Hundred-day metamorphosis

Chapter 13 Sweet Rice Balls and Soy Milk

Zhuang Zi’ang held his phone, staring at the contact named "Little Butterfly". He typed a message, deleted it, typed again, deleted again. Finding the perfect words felt like threading a needle.

Finally, he settled on: "What do you feel like for breakfast tomorrow? My treat."

He scrutinized the sentence, ensuring it struck the right balance – friendly, not forward. Heart pounding slightly, he hit send.

Then came the wait. And wait. No reply.

To distract himself from the agonizing silence, Zhuang Zi’ang filled a basin with water and attacked the already spotless floor, back bent, scrubbing with fervor. Anything to stop himself from checking the phone every three seconds.

Ten minutes later, hope flickering, he snatched up the phone. Still nothing from Su Yudie. What could she possibly be doing all evening?

He stared at the blank screen for a solid ten seconds before mustering the courage to call.

"Sorry! The number you dialed is out of service area..."

"Sorry! The subscriber you dialed can not be connected for the moment..."

Normally, Zhuang Zi’ang would hang up at the first robotic syllable. This time, he listened through the entire message, even the English version. What era was this? A dead zone? Did she live in a cave?

Pushing open the window, a cool night breeze washed over him. A thin crescent moon hung high. A sense of profound liberation surged through him. He'd finally done it – truly run away. No more walking on eggshells, no more fearing disapproval. He could do as he pleased, see whom he wanted. He was dying, yet it felt like being reborn. Even if only for three months, he would live them vividly.

Gazing at the moon, a sudden exhilaration filled him. He poured a glass of Coke. His reflection in the window looked handsome, vibrant. "Congratulations, Zhuang Zi’ang!" he declared, clinking his glass against his own reflection before draining it.

That night, in his simple little haven, he slept deeply, dreamlessly.

A soft ding pierced the morning quiet, sunlight slanting through the window. Zhuang Zi’ang fumbled for his phone under the pillow. Su Yudie's reply banished the last traces of sleep.

"Made sweet rice balls (Qingtuan)! Want some?"

"Absolutely!" Zhuang Zi’ang typed back instantly. "What to drink? Milk or soy milk?"

"Soy milk! Meet me at the bus stop." Her reply was lightning fast this time.

He rolled out of bed, energized. A quick, hot shower – his morning ritual, efficient for washing hair too. The garish shirt stayed buried. Yesterday, shopping with Su Yudie, he'd grabbed a few discounted spring items. He chose a light blue zip-up hoodie over black chinos – safe, studious.

Leaving, he tore a page from the desk calendar. Ninety sheets left. Tearing one away felt like removing a layer of his own skin.

Downstairs, he spotted the neighbor sister doing tai chi. "Morning, Sis!"

She smiled warmly. "Off to school, Xiao Zhuang? Didn't your friend stay over last night?"

"Just a friend, Sis," he clarified, a bit flustered.

"Good! Young people need friends. Bring her around more!" She'd clearly taken a shine to the bright, cheerful girl. Seeing them together reminded her of her own youth. She had no inkling of the shadow hanging over the young man.

At the breakfast shop, Zhuang Zi’ang ordered two soy milks – one red date, one black sesame. Unsure of her preference, he'd let her choose.

He waited nearly ten minutes at the bus stop before the Number 19 rumbled in. Students spilled out, bright-faced. Bringing up the rear was the girl – same white blouse, blue skirt, spotless white sneakers, peach blossom tucked in her hair. Did she own only one outfit? Yet it remained impossibly pristine.

"Little Butterfly!" he called.

"Zhuang Zi’ang! Sorry, long wait?" Her large, clear eyes blinked apologetically.

"Just got here myself. See? Soy milk's still warm." He smiled, handing her the cups. Truth was, it had cooled perfectly during his wait.

They walked into school together, heading for yesterday's flower bed. Hyacinths and wisteria still glistened with morning dew, catching the sunlight like scattered crystals.

Su Yudie carried a black crossbody bag today. From it, she produced an oil-paper packet. A fresh, grassy fragrance unfurled immediately – Qingtuan, plump and jade-green.

Qingtuan, a millennia-old spring treat: glutinous rice dough tinted vibrant green with mugwort juice, wrapped around sweet red bean paste. Eating one was like tasting spring itself.

Zhuang Zi’ang took a bite. The bean paste filling was smooth, sweet but not cloying. "Wow! Beautiful and delicious. You really made these?"

She nodded proudly. "Grandma taught me."

"You're amazing! They're perfect." His admiration was genuine.

"Mugwort clears heat and dampness," Su Yudie explained, taking a sip of the red date soy milk she'd chosen. "Eat more, maybe no more nosebleeds."

"Wait... you made these... for me?" Zhuang Zi’ang was stunned.

"Of course! It's so much work," she sighed, covering a yawn. "Picking fresh mugwort, pounding it, kneading the dough, steaming, filling... I was up so early."

Warmth flooded Zhuang Zi’ang's chest, followed instantly by a pang. Someone cared this much... Yet he knew these fragrant green parcels couldn't stem the tide within him.

"Little Butterfly... I'm fine, really. Please don't go to so much trouble for me," he urged softly.

She shook her head, stubborn. "No. We're friends. Friends care for each other."

Zhuang Zi’ang chewed the sweet rice ball, a complex mix of gratitude and sorrow churning inside. God, is this a joke? Why send her now, as my time runs out?

"Oh!" Su Yudie exclaimed, remembering. "About last night! Sorry! I don't touch my phone after dark. Didn't see your message till this morning." She looked genuinely contrite.

"It's okay," he said gently. "I knew you'd reply when you saw it."

"Gotta run! Thanks for the soy milk!" She waved the cup, then turned and skipped lightly up the steps, vanishing around the corner in moments.

Zhuang Zi’ang remained by the flower bed, gazing at the spot where she'd disappeared. He'd been standing in the long shadow cast by the classroom building. Now, as the sun climbed higher, the shadow retreated. Warm, golden light spilled over him, soaking into his skin and bones.