.
She indulgently said: