Little Darling
by M1zushiYu Chen did not rub his head.
Instead, he brushed aside the dry, straw-like fringe on the man’s forehead and gave him a soft kiss on the corner of his eye.
In an instant, like ripples on a calm lake, wrinkles quivered at the corner of that eye. The Stump Bird raised a hand to touch his eye, letting out a very short “ah” sound—half an exhale of wonder, half a sound of joy.
“…Thank you, sir.” The Stump Bird bowed his head and solemnly thanked him.
He was very polite, even handing Yu Chen a tissue to wipe the lips that had just kissed him.
Yu Chen told him, “I will be at the station waiting again tomorrow.”
The Stump Bird began to cough violently again. He hunched his shoulders, and like a robot abandoned for years with rusted joints, every bone in his body creaked and stiffened in that tremor.
The Stump Bird retreated far away, but the room was too small; the furthest he could go was by the window.
He opened the window, letting the damp air flow into the moldy room, and explained in a low voice:
“This sickness isn’t contagious, don’t be afraid. I’m just… just…”
The Stump Bird said “just” many times but never stated the cause of the illness. Finally, breathing with difficulty, he tried his best to smile: “I’ll definitely be better tomorrow.”
Yu Chen didn’t expose the Stump Bird, nor did he press further.
At that time, he had not yet understood a fundamental truth.
To someone who has been lonely for a long time, even a tiny bit of warmth is poison.
If you cannot make up your mind to pick them up and care for them, do not give them any hope.
The Stump Bird saw Yu Chen out.
Throughout the walk, they said nothing, walking one behind the other like two awkward strangers.
Near the alley, the Stump Bird said he had things to do and it wasn’t convenient to see him further; once through this alley, the main street was just outside.
After the Stump Bird left, Yu Chen pulled out his terminal, turned around, and recorded a short video in the direction they had come from. That way, even if Yu Chen couldn’t see, he could have the AI deduce the location from the footage.
The AI saw the video, studied it for a bit, and asked, “Uh, did you two have a fight?”
Yu Chen didn’t understand why, but the next second, the AI matched the location via map comparison.
The next day, Yu Chen went to the station to wait again. Unsurprisingly, the online friend still didn’t appear.
Yu Chen had the AI pilot the aircraft and take him directly to the door.
He knocked, but no one answered.
This continued for the next several days.
Yu Chen thought the Stump Bird might have gone on a trip, or perhaps this was a game strategy; waiting wasn’t an issue. After all, they had been online friends for twenty years; two days made no difference.
So, Yu Chen stopped his medication and, with his restored vision, slowly strolled over.
The street shops in the slums were very welcoming; someone poked their head out of a pawn shop, curiously observing his hair color.
Children grabbed his sleeve, repeatedly asking, “Not buying flowers today?”
Yu Chen reached the door and found that the locked door was actually open.
It turned out the landlord had come to reclaim the property.
The landlord was full of complaints, saying he had received a notice of the tenant’s death—it was wretchedly unlucky. If he was going to commit suicide, why didn’t he flip the circuit breaker before leaving? Now the landlord had to pay for several extra days of electricity.
The landlord demanded the electricity fee from Yu Chen: “Aren’t you his friend? You should pay for him.”
Yu Chen wanted to explain that he wasn’t exactly a friend, just an online acquaintance, not familiar, more a stranger than anything.
But as the words reached his lips, he couldn’t say them; he only felt as if his brain had sunk into a rusted lake, making it difficult to react for a moment.
Perhaps he should have shown sadness at the word “suicide,” but his long life experience made him strangely prone to numbness. After all, during the Great Depression, people’s psyches were fragile; especially for veterans with long-term stress, such events were hardly news anymore.
Yu Chen gave the money out of a sense of goodwill. Watching the landlord grumbling as he searched the place, he realized that before the Stump Bird left, he had carefully unplugged every appliance except for the refrigerator.
An electric shock swept through Yu Chen as he fixed his gaze on that short, old-fashioned refrigerator.
He thought there would be something unexpected inside.
Flesh, a heart, or even the leg the Stump Bird had lost.
But when the landlord pulled it open, the warm orange light spilled out, only illuminating a piece of tightly wrapped plastic wrap.
The wrap was bundled into a thin long strip, held firmly with a brown rubber band to a piece of old wood with a chipped corner.
Yu Chen took it from the landlord.
He looked at the old wooden board first; it had mottled grid lines and was an old-fashioned chessboard.
It was so tattered that even a recycling center wouldn’t want it, but in the top right corner, there was a small tag showing it had been pawned at the shop for 5 interstellar credits.
Then, he unwrapped the plastic wrap.
Petals fell into his palm.
It was a flower. Not a precious variety, but the most common kind, so common Yu Chen didn’t even know its name.
Even after three days, under careful preservation, it remained as vivid as ever, forming a weird and sharp contrast with the gray, damaged state of the old chessboard.
Yu Chen couldn’t quite grasp the connection at the time.
He only told the landlord he would handle the remaining items, which finally stopped the landlord’s incessant rant.
On the way back, the AI-controlled aircraft came to pick him up.
The robot scanned the flower in his arms, rotated its rearview mirror, and asked cheerfully, “Did you make up after the fight?”
Yu Chen found it strange; where did the AI get the illusion they had fought?
The AI said matter-of-factly, “It was the video Master showed me.”
For the first time in his life, Yu Chen’s heart stopped.
With shaking fingers, he tapped on that video. It was very short, only fifteen seconds. The quality wasn’t clear, and because the lighting was poor, it looked gray and shrouded in a mold-like gloom.
Upon careful inspection, he could see that the moment the camera turned toward that road, the man’s shoulders jolted. He froze in the middle of the road. Facing the camera held by a blind man, he bowed his head in a sudden, crushing shame.
Thump, thump. The prosthetic struck the broken concrete, in a chaotic and panicked rhythm.
The man desperately raised his arm to hide his face, quickly stepping away to hide in a side alley.
The video stopped at the moment he was halfway into hiding.
At that moment, the Stump Bird was clutching two gifts: the flower and the chessboard bought with that 20-credit fee.
He had used 5 credits to redeem the chessboard and 15 credits to buy you a flower.
He was in an internal struggle the whole way, and after they parted, he secretly followed behind you, wanting to give you the things in his hands.
Even if it was just a tiny bit, he wanted this simple love to end with a touch of romance.
He had said, “I don’t like flowers.”
But when he saw you had brought flowers, he felt guilty and couldn’t help but want to reciprocate.
He bought a flower, comforting himself.
At our first meeting, we both prepared flowers for each other.
However, when you raised the camera, he thought he had been discovered, and you were filming to mock him. Thus, he silently left, carrying regret and resentment.
Thump, thump-thump…
He kept turning back as he took a step; the broken wood of his prosthetic painfully striking the ground, reluctant to leave, but forced to go.
Yu Chen turned off the screen, staring numbly as the scenery outside the window flashed past.
He picked up the folded chessboard. A small note fell out, a clipping of an advertisement with neat, printed font.
The headline was: “Disappointments in life are simply because there are other arrangements. Thank you for our fated encounter.”
Beside it, there were four small, handwritten characters which said:
See you next time.
The Sculpture Square.
The icy rain flowed slowly along the lines of the stone carving. With his forehead pressed against the wall, moisture seeped continuously into the crevices of his bones. That familiar dampness quickly jolted him awake.
Bai Ling instinctively reached out to feel for bedsheets, but his hand touched only the slimy, cold stairs.
He snapped his eyes open. A dazzling beam of light flashed by, forcing him to turn his face away. He blinked in the dimness to adapt for a moment before looking around at his surroundings.
It seems he… climbed onto the sculpture’s shoulder?
Bai Ling rubbed his temples, which were throbbing with a headache. As he stretched his leg, he kicked over two empty beer cans.
Dammit, he couldn’t remember how he had ended up here at all…
However, Bai Ling was quite used to this sort of situation. After all, not everyone has the experience of opening their eyes to find themselves back at nineteen years old.
Furthermore, in the year before his death, he suffered frequent mental breakdowns and often woke up in unfamiliar places. Feeling for his belongings, finding a public restroom to wash his face, and then silently, slowly walking back alone had become a habit etched into his DNA.
Bai Ling didn’t expect anyone to pick him up.
Years ago, when his organs were failing and even his blood vessels were collapsing, the doctors looking at his exam results didn’t think of saving him; they only wondered why he was still standing there alive.
Even though he repeatedly collapsed on the street, black market dealers didn’t even bother to pick him up to harvest his organs.
They would say: “This shitty meat of yours isn’t worth two hours of my dissection fees. Move along, take these two credits and get lost on the bus.”
But today was different.
Bai Ling expressionlessly pinched his own cheek.
This skin and flesh were still young. Judging by his face alone, he should be worth quite a bit.
He packed up his trash and carried it down. There were many vending machines around the square; he managed to get some more alcohol and continued drinking while leaning under the eaves of a building.
In the early hours, thugs out for late-night drinks occasionally passed by.
They were all taken aback when they saw the person leaning against the sculpture, then began to leer. They exchanged knowing glances in groups of three or five, surrounding the little white-haired boy.
Bai Ling was very submissive, following them into an alley, and then…
He gave them a brutal beating. Holding their wallets, he fiercely scattered the coins across the square and, quite irrationally, stuffed the large bills into a donation box.
His terminal chimed, indicating only 10% battery was remaining.
Bai Ling habitually took it out to look.
Calls 99+, Messages 99+.
The most recent one was from half an hour ago. That merman had brought up the chess bet, insisting that he must give him a chance to explain.
What’s there to explain?
Bai Ling bowed his head and let out a laugh. Since the other party expected him to honor the bet, he certainly wouldn’t let him down.
Bai Ling called directly. It only rang once before the other side picked up. He didn’t give Yu Chen a chance to speak. Instead of being angry, he laughed and said:
“I heard you have someone in your heart. That’s fine. It’s only human nature. I completely understand. Who doesn’t have a past? You’ve lived for over a hundred years; if you didn’t have an ex or two, I’d think there was something wrong with you.”
The other side was silent for a long time. Yu Chen knew he was being sarcastic. He weighed his words carefully before slowly speaking:
“I do not have a late wife. My marital registration history is blank; I’ve sent the document to you. That person was just an old friend. I only met him once, and we barely spoke a few words.”
“I don’t believe you,” Bai Ling said decisively.
This hundred-year-old venomous snake had tricked him time and again; there was no getting the truth out of him. Without needing to guess, these words were definitely half-true and half-false, with plenty of fluff inside.
The old snake let out a soft sigh and, in a soothing tone, frankly admitted: “I only have you.”
“Only me what? Speak up!” Bai Ling, reeking of alcohol, shouted incoherently into the microphone.
“My little darling.” The voice was gentle, as magnetic and deep as ever.
“…Heh.” Did he think he was as easy to patronize as before?
Bai Ling let out a cold laugh: “Wrong answer. Goodbye.”
Hearing the word “goodbye,” Yu Chen felt an instinctive jolt in his heart, as if his very blood had frozen.
Author’s Note:
Little Bird: “Late wife,” is it? I’m sentencing you to life without a wife immediately.
Old Merman: (Gloomily wrapping his tail around the little bird fluff) (Displaying his blank marital status) (Hinting that a name should be added).
Extra update is here! (Brings out little bird soup).
The next chapter will be sweet. Whoever said the Big Cod‘s crematorium was going to be painful, step forward! Yes, you, you… I’ll immediately give you a box of little bird candy to plug up those sharp teeth of yours.
JJwxc comment:
You are a little excited, yet a little afraid. Fortunately—thankfully—that man is blind; he cannot see what you look like. He cannot see your ugliness or your aging; he cannot see your wretchedness or your ruin. He cannot see that you are missing a leg, that your hands are swollen, or that you are ravaged by illness, living a life that is humble yet stubborn.
You agreed to meet him at the station, but you made him wait a long time. Perhaps you were suddenly struck by fear or embarrassment; perhaps you only wanted to see him, for you to see him, not for him to see you, even if he is blind. But he kept his promise to you. He waited from dawn until dusk just to see you. Perhaps you couldn’t bear it any longer, and so, when darkness fell, you appeared.
You went to meet him, but you still didn’t want him to know it was you. You didn’t want him to hear the raspiness of your broken voice or the heavy thud-thud of your cheap prosthetic on the ground. So, you continued to hide the truth, stepping forward to speak with him. You saw the flowers he brought; you told him you didn’t like flowers. You told him that perhaps the person he was waiting for wouldn’t come, that they wouldn’t take his flowers. Later, you brought up the person he was waiting for, the you he was waiting for. You listened to every one of his answers. Perhaps you heard the sincerity in his heart; perhaps you knew that every time he seemed to be talking about himself and the person he sought, he was actually answering your hidden questions.
But perhaps you didn’t know, or perhaps you knew but told yourself you didn’t, because you wanted to remain, in his heart, the proud version of yourself on the chessboard.
In the end, you took his business. You didn’t want his money, because you weren’t doing it for the sake of money; perhaps you just wanted an excuse to lead him away so that he would no longer be waiting for you. You hoped he would stop waiting, didn’t you?
You wanted him to rub your head, but instead, he gave you a kiss that landed at the corner of your eye. In your heart, you hoped he would stop waiting, yet he told you he would return to the station tomorrow to keep waiting for you—you accepted this tender poison,willingly letting it consume your last breath. Yet perhaps you still wanted to save yourself; so, inside the gift of flowers and a chessboard, you tucked a note that read “See you next time,” intending to give it to him. But that hope went unfulfilled. You saw him pick up a camera, pointing it right at you. And so, you fled in panic, your hopes shattering across the ground. Perhaps you had already thought of death when you wrote that note, for you knew that in this lifetime, you would never meet him again—at least, not as the person he was waiting for.
Perhaps you know that, in the end, he will still receive your gift, the gift you so carefully cherished. Perhaps you know that he already knows you are the one he was waiting for. But it doesn’t matter, because you have already decided to leave on the very day of your meeting. In this way, you saw him, and he saw you, yet the two of you never truly met in all your lives.
You were always so stubborn, never surrendering your pride. You were always so clever, knowing that the things within sight but out of reach are the most fatal. Perhaps in your heart, you still dream of soaring through the sky, still that fierce and powerful bird of prey. But you also know clearly how wretched your reality has become.
Death is the end of all things. All the bitterness and the sweetness of a lifetime; the milk truck of childhood and that “Goodnight, darling”; the reckless freedom of soaring through the sky in your youth; all the subsequent battles, the frustrations, and the misery; all the glory of resistance and the hidden, unspoken emotions; all the humility, the exhaustion, the tentative probes, and the warmth—all of it ends with death, never to be recovered.
“Disappointments in life are simply because there are other arrangements. Thank you for our fated encounter.“
“See you next time.”
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