bayedsolid Chapter 1054: Meat
Chapter 1054: Meat
A chill ran through her bones. The third time she tried to insert the brass key into the rusty copper lock, the jagged edge of her fingertip lacerated a bloody wound. Drops of blood rushed out and dripped into the dark keyhole, as if feeding this old object that had been silent for three years with a pool of warm water. The glaring red spread across the blue-gray rust, just like the blood splattered on the white sheets on the operating table three years ago, instantly exploding a scarlet in her mind. She subconsciously retracted her hand, the tingling in her fingertips spreading along the nerves to her heart, causing it to tighten. This key was delivered to her rented apartment by Fu Shiyan's lawyer three days ago. There was only one line of print on the manila envelope: "Mr. Fu, please go to No. 73 Ginkgo Road at 3:00 PM on September 17th." September 17th. This date was like a fine needle, gently piercing the memory that she had barely mended for three years. Three years ago today, she was lying in the sterile ward of the hospital, watching Fu Shiyan being pushed into the operating room by the nurse through the thick glass. He was wearing a blue-green hospital gown and smiled at her from a distance. The smile was as pale as a piece of thin paper that would break if the wind blew. Shen Zhiyi took a deep breath. The air was filled with the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves, mixed with a faint, stale smell belonging to this courtyard. She raised her bleeding finger, rubbed it casually on the knee of her jeans, and then held the key again. This time, she held her breath, carefully aligned the key with the keyhole, and exerted a little force on her wrist. With a sharp "creak", the rusty lock finally opened. The iron door creaked open inwards. The sound was like a sigh from the depths of time, long and heavy. The sparrows nesting on the door lintel were startled and flew up, and a few gray feathers fluttered down and landed on the tips of Shen Zhiyi's hair. She raised her head, her eyes passing through the cobweb-covered porch and falling under the ginkgo tree in the center of the courtyard. Fu Shiyan was standing there. He was wearing a dark silk shirt with the collar tied meticulously, outlining his neckline even more slender. The sleeves were casually rolled up to his forearms, and the exposed skin shone with a cold white luster under the mottled shadows of the trees. The shallow scar on the wrist bone was unusually clear - the shape of the scar was almost exactly the same as the old wound on the base of her right hand. Shen Zhiyi's breathing suddenly stagnated, and she subconsciously hid her right hand behind her back. The scar was left three years ago. After she learned that Fu Shiyan had donated bone marrow for her, she cut it fiercely with a fruit knife. At that time, she had only one thought: she didn't want his bone marrow, she would rather die. But in the end, she still survived, with this ugly scar and a heart filled with guilt. Fu Shiyan's eyes fell on her, calm and unperturbed, as if he was looking at a stranger. He had high brow bones, a straight nose bridge, and thin lips tightly pursed, outlining an almost mean face. Only when his eyes swept over her bleeding fingertips did his brows frown almost imperceptibly, and the subtle change was so fast that people thought it was an illusion. "Miss Shen is three quarters of an hour later than the agreed time." He spoke, his voice wrapped in the chill of early autumn, and it seemed to condense tiny ice particles in the air. He did not ask her why she was late, nor did he ask her what happened to her finger. His tone was so flat, as if he was stating an insignificant fact. Shen Zhiyi hid her bleeding finger deeper, her nails dug deep into the flesh of her palm, using a sharp pain to stay awake. She could not lose her composure in front of him, absolutely not. On that stormy night three years ago, he had looked at her with the same calm, unwavering gaze. He then grasped her wrist and pressed her fingers against the consent form. She remembered the warmth of his fingertips, the gentle rustle of his signature pen as it sliced through the paper. That sound was like a sharp knife, slicing through her anesthetic-soaked heart. "Mr. Fu's time is so precious; he surely doesn't have time to wait for a sinner." She lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting a light shadow beneath her lids, obscuring the turmoil of emotion beneath them. She bent down to pick up the suitcase at her feet. It was all she had, a half-worn blue suitcase that Fu Shiyan had accompanied her to buy. The wheels of the suitcase churned across the bluestone floor, making a grating sound that was particularly harsh in the empty, silent courtyard. Just as her fingers were about to touch the handle, the suitcase was suddenly yanked towards her with a brute force. Fu Shiyan's movements were astonishingly fast; he was standing next to the suitcase with barely a movement. He grabbed the suitcase and casually threw it onto the carved pillar next to him. With a dull thud, a noticeable dent was made in the suitcase's metal shell. Shen Zhiyi's heart sank. The suitcase contained her mother's belongings: a stack of yellowed photos and some old jewelry. "Sinner?" Fu Shiyan stepped closer. He was tall, more than a head taller than Shen Zhiyi. His shadow enveloped her like an airtight net, making it almost impossible for her to breathe. "Shen Zhiyi, what gives you the right to use these two words?" His voice suddenly rose, and his calm facade was torn apart, revealing the turbulent undercurrent beneath. Shen Zhiyi was forced to look up and meet his bottomless eyes. There were emotions surging in them that she couldn't understand: anger, disappointment, and a hint of... pain that she didn't dare to delve into. She smelled the cedar cologne on him, crisp and clean, yet with a sense of alienation that kept people at a distance. This smell overlapped strangely with the smell of disinfectant in her memory. She suddenly remembered that when she met him in the mental hospital that year, he was standing condescendingly like this. He was wearing a white coat that day, with half of a silver fountain pen sticking out of his pocket, and the scratch on the pen cap was clearly visible - that pen was exactly the same as the one he later used to sign the bone marrow donation agreement. The smell of disinfectant in the mental hospital was so strong that it could not be dispelled, mixed with the sweat and medicine smell of the patients, forming a disgusting smell. Shen Zhiyi curled up in a chair in the corner of the ward, holding a tattered rag doll in her arms. It was the only thought her mother left her. She had just had another attack, banging her head against the wall, crying for her mother. The nurse gave her an injection of sedative, and now her head is still dizzy. The door of the ward was pushed open, and Fu Shiyan walked in. He was thinner than he is now, with a faint dark blue under his eyes, as if he had not had a good rest for a long time. He saw Shen Zhiyi huddled in the corner, paused, then slowly walked over and squatted in front of her. "Zhiyi."