Chapter 72: You’re Gripping Too Hard, Your Hands Will Hurt
He pushed the switch up without hesitation.
Click.
The corridor lights flared to life. The moment the light returned, Jiang Qing didn’t even wait to see if the circuit was stable; he practically sprinted back toward the living room.
“Qing-ge!” Lin Siwu called out from behind him, scrambling to keep up.
He burst into the living room.
Lin Siyu was sitting on the single armchair. But the sight of him made Jiang Qing freeze in his tracks.
He was curled into a ball, his arms wrapped tightly around his own body, his head buried deep between his knees. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. Although he didn’t make a sound, the intensity of his tremors was far more heart-wrenching than Lin Siwu’s earlier display of fear.
Jiang Qing took a deep breath, lightened his steps, and slowly walked over, crouching down on the rug in front of him.
“Lin Siyu.”
“The power is back. The thunder has stopped, and the rain is letting up.”
The curled-up figure didn’t react, but the shaking of his shoulders seemed to grow more violent.
“Lin Siwu is fine too. He’s right here behind me.” Jiang Qing continued softly, “Look, the lights are on. It’s safe.”
He waited for a few seconds, but Lin Siyu still didn’t look up.
Jiang Qing reached out and gently covered the hands resting on Lin Siyu’s knees.
Those hands were bone-chillingly cold, even colder than Lin Siwu’s had been. They were clenched into such tight fists that the knuckles were a frighteningly stark white.
“Relax, Lin Siyu.” Jiang Qing used his palms to wrap around those freezing fists, slowly transferring his warmth. “You’re gripping too hard. Your hands will hurt.”
The fingers beneath his palms twitched slightly, but they didn’t loosen.
Jiang Qing looked up at Lin Siwu. Catching the hint, Lin Siwu walked cautiously to the other side of the sofa, crouched down, and whispered, “Ge…”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Lin Siyu’s body seemed to jolt.
“It’s okay now, Ge.” Lin Siwu reached out to touch Lin Siyu’s arm, eventually settling for lightly grabbing his sleeve, just as they had done when they were children. “Qing-ge is here too. Look, the lights are on…”
Finally, Lin Siyu’s arms slowly, very slowly, began to uncoil.
Jiang Qing waited patiently.
After a long time, Lin Siyu finally lifted his head.
Under the lights, his face was as pale as paper, his hair damp with cold sweat. His eyes were red, and he had bitten his lips until they were bloodless, leaving clear teeth marks.
His gaze was initially a bit dazed as it landed on Jiang Qing’s face. It seemed to take him a moment to focus and realize who was in front of him. Then, he looked over at his worried brother.
He jerked his head away, trying to use a hand to hide his face, only to realize that one of his hands was still being held by Jiang Qing.
He tried to pull it back, and Jiang Qing released him at the appropriate moment.
Lin Siyu immediately retracted his hand, clenching it into a tight fist at his side. He dug his fingernails into his palm, trying to use the pain to ground himself in reality and cover up his earlier loss of composure. He took a deep breath.
“…I’m sorry.” His voice was incredibly raspy.
Jiang Qing stood up and stretched his legs, which were a bit numb from crouching.
“The tea is probably stone cold by now. I’ll go reheat it.”
With that, he turned and walked toward the kitchen, giving the two brothers some space.
Jiang Qing found the kettle, filled it up, and flipped the switch. The humming sound of heating soon filled the room.
He leaned back against the counter, his gaze drifting out the window. It was still raining, but it had reached the drizzling end of the storm. The winding water marks on the glass elongated and distorted the distant, blurry lights.
The kettle clicked as it finished, and the bubbling sound subsided. Jiang Qing withdrew his gaze and opened the tea tin. Steam carrying a soothing herbal fragrance began to diffuse.
He carried the tea tray out of the kitchen.
At the sight of him, the two brothers looked up simultaneously.
Lin Siyu’s eyes met Jiang Qing’s for a split second before he quickly looked away, focusing on the tray.
“Tea is ready.” Jiang Qing placed the tray on the coffee table and poured three steaming cups. He sat down in the nearby single armchair and picked up a cup, blowing gently on the surface.
Lin Siwu also hurried to take a cup, cradling it in his hands.
The living room fell silent again, save for the sound of the rain and the occasional soft clink of a teacup.
Jiang Qing didn’t actually know that much about them. If he hadn’t happened to be caught by the rain today and stayed at their invitation, he would likely be home playing Reborn: I Am Still the Pig Farming King or supervising Jiang Linmu to grind for a golden pig.
However, since the other party hadn’t spoken, he wasn’t about to be so boundary-less as to keep staring at their state of distress. Probing into someone’s past is a very private matter.
Jiang Qing wasn’t the type to pry. To him, forcing someone to lay bare their wounds or recall shadows of the past was an act that lacked a sense of boundaries. Furthermore, accidentally witnessing someone’s scars would only bring them worry.
Everyone has corners of their heart they don’t want to touch. The few disjointed sentences Lin Siwu said in the hallway, combined with Lin Siyu’s extreme reaction to the storm, were enough for Jiang Qing to piece together a general picture—a terrible memory involving a thunderstorm.
That was enough. Knowing they were afraid, knowing the reason might be heavy, and knowing they needed some company right now was enough.
If they wanted to talk about the rest, they would. If not, he would pretend he didn’t know.
Lin Siwu was the one to break the silence. He held his cup, looking at Jiang Qing with some embarrassment.
“Qing-ge, today… I really troubled you. I even scared you. I’m sorry.” He said this while peeking at his brother.
Lin Siyu’s finger on the teacup twitched.
“It wasn’t a trouble,” Jiang Qing said casually, putting down his cup. “And I wasn’t scared. But you…”
“Your high-note skills have improved. You might want to consider a career in vocal music.”
Lin Siwu’s face went red again. “Qing-ge, stop teasing me…”
“I’m serious,” Jiang Qing laughed. “Your lung capacity is good and your projection is strong. You just need to work on your pitch and emotional control.”
Lin Siwu gave Jiang Qing a look that was half-annoyed and half-amused, but the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but quirk up.
His mood seemed to have improved quite a bit.
Lin Siyu, who had been silent, also seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He looked up at Jiang Qing.
“In any case, thank you,” Lin Siyu said.
Jiang Qing met his gaze and nodded, skipping the formalities. “The tea is good.” He raised his cup slightly, accepting the thanks.
Jiang Linmu felt that he was very “off” tonight.
Extremely off.
As for what exactly was wrong, he didn’t know.
The party had ended abruptly. During the subsequent games, Jiang Linmu had been completely distracted. The only thing replaying in his mind was Jiang Qing’s words, full of teasing and some subtle implication, and his own embarrassing attempt at “acting spoiled.”
His friends’ jokes went in one ear and out the other. He only wanted to escape the scene of his “social death” as quickly as possible.
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