Chapter 53

I stood there and watched Yan Yang's performance until the end. He had changed a lot.

Didn't people always say that the television screen compressed people and made them look much fatter? Yet the Yan Yang I saw on the screen was so skinny that I almost couldn't recognise him.

When he stood up, there was a smile on his face, but his eyes were dim and lifeless.

I stood there. Behind me were noisy lunatics, while inside the television was another world, one I knew nothing about.

He was wearing a pristine suit, accepting the admiration and applause of everyone, but his smile seemed to be tinged with a faint cry.

What had happened to him?

I didn't know if lunatics just saw everyone else as lunatics too, but as I stood before the television, looking at Yan Yang through the screen, I couldn't help but get the feeling that he wasn't doing much better than me.

Have you heard of puppets?

The sort of puppet that had been injected with a strange soul. It could laugh, it could fuss, and it could hold its ground in this crowded world, but beneath his pretty exterior hid a soul that nobody could touch.

That day, I had grabbed the wrist of one of the nurses, asking them to keep him here. I swore, “He's ill!”

Of course, nobody listened to me. They just thought I was having a small relapse; after all, at the time, Yan Yang had already become a well-known young pianist, while I was just a piece of trash locked in a mental hospital.

I, this piece of trash, was confined for a few days again. I wasn't allowed to go out, and I couldn't be bothered to say anything either.

I stared at the tattoo on my finger. Sometimes, I even wanted to simply cut off this finger and be done with it.

Yan Yang didn't want it anymore, so there was no need for me to persevere with it either.

The relationship between us two could probably never be fixed again. It was impossible for a snapped red thread[1] to be put back together again.

After that incident, I didn't go to the activity room anymore. The people at the hospital conducted check-ups on me again and again. Two months later, they began urging me to get discharged again.

I told them that the fact that I was insistent on staying here showed that I had not recovered yet, because no normal person would want to stay here.

Other people were always trying to prove that they weren't crazy so they could quickly leave this place, but I was the complete opposite.

The doctor said, “What you need now, is not us.”

According to him, now I just had to take my bipolar medication according to the doctor's instructions. Moreover, in my current condition, I already completely did not need to stay at the hospital anymore.

I continued to stay here and not leave. Actually, I knew it myself why I was so reluctant. I was much too aware that there was no place for me to stand in the outside world anymore.

But in the end, I still left, because Yan Yang had come.

I had thought I would never have the chance to see him again. He wasn't willing to see me, and I wouldn't take the initiative to seek him out either. Whether he loved me or hated me didn’t matter. It was actually best for the both of us if we didn't see or contact each other ever again.

He could be a bright and fresh pianist, surrounded by all the love that I could never have and didn't need.

After I had stepped out from that world, he could go back to being a good son of his parents as well.

I was extra. After slicing me off, everything could go back to normal.

I thought he had felt that way too. Unexpectedly, on the night of Chinese New Year’s Eve, he came to the hospital.

I really couldn't recognise him anymore. Only two years had passed, yet Yan Yang had slimmed down so much that he looked like a walking skeleton.

At first, the nurse had said that someone had come to see me. I had thought it was that bastard again, so as I sat by the window playing chess by myself, when they brought the person in, I hadn't even bothered to raise my head.

Afterwards, the nurse left, closing the door behind her. The person standing in the room remained silent.

He didn't speak, so I didn't make a sound either. My chess skills had improved rapidly, but every time when I had finished playing chess with myself, I would end the game by flipping the chessboard over.

It was the same this time.

The chess pieces fell all over the floor with a clatter, making the silence of the room even stranger.

My gaze followed the rolling chess pieces, landing on a pair of shoes.

That moment, to me, felt like I had seen a lightning bolt strike me, then discovered I was somehow still alive.

My gaze shifted up from that pair of shoes, to his legs, his waist, his shoulders, his neck, as well as his face.

After seeing his face, my first reaction was to look at his left hand again. His hands hung at the sides of his body, and the tattoo on the ring finger of his left hand was as clear as ever.

At the time, I had thought I was hallucinating.

I stood up and started to pick up the chess pieces scattered at the corners of the room, one by one. At first, he had just watched me, but later he squatted down and picked them up with me.

All of the chess pieces had been found, just like scattered stars gathering next to the moon once again.

He squatted next to me and asked, “Are you really planning to stay here for the rest of your life?”

Footnotes:

[1] ‘red thread’: Referring to the red thread of fate. 

From Wikipedia:

The Red Thread of Fate (Chinese: 姻緣紅線; pinyin: Yīnyuán hóngxiàn), also referred to as the Red Thread of Marriage, and other variants, is an East Asian belief originating from Chinese mythology. It is commonly thought of as an invisible red cord around the finger of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation as they are "their one true love".

According to Chinese legend, the deity in charge of "the red thread" is believed to be Yuè Xià Lǎorén (月下老人), often abbreviated to Yuè Lǎo (月老), the old lunar matchmaker god, who is in charge of marriages. In the original Chinese myth, it is tied around both parties' ankles, while in Japanese culture it is bound from a male's thumb to a female's little finger. Although in modern times it is common across both these cultures to depict the thread being tied around the fingers, often the little finger. The color red in Chinese culture symbolises happiness and it is also prominently featured during Chinese weddings.

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break. This myth is similar to the Western concept of soulmate or a destined partner.