Wild Fire Bids Farewell To Summer Chapter 24
byBeginning of winter
Wei Zhiheng sat in a wicker chair.My waist was pressed against the hard bamboo strips backrest, and the dull pain from the bone penetration was still there, and the depth of my iliac bone was swelling and shrinking.His right hand hangs on the armrest, his fingernails glowing lavender with white edges.The cuffs were stained with ultramarine paint, which had dried and crusted over.The left hand is spread on the lap, with the palm facing up, and there are five hairs lying on it.The whole hair fell off, the roots were covered with white spots, and the hair follicles shrank.
Wei Mingyuan was dismantling the easel.The pine frame has stains of ultramarine and ocher deposited all over it.He wrapped a wide piece of tape around the joint. The tape made a tearing sound, its jagged edges cutting into his fingertips.The drawing board has been pulled out and is in quarto size. There is an unfinished sketch of “Skylight” on the surface and the gray paint is cracked.The turpentine bottle is divided into mineral water bottles, with one-third of the liquid level remaining, which is light yellow.Wei Mingyuan stuffed it into the canvas bag, and the bottle collided with the picture frame, making a dull sound.
Su Huiqin was rolling quilts in the back room.Zhuang brocade quilt surface, water ripple pattern, dark blue weft threads undulating on off-white longitude threads.The quilt is heavy and rough, with a texture of intertwined cotton and silk threads.She rolled it into a tube and tied it with two red ropes. The knots cut into the fabric, forming dark marks.A musty smell seeped out from the core of the quilt, and the earthy smell of the basement, mixed with the astringency of mothballs, settled at ground level.
Su Huiqin pushed the quilt to the door.The quilt hit the ground with a heavy muffled sound.Wei Zhiheng stood up, his knees made a dry friction sound, and the wound after the bone marrow puncture produced traction pain as his position changed.He bent down to lift it, and his fingers dug into the rolled-up quilt. The fabric was rough, and the purpura between the nails deformed under the pressure, and the color changed from purple-red to black-purple.The weight hit the floor and he couldn’t lift it.
Huang Jinye walked in from outside the door.The edges of the black sports shorts were frayed, exposing white fibers, and there was a slight friction sound when the right leg was bent.He stretched out his right hand. There were three fresh scratches on the back of his hand, running across the palm lines. They were left when he smashed the stone the day before yesterday. The blood had solidified and was dark red, with white marble powder embedded on the edge.He grabbed the other end of the quilt and lifted it up.The weight shifted, and Wei Zhiheng’s fingers were thrown away and hit the door frame, making a crisp impact sound from the joints.
“Let’s go.” Huang Jinye said.The voice is hoarse and rough.
He carried the quilt and headed for the stairs.The steps were heavy and light, heavy on the right and light on the left. The quilt brushed against the limestone wall tiles, and the moisture on the wall passed through the fabric, sending a cool feeling.Wei Zhiheng followed behind, holding the wall with his right hand, rubbing white frost on his fingertips, and the powder embedded in the gaps between his nails.When he reached the corner of the third floor, he stopped. There was a fixed black shadow in the upper left corner of his field of vision, a retinal hemorrhage.He raised his feet in the air, his knees trembling, and it took two seconds before he stepped firmly.
The door of Building 601, Building 6, Teachers’ Family Building was closed behind him, and the sound of impact was lengthened by the echo in the stairwell.Wei Zhiheng touched his trouser pocket and touched a hard object with his fingertips.Limestone specimen, ivory white with gray chert bands, flat base and sharp edges.He tightened his grip, and the edge cut into the pads of his fingers, stinging.Blood seeped out from his fingertips, mixing with the old blood stains on the stone.
The Huang family villa is located in the new area of the county, built close to the mountain.The iron door was ajar, Huang Jinye pushed it open with his shoulders, and the hinges groaned like they were breaking.The exposed limestone floor of the courtyard was cut into irregular blocks by a cutting machine, and the tires made a crunching sound as they ran over the gravel.When Wei Zhiheng stepped on his canvas shoes, the soles rubbed against the rocks, making a harsh scraping sound.The echoes reflected in the empty hall, and the footsteps struck multiple times, forming a reverberation that lasted for three seconds.
The studio on the third floor is empty.The sloping roof and floor-to-ceiling windows face the stone mountain, and light pours in, forming a huge rectangular light spot on the ground.Huang Jinye threw the quilt on the camp bed, and the mattress springs groaned dullly.He bent down and spread it out, and the quilt hit the bed board, raising dust and spinning in the beam of light.The musty smell is stronger.
Huang Jinye picked up two “History of Chinese Art” from the ground, hardcover, five centimeters thick.He stacked the books on the head of the bed and put the pillow on top.The white cotton pillow has yellow sweat stains on its surface, forming map-like stains.He adjusted the angle, pinched the edge of the pillow with his thumb and forefinger, and pulled it so that the pillow formed a 15-degree angle with the mattress.
“Lie down.”
Wei Zhiheng walked over.The knees rubbed together, making a dry sound.He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging, its center collapsed and its edges lifted.He leaned back, his head resting on the pillow, which was raised up so that his cervical spine formed a 15-degree elevation angle.Touching the cotton fabric on the back of my head, I smelled the scent of yellow ashes: the acidity of sweat, the rust of blood, and the astringency of stone powder.Huang Jinye’s left hand brushed the back of Wei’s neck while adjusting the pillow. His fingers spread wide and his fingertips pressed against the spinous process of the cervical spine.Skin contact, temperature exchange.Huang’s palms were hot; Wei’s back was cold.It feels rough to the touch, the knuckles protrude, and there is white stone powder between the nails.
Wei Mingyuan stood at the door.Gray shirt, carpenter’s apron, turpentine and sawdust on his fingers, and a crack on the side of his right index finger, exuding tissue fluid.He took out a key from his trouser pocket.Silver, with new teeth and no signs of wear, the metal surface reflects the light from the window.He walked towards the Yellow Ash Field, walking steadily, stepping on the limestone powder on the floor, leaving white footprints.
Wei Mingyuan stuffed the key into Huang Jinye’s right hand.The metal touches the palm, and a cool feeling penetrates the skin.The tooth lines dug into the palm prints, pressing against the coin-sized purpura, causing a dull pain.Huang Jinye held it, his knuckles turned white, and his nails left scratches on the metal surface.He put the key into the pocket of his gym shorts and placed it next to a piece of eucalyptus sugar. The metal rustled against the paper.
Su Huiqin walked out of the kitchen.He held a glass cup in his hand, tempered glass, with thick walls and a ring of wear marks on the edge.The cup contained corn silk water, which was light yellow and almost transparent, with a few fibrous roots sinking to the bottom.White mist rises from the surface of the liquid, and the temperature is very high and hot.She placed the cup on the cement floor at the head of the bed. The bottom of the cup came into contact with the limestone floor, making a crisp impact sound. The water vapor condensed into water droplets on the wall of the cup, sliding down along the arc, forming a small dark wet mark on the ground.
Su Huiqin turned and walked towards the bamboo basket next to the loom.In the basket lay a half-woven brocade with water ripples and loose threads at the edges.She picked up the bamboo shuttle and passed it through the weft, making a click.She did not look back, but when she reached the seventh weft thread, her fingers paused. Her index finger hovered over a warp thread, and the thread trembled between her fingers without picking up the thread.
Huang Jinye dragged out an iron writing box from under the bed.Open it to reveal the pencils arranged inside, twelve, 2B, yellow hexagonal pen barrel.He took out one. There were teeth marks on the pen barrel and it was uneven.He picked up the pencil sharpener, the metal casing rusty, with three millimeters of the blade exposed.He began to sharpen his first pencil.The blade scraped against the wood, making a rustling sound.The wood chips curled down and piled up on the knees. They were yellowish in color and soft in texture.
Wei Zhiheng was lying on a pillow at an angle of 15 degrees.View inverted, looking at the ceiling.The wooden beams of the sloping roof are deformed in the field of vision, and the edges are blurred.He smelled the smell of corn silk water, slightly sweet, mixed with the woody astringency of yellow embers sharpened pencils.The smell of blood gushed out from the nasal cavity, and the upper gums were broken and swollen, as if there was a small stone embedded in the gum.The blood did not flow out because the body position was elevated, and the blood flowed backwards, irritating the pharynx, forming a sweet rusty smell, and deposited at the base of the tongue.
Huang Jinye finished sharpening his first pencil.The nib is perfectly conical and has a sharp graphite core.He placed the pencil on the edge of the bed, parallel to Wei Zhiheng’s right hand hanging by his side.Then pick up the second one and continue cutting.The blade scraped out the burrs, and the wood chips were no longer curled, but broken fragments, which splashed onto the bed sheet and mixed with the ultramarine pigment that fell from Wei Zhiheng’s sleeves, forming a yellow and blue layer of debris.
Wei Zhiheng’s right hand moved on the sheets, his fingers spread out, the joints stiff, and the purpura on the fingernails showed a swollen purple color under the light.His fingertips touched Huang Jinye’s freshly sharpened pencil, with a hexagonal penholder and clear wooden texture.He didn’t hold it, just touched it, feeling the coolness of the wood and the smoothness of the graphite.Huang Jinye’s pen-sharpening action paused for a moment, and the blade hovered in mid-air, three millimeters away from the barrel of the second pencil.The fingers are hanging, the joints are stiff, and there is white stone powder on the edge of the nail plate.
Outside the window, the limestone of Greencen Mountain appears gray-white in the afternoon light.The screams of cutting machines in the stone factory could be heard in the distance. The frequency was high and pierced the air, but it was distorted by the echo inside the villa and turned into a low hum.Wei Zhiheng closed his eyes and heard the blood hitting his eardrums. The rushing low-frequency noise was out of time with the rustle of Huang Jinye sharpening his pencil, forming an irregular rhythm.
Huang Jinye finished sharpening his second pencil.He put down the knife, picked up the first sharpened one, and stuffed it into Wei Zhiheng’s right hand.He forced the pen barrel into Wei’s fingers.The hexagonal pen barrel touched the purpura on the palm of my hand, causing a dull pain.Wei Zhiheng’s fingers spasmed the moment they touched the pencil, and his muscles tightened. His nails left scratches on the penholder, and sawdust embedded in the gaps between his nails mixed with the previous graphite shavings.He tightened his grip, his knuckles turning white.
The corn silk water cools in the cup.The water drops on the wall of the cup stopped sliding down, and the temperature changed from hot to lukewarm, and then to cold.Huang Jinye picked up the cup and handed it to Wei Zhiheng’s mouth.The rim of the cup touches the vermilion edge of the lower lip, which is dry, cracked, and stings when touched.The liquid tilts and flows into the mouth, with low temperature, light sweetness and almost tasteless.Wei Zhiheng swallowed, his Adam’s apple rolled, and the water flowed through his esophagus, leaving a cold mark in his chest.
Huang Jinye retracted his hand and placed the cup on the ground.He went on to sharpen a third pencil.The rustling continued.Wei Zhiheng held the pencil and hung it on his chest, pointing the tip of the pen towards the ceiling without falling.His breathing became heavy, with the sweet rot of ketosis, rotten apples mixed with rust, settling on the pillow raised at a 15-degree angle, forming a layer of heavier air.
Wei Mingyuan and Su Huiqin have left.The door closed downstairs, making a dull crashing sound, and the echoes rolled through the empty villa.Huang Jinye finished sharpening his third pencil and lined up three pairs of pencils on the edge of the bed.He stood up, his kneecaps making a dry friction sound, walked to the window, turned his back to Wei Zhiheng, and looked at the limestone mountains outside the window.
Wei Zhiheng was lying on the pillow at an angle of 15 degrees, holding a pencil in his right hand, his left hand hanging on the bed sheet, his palm facing up, and his fingernails glowed lavender.He stared at the ceiling, and the black shadow in his field of vision spread, swallowing up the beams of the sloping ceiling.He blinked, and the ceiling returned to the texture of limestone, pale and wrinkled.
The rustle of pencil sharpening echoed in the empty studio and continued.Starting with the fourth pencil, the blade scrapes across the wood and wood chips accumulate.