In a romance story from a fashion magazine, I read: “Love is essentially like the ‘Palm of Soft Bone Melting’.”
(Note: this phrase refers to a martial arts technique from wuxia novels, known for its deceptively soft and gentle power that is actually extremely destructive).
Each word was sharp and biting, like poison. My lips couldn't help but curl into a smile. It was a bright autumn day, a Saturday afternoon, on my own terrace. Eighth floor—not too high, not too low—overlooking the city courtyard. I looked up at the clear, azure sky, and glanced down at the teeming crowds below, like ants. Casually, I grabbed a sweet cookie, took a bite. It was crisp and rich. Absentmindedly, I thought about those heart-pounding, fabricated stories—nothing but theoretical bravado on paper.
The bar's name was an old song, called Moonlight in the City. Today's pop music races ahead, with new songs refreshing at an ever-faster pace. It's rare for anyone to still remember that old tune. Just another romantic, saccharine melody—not particularly unique, much like the cookies I enjoy.
After finishing the last glass of ginger beer, I casually asked, “Chusheng, would you marry me?”
Qiao Chusheng was chatting with a glamorous female guest, too busy handling her flirtatious banter. He barely had time to turn his head and toss back a response: “Lin Ziyi, you're drinking ginger beer, not whisky.”
Ziyi was clutching a napkin, twisting it until it was damp and soft. On the napkin, the words Moonlight in the City were printed in subtle blue. She recalled asking Qiao Chusheng when the bar first opened: “Why did you choose this name? Is it to commemorate an old flame?”
He squinted with a smile and said, “It's to commemorate you.” Ziyi laughed out loud.
The CD was playing a newly popular song: “I am in a world one meter away, at a point I can never return to. Only now do I realize how far away you are from me.” It was a young man, younger than her, singing about a love so close yet so far. In that moment, nostalgia hit her. Her once favorite song was called Happiness. She used to go to karaoke with her colleagues and sing: “In the end, I was just one step short, stopping not far from happiness.” It stirred her unexpectedly, making her believe it was the perfect swan song for love.
In the end, it turned out to be prophetic.
According to the plot everyone imagines, she should be crying endlessly, losing her appetite, her voice growing faint and weak. The only part she managed to live up to was going to Moonlight in the City and downing three glasses of ginger beer in one go. When she went back to pack her things, there was still a hint of the beer’s lingering sweetness on her lips. When they first met, Jiayu didn’t like her drinking alcohol, so she quit. She had thought happiness was within easy reach, just one step away. So, she endured everything, changing what he didn’t like about her. In the end, after changing everything, what was left but pain? She worked tirelessly, inching forward step by step, only to be met with a simple: “I’m sorry.”
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