An Yao’S Observation Diary Chapter 14
byWednesday, May 21st, Sunny
Last night, we watched a movie together at home.
The living room lights were turned off early, leaving only the projection screen casting a warm, yellow glow in the darkness. I leaned back on the sofa, and An Yao sat securely in my arms, pressed against my chest, his soft hair brushing against my chin.
Snacks and drinks were scattered on the coffee table, including two cans of beer—I didn’t dare drink too much, afraid I wouldn’t be able to wake up for work tomorrow morning.
We watched an old animated film from many years ago. In the story, a lonely boy held his little fox, stumbling as they fled a suffocating cage, passing through the night and thorns, finally finding a home that belonged only to them in a starlit wilderness.
The images on the projection screen advanced frame by frame. The boy and the little fox ran frantically, huddling together under a dilapidated eaves to hide from the rain. The pattering of the rain gradually intensified, echoing in the quiet living room, seeming to create faint ripples.
An Yao instinctively curled up, burying himself deeper into my embrace. I reached for the blanket folded nearby and wrapped both of us into a warm bundle, sinking together into the soft hug of the sofa.
“Yaoyao, do you want some snacks?” I offered him a bag of chips. “Tomato flavor, want to try?”
An Yao took it, using the light from the screen to tear open the packaging with a rustling sound, like a little hamster. After wiping his hands clean, he carefully picked up a chip and put it in his mouth.
“Salty,” he savored it carefully. “A little bit of tomato flavor…”
I rubbed his head. “Is it good?”
An Yao nodded. Perhaps because of the light from the screen, his eyes seemed to brighten, like a kitten running parkour in the middle of the night. “It’s good!”
“Eat more if it’s good,” I took a chip myself. “We have lots, and we can buy more if we run out.”
An Yao prefers milder flavors, and after only a few chips, he felt a little greasy. He held up his right hand, covered in seasoning powder, and looked around helplessly.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “A tissue?”
An Yao nodded.
I casually grabbed a pack of wet wipes from the side, but gently stopped him when he reached for them.
“Yaoyao, don’t rush to wipe yet.” I smiled slightly, and began to speak nonsense with a straight face. “Right now, your fingers are covered in seasoning powder, aren’t they?”
An Yao looked down at his fingertips and nodded.
“Do you want to try licking it?” I suppressed a laugh. “The best part is right here.”
He hesitated for a moment, his face full of doubt, but out of complete trust in me, he cautiously stuck out his tongue and licked it. The next second, An Yao’s eyes widened in shock. “So, so intense!”
“Congratulations, you’ve tasted the essence!” I laughed. “Isn’t it delicious?”
An Yao didn’t speak, busy licking his fingers, panting and fussing with his tongue out.
I quickly pulled out a few wet wipes, grabbed his hand, and carefully wiped it clean. “Alright, alright, if you keep licking, your skin will rub raw.”
An Yao looked quite unsatisfied. “We can’t waste it…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, we’re rich.” I rubbed his face. “A few chips won’t break the bank.”
An Yao seemed to be tickled by that statement, burying his entire face in my palm, his shoulders trembling with laughter.
“What are you laughing about?” I pinched his nose, successfully making him wrinkle his nose. “Little An Yao, can you tell Doctor Lin?”
An Yao lifted his face, his eyes startlingly bright in the dim light.
“Home,” he said seriously, word by word. “Our home.”
An Yao seemed to especially love this phrase, his eyes curving into a gentle arc as he spoke.
—As if he possessed the most precious treasure in the world.
I paused for a moment, then smiled too. “That’s right, our home.”
Although it’s small, it’s enough to shelter us from the wind and rain… it’s our home, belonging only to us.
The movie continued. We nestled on the sofa, watching the boy and the little fox weave through the streets on the screen, gradually growing up with the help of one kind person after another, shedding their youthful naivety as the scenes changed. An Yao watched with intense focus, unconsciously tightening his grip on my hand.
I gently squeezed back, massaging the knuckles in his palm, gradually relaxing his tense fingers until they curled obediently in my grasp.
The story seemed to be drawing to a close. On the screen, the boy and the little fox had their own small house. They were wrapped in thick blankets, sleeping in each other’s arms under the warm yellow light. The little fox’s tail wagged gently, its furry paws resting on the boy’s shoulder, whining and cooing affectionately to its good older brother.
I hugged An Yao tighter in my arms, reaching for the cold can of beer on the coffee table. With a slight pressure of my fingertip, a soft “click” sounded clearly in the quiet living room. The silver tab sprang up, and fine foam immediately bubbled out of the can opening.
The sound drew An Yao’s attention. He turned his head curiously, his nose lightly brushing against my chin. “Qingyan? What is this?”
“Beer,” I replied. “Do you want to try a tiny sip?”
An Yao leaned closer, sticking out his tongue to tentatively touch the foam at the can opening while I held it. The next second, his entire face crumpled, his brows knitting into a small knot, like a cat that had tasted a lemon.
I quickly put down the beer and opened a bottle of juice, holding it to his mouth. Only then did the little wrinkled bitter gourd in my arms reluctantly return to human form.
“Do… do you like drinking this?” An Yao smacked his lips, showing a tendency to wrinkle his face again. “It tastes so strange.”
I smiled and pinched his cheek. “You’re still a child.”
“Actually, I didn’t like the taste at first either,” I tilted my head back and took a gulp of beer, letting the familiar, slightly bitter liquid with the scent of malt slide down my throat. “But I got used to it later.”
“Why?” An Yao shifted slightly in my arms, his face buried in my chest, squeezing out a small, soft mound of flesh.
“Perhaps because… after drinking it, the brain can temporarily relax,” I said. “If you drink too much, you feel drowsy and warm all over, and you don’t have to think about anything else.”
I gently stroked An Yao’s head, my fingers unconsciously twirling a few strands of his light gray hair.
I suddenly felt a little dizzy. Perhaps the alcohol was starting to take effect, perhaps the environment was too dim, or perhaps it was simply because An Yao was resting securely in my arms at that moment.
I suddenly remembered the past.
The heavy schoolwork, the daily discrimination, the cold stares of others… I have a gentle nature, but that doesn’t mean I could completely digest all that malice. Piece by piece, year after year, it accumulated, turning into a heavy stone pressing down on my heart.
I tried to ignore it, to pretend I didn’t care, but the stone remained, unable to be exhaled or swallowed, stuck in my throat, perhaps one day to turn into tears and fall in a trickle.
So I learned to drink.
Alcohol was a good thing; it stopped the brain from thinking, allowed me to regain the right to cry, deceived myself, and self-deluded that the future would be better, before opening my eyes to face that damned tomorrow.
But even so, I never dared to drink too much, afraid of causing trouble for others if I got drunk. I could only cautiously curl up in a corner, using that faint alcohol to coax my brain—You’re already drunk, sleep, sleep. Close your eyes and maybe you’ll have a good dream, or maybe nothing at all. Don’t demand, don’t wish for too much, you don’t have the right.
Sleep, sleep, don’t care anymore, don’t think anymore, go to sleep with an empty mind.
So I closed my eyes.
An Yao suddenly reached out his arms, firmly wrapping them around my neck, pressing his face against mine, soft and light like a cloud settling down. I distinctly felt his fingertips slowly stroking my face. I wasn’t crying, but somehow, it felt as if he was wiping away an invisible stream of tears.
“But…” I said with a smile, “things are different now.”
I hugged An Yao tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart in his chest—one beat, two beats, three beats…
The night deepened outside the window. The light and shadow of the projector silently cast our overlapping silhouettes onto the wall. In this small world that belonged only to us, all anxiety and loneliness were shut out, leaving only the solid comfort and tranquility of our mingled body temperatures.
“I don’t need this anymore,” I said.