After finishing lunch, Qi Bailu returned to the ward for his IV drip. The room was well-heated, so he didn't feel cold wearing only a shirt, but as the glucose flowed into his veins, a faint chill spread through his arm. Perhaps because he hadn't rested well lately and had been working non-stop, Qi Bailu gradually felt a wave of drowsiness. When Ruan Qiuji returned, he found Qi Bailu half-reclining on the hospital bed, his eyelids closed as if he had drifted off. The nurse had already removed the needle.
Ruan Qiuji did not wake him. After locking the door, he walked over, placed a paper bag on the cabinet, and sat directly in the chair by the bed. Qi Bailu was a light sleeper; the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor startled him awake. He opened his eyes blearily and glanced at the paper bag. Ruan Qiuji explained, "Your clothes."
Qi Bailu assumed his assistant had sent them. Since he was wearing his costume, it would be quite conspicuous outside; furthermore, he had to continue filming the next day, and the bloodstains on the costume needed to be cleaned promptly. He sat up and pulled a top out of the bag, only to find the tags still attached. Realizing Ruan Qiuji had bought these new, Qi Bailu looked at the size and price tag, asking, "You didn't ask me. How did you know the size would fit?"
"Why don't you try them on first?"
Qi Bailu took the clothes out and felt they looked like they might be his size. He knelt on the bed facing Ruan Qiuji and was about to unbutton his shirt, but seeing that the man had no intention of leaving, he paused.
Ruan Qiuji watched his movements, the smile on his face seemingly mocking Qi Bailu’s cautiousness. Nevertheless, he stood up from the chair and pulled the privacy curtain from the head of the bed to the foot, the folds of the fabric unfurling completely as they slid along the track.
The hospital curtains were a uniform color—a very pale, light green. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, and Qi Bailu’s bed was by the window. With the thin sunlight filtering through, one could see the hazy silhouette of the person on the other side through the curtain, which was as light as plant fiber.
The room fell silent for a moment, the curtain hanging still. There was only the rustling sound of Qi Bailu changing: the sound of a belt being unbuckled, the friction of fabric against skin and bedding, the slight creaking of the hospital bed, and the sound of a denim zipper.
Ruan Qiuji sat down, gazing at the silhouette beyond the curtain. Finally, the silhouette turned, and with a sharp tug, the curtain was pulled aside. Ruan Qiuji saw that the once-smooth bedsheets were now wrinkled.
Qi Bailu smoothed his slightly messy short hair while letting his legs dangle off the side of the bed, facing Ruan Qiuji. Before lunch, he had wiped his face, removing his set makeup, which softened his facial features considerably. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans; dressed like this, he had a bit of a student-like air, fresh as a lotus emerging from water.
"They're a bit long, but..."
Qi Bailu looked down and kicked his feet slightly to show that the pant legs weren't quite right. He leaned down to cuff them, revealing a patch of snowy-white skin at the nape of his neck. The red drawstrings of the hoodie dangled down, swaying gently in the air. Ruan Qiuji hadn't noticed he was quite this fair before; seeing him like this so suddenly, he realized his skin truly was like congealed cream—his body seemed even whiter than his face and hands.
Qi Bailu braced his hands on his knees to straighten up, his eyes meeting Ruan Qiuji’s gaze as he looked up. He had intended to ask how Ruan Qiuji knew his size, but then he thought of those unsubstantiated romantic rumors. Ruan Qiuji seemed exactly like the type of man who frequently accompanied female companions on shopping trips—utterly tender and considerate, yet utterly fickle and heartless.
"But they suit you well," Ruan Qiuji said.
Perhaps because they were so close, for the first time since their encounter in the VIP lounge, that same feeling returned to Qi Bailu. He deliberately said with cold detachment, "Thank you."
At that moment, Ruan Qiuji suddenly stood up. Qi Bailu instinctively leaned back and looked up at him. Ruan Qiuji seemed to find this small, startled reaction amusing, a clear glint of laughter in his eyes. He took another paper bag from the cabinet and pulled a pair of casual sneakers from the box inside, bending down to place them next to the high-topped riding boots.
The CT results came back; fortunately, it was only a mild concussion with no other issues. However, Qi Bailu had a scar-prone constitution. Although he had received stitches promptly, he was still likely to be left with a scar. Qi Bailu felt a bit frustrated himself; after all, for an actor, the face is the most vital thing to protect.
In winter, the sky always darkened early. Ruan Qiuji drove him back, and with the traffic on the road, it was already past five o'clock by the time they reached the hotel. Outside the car, the world was a hazy gloom. Once the car came to a stop and Qi Bailu was about to say goodbye, Ruan Qiuji handed him a pre-prepared paper bag.
Fearing it was some expensive gift, Qi Bailu didn't take it. Ruan Qiuji said, "Open it and see."
"What is it?"
"This is what I came for today."
Looking at the size and shape of the bag, Qi Bailu had a rough guess, but he was still hesitant. Finally, he unbuckled his seatbelt and took it. Using the light from outside the car, he looked down and saw a square mahogany box inside the bag. It looked like something with a lot of history—the auction item from the Otaru Music Box Museum. Though not extravagant, Ruan Qiuji had won it with a bid of two hundred thousand. The music box was said to have been manufactured at the end of World War II and had been out of print for decades; the original owner's wife had brought it across the sea from Japan to China.
"Since you were the one who won it in the end, it's yours," Qi Bailu said, handing the bag back and looking at Ruan Qiuji.
"A gentleman does not take what another loves."
Ruan Qiuji emphasized his words, as if they held a double meaning.
Qi Bailu’s lips moved, looking as though he still intended to refuse. Ruan Qiuji placed his hand over the back of Qi Bailu’s, loosely squeezing his hand to press it down. "I know you like it more than I do. It's a gift for you."
After returning to the hotel, Qi Bailu first called his assistant. The assistant came with the key card to open the door, looking as if he wanted to say something, clearly wanting to show concern. Qi Bailu explained nothing, simply handing him the bag containing the costume and asking him to take it to the laundry.
Once the assistant left, Qi Bailu closed the door and looked at the paper bag in his hand before walking straight to the sofa. He knelt on the carpet, took the music box out of the bag, and placed it on the glass coffee table. The mahogany had a warm, smooth texture. Qi Bailu’s fingers brushed over the box until he found the winding key at the back. After giving it a few turns, he positioned the music box facing forward and then opened the lid with both hands.
The music box was far more exquisite than it had appeared on the screen at the auction. As soon as the lid opened, the music began to play—it was Tchaikovsky’s *Swan Lake*.
Qi Bailu hadn't heard this music in a long time. A small mirror was embedded inside the lid, reflecting a pair of silent eyes. The tone of the music box was cooler and crisper than a piano, making this rendition of *Swan Lake* feel almost desolate and sentimental, like water droplets breaking the silence of a lake. Each melody was a drop of water, causing the lake to ripple with broken waves.
The ballerina standing in the center of the music box turned slowly with the music. One foot was en pointe, while the other leaped backward, suspended in mid-air. Her tutu was hand-sewn from white satin and gauze, draping naturally over her elegantly lined legs.
Unlike typical ballerina music boxes, this dancer was crafted with startling realism. She had a beautiful face, and her hair was not tied up but draped over her shoulders. During the auction, the host had reminded buyers that the hair tie had been damaged during transport, but in Qi Bailu’s heart, this version of the ballerina was closer to that blurred, frantic shadow in his memory.
The music tinkled and chimed. The ballerina simply wore a smile, one hand raised high, looking proud and happy, as if she would never know her fate. Or perhaps, her fate was to turn eternally in this never-ending rotation, becoming a form of repetitive, monotonous happiness.
The ballerina turned several times, oblivious to sorrow. When she turned to face him, Qi Bailu gave her a small smile, but the smile soon faded. He reached out and snapped the lid shut, and the music stopped abruptly.
After a long silence, Qi Bailu took the paper bag, intending to put the music box back inside, but he spotted a card in the bag with writing on it. It could only have been left by Ruan Qiuji. Qi Bailu paused, took the card out, and saw it was folded in the middle. He opened it to see what was written inside. Qi Bailu flipped the card open to find a single line: *Let her finish her dance.*
The handwriting was manual, bold and elegant, and there was nothing else. It looked like a line from some foreign poet. Qi Bailu stared at the card, turning it over several times, before finally taking out his phone to send Ruan Qiuji a WeChat message.
They had added each other at the hospital but hadn't had the chance to say a word yet, so the chat box still showed: *You have added Cave canem as a friend. You can now start chatting.*
Qi Bailu thought for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, not knowing what to say. Finally, he only typed the words "Thank you." Immediately after sending it, he felt a bit of regret. He thought about it and quickly added another line: *If there's a chance, I'll treat you to dinner.*
Ruan Qiuji hadn't replied yet. Qi Bailu put away his phone and placed the card and the music box back inside. Carrying the paper bag, he walked to the bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. After stowing the music box away, Qi Bailu stood up and looked at the large full-length mirror nearby. Then, he began to undress until he was completely naked, picking up a bathrobe from the closet to change into.
Looking at the two pieces of clothing tossed on the bed, Qi Bailu went to the living room, found an old shopping bag, and stuffed the clothes inside haphazardly. He then went to the entryway to put the shoes back in their box. After finishing, he started to walk out with the shopping bag, but after a few steps, he hesitated. He walked back to the bedroom and emptied the clothes onto the bed again. This time, he smoothed them out and folded them carefully.
Unlike some men, Qi Bailu was skilled at folding clothes. Finally, the hoodie and jeans were folded into neat squares and stacked together. When he was fourteen, the first time he left home, he had carefully folded every piece of his clothing and packed them into that small, worn red lady's suitcase. From that moment on, he felt a sense of ritual for every departure.
The phone screen on the bed lit up. The friend labeled as Ruan Qiuji had sent a message: *Okay.*
A second later, another line: *Get some good rest.*
Qi Bailu crouched before the wardrobe and placed the folded clothes and the shoebox at the very bottom, buried firmly under his other clothes. He slid the wardrobe door shut, thinking to himself that this was the first time he had worn these clothes, and perhaps it would be the last.
***
