Countless Blossoms: The Actor's Gamble | Chapter 32 | Echoes of Memory | Novela.app

Chapter 32 - Echoes of Memory Qi Bailu drifted into a long, fragmented dream. Somewhere in the hazy middle of it, he felt himself being pulled toward the surface of consciousness. Zheng Kunyu was there, his large hand supporting the back of Qi Bailu’s neck, tilting his head up to press a glass of water against his parched lips. He felt the hard edge of a pill against his tongue. Caught in the liminal space between nightmare and reality, Qi Bailu was paralyzed by the fear that the pain from his dream would follow him into the waking world. "No..." he murmured, his voice a broken thread. Zheng Kunyu’s fingers were firm as he pinched Qi Bailu’s chin, forcing his mouth open to ensure he swallowed. "It’s just medicine for the fever," he said, his voice low and steady. *Hadn't he already taken some?* Qi Bailu thought dizzily, but his mind was too heavy to hold the question. His body felt as though it were sinking through the mattress, plunging back into the depths of that dark, sprawling dream. He could feel a hand—gentle, persistent—stroking his cheek. The touch was undeniably tender, yet it filled him with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. He couldn't tell if the hand belonged to the dream or the man beside him; he only knew that it felt dangerous and strong, capable of tearing his fragile existence in two with a single motion. In the dream, he was in an elevator. It ascended endlessly, the floor numbers flickering like a racing heartbeat. A pair of hands rested on either side of his head, tilting him gently until he was tucked into the crook of a man’s neck. The man was dressed impeccably, smelling of crisp, expensive shaving cream. Even in the dream, Qi Bailu felt a sharp pang of anxiety, his only thought being that he mustn't wrinkle the man’s perfectly pressed suit. He tried to pull away, to lift his head, but the man’s embrace was an absolute command. A searing kiss fell upon the space between his eyebrows. The elevator doors opened and closed, over and over. Each time the bell chimed, Qi Bailu trembled, terrified that someone outside would see them. Then, he was standing there, his clothes being stripped away piece by piece. But to his shock, the people beyond the doors didn't spare him a single glance. Through the shifting threshold of the elevator, he saw a living room where a man and woman were screaming at each other. He saw a car jolting through the night, carrying a family of three in a desperate flight. He saw a violent, churning river in the dead of winter, its banks lined with a silent crowd. A bride in a white gown was swimming in the freezing water; they were all shouting for her, but she refused to come ashore, lost to the current. He saw a dusty shop filled with pirated DVDs, where black-and-white films played on loop. On the flickering screens, lovers embraced and kissed eternally, their smiles fixed in a state of perpetual, scripted grace. His clothes fell away, layer by layer, year by year, as the red numbers of the elevator floors jumped higher. Yet the world remained indifferent. The people lived only within their own spheres of tragedy and joy, never looking at the boy being unmade in the golden cage. Finally, he was bare, and Zheng Kunyu gathered him up, laying him down. He knew it was Zheng Kunyu; it could never be anyone else. They didn't land on the earth or fall into the wind, but onto a bed that felt impossibly, suffocatingly soft. A voice called out to him. *Bailu, run,* she said. *Where am I supposed to go?* he wanted to ask. But she only repeated it, her voice like a gavel strike: *Bailu, go. Leave this place and never look back.* "Mama," he whimpered. The man kissing him seemed to falter for a heartbeat, but he did not stop. He dragged Qi Bailu into a rhythmic, crashing sea. The pain was sharp, like salt in a wound; the waves battered him until his entire body ached. He wanted to turn back, but he was pinned there, anchored to the moment. *I won't look back, Mama. I’ve left. I’m far away now,* he told himself in the silence of his mind. But the incantation failed. The pain forced his eyes open, and the ghosts of the past receded like a ebbing tide. He found himself staring into a pair of dark, heavy eyes looking down at him. They were filled with an emotion he didn't recognize—something strange and cinematic, like the eyes of the lovers on the television screen who smiled forever. He didn't understand it, and he didn't want to. "It hurts," he whispered. The pain didn't vanish; instead, it tightened its grip on his heart, as if trying to crush the last of his resistance. He realized he must have been crying for a long time. His dream was damp with tears, cold as winter snowflakes melting against his skin. In his mind, he stepped cautiously onto a sheet of smooth ice, reaching out to catch the falling snow, but his hands wouldn't move. The snowbanks looked like wedding dresses; the dresses looked like snow; the snow looked like the pristine white skirts of a dancer spinning in the sun. A kiss, light as a snowflake, landed on his shoulder, bringing with it a faint itch. It was a small thing, a mere speck in the universe, yet its arrival brought a silent tremor to his soul. Qi Bailu forced his heavy eyelids halfway open. Zheng Kunyu’s arm was draped across his waist, holding him from behind. In the disorienting silence where time seemed to have lost its meaning, Zheng Kunyu spoke. "You're awake? You’ve slept for over ten hours. Like a little pig." Qi Bailu said nothing. He looked down and saw that his wrists were still bound. He made a weak, futile effort to pull them apart, but the leather belt held fast. Zheng Kunyu seemed to have been awake for a while; he was clean, smelling of soap and dressed in fresh pajamas. His voice sounded relaxed, almost casual. He leaned down to press another kiss to Qi Bailu’s bare shoulder before rolling him over to face him. The scent of bitter tobacco—perhaps a cigar—clung to Zheng Kunyu. He reached out, his thumb brushing away the final tear from the corner of Qi Bailu’s eye. Qi Bailu remained silent, his mind still half-submerged in the dream, while Zheng Kunyu simply watched him, staring into his vacant, hollow eyes. The room was so quiet that the rhythmic ticking of a wristwatch became audible. During the act, Zheng Kunyu had forgotten to take it off, and the cold metal had bruised Qi Bailu’s skin. Now, the watch sat on the nightstand, its gears clicking with a precision that grated on Qi Bailu’s nerves. Slowly, the intensity of Zheng Kunyu’s gaze pulled him back to the harsh light of reality. "Untie me," Qi Bailu breathed, his voice barely a ghost of a sound. Zheng Kunyu leaned closer to the pillow, straining to hear. When he realized what Qi Bailu was asking, he didn't move immediately. He spent a moment simply admiring the expression on the younger man's face. Finally, he propped himself up on one elbow and began to undo the belt. It had been pulled so tight that it took some effort to loosen the knot. When it finally gave way, Qi Bailu’s hands fell limp against the sheets. His pale, mutton-fat jade wrists were marred by two swollen, angry red rings. Zheng Kunyu took Qi Bailu’s fingers in his own, glancing at his face. Qi Bailu remained an unreadable mask, even when Zheng Kunyu lifted one of his hands and pressed a kiss to the bruised skin of his wrist. Seeing no reaction, Zheng Kunyu turned the hand over and pressed a lingering, burning kiss into the center of his palm. This time, Qi Bailu gave a small, involuntary shiver. "Bailu," Zheng Kunyu murmured against his skin, "this is the last time." Qi Bailu turned his gaze toward the ceiling, offering no reply. Zheng Kunyu placed a hand over his forehead and leaned down to kiss his lips. It wasn't the predatory, forceful kiss from before, but something casual and shallow. Qi Bailu knew the man was a master of such things; his tongue was cool, carrying the slight bitterness of tobacco. The wet, soft sounds of the kiss were the only things breaking the silence. Qi Bailu kept his eyes open, his fingers twitching reflexively against the bedsheets. The clock continued its relentless ticking. When the kiss ended, Zheng Kunyu began to stroke Qi Bailu’s forehead with a rhythmic motion, as if soothing a child. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind. After a long pause, he spoke with an air of finality. "Chen Xiangfeng won't appear in front of you ever again. Once the casting for the new project is settled, we’ll go to Paris." It was always the same. After every explosion, after every act of cruelty, Zheng Kunyu would offer a vacation. He seemed to believe that a change of scenery could act as a reset button, that the miles traveled could outrun the resentment and the scars. With one airy sentence, he expected to sweep away the jagged shards of their arguments and the widening chasm between them. Zheng Kunyu’s hand stopped moving. He looked into Qi Bailu’s distant eyes. "What are you thinking about?" To his surprise, Qi Bailu answered, his voice raspy and low. "I'm thinking about my dream." "What did you dream of?" "An elevator... a river... snow." Qi Bailu closed his eyes, looking exhausted. Zheng Kunyu’s hand remained on his forehead, the heat of it feeling like a heavy, inescapable seal. In that moment, Qi Bailu finally understood that he could never truly leave everything behind and move forward. The past and reality were woven together by a thousand invisible, tangled threads that no one could simply cut away. No part of his life could be discarded—not the hollow years of his youth, not his uncle’s house, not that sweltering June in Lantian County, and certainly not the day he and Zheng Kunyu walked beneath the shade of the trees at the film academy. He couldn't forget. He couldn't pretend none of it had happened. And he could no longer allow fate to simply trample over him. Qi Bailu opened his eyes. Zheng Kunyu felt as though the boy’s gaze was passing right through him, looking at something far beyond the room. "And you," Qi Bailu added, his voice a final, haunting note. "I dreamed of you." ***