Wild Fire Bids Farewell To Summer Chapter 31

After Osamu 2

The plastic chairs in the infusion room of the county hospital will collapse after sitting for a long time.Wei Zhiheng sunk into the blue chair and felt the bones of his lower back pressing against the hard edge.There is tape on the back of his left hand, the needle is buried under the light blue blood vessel, the transparent hose extends upward, the hanging blood bag is half deflated, and the dark red liquid level forms a slanted line on the plastic wall.

The nurse leaned against the window and counted the drops.She didn’t look at her watch. She tapped her index finger in the air to follow the rhythm of the droplets, and her lips opened and closed silently.Wei Zhiheng stared at her fingers—the knuckles were thick, the nails were cut short, and there was white dead skin on the edges.The finger clicked twelve times, paused, then took out a red pen from the pocket of his white coat and drew a line on the care sheet.

“Ten minutes left,” the nurse said.The voice had a Guixi accent, and the ending sound was sinking.

The liquid in the blood bag is still flowing away.Wei Zhiheng felt the back of his hand swell, not painful, but a warm and full feeling.His right hand rested on the armrest, and his fingertips pressed against a piece of purpura, the size of a coin, with a dark purple center, blurred edges, and gradually lighter outwards, with no obvious boundary between it and the skin.He pressed it down and dug his fingertips into the skin, then released it, leaving a white mark that was slowly swallowed up by the surrounding blood.

Huang Jinye stood at the door and did not come in.He was leaning against the doorframe, his right shoulder against the wall, and his left hand holding a roll of medical tape that he had just picked up from the nurse’s station.He picked up the edge of the tape with his thumb, pulled it out, and pressed it back again. The adhesive pulled at his fingertips, making a slight peeling sound.His knees were slightly bent, his center of gravity was on his left leg, and his right leg touched the ground at a weak point – there was water in his right knee, making him feel heavy after standing for a long time.

The nurse moved quickly when removing the needle.The cotton swab was pressed on the back of his hand, and Wei Zhiheng pressed it himself.The tape is a breathable narrow strip that sticks to the hair and will hurt when you peel it off.The nurse applied it a little crookedly, and one end of the tape lifted up, revealing the white of the cotton ball underneath.

“Compressions for five minutes,” the nurse said.She packed up the therapy cart, its wheels turning and its rubber bearings whimpering.She pushed the car and drove away. The back of her white coat was stained with a little yellow-brown iodine. She flashed around the corner and disappeared into the stairwell.

Wei Zhiheng pressed the cotton ball.Blood seeped out from the pinhole, slowly but continuously, forming a red circle in the center of the white cotton ball, expanding, and changing color from bright red to dark red.Huang Jinye walked over without saying a word and put the roll of tape in his hand on the armrest of the chair. The metal axis hit the plastic and made a crisp sound.

“Can I leave?” Huang Jinye asked.The voice was hoarse and the sandpaper scraped against the wood.

Wei Zhiheng nodded.He stood up, his knees made a scraping sound, and the depth of his left hip twitched.He didn’t let go of his hand pressing the cotton ball, and the blood had already penetrated the cotton ball, leaving wet marks on his fingertips, sticky and with body heat.He walked toward the door, his steps dragging, his right foot dragging on the ground, making a rustling sound as it scraped against the terrazzo floor.

[601, Building 6, Teachers’ Family Building]

Su Huiqin sat in front of the loom.The loom is against the north window, and the light comes from the side, illuminating the bamboo healds into a translucent yellow.She held the bamboo shuttle in her hand. The body of the shuttle was polished and shiny. It became cold after holding it for a long time. The edges were soaked in dark brown with the sweat of her hands.She is connecting broken threads – the off-white warp thread is broken, and she is twisting the two thread ends together.

The thread rustled between her fingers.Her knuckles were swollen, the skin was cracked, and they were covered with tape with raised edges, the same tape she had applied earlier when she was chopping corn silks in the kitchen.

Wei Zhiheng stood at the door.He didn’t change his shoes, and the canvas shoes smelled of hospital disinfectant, leaving wet marks on the cement floor at the door.He looked at his mother’s back – a gray sweater with two bulges on the shoulders, which were pushed up by the shoulder blades.She moved very slowly, twisting the thread three times before tightening it, and it fell apart again the fourth time.

“Mom.” Wei Zhiheng called.The sound came out of the nasal cavity, smelling of blood, and was vague.

Su Huiqin didn’t look back.Her hand stopped in mid-air, the bamboo shuttle hung down, and the threads spread out.She stared at the two broken threads for a long time, then twisted them again.The twist was tighter this time, and she looped the thread around her fingertips and pulled it tight to form a knot.It’s not a dead knot, it’s a slip knot, which can be opened as soon as you pull it.

Wei Zhiheng walked over.He stood beside the loom, still pressing the needle hole with his left hand. The bleeding had stopped, but the sticky memory still remained on his fingertips.He looked at the tapestry—water ripples, dark blue weft threads undulating against off-white warp threads.When knitting to the seventh row, there is a bulge.The weft thread was twisted there, but not pressed down, forming a small lump, which was hard and different from the smooth texture around it.

He stretched out his hand.His right hand hovered over the bulge, his fingers spread out, and his knuckles turned white from exertion.He fell down and touched the knot with his fingertips.Rough.The fibers were twisted together and bulged, rubbing against the fingertips.He rubbed the raised texture, once, twice, feeling the way the fibers were entangled.

Su Huiqin’s hands were shaking.The bamboo shuttle swayed slightly in her hand, and the thread trembled.She didn’t look at her son, or at the knot.Her gaze fell outside the window, on the gray outline of Green Cen Mountain. Her lips were pursed, and there was a dry crack in the center of her lower lip, oozing with blood.

“Thread…” Su Huiqin said, her voice coming from far away, with an air of anger, “I picked the wrong one.”

She spoke Guiliu dialect, with the final sound falling.Three words, disconnected.

Wei Zhiheng’s fingertips stopped on the knot.He got it.This is not a technical error, it is a deliberate weaving error.Release the soul.When weaving a tapestry for a dying person, one must deliberately miss a stitch so that the soul has somewhere to escape and a way to return.

He pulled back.The pain of the pinprick and the rough feeling on the fingertips were mixed together, and it was hard to tell which was more real.He looked at his mother, at her profile, at the white hair emerging from the base of her ears.He wanted to say something, but his tongue was heavy, holding a piece of unmelted ice.

Huang Jinye stood at the door of the living room.He took off his shoes. There were holes in his socks, and his big toe stuck out and was stained with dust.He was still holding the roll of tape in his hand, and when he squeezed it, it was deformed, and the core of the paper tube made a slight crunching sound.He watched Wei Zhiheng touching the knot, Su Huiqin’s hand hanging down, and the shadow formed by the raised knot in the light.

His jaw moved.Down, two centimeters, to form a nod, but stopped.The muscles tightened, and the veins on the side of his neck jumped.The movement of nodding was not completed, like a fallen leaf that was half blown by the wind, hanging in the air, and then taken back.He licked his lips, which were chapped and stained with blood.

Su Huiqin started knitting again.The bamboo shuttle passes through the warp and makes a clicking sound.This time the sound was muffled, not as crisp as usual, like a shuttle hitting a soft place.She knitted very slowly, pausing with each shuttle, as if waiting for the bulge of the wrong stitch to be confirmed again.

Wei Zhiheng turned around.He walked towards the wicker chair, his steps dragging, his right foot dragging on the ground and grazing the cement floor.He sat down, and the bamboo bars of the cane chair groaned and sank.He spread his left hand, palm upward. The purpura appeared swollen purple in the sun, with blurred edges.

Huang Jinye came over.He threw the roll of tape on the coffee table. The tape rolled to the edge and was blocked by the tea cup.There was corn silk water in the teacup. It had cooled down. There was a film on the surface, which was light yellow. A few fibrous roots sank to the bottom.

“It’s warm.” Huang Jinye said.Single words, dry.He was referring to Wei Zhiheng’s hand after the blood transfusion. It was indeed warm now, a little hotter than Huang Jinye’s own hand.

Wei Zhiheng didn’t answer.He stared at the ceiling, where a crack stretched out from the corner and branched off next to the chandelier.There was a black shadow in the upper left corner of the field of vision, which was fixed and fixed, causing the upper right corner of the ceiling to disappear into the blind spot.He blinked, the crack was still there, but a piece of the edge was bitten off by the shadow.

Su Huiqin weaves to the tenth row.Her hand suddenly stopped, holding her left breast, and coughing.The cough is deep and comes out of the lungs with a phlegm sound.She bent down, half of her body blocked by the loom.When the coughing stopped, she straightened up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a little wet mark of saliva on the back of her hand.She didn’t look back to see if anyone had noticed. She just continued to weave, but her hands became slower, and the bamboo shuttle got stuck between the warp threads before passing through.

Wei Zhiheng opened his eyes.He looked at his mother, at her movements, at the hand pressing on her chest.He wanted to say “Stop knitting,” but the smell of blood surged up in his throat, blocking his words.He swallowed, his Adam’s apple rolled, and the blood clot slid down, feeling heavy.

Huang Jinye turned around.His eyes met Wei Zhiheng’s, unfocused and scattered, falling on the wall behind the other person.His jaw moved again, this time completely downward, a full nod, but quickly, less than a second, like a twitch.Then he looked away, at the wrong stitch on the loom, the bulge.

He walked over.The steps were heavy, and the left foot landed first with a thud, and then the right foot dragged along, grazing the ground.He stopped in front of the loom, half a meter away from Su Huiqin.He stretched out his right hand, hovered his index finger over the knot, paused for two seconds, and then lowered it, touching the ridge with his fingertips.

He pressed it.Rough, hard, and incompatible with the smooth texture around it.He retracted his hand and said nothing, just looking at the knot, then at the back of Su Huiqin’s head, looking at the white hair.

Su Huiqin didn’t look back.She felt the touch of that hand, and the bamboo shuttle shook in her hand. The thread left a crooked mark on the warp, but she quickly straightened it.Her shoulders tightened slightly, then relaxed and sank.

“Eat.” Su Huiqin said.She put down the bamboo shuttle and stood up, her knees making a dry rubbing sound.She walked toward the kitchen, her footsteps dragging, and the scraping of rubber soles against the cement floor was loud in the quiet room.

Wei Zhiheng was still sitting in the wicker chair.He put his right hand into his trouser pocket and took out the limestone specimen.Ivory white with gray flint bands, flat base and sharp edges.He tightened his grip, and the stone pressed against the purpura on his palm, causing a dull pain.He held the stone up to the light and looked at the veins of the flint strips, straight and parallel.

Huang Jinye stood beside the loom and did not move.He looked down at the misaligned needle, at the bulge.He reached out, not touching this time, but pinching.He pinched the knot with his thumb and forefinger and exerted force. The knot deformed between his fingertips, but the fibers were tightened and did not fall apart.He released it and the knot returned to its original shape, the bulge still there.

Outside the window, the outline of Greencen Mountain appears gray-white in the afternoon light.The sound of the cutting machine in the stone factory could be heard in the distance. It hummed and continued, but it was thinned by the distance and became blurry.

Wei Zhiheng put the stone on his knees.The stone was cold, sticking to the skin of my thighs through the fabric of my school uniform pants.He stared at the loom, at the pinched knot, and at the half-woven brocade that his mother had woven.

Huang Jinye walked up to him and squatted down.The two were at eye level.Huang Jinye’s breath smelled of eucalyptus sugar, spicy, overflowing from the corners of his mouth.He looked into Wei Zhiheng’s eyes and looked at the light red in his pupils.He stretched out his hand and hovered his right hand over Wei Zhiheng’s left shoulder. He paused for three seconds. His fingers were spread out, the joints were stiff, and there were white stone powder on the edges of the fingernails.

He didn’t let go of the hand in the end.He retracted his hand and put it into his trouser pocket. His fingertips touched the piece of eucalyptus candy. The tin foil was soft and sticky.He stood up and his right knee made a sharp friction sound. He pursed his lips and swallowed back the sound.

“The water is cold.” Huang Jinye said, pointing to the teacup on the coffee table.The film on the surface of the corn silk water has become solid.

Wei Zhiheng nodded.He stood up, and the stone rolled from his knees and fell to the ground with a dull sound.He bent down to pick it up, and the movement affected his waist. There was a dull pain deep in his ilium, as if there was a needle spinning inside.He picked up the stone, held it in his hand, and stood upright.

Su Huiqin called out from the kitchen: “Zhiheng, bring the ladder.” The sound was muffled through the wall.

Wei Zhiheng didn’t move.He looked at the stone in his hand, at the wrong needle on the loom, and at Huang Jinye’s hand in his trouser pocket.The warmth of the blood bag is still in the veins, but the hand has begun to cool down, getting closer to the temperature of the stone.He understood the meaning of the wrong needle, Huang Jinye also understood it, and Su Huiqin understood it even more.But they didn’t say anything and just let the bulge stay there.

He went to the corner to get the ladder.The ladder stood against the wall. It was made of bamboo and covered with a layer of dust.He lifted it and the bamboo strips rubbed together, making a drying sound.There was a crack on the third rung of the ladder, running horizontally from left to right, splitting in the middle.

He carried the ladder to the kitchen.The ladder tilted in his hand, the cracks in the rungs pointing upward, exposed to the afternoon light.The cracks are horizontal and the misaligned stitches are vertical. The two form a right angle and cross in the air.