The Remaining Warmth Of Fog Harbor Chapter 44

lonely heart

The sea in Qingchuan always carries a refreshing silence.Especially in the early morning of late autumn, the mist is like cotton wool that cannot be dissolved, wrapped in the salty sea breeze, spreading over the rocks and the beach, turning the entire coastline into a hazy grayish white.Shen Zhiyi was sitting in this fog, with his back against a rock smoothed by the waves, drawing paper spread out on his knees, and a sharpened charcoal pen in his hand, the tip of which hung above the paper without falling.

Her face was paler than the fog, and her eyes were thickly blue and black, which were traces of long-term insomnia.The lips were dry and peeling, without a trace of blood, and even the breathing was slightly trembling.The pill bottle in her arms was already mostly empty, and the bottle was shiny when she was rubbed with her fingers, but she hadn’t touched the pills inside for a long time.Since her last attack, she quietly stopped taking her medication and never went to the hospital again.

It’s not that I’m not afraid of death, but I feel that life itself is a long ordeal.

The pain of severe depression was like an airtight net, wrapping her tightly.During the day, symptoms of chest tightness and palpitations occurred from time to time, as if an invisible hand was holding her heart. The pain caused her to break into a cold sweat, and she could only hunched over and leaned against the rocks to catch her breath.At night, insomnia and auditory hallucinations invaded alternately, and Lu Wanheng’s voice echoed repeatedly in her ears – sometimes it was a gentle “know it, don’t be afraid”, sometimes it was a cold “goodbye”, and Zhou Xi’s sarcastic “you are a burden”.These sounds were like quenched poisonous needles, pricking into her mind, leaving her in a trance and almost collapsing.

But she still refused to take medicine or seek medical treatment.Those white pills were once her only weapon against the darkness, but now they have become a symbol of her escape from reality.She was afraid of the short-term calm after taking the medicine. She was afraid that after the calm, the suppressed thoughts and pain would counterattack even more violently. She was even more afraid of going to the hospital, afraid that the doctor would once again emphasize the need for “specialized care”, and afraid that she would have to admit that she could no longer hold on and could no longer do without the care of others.

The pride and inferiority in her bones were twisted into a knot at this moment.She is Shen Zhiyi, who was once a well-known illustrator in the Wugang cultural and creative circle. She was the one who could draw warmth and hope in the “Wate Yi” series.But now, she is just a down-and-out person who is seriously ill, abandoned by love, and ostracized by the world.She couldn’t accept that she was in such a miserable state, let alone that she needed to rely on others to survive.

“That’s it.” She often said to herself in her heart, “If you can hold on for a day, it’s a day. If you can’t hold on, you will be relieved.”

So, she put all her energy into painting.Every day before dawn, she would start from the B&B and walk slowly along the seaside trail to this reef area.There are few people here, only the sound of waves hitting the rocks is monotonous and regular, like a slow hypnosis.She would find a comfortable place to sit down, take out drawing paper and brushes, and sit there all day long.

What she painted was never the sea in Qingchuan.The sea in Qingchuan is too clean and clear, without the weight and lingering of Wuggang, nor the temperature in her memory.What she painted was always the fog in Fog Harbor.

The fog is gray, with a faint salty smell, like a layer of gauze, covering the streets, studios, and coastline of Fog Harbor.She painted an old pier in the fog, with the outlines of fishing boats looming in the fog, and wet fishing nets hung on the masts; she painted a studio in the fog, with water droplets condensing on the windows, and the blurry easel inside could be seen through the fog; she painted a coastal walk in the fog, with the light of the street lights creating circles of warm yellow halo in the fog, just like the temperature of Lu Wanheng’s palm in her memory.

Her brushstrokes are very light and soft, with an almost pious caution.It seems that with a little force, those fogs will disperse and those memories will be shattered.She used different shades of gray to outline the layers of fog, and used very light blue to embellish the sky in the fog. Occasionally, she added a touch of warm yellow, which was the color of the first ray of sunshine in the morning at Fog Harbor, and was also the light in Lu Wanheng’s eyes when she smiled.

After drawing the fog, she would quietly draw Lu Wanheng’s profile in the corner of the fog.

She remembered his outline, his tall nose, his slightly raised corners of his mouth, his frown when he was concentrating, and the unhidden tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her.These details seem to be engraved in her bones, and she has never forgotten them even if she was tortured by illness and became unconscious.

She painted him standing by the window of Fog Harbor Studio, his side face facing the sun, his eyelashes casting faint shadows under his eyelids; she painted him sitting on a rock by the sea, holding a cigarette in his hand, his side face wet by the waves, with a hint of loneliness; she painted his side face while driving, looking intently ahead, with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.In every painting, he lives in the fog of Fog Harbor and in her memory, as clear as if it was yesterday.

But her strokes became more and more trembling.Symptoms of chest tightness and palpitations often occur suddenly while painting. The pain is so painful that she can no longer hold the brush in her hand and the lines become crooked.Once, when she was drawing Lu Wanheng’s eyes, her heart suddenly felt sharp pain, and the brush fell to the ground with a “clack”. She covered her chest, curled up into a ball, pressed her forehead against the drawing paper, and her clothes were instantly soaked in cold sweat.The ink on the drawing paper was blurred by sweat, and Lu Wanheng’s eyes became blurry, just like her sight at the moment, and also like her life at the moment.

She waited for a long time before slowly raising her head and picking up the paintbrush on the ground.Her fingertips were still trembling, but she still stubbornly redrawn the outline, one stroke at a time, to complete the eyes.She couldn’t let his eyes blur, couldn’t let him disappear from her painting.This was the only thing she could hold onto, the last thing she wanted to live on.

Mrs. Chen saw her face getting worse and worse every day when she went out early and came back late every day. She always advised her: “Zhiyi, you are young and your health is important. You should go to the hospital for a checkup. Don’t carry it.”

Shen Zhiyi always smiled and shook his head, with a pale and bitter smile: “Aunt Chen, I’m fine, I’m just a little hypoglycemic. I’ll be fine if I take a rest.”

She didn’t want to tell Aunt Chen the truth or let others see her vulnerability.Every day she would carefully put the paintings she had painted into her backpack, take them back to the B&B, and hide them in a box under the bed.In that box, there was already a thick pile of drawing papers. On each piece of paper, there was the fog of Fog Harbor and the profile of Lu Wanheng.

Once, when Aunt Chen was helping to clean the room, she accidentally saw the painting in the box.She picked up one and looked at the blurry fog and clear side face in the painting, and couldn’t help but sigh.She didn’t understand art, but she could feel a deep-seated loneliness and longing from those paintings.She vaguely guessed that this taciturn girl had a deep person and a deep past hidden in her heart.

“Zhiyi,” the landlady put the painting back into the box and asked her softly, “is the person you painted a very important person to you?”

Shen Zhiyi’s body stiffened suddenly, and her eyes instantly turned red.She lowered her head and was silent for a long time before she softly said “hmm”, her voice so hoarse that it was almost inaudible.

“Then why don’t you go find her?” the landlady asked, “Young man, if there is any obstacle that you can’t overcome, just ask for it and it will be fine.”

Looking for her?Shen Zhiyi smiled bitterly in his heart.How could she find her?She is already engaged to someone else, has chosen her family and interests, and has abandoned her in the fog of Fog Harbor.She looks like this now, with all her illnesses and all her obsessions. Going to him will only make her more disgusted and make her feel like a burden.

What’s more, she didn’t know where she was.She changed her mobile phone number, logged out of all social accounts, and cut off all contact with Wu Gang, just to completely disappear from her world.She would rather she thought she was living a good life and that she had started a new life, than let her see her current state of life worse than death.

“She…is no longer here.” Shen Zhiyi whispered, with a thick nasal sound in her voice.To her, the Lu Wanheng who once loved and protected her was indeed dead, died in that cold marriage, and died in her memories.

Mrs. Chen looked at her red eyes and didn’t ask any more questions. She just patted her shoulder lightly and sighed: “Don’t think too much, take good care of yourself.”

After the landlady left, Shen Zhiyi sat alone in the room, took out a piece of drawing paper, and started drawing again.The painting is still the fog in Fog Harbor, and the profile of Lu Wanheng.This time, she painted her standing on the beach in Fog Harbor, with her back turned to her, looking at the sea level in the distance.The fog was so thick that I couldn’t see her expression clearly, I could only see her lonely back.

While I was drawing, my tears fell down and fell onto the drawing paper, leaving an ink stain.She remembered their last hug at the beach of Wugang. She hugged her and said “Zhiyi, wait for me”, but he never came back after all.She thought of the note he left behind, “Let’s say goodbye and stay well”, but she couldn’t do it no matter what.

The feeling of tightness in her chest came again. She covered her chest and gasped for air.The fog outside the window became thicker again, like the fog in a foggy harbor, spreading into the room and into her heart, suffocating her.She looked at Lu Wanheng’s back on the drawing paper, and felt a strong sense of despair in her heart.

Perhaps, she would never be able to picture herself looking back.

Perhaps, she would never be able to wait for the day when the fog cleared.

But she still didn’t want to stop painting.No matter how much her hands tremble, no matter how much her heart hurts, no matter how much her life lasts, she will continue to paint.Draw the fog in Fog Harbor, draw Lu Wanheng’s profile, draw those times that can never be returned, and draw those thoughts that can never be realized.

As the sun sets, the fog gradually dissipates, and the sea in Qingchuan is dyed with a light orange-red color.Shen Zhiyi put away the brush and put the drawing paper into his backpack.She stood up, staggered, and held on to the rocks beside her to steady herself.The pain in her chest was still lingering, but there was an almost paranoid determination in her eyes.

She will come here again tomorrow.I would also sit on this reef and draw the fog in Fog Harbor and the profile of Lu Wanheng.

Until the day she couldn’t draw anymore.

Until the end of her life.

She slowly walked back along the seaside trail, her back as thin as a leaf that could be blown away by the wind at any time.The setting sun stretched her shadow very long, reflecting on the beach like a lonely painting.In the painting, there is the sea, the fog, her, and the profile of Lu Wanheng that she can never finish painting.

The wind in Wugang seems to have traveled thousands of miles and blown to the seaside of Qingchuan, carrying a touch of salty smell and a touch of longing.Shen Zhiyi stopped and closed her eyes, as if she had returned to that foggy morning when she met Lu Wanheng for the first time in Wugang’s studio.He stood in the fog, smiled and said to her: “Hello, my name is Lu Wanheng.”

The fog at that moment and him at that moment became the warmest and most painful memories in her life.

But now, the memories are still there, the fog is still there, but she is no longer there.

She opened her eyes, and the moisture in her eyes gradually faded away, leaving only a dead void.She turned around and continued walking forward, step by step, towards the lonely future where only she and her paintings would be.

Banxia novel, a lot of fun