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墨書 Inktalez
"Today is October 1st. Have you found a place to stay? If not, I can recommend a hostel that offers both short-term and long-term rentals. I’ve been renting there long-term; the environment is quite nice, and you can see the view right out the window."
"That would be great, thank you. My luggage is still at the hotel."
"Let me give you the address. Remember this: Binhai Garden Haihua Building36D. You need a key card to get in. I'll go back and let the landlord know to prepare a room for you, then I’ll come down to pick you up."
"Okay," he replied.
With that, I hurried back to my rental, calling the landlord who lived on the 22nd floor. I’ve always been enthusiastic about other people's affairs while being indifferent to my own because, after all, it’s just trash—why bother cleaning it up?
The landlord rushed upstairs and prepared the brightest room, quoting a price three times higher than usual over the phone to the young man. I stood at the door of that room, my heart racing as I listened to the price jump from 75 yesterday to 225 today. I felt guilty; would he curse me in his heart for misleading him?
"How could it not? During the National Day holiday, prices for hotels and hostels always go up."
Around ten in the morning, the young man sat on the tidy bed with a white suitcase beside him.
"I'm really sorry; I didn't expect it to increase so much. Since you're here now, you should rest first. I'll head back to my room!"
I scurried back to my room like a hamster, curled up on my bed with my head cradled in my arms, making sounds of distress. I hate causing trouble for others or being a burden. If he chose this hostel out of politeness, then I owed him a big favor!
Favors must be repaid, just like Dad told Mom before he passed away: she must pay off his debts; if she couldn't, he wouldn't be able to close his eyes in peace. He never considered how his mother, who struggled with heart disease and was financially inept, would manage to repay his enormous debts.
The most straightforward way to repay a favor is by treating someone to a meal—preferably one that covers their accommodation costs too; that would ease my guilt.
But what should we eat?
"How about hot pot? Just consider it as me being a good host."
"Actually, it's not necessary, but if you insist on treating me, so as not to burden your conscience, I'll have Chongqing Nine Palace Grid."
"Comrade! I'm just afraid you won't eat spicy food!"
"It's still early; shall we go tonight?" He glanced at his watch.
Back in my room, I let out a long sigh and sat on the edge of my bed, looking around at my less-than-ten-square-meter space—a table, a cabinet, a bed, and a bay window. This was my last trace left in the world. The bay window was lined with books I had frantically collected over the past six months. Although I had a library card from Qingdao Municipal Library, there was always an unsettling feeling about borrowing from others. I loved collecting things—leftover spoons and toothpicks from takeout, pens of various colors and shapes, notebooks of all kinds. It seemed I had a hoarding habit, filling this tiny room with bits and pieces.
Now, faced with the imminent loss of all these items, I felt a twinge of reluctance. But thinking about not having to endure worldly suffering anymore made that reluctance seem trivial. The books could be donated to the library; it was just this shell of mine that might not be reused again. What a pity.
There was one thing I wanted: to indulge myself in these books just a little longer—until the day before I left when I could solemnly hand them over to the world.
Oh how I would miss them.
I climbed onto my bed and picked out a copy of Two Jin Civilization History, moving an ashtray, cigarette pack, and lighter from the table to an empty spot on the bay window. With a "click," I lit up and opened the book, planning to read it again carefully. I loved history, logic, and Sun Pin... Looking up at the sunlight outside, I inadvertently saw him standing at his window gazing at the sea while leisurely blowing smoke rings... Because the building was curved, I could clearly see snippets of his indoor scenery—his arm resting on the windowsill with his chin cradled in his palm as he brought the cigarette between his fingers to his lips. At that moment, he looked over at me; our eyes met briefly before we shared an understanding smile. He returned to his room while I lowered my head back into my book.
When we went out for dinner later that evening, neither of us mentioned that moment from earlier in the day. I didn’t ask him why he didn’t seem like someone who smoked; he didn’t question me about smoking as a girl either. The smoking incident passed without further comment, and inside me was gratitude that he hadn’t made a fuss about it.
As I stepped into the descending elevator, I leaned against the wall, feeling the unusual weight of the snow-white spaghetti strap backless dress I wore. Although I had thrown on a short cover-up over it, the fabric was nearly sheer. I was prepared to abandon all inhibitions; I shouldn't have cared about others' gazes. Yet, the trait of timidity and self-doubt seemed deeply rooted in my mind, forming the logical foundation for everything I did. I couldn't change it, so I could only strive to express myself within the confines of the cage I had built for myself, indulging in my own whims.
He seemed to notice my discomfort and stepped slightly in front of me, allowing me to take in his tall figure dressed casually—sneakers, light-colored jeans, and a white T-shirt topped with a white jacket. There was a faint scent of laundry detergent lingering around him. Through the elevator's hazy reflection, I caught a glimpse of his face, but it remained unclear, as it always had been.
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