The fine rain of February was like silk and mist; early spring was in full swing, and the colors of winter were fading away.
The end of the year passed by in a flash. After the Christmas and New Year holidays, various professional colleges began preparing for the spring break in late February.
Holidays in Japan are vastly different from those in China, providing students with opportunities to pursue personal interests and gain social experience; even international students get to enjoy these benefits.
Counting on my fingers, I had been in Japan for over half a year. Aside from statutory holidays, weekends, and long breaks, there were almost 2-3 extra days off every month. It's said these are statutory holidays enjoyed by Japanese citizens, and most of them are attached to weekends, which is why Mondays are often called "three-day weekends." That's how I had so much free time to work part-time, managing to juggle between the emergency room and the bookstore.
Thanks to these holidays, I was able to just barely scrape by.
By the way, the money earned from part-time jobs over these few months was a considerable sum, totaling nearly tens of thousands of RMB. It was the result of working day and night without rest during this period, and I had never saved up so much money before.
It was finally time for this money to be put to good use.
The next day, I went alone to the best guitar brand store in the city center and carefully selected a pure black, matte-finish guitar from the brand Raimundo.
Among the many guitars, I chose this one at a glance. The neck was as elegant and delicate as a swan, and the body featured a cool, dark baked lacquer finish. It could even be plugged in to function as an electric guitar.
Just looking at it, I could imagine her slender, resilient fingers playing on it, creating passionate punk music while she wore that cool yet cute smile.
It suited her very well; it was perfect for her.
"I'll take this one." For the first time, I was so decisive in my spending; no matter how much the guitar cost, I had to have it.
The salesperson nearby was beaming with a smile that almost overflowed from their face: "This customer, you really have a great eye. This is a Raimundo limited edition collaboration, with only 10 pieces available nationwide. The sound quality is top-notch, and it comes with a five-year warranty."
"Limited to 10 pieces?"
"Yes, this is the last one in our store."
Usually, I would have seen through the salesperson's tactics, but once Kusanagi was involved, my radar failed. I only thought about whether she would like it and wanted to buy it for her regardless of anything else.
The guitar felt heavy in my hands and looked even more beautiful up close. I carefully plucked the strings and then placed it into the guitar case as if it were a precious treasure.
"There's a discount right now; you get 10% off with a membership card. Including the guitar case and replacement strings, the total is 455,640 yen. Will you be paying by card or cash?"
Although it was well over my budget, I immediately took out my card and gritted my teeth: "Card, please."
After scheduling the delivery, I lit a cigarette at the store entrance, only then realizing that I had spent 25,000 RMB without even blinking.
I, who usually thought a bottle of water was too expensive and insisted on going to the library to get water to drink, now felt that as long as Kusanagi liked it, it was worth it.
She must never know about these little thoughts of mine.
I rubbed my burning earlobes and turned away to smoke.
What good things hasn't that girl seen? Would she think this guitar was just average? Many people must give her birthday gifts; she might even be spoiled for choice.
I silently stubbed out the cigarette butt and looked at the order receipt in my hand, which suddenly felt hot to the touch.
The best you can offer is something not even worth mentioning to the other person.
Would she like it?
Or were there better guitars waiting for her to play, making my gift completely unworthy of being presented?
Kusanagi had given me so many precious things; this guitar was nothing in comparison, and this was all I could manage despite my best efforts.
A sudden sense of helplessness and inferiority washed over me.
Worrying that she wouldn't like it, or wouldn't like it that much, only made me anxious and self-reproachful, wondering why I hadn't sent her a better gift.
It was just a birthday gift.
Realizing that I was agonizing and hesitating like a young girl with a crush, I couldn't help but rub my temples and force myself to snap out of it.
It was spring-like but still carried a chill. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and walked forward, clutching the receipt in my palm, feeling a mix of bitterness and anticipation.
School was on break. After confirming the return dates to China with Li Shijia and bidding farewell to my tutors and classmates, I set off on the journey home.
The spring break was scheduled for late February.
Although I was only returning to China for a week, I was worried about Kusanagi being alone in Tokyo, so I asked Inohara to look after her.
Before I came to Japan, it was said that Inohara had been taking care of Kusanagi's daily life privately. Since the two were good friends, she shouldn't refuse me.
Inohara was as arrogant and cold as ever, even saying, "You don't have to come back from China." I could only smile helplessly and reply, "Then I'll leave Kusanagi to you."
The weather back home was warmer than in Japan. As I stood at a traffic light with my suitcase, seeing the familiar Chinese billboards filled me with joy from the bottom of my heart.
In the airport, white mist surrounded the crimson flowers; the stamens released their fragrance. Spring had melted, and the sunlight permeated everything, glistening like the stars in the blue sky.
"Hey, Dad, I've landed. Are you here yet?"
"I'm here. Which exit are you at? I'm on the basement level; the car can't go up, so just come down."
"Okay, I'll be right there."
Hanging up, I took the elevator to the basement level. From afar, I saw a middle-aged man in a black jacket leaning against the car door, looking unshaven as if he had just rushed back from out of town.
He took the suitcase from my hand and efficiently put it in the trunk. "The flight was pretty fast, just two hours, right?"
"It was pretty fast." I opened the passenger door, sat in, and turned on the heater. "Dad, why didn't you turn on the heater?"
He chuckled, "My body can handle the cold; I'm not like you young people who catch a cold or cough at the slightest thing."
Tch, he just wanted to save on electricity.
"I'm hungry; I want a bowl of rice noodles."
"Thinking about eating as soon as you get home. Did you study hard abroad? Do you need to review when you get home?"
My mouth twitched. Did he think his daughter was still in high school? Reviewing? He really was my own father.
I didn't reply and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes to rest.
The car drove out of the airport. Under the influence of the heater, I felt drowsy. Just as I was about to take a nap, my phone chimed.
[Miss Nozawa, have you arrived?] It was Kusanagi. Her timing was quite accurate; I had indeed just landed.
Opening the Line message box, I found that she had also sent a panda head meme, sticking out its tongue with Chinese characters written on it: "Nyah nyah nyah."
I was stunned for a few seconds. It must have been Mori Reiko who taught her. Who else but Mori Reiko would be so proficient in Chinese culture?
[Just landed.] After a while, I deliberately replied with a slightly cold sentence.
I thought that by replying like this, she wouldn't reply back, right?
[How does it feel to be back in China?] But not only did she reply instantly, she also sent a confused panda head meme.
I paused for a moment, struggling with whether to reply.
Not replying would seem impolite, but replying would seem like I was eager to keep in touch with her, and I couldn't encourage the young girl's over-the-top thoughts.
But I couldn't be completely cold to her either; it would hurt her feelings too much.
[I'm in a pretty good mood. Let me show you the weather in Hunan.]
After much deliberation, I casually took a picture of the scenery outside the window and sent it to her. The skyscrapers were lined up in rows; China was more impressive in this regard than Japan.
She replied with a photo of a dimly lit room: [It's raining in Tokyo.]
From the angle of the photo, one could see the young girl lying on the bed, her face tilted up, holding her phone in a clear, detached manner.
She seemed very bored, neither writing songs nor playing games.
It seemed she wasn't talking about Tokyo.
I paused and replied: [There is cooked fish in the fridge; you can heat it up and eat it. There's also milk and coffee. The toiletries in the bathroom have all been replaced with new ones. The clean clothes are on the second shelf of the closet. Remember to drink less coffee; it's easy to get insomnia if you drink too much.]
[I had insomnia yesterday. I couldn't sleep.]
Insomnia yesterday? I went to bed early yesterday to catch my flight today, so I didn't notice her situation.
Before I could reply, the young girl's next message came: [So I'm very sleepy now, and I want to sleep in your bed.]
I just realized that the perspective of the photo she sent was taken from my bedside. Was she lying in my room the whole time?
Thinking of the young girl sleeping in my bed, becoming one with my scent, my earlobes burned strangely.
It's not like she doesn't have her own room; why does she have to sleep in my bed?
And this was a notification; there was no room for discussion. On second thought, this entire apartment was her home; I didn't seem to have a say in where she slept.
I had no choice but to send a meme of a creature baring its fangs and claws to accuse her of such overbearing behavior.
[The one you sent is so ugly.] She replied instantly, and I could imagine her cool, nonchalant tone: [This one is cuter.]
I clicked on it and saw, to my surprise, that it was the photo of me from last time when she drew all over my face with lipstick. It had been comically turned into a meme, which was very eye-searing on the screen, performing various humorous actions.
...I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Looking at this little character with my face making funny expressions, my heart thumped uncontrollably.
But don't forget, I have dirt on someone too. Don't be too arrogant; I can strike back in a minute.
In a flash, I used a convenient app to quickly create an exclusive meme for Kusanagi—a devilishly charming panda head. Her beautiful, enviable face, after layers of blurring and filters from the meme creation, still retained some of its grace. Once merged with the meme, it had a rare, comedic quality that clashed with her cool, delicate, and cold temperament.
I immediately sent this freshly baked meme to her.
Kusanagi, as expected, sent a string of dots, accompanied by her usual ferocity: […You're dead for photoshopping it so ugly.]
[What kind of death? Please enlighten me.]
[Crushed by me! Sat on by me! I can torture a pillow however I want.]
I couldn't help but laugh out loud, replying quickly: [Then you should eat a bit more so you don't get overpowered by the pillow.]
"Who are you chatting with? You're so happy you're about to lose your head laughing." My dad, chewing betel nut, glanced at me sideways. "A boyfriend?"
My laughter stopped abruptly. I realized my loss of composure. "No, just a normal friend."
Oh no, I lied subconsciously. Why didn't I just tell the truth that she's the landlord's daughter? And I had broken my resolve without realizing it. Wasn't I supposed to keep my distance from Kusanagi?
How did I end up chatting with her so happily back and forth?
My phone buzzed, indicating a new message.
"A normal friend chatting so happily? Who are you kidding? Your dad isn't that old yet." He looked out the window while turning the steering wheel, chuckling, "I've been there; I understand."
I couldn't refute him, so I just ignored him and checked the message in silence.
[Stinky pillow, when are you coming back?]
The nickname had changed from "Hey" to "Stinky pillow." [Not sure yet.]
[Have you arrived home?]
[Almost. My father is picking me up by car; I'll be there in ten minutes or so.]
I replied like this on purpose.
That duplicitous young lady—I knew exactly why she was asking. Because the 14th was her birthday, and if I didn't make it back on her birthday, who knows what kind of tantrum she would throw.
Pretending not to know, when in fact I had even prepared the gift in advance—I wonder what her reaction would be?
Thinking of this, I slowly curved a smile, and my eyelashes curled up.
But I quickly cooled my face, reminding myself to keep my distance.
It's just giving a birthday gift; don't make a big scene out of it.
[I want to see what Miss Nozawa's home looks like.]
[I'll take a picture for you later. But don't have high expectations; it's not pretty.]
[What does Miss Nozawa's father look like? He must look much better than the old man, right?] She was like a curious baby, interested in everything about me.
I pursed my lips, [Just an ordinary appearance. Ordinary looks, ordinary attire, wearing an ordinary jacket.]
AI Model: gemini-3.0-flash
[Speaking of coats, Miss Nozawa should remember to keep her trench coat safe and not drop anything in front of her father.]
Drop something?
[Something that I almost used with you.]
...
It took me a full three seconds to react.
My hand paused over the phone as I stared blankly at that line of text. I was practically stunned on the spot, my face burning intensely.
Realizing my dad was still right beside me, I jerked my phone into my bag and quickly straightened my back.
My dad noticed the sudden movement. "What happened? Why did you suddenly slam your phone away?"
"It's nothing."
Wh-what does she mean by'something almost used'? How could I... use that kind of thing?! So young yet so unrestrained! She only knows how to talk nonsense!
I turned my head to look out the window, even more frustrated by my instinctive heart palpitations. With no way to vent, I could only remain silent. After a wave of embarrassment, I decided to ignore this wicked, black-hearted girl and process it quietly on my own.
Back in my familiar home with its familiar layout, I spent a few minutes organizing my clothes, called my mom, and tidied up my room a bit. Only then did I feel at ease enough to sit down and watch TV.
For dinner, we had fresh seasonal vegetables. My mom had a new perm, a long red wavy style; relatives and friends all praised her for looking much more stylish and younger. The house was also filled with more plants—some cheap succulents and lilies.
Home-cooked food was comforting, the familiar flavors dancing on my tongue. Even the slightly astringent plain boiled water was a taste I hadn't savored in a long time. My dad and I stood by the long table, picking at the food as my mom cooked busily in the kitchen. In ten minutes, she had prepared several hearty meat dishes.
"Dad, Mom, you only need to give me half of next year's tuition. I've saved enough for the rest."
"Where did you get so much money?" Mom was surprised, even forgetting to pick up her food. "Can you earn that much working part-time in Japan?"
"I earned it by working multiple part-time jobs."
"Our daughter is truly impressive. When you finish your studies and come back, you'll definitely get into a good workplace. The municipal hospital over on Changguang Road is quite good. My colleague's son is there; he was also an international student. I heard he can make over ten thousand a month, and that's not including the year-end bonus!"
"Our daughter will definitely earn more. That kid can't compare."
The two of them talked among themselves, nodding with approval from time to time—it was the same old topic. I smiled habitually, long accustomed to their rhetoric, and lowered my head to eat.
After finishing, I washed the dishes and helped Mom tidy the kitchen. I swept the floor while clearing the dining table, feeling a slight sense of relief as I escaped the high-pressure topics of the dinner table.
There was nothing wrong with my parents; this was the result I had always accepted. The purpose of going abroad was to find a good job in the future.
I had just shown my parents photos of Tokyo Tower. Amidst the conversation and viewing, a glimpse of a young girl's cool, unrestrained profile flashed by.
"Is this the girl you live with?"
"Yes, her name is Kuroki Kusanagi." At the mention of her name, my heart softened into a mess.
Dad clicked his tongue in wonder. "Quite a lively young girl, she's actually quite pretty."
I said helplessly, "We're all Asians; of course there are pretty ones."
My dad knew very little about Japanese people. The older generation in China naturally had no favorable feelings toward Japan, given the national history and grievances. It had taken a long time for them to accept my decision to study in Japan in the first place.
The middle-aged man clicked his tongue a few more times and chatted with Mom for a while, moving from relatives to neighbors, and from the New Year to tomorrow's breakfast.
Back in this familiar environment, hearing the familiar local accent, I looked at the girl's clear and beautiful face on the phone screen and suddenly felt it would be nice if she were here.
If she were here... what would she be like?
"Mom, if I want to stay in Japan after I graduate, would you agree?"
"What did you say?"
I realized too late that I had said the wrong thing. This question had always been a sore spot in my family. It had taken a lot of persuasion for them to agree to my studying abroad, and one of the conditions was that I must return; they would only support my education until graduation.
As expected, my mom got anxious immediately. "What did you say? Stay in Japan? What is a girl like you going to do in a foreign land? You gave us your word back then, promising to come back after finishing your studies. Why do you suddenly have this idea?"
"I just feel that staying in Japan is also quite good. The salary levels are high, and the career development is decent."
"Daughter, listen to me. There is a difference between Chinese and Japanese people after all; you won't be able to integrate. You'll still end up coming back after a long time. To take root in a strange city, money alone is useless."
"But how do you know if I don't try? I really like the environment and the people there..." My voice grew smaller as I spoke.
My mom shook her head. "In any case, your father and I will never agree. Give up on that idea."
"Why?"
"You're still young, you don't understand! You'll know when you're older. Besides, I only have one daughter. If I can't count on you, who can I count on?"
"..." Knowing it was useless to argue, I didn't say anything more and got up to go back to my room.
Deep down, for a moment, I wanted to argue and resist loudly—perhaps it was a flash of courage given by Kusanagi. But in the end, that wasn't my personality. I was still willing to be under their control, and this rejected idea could only be set aside for now.
My mood was complicated. After washing up, I leaned against the soft bedding, but sleep eluded me.
Li Shijia had returned to Liaoning. Her social media feed was full of food photos, and she didn't hesitate to show off her bright, enthusiastic, and beautiful face. I gave her a like.
Friends from high school who knew I was back enthusiastically invited me out for a meal. I gladly accepted, and we made plans to go for barbecue tomorrow.
Three messages arrived from the young lady Kusanagi. Two were questioning why I hadn't replied, and one was a voice message, only four seconds long. She never sent voice messages; she either called directly or sent texts. What could be in this short four-second voice clip?
[Strange-looking eggplant.] The girl's voice, both lazy and fierce, sounded in my ear, filled with a pampered indignation.
Eggplant? I listened to it a few more times. She had that unique Osaka accent, her pronunciation clean and sharp, sounding even crisper than in reality.
As expected of an Utaite's voice, it was too much. But what did 'eggplant' mean? I felt it wasn't a compliment. I searched the dictionary for a bit and my lips began to twitch. As expected, it was an insult, meaning a slow-witted blockhead.
I took a photo of my room and typed: [The blockhead is going to sleep, Miss Faded Eggplant.] I used what I just learned; 'faded eggplant' means someone who looks good on the outside but is actually useless. This term was perfect for countering a certain young lady.
While waiting for her reply, my mood inadvertently lightened a bit.
[Green pepper stupid head.]
She replied very quickly, giving me the illusion that she was holding her phone and waiting. Was she really waiting for my reply? And she changed it to 'green pepper'; why do Japanese insults sound so much like children bickering?
I couldn't help but tap the keys, as if I were touching her face.
[Miss Eggplant, Tokyo is an hour ahead of China. It's already eleven at night over there.]
The cold light from the screen reflected on my face. Through this light, I could see the ceiling of my room covered in brown longitudinal streaks. The old house hadn't been repainted, and every corner was filled with the marks of time. The pillow was soft, the sheets were fresh, smelling of Blue Moon laundry detergent and the dryness of the bedding.
[Time to sleep.]
[Hey, is that a novel on the wardrobe? Natsume Soseki's I Am a Cat?]
I lay down gently, my cheek against the pillow. [You've got sharp eyes. How did you see that?] The photo I sent must have caught the bookshelf in a brief glimpse.
[Because I have that book too.]
[That really is a coincidence...] I originally wanted to say that, but I deleted it character by character and changed it to a detached: [A famous book like that, many people have read it.]
[If I'm not mistaken, there's also a copy of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai above it.]
[That one is even more famous. Most people have read it.]
[Then what about this one?]
The phone buzzed with a vibration, indicating a photo had been received. A gray-red book cover, a pitch-black bird perched on a branch, and her faintly visible slender knuckles on both sides of the spine.
To Kill a Mockingbird.
When did she buy this book?
Willing to spend thousands upon thousands of hours to truly read and understand you.
I stared blankly for a few seconds. These few short words brought an impact like a mountain flood or a tsunami.
After a few seconds of being dazed, my heart finally resumed its beat. She read this book... for me? I wanted to ask why she bought it, but in the end, I didn't type the words.
[There's a passage I really like: Courage is not a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. Some things might end in failure, but I will still do them.]
[As long as you like it. It's late, goodnight.]
I buried my face in my arms, sinking into a swamp-like vortex, feeling my heart beating wildly.
What was she trying to express?
The unknown future, the complex and hard-to-hide disappointment and bitterness, the lack of self-assurance, the confusion, and the tremors the girl brought to my heart—all these thoughts were tangled together. She had intruded into my territory without permission, even attempting to dissect me clearly. I didn't feel repulsed by these suggestive words; instead, I felt my closed heart being pried open bit by bit, carrying a secret, unspeakable...
I couldn't find the words to describe this feeling.
What feeling? I couldn't say. It seemed to involve joy, confusion, and being at a loss.
I rolled over, frowning and waving my hand as if to brush away this mist. My senses were easily magnified in the night, and drowsiness took the opportunity to envelop me.
Under the shining moonlight, Tokyo Tower stood tall and upright. Time wasn't just passing; it was also taking away one's logic and sobriety.
The young girl lay in the woman's bedding, clutching the pillow that carried the other's scent. She lowered her eyes, not yet asleep.
This room had never felt so different. On the desk was a white steel fountain pen; she could imagine the woman holding it gently, the thick callus on her middle finger rubbing against the barrel as she lightly traced Chinese characters on paper.
The dark apricot coat hanging on the rack was long, its sharp lines draped over the woman's thin shoulders, with elegant leather boots peeking from the hem.
The ox-horn comb and facial cleanser were neatly arranged on the vanity. After simple use, they would leave a faint fragrance, blending with the woman's own clean and refreshing aura.
More often, the woman was enveloped in a mellow and rich scent of smoke and alcohol, but she didn't hate it.
On the contrary, it was a scent easily remembered—different from everyone else's, a scent that made her heart race.
The girl felt her thoughts were shameful. She buried her fair nose into the covers, inhaled deeply again, and closed her eyes.
On that night they slept together, the high fever had made her miserable. Her throat was parched, and she was forced awake in the middle of the night. In her daze, she had inadvertently caught a glimpse of the woman's sleeping profile.
The other was still sleeping facing her, curled into a protective posture to warm her hands and feet. Half of the woman's face was covered by long hair, revealing only quiet and exquisite features, which looked like a perfectly copied oil painting under the faint moonlight.
She had stared for a long time, a strong signal of wanting to possess her rising from within.
For many nights afterward, she had tossed and turned in agitation. This thought was like a net, enveloping her layer by layer, constantly deepening.
Possess her.
Have her.
The girl trembled as she clutched her collar; this desire came crashing down on her. Thinking of how the other was so unperceptive and even evasive, the irritation in her heart grew a bit stronger.
She had to think of a way.