【凯源】Mountains and Rivers [GCA2019X]

第十三章 // Chapter 13

After Wang Junkai recovered from his illness, he was immediately pulled out by his friend to go drinking. He had just lost his love and kept complaining to him about how he missed out on such a beautiful woman.

"Stupid!" He took a sip of wine, "How good would it be if you could just redo your life again!"

Wang Junkai comforted him: "How can a person redo his life? One must look forward."

"You can say that, but don't you have any regrets? Although you know that it is impossible, sometimes you just can't help but want to redo life again!"

Regrets... Wang Junkai thought about it carefully, after he sent his drunk friend home, after he returned home himself and lay in his bed tossing and turning, he thought about it carefully, turning over every possible aspect, and there seems to be nothing particularly regrettable that happened in his life.

Wang Yuan said that if he could redo life again, he would treat Junkai better.

Actually, Wang Junkai wanted to tell him, actually you already treat me very well, it doesn't matter, even if I had a chance to redo life, I would still want to meet you, I would still face the blades and the wounds, I would still cross over the wave of wars, death, guns and fresh blood to kiss you.

Perhaps his only regret is that if they could have met earlier, he could take him to Siberia to see the snow. If he could have just one autumn spent with Yuan, he could see the most beautiful autumn in Shanghai with him, the golden sycamore leaves covering every part of the land.

Wang Junkai thought, it was really too short, they didn't even have enough time together to finish watching all four seasons.

He thought that when he first saw Wang Yuan, the inside of the alley was very dark. His steps were light, quick, and not overly urgent. The night was black as ink. He was thinking about life and death.

- And life and death were not as worrying as what was to come after.

Afterwards, Wang Junkai developed a lot of habits.

For example, every time he is nervous or thinking about a problem, he always subconsciously touched the scar on his neck.

Once, Junkai’s friend came back from Hong Kong, and said to him: “I didn't know there was a scar on your neck. Is it annoying? You always touch it. I brought back some ointment from Hong Kong. It is said to be very effective."

Wang Junkai looked at himself in the mirror, at the scar on his neck, the pink was very shallow, nearly white, a very thin line running across the side.

He said: "Thank you, but no, I want to keep it."

For example, whenever he walked in a dark alleyway, he couldn't help but stop. Sometimes, he imagine someone is hiding in a certain place.

He would suddenly appear in front of him. He would be scarred and bleeding, tired, so he would circle him in his arms, kiss him one more time. He would say to him, let's go, it's time to go home.

Once, he really encountered a robber in the alley, and accompanied by a "do not move", the typical gun pressed into his back, near his spine.

He raised his hands, closing his eyes, and said, "Wait, I’ll tell you where the money is."

He imagined, in the dark, the gun that had once been pressed against his waist, and although he knew that it was all fake, that he would never appear again, but his tears still fell in time to the false situation he wanted himself to be in.

For example, he never bought a tie of other colors, every time it was the same, constant blue. One day, while his helper was cleaning the wardrobe, he asked him in surprise, Master, when did you begin to like blue so much.

Wang Junkai said, while putting on a jacket: "A long time ago, someone said to me."

"He said the colour blue suited me."

For example, whenever he invited people to dance at banquets, it was always just a simple extend of his hand that sufficed.

He never once said that sentence again.

Sometimes, standing in the middle of the banquet, he saw himself a few years ago. The crystal lamps turned into chandeliers that cast blue and green lights across the walls, and the music in his ear was like a babbling brook, flowing past as background noise. Separated by about ten meters, he looked past the layers of moving people and twinkling glasses, seeing the younger Junkai.

At that time, he was young and confused, still easily distracted by the wonders of adults and the influence of alcohol. He bent so he was parallel with the floor, and stretched out a hand gentlemanly:

“May I have the pleasure of having a dance with you?”