Chapter 4: Waiting for Your Return

Jiang Zhi woke up parched. The air was dry, his throat felt like it was smoldering, and his lips were chapped; he felt entirely dehydrated. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a long time before remembering he hadn't eaten dinner, hadn't had a drop of water, and hadn't even closed the curtains.

Outside, the night was pitch-black. He had no idea what time it was.

He rolled over, intending to go back to sleep, but the dryness in his throat was unbearable. After lying with his eyes closed for a while, he finally threw off the covers, sat up, and stumbled barefoot across the floor.

The living room lights were off.

He felt his way toward the kitchen, but midway there, his footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

There was someone on the sofa.

It was Duan Sinan. He was sitting there in the dark, silent, his face turned toward the window. The faint glow of a streetlamp from outside filtered in, tracing a ghostly silhouette of his frame; his features were swallowed by shadows, leaving his expression unreadable.

Jiang Zhi froze for two seconds.

"...You're not sleeping?"

Duan Sinan turned his head to look at him.

In the darkness, his expression was invisible, only a vague outline shifting. After a long moment, Duan Sinan’s voice cut through the silence.

"I spent a month sleeping in a claw machine. I don't feel like sleeping anymore."

Jiang Zhi stood in the middle of the living room, barefoot and clad in his old, worn-out T-shirt, caught off guard by the remark. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but finding no words to fit the moment.

Eventually, he just turned around in silence, entered the kitchen, took a glass from the cupboard, filled it with cold water, and carried it back out.

He walked over to the sofa and held the glass out.

Duan Sinan glanced down, took it, and held it in his hands, but didn't drink.

"Let’s talk about it tomorrow," Jiang Zhi said.

He didn't look at Duan Sinan, turning around and walking away the moment the words left his lips.

He had only taken two steps when he heard a very faint...

"Thank you."

Jiang Zhi didn't look back; he simply waved a hand and continued toward the bedroom.

He lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The living room remained silent. The man was still sitting out there in the dark, motionless, lost in his own thoughts.

Jiang Zhi rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.

A month sleeping in a claw machine. Unable to move, unable to speak, just huddled in that dusty, grimy shell, watching a pile of gaudy, flashy dolls being shoved around.

He wanted to say something, but nothing felt right. Finally, he just closed his eyes.

Late in the night, a breeze crept through the window gap, carrying a slight chill. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and drifted off into a restless sleep.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he felt something in his arms.

It was soft, small, and a little heavy.

Jiang Zhi’s consciousness slowly surfaced from the depths of sleep. He didn't open his eyes, reaching out to touch it first. It was fuzzy, limp, with one ear standing upright and the other drooping.

His fingers paused.

Then, he snapped his eyes open and looked down—

The dusty, gray doll was curled up in his arms.

It still had that same crooked, sideways gaze.

Jiang Zhi froze.

He stared at it for a moment, then reached out, picked it up, and held it before his eyes.

"How did you..."

Before he could finish, a poof sound echoed. It felt as if something had exploded right before his eyes. He felt a sudden weight and warmth in his hands, and the gray doll vanished.

In its place was Duan Sinan.

And he was pressing down on top of him.

Naked.

Their eyes locked.

Jiang Zhi’s brain went blank for a full three seconds. He saw Duan Sinan’s face less than twenty centimeters from his own, deep-set features, a calm expression—but the tip of his ear, hidden slightly by his hair, was red enough to bleed.

His first reaction wasn't to ask what was happening, or even to push him away; it was, Why are you blushing? I’m the one being pinned down!

In the next second, he shoved Duan Sinan away with such force that he tilted backward himself.

"What is wrong with you?!"

Duan Sinan was pushed sideways, bracing himself on the bed with one hand. He didn't speak, just cast his eyes downward. The red on his ears hadn't faded; instead, it was spreading toward his neck.

Jiang Zhi scrambled back, wrapping himself in the duvet and sitting against the headboard, glaring at him.

"Why did you turn back? No, how did you turn back? No, you..." He stammered, incoherent. Finally, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "Explain yourself."

Duan Sinan sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed. After a long moment, he spoke.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"It seems that whenever I’m near you, I turn back," Duan Sinan said, his voice flat, yet carrying a nuance Jiang Zhi couldn't quite decipher. "That was how it happened that afternoon, and it’s the same now."

Jiang Zhi stared at him.

"Then how did you turn back into a doll?"

Duan Sinan fell silent.

The silence stretched on—long enough for Jiang Zhi to feel that something was wrong, until he noticed Duan Sinan’s ears deepening in color once more.

"...It might be," Duan Sinan began, pausing repeatedly before continuing, "because you didn't hug me after you fell asleep."

Jiang Zhi: "..."

Jiang Zhi: "...Why on earth would I hug a doll!"

Duan Sinan looked up at him.

He just stared at Jiang Zhi, his expression unchanged, his tone as faint as ever. "You hugged me when you were sleeping last night."

Jiang Zhi’s brain went blank for another few seconds.

He opened his mouth, desperate to refute the claim, to say that he was a very well-behaved sleeper and that the doll must have crawled in on its own—but the words died in his throat.

Because he remembered. He had seen it for himself yesterday morning.

The gray doll had been curled up in his arms. He had only been stunned for a moment, picking it up and setting it aside, not thinking much of it. But looking back now, the image was searingly clear: the crooked eyes, the drooping ear, the dusty fur—it had been huddled in his arms like an unwanted thing that had finally found a place to curl up.

He didn't speak. Duan Sinan didn't either.

The room was so quiet that he could hear the sound of cars passing in the distance—faint, muffled noises.

Jiang Zhi lowered his eyes, lost in thought. After a while, he threw off the covers, got out of bed, and walked barefoot toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Duan Sinan asked.

"Water," Jiang Zhi said without looking back.

He walked into the kitchen, poured another glass, and stood there, drinking it sip by sip. When he finished, he set the glass down, braced his hands against the counter, and stared into the darkness outside the window.

The streetlights were still on. The convenience store downstairs was still lit. A delivery driver sped by on an electric scooter, his headlights flickering.

The man had an imposing aura; when he wore a suit, he looked like a CEO ready to sign a hundred-million-dollar contract. But now, sitting shirtless on his bed, his ears red as boiled shrimp, his voice so quiet it betrayed no emotion—yet every word he uttered turned his ears a shade darker.

Jiang Zhi took a deep breath and let it out.

He walked back to the bedroom.

Duan Sinan was still sitting on the edge of the bed, motionless. When he saw Jiang Zhi enter, he raised his eyes.

Jiang Zhi stood in the doorway, watching him.

"Where is that... that doll?"

Duan Sinan paused, looking down at himself.

Jiang Zhi: "...I mean, when you turn into a human, where does the doll go?"

Duan Sinan was silent for a moment. "I don't know. When I turn back, my consciousness is continuous, but the doll form... it seems to vanish."

"And when you turn back into the doll?"

"It reappears," Duan Sinan said. "That dusty, gray doll."

Jiang Zhi fell silent after hearing this.

He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. The two of them sat side by side with a small gap between them, neither speaking.

After a while, Jiang Zhi spoke up.

"You said earlier that you were in a car accident and woke up inside a claw machine."

"Yes."

"A month?"

"About that."

"Couldn't move, couldn't talk?"

"Yes."

"Just watching others get caught while you stayed behind?"

Duan Sinan didn't speak.

Jiang Zhi turned his head to look at him. Duan Sinan’s profile was hidden in the shadows, his expression indistinguishable, revealing only his sharp, well-defined jawline.

"When I caught you," Jiang Zhi said, "what were you thinking?"

Duan Sinan remained silent for a long moment.

"I was thinking," he finally said, "that someone had finally seen me."

Jiang Zhi froze.

He said nothing.

He just looked at Duan Sinan’s profile, at that spot of red hidden beneath his hair—the color had faded by now, turning into an indescribable shade.

He remembered that afternoon. He had stood in front of the claw machine, surrounded by dozens of gaudy, flashy plushies, and yet, he had chosen that one ugly doll because it stood out.

He had thought, It looks as down-on-its-luck as me.

And so, he had caught it.

Now, he knew.

That ugly little thing huddled in the corner that nobody wanted was actually a man who had been trapped for a month.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but Duan Sinan spoke first.

"That fifty-cent coin," he said, "was the only time in a month I had ever been noticed."

Jiang Zhi didn't reply.

Duan Sinan turned his head to look at him.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the streetlamp’s glow from outside. But those eyes were so bright in the darkness that Jiang Zhi didn't know where to look.

"Thank you," Duan Sinan said.

Jiang Zhi lowered his eyes, offering no response.

After a while, he stood up, rummaged through the wardrobe, and pulled out an old T-shirt, tossing it to Duan Sinan.

"Put it on."

Duan Sinan caught it, looked at it, and pulled it over his head. The T-shirt was a little small, straining slightly against his frame, but it was better than being bare-chested.

Jiang Zhi watched him get dressed and then said, "You sleep on the bed. I’ll take the sofa."

"That’s not necessary," Duan Sinan said. "I’ll take the sofa."

"This is my house."

"You have to go out tomorrow."

Jiang Zhi paused. He did have to go out tomorrow for an interview, but he hadn't told Duan Sinan about that.

Duan Sinan seemed to read his thoughts. "You said it yourself this afternoon. You have an interview tomorrow. Get some sleep."

Jiang Zhi remembered. He had said that this afternoon when he was trying to chase Duan Sinan into the living room.

He didn't speak again.

Duan Sinan stood up and headed toward the door. At the threshold, he stopped and turned back to look at him.

"Goodnight."

Jiang Zhi watched him for a beat. "Goodnight."

Duan Sinan stepped out and closed the door.

Jiang Zhi stood in the center of the bedroom, staring at the closed door for a long time.

He looked down at the bed. The sheets were a mess from their earlier scuffle. The pillow was crooked, and half the quilt had fallen to the floor.

He stooped down to pick up the quilt and tossed it back onto the bed.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling.

The footsteps upstairs resumed, pacing back and forth. Someone next door was on the phone, their voice a faint drone.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

The pillow carried a faint scent of laundry detergent. He inhaled the scent, thinking of the man sitting on the edge of the bed, his ears burning crimson.

Someone finally saw me.

He closed his eyes.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he drifted off to sleep.

He didn't wake up at all that night.

When dawn broke, he was awakened by a fragrance. It was real, drifting through the air, teasing his senses—the smell of something cooking.

He opened his eyes.

Sunlight squeezed through the curtains and landed on the bed. He lay there, staring at the ceiling for a moment, before sniffing the air.

It was the smell of porridge.

And fried eggs.

He was stunned. He threw off the covers, got out of bed, opened the bedroom door, and walked out.

In the living room, Duan Sinan was standing in the tiny, cramped kitchen, his back to him, busy with something. He was wearing the old T-shirt Jiang Zhi had given him; the sleeves were a little short, exposing his forearms. A small pot sat on the stove, bubbling and steaming. On the plate next to it were two fried eggs—golden-yellow, with slightly charred edges, but they looked delicious.

Jiang Zhi stood in the bedroom doorway, watching him.

Duan Sinan seemed to sense something and turned around.

The two shared a look.

The morning sun poured through the window, bathing Duan Sinan in light.

"Awake?" he said. "Come eat."

Jiang Zhi stood rooted to the spot.

He looked at the man, at the pot of porridge, the two eggs, the exposed forearms.

He walked over and sat at the dining table.

Duan Sinan brought the porridge over, pushed the fried eggs toward him, and sat down opposite him.

Jiang Zhi looked down at the bowl of porridge.

Plain white porridge, topped with a few goji berries. He didn't even have goji berries at home—he had no idea where Duan Sinan had found them.

He picked up a spoon, scooped some, and put it in his mouth.

The porridge was hot, but savory.

He swallowed and looked up at Duan Sinan.

Duan Sinan was watching him, the sunlight reflecting off his face.

Jiang Zhi lowered his eyes and scooped another spoonful.

"Did you know how to cook before?" he asked.

"A little," Duan Sinan said. "When you live alone, you have to know a little."

Jiang Zhi didn't ask further.

He kept his head down, eating the porridge and the eggs. The eggs were fried perfectly, with runny yolks that oozed out at the slightest touch. He ate them with the porridge, finishing quickly.

Duan Sinan sat across from him, watching, not eating a bite.

Jiang Zhi finished the last of it and set down the spoon.

"Aren't you eating?"

"I'm not hungry," Duan Sinan said.

Jiang Zhi glanced at him but said nothing. He stood up, gathered the bowls, and rinsed them under the tap.

"I’m going to an interview in a bit," he said. "You..."

"I’ll wait for you to come back."

Jiang Zhi turned to look at him.

He was still sitting there, backlit by the sun, his expression obscured.

"Go on," Duan Sinan said. "I’ll be here waiting for you to come back."

Jiang Zhi watched him for a few seconds, then turned back to continue rinsing the bowls.

"Okay," he said.

He finished washing the dishes, wiped his hands dry, and went back to the bedroom to change. He put on a shirt, buttoned it up, and checked his reflection in the mirror. The gray bruises under his eyes were still there, but they seemed a little lighter.

He opened the bedroom door and walked out.

Duan Sinan was still sitting there, motionless.

Jiang Zhi walked to the entrance, put on his shoes, and grasped the doorknob. He hesitated, then turned back.

"About that..." he said.

Duan Sinan looked at him.

Jiang Zhi opened his mouth, but in the end, he only managed: "...I’m going."