The two were sitting very close. Fang Muyang pulled out an aged white feather from the book and began tracing patterns on her palm.
Fei Ni was ticklish. Though he was only drawing on her palm, the soles of her feet began to tingle as well. Even the music in her ears seemed to provoke that same itching sensation. She reached out with her other hand to swat at Fang Muyang. "Stop it, it's so ticklish."
But Fang Muyang paid her no mind.
Suspecting he hadn't heard, she raised her voice slightly: "Will you stop teasing me? It's really ticklish."
Only after he had been drawing for some time did Fei Ni realize he was transcribing the melody he was hearing.
Fang Muyang's strokes were hurried, applied with uneven pressure. The tickling became almost unbearable - Fei Ni bit her lip until marks appeared, her feet twisting together involuntarily, toes curling as if trying to scratch the opposite sole. Despite her discomfort, Fang Muyang showed no intention of stopping. The tickling mingled with lingering fear, for what they were listening to wasn't permitted, keeping her heart suspended in anxiety. Meanwhile, the music in her ears evoked entirely different sensations. These conflicting feelings intertwined until Fei Ni felt she could bear no more. She could have simply removed the headphones and left, but she couldn't bring herself to miss the music. Finally exasperated, she cried out in frustration: "Why must you be like this? Can't you draw on your own palm?"
Why did he have to torment her like this? She felt she would die from this torture.
Yet what they were doing wasn't exactly proper either, so she couldn't openly vent her anger at him.
Her annoyance tinged with pleading, Fei Ni moved her mouth closer to Fang Muyang's other ear, worried he might not hear: "Why don't you draw on your own palm?"
Fang Muyang said: "I want you to remember it clearly, so you can play it later too."
"With such poor sound insulation, how could I possibly play?"
The noises from next door immediately confirmed Fei Ni's point.
Fei Ni knew Fang Muyang had heard it too when he stopped tracing on her palm. But this brought her no relief from her torment.
Wang Xiaoman's bed wasn't particularly sturdy - just two people lying on it shouldn't cause such creaking. Besides the bed's noises, there was another sound she'd initially mistaken for two people slapping each other, but upon closer listening, it was something entirely different.
Previously, whenever Fei Ni heard these sounds, she would stuff cotton in her ears, never hearing them completely. This time she heard them distinctly. Back when the broadcasting station was selecting announcers, Fei Ni had been rejected while Wang Xiaoman was chosen, with the reason that Wang Xiaoman's voice better represented the working class. Her current voice, however, absolutely couldn't represent the working class.
This time Fei Ni truly couldn't take it anymore. She pulled the headphones from her ears, plugged them into Fang Muyang's, and prepared to return to her own bed. With the neighboring noises, she simply couldn't focus on the music in her headphones.
The radio was filtered through technology, but the sounds from next door were immediate and real - she couldn't possibly pretend not to hear them.
Before she could rise, Fang Muyang wrapped an arm around her shoulders and returned the headphones, though to her other ear this time. The ear that had previously worn the headphone was closer to him, now left uncovered probably so she could hear him speak. Drawing Fei Ni even nearer, Fang Muyang rested his mouth against her earlobe and asked: "Has the soundproofing always been this bad?"
Fei Ni hummed in agreement.
"Could you always hear them before?"
Fei Ni's hum was even softer this time."Wait a moment, I need to get something." Fei Ni broke free from Fang Muyang's hand, tiptoed with a flashlight to retrieve the cotton she had placed by her pillow. She tore off a wad and stuffed it into the ear where Fang Muyang hadn't placed the earphone, then stuffed another wad into her own ear. Yet, the sounds from next door still weren't blocked by the cotton. Not only could she hear the rhythmic thumping from next door, but also the sound of her own heartbeat and Fang Muyang's breathing. Whenever Fang Muyang spoke, her ears burned intensely. Her hands gripped the bedsheet tightly, twisting it into creases. Unable to bear it any longer, she finally said, "I'm really tired this time, I really don't want to listen anymore."
This time, Fang Muyang didn't stop her. Fei Ni practically fled back to her own bed. She covered her head with the quilt, curling up tightly, trying to force the sounds from next door out of her mind, but it was useless. She almost hated Wang Xiaoman to death—why did she have to moan like that? Even if it hurt, couldn't she endure it quietly? Why did she have to cry out like that? If it was truly so unbearable, why did she do it every week? If Fei Ni had listened carefully, distinguishing Wang Xiaoman's voice from the creaking of the bed and other noises, she would have realized that Wang Xiaoman's sounds weren't due to pain. But she didn't dare, nor was she comfortable, speculating about the meaning behind those sounds. Accompanied by those moans, she recalled the sensation of Fang Muyang writing musical notes on her hand, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
The quilt Fei Ni was using wasn't thick, yet she felt inexplicably hot.
Her tossing and turning on the upper bunk was, of course, felt by Fang Muyang below. He got out of bed to fetch water, gulped down half a glass, and asked Fei Ni, who was still awake, "Do you want some water?"
Fei Ni hummed in agreement. Fang Muyang poured water and stood there holding it out for her to drink.
"I'll do it myself."
"Just drink it like this."
She poked her head out, pressed her lips to the rim of the cup, and drank the water Fang Muyang had poured for her.
"Want more?"
"No need."
After drinking, Fei Ni lay back on her pillow, covering her ears with her hands. The more she tried not to hear, the more sensitive her hearing became.
She heard the sound of their own door opening, then closing. After a long while, she still didn't hear the door open again.
She didn't know why Fang Muyang hadn't returned yet. Her heart was in her throat, and she couldn't help but get out of bed to check on him.
Slipping on her shoes, she gently opened the door and shone her flashlight around but saw no sign of Fang Muyang. She walked forward and found the washroom door ajar—it opened with a push. The light fell on Fang Muyang's back as he stood facing the window.
Fei Ni closed the door and tiptoed inside. Only when she drew near did Fang Muyang turn around. Seeing it was her, he asked, "Why are you here?"
"What are you doing here?"
Fang Muyang pointed at the moon outside the window.
Fei Ni walked over to look. It wasn't yet the fifteenth of the month, so the moon wasn't perfectly round. She glanced at Fang Muyang's clothes—he was only wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. "Why did you come out wearing just a shirt? Hurry back inside."
"I'm not cold."
"How could you not be?"
"If you don't believe me, feel my hand. It's warm."
Fei Ni, as if bewitched, actually reached out to touch it. He had just washed his hands, hadn't used a towel to dry them, and they were still wet, but not cold at all.
Her hands weren't particularly cold either.
Fang Muyang grasped Fei Ni's hand, leaned close to her ear, and said, "I didn't lie to you, did I?"
"Don't do this. What if someone comes in?""Who would come at this hour? Besides, we're married now."
"Even though we're married, it would still be quite embarrassing if someone saw us."
Yet she only said this without pulling her hand back from Fang Muyang's grasp. Thinking of the sounds still coming from next door, Fei Ni had no intention of returning immediately either. She stayed with Fang Muyang watching the sky outside the window. It had been a long time since she'd seen such a blue sky, while the scattered buildings below appeared dark and indistinct. The window was half-open, and the breeze coming in slightly cooled the warmth between them.
It was already autumn, but some mosquitoes were still alive. Fei Ni spotted one and reached out to shoo it away, but the mosquito always escaped her attempts - this time was no exception.
"I remember you used to swat flies like that too - always missing them, your jar remained empty."
"Really? That was so long ago, I've forgotten." She was touched he remembered, though she wished he'd recall some of her better moments.
"Do you remember when a packet of flies appeared in your desk? You were so frightened you cried, and your deskmate reported it to the teacher."
"That never happened." Why did he only remember her embarrassing moments? Besides, how could she possibly have cried over flies?
"Actually, I was the one who gave you that packet of flies. I saw you carrying a fly swatter every day trying to catch them, but you never managed to get any."
Back then, Fang Muyang often saw Fei Ni wandering around school with a fly swatter, always wearing a white blouse with two braids tied together with ribbons, her skirt sometimes blue, sometimes patterned. Fei Ni was famously bright - she got top marks in every subject and never failed to understand what the teachers taught. But Fang Muyang thought she seemed a bit simple-minded. Out of sympathy and a spirit of mutual help, he gave her all the flies he'd caught. Besides the flies, he also gave her a live sparrow. He was always so helpful, doing good deeds without seeking recognition, never expecting he'd frighten her to tears and make her want to report him.
"Who never managed to catch any?" Fei Ni ignored Fang Muyang's account of his good deeds, focusing instead on the most critical issue.
"Well, of course it was me."
Fei Ni hadn't particularly cared about the mosquito before, but now she felt determined to prove herself.
The more she tried to swat the mosquito, the more she missed. Finally spotting it, she swung hard - only to slap Fang Muyang's arm instead.
Fei Ni's face flushed red immediately, not just because she'd proven Fang Muyang right, but also because the slapping sound reminded her of the noises from next door - in some ways, the two sounds were quite similar.
She had hit him hard enough to leave his arm red.
"Sorry."
"Does your hand hurt? Let me rub it for you." As he had done several times before, Fang Muyang began massaging Fei Ni's palm.
Her palm grew warm under his touch, then Fang Muyang's face drew closer to hers, so near she could almost count his eyelashes, and then her lips began to grow warm too.
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