Eternal Burning

Chapter 21 – “Have You Ever Been Romantically Involved With Someone?”

The bar is situated on the tenth floor of a luxury hotel, where the river that surrounds the city is visible from the windows, and the lavishly decorated cruise ships that pass by from time to time, complemented by the lights of the skyscrapers on both sides, which forms a wonderful urban landscape.

Shang Muxiao wasn’t lying. This place is indeed quiet, not the kind of place for young people to party, it is more like a place for business meetings.

The waiter finds out I’m here to see someone and immediately directs me to the terrace.

The exterior is no better than the interior. There is no shelter and the cold air greets you everywhere at once.

Good thing the bar provides a space heater for every table, and there is also a fire pit table made of marble to provide as much warmth as possible for every customer.

There is a four-piece band not far away, with a foreign female singer in an evening dress singing lazy blues in a rich, melodious voice.

The table where Shang Muxiao is situated faces the river, and when I catch sight of him, he is standing at the parapet wall with his elbows propped up on it, and his head slightly hanging down, looking at the view in a bored manner.

The night is so chilly and he is only wearing a thin black sweater, his jacket just lying there on the back of a chair – like the carriage of a juvenile.

The waiter asks me if this is the right table, and I am about to nod when Shang Muxiao turns around at the sound of voices, and only then do I see that he also has his hand on two things, a glass of whisky and a freshly lit cigarette.

“You’re finally here.” He leans lazily against the parapet wall, looking like he has had quite a bit of drink.

The waiter moves one of the chairs away for me so that my wheelchair can be placed, then hands me the drinks list and asks what I want to drink.

“A glass of orange juice for him.” Shang Muxiao’s glass only has a big ball of ice left in it, and he hands it to the waiter, then settles down next to me and flicks off a sliver of cigarette ash into the ashtray. “Or do you much prefer apple juice?”

There is nothing wrong with his question, and he has this harmless smile on his face, but I cannot help feeling that his tone of voice is not the way it should be. It sounds not like he is addressing an adult older than him, but more like he is addressing a child younger than him, and it comes across as a little spoiling, a little like he cannot do anything but spoil.

“No, a cup of oolong tea for me, hot.” I hand the drinks list back to the waiter, who nods and turns to leave.

Shang Muxiao smiles, “Laoshi, you’re living quite healthily.”

If you hadn’t called me, I’d be in bed by now, ready to sleep.

“Why are you here all by yourself?” I ask.

“I don’t have anything to do for the night, I’m a bit bored, and I don’t want to spend time fooling around with Zhou Yanyi and Yin Nuo, so here I am.” Shang Muxiao looks out over the dark and tranquil river and slowly exhales a puff of weak smoke. “This place is perfect for when you want to drink alone.”

I can clearly detect the difference in his manner of speaking, and I frown. “Did you get into another argument with your family?”

He stiffens, as if I have jabbed him in the heart, and then turns back to me with a slightly vexed expression.

I hurriedly say, “I understand, we will not talk about it.”

His expression relaxes slightly. He casts a glance at my lower body and suddenly reaches for his jacket and throws it over me.

“Cover up, it’s cold.”

There it is again, that tone of voice that seems to speak to a child. I even feel that it sounds so familiar, it seems that whenever I take Yang Youling out to play, I say the same thing for fear of her catching a cold.

I think of this to myself, and still, outwardly I thank him and accept his jacket in a calm and collected manner.

The waiter soon arrives with a tray of hot tea and another glass of whisky.

Both of us fall into a short silence. I take a sip of tea from my cup and my attention is drawn to the female singer who is in the middle of singing.

She’s wearing a shiny pink beaded dress in a tight fit, with a plunging V-neckline and a high slit that reveals her curvy figure. While it is pleasing to the eye, I also naturally feel cold for her. Especially when I notice the redness of her hands, I really feel like asking her to go inside and change into something warmer.

“Is she good-looking?”

That startles me. I then look back at Shang Muxiao.

He is also looking at the female singer, and when he notices me looking at him, he withdraws his gaze from her and meets mine.

“Who’s good-looking, her or me?” With a cigarette between his fingertips, he leans back into the soft sofa, his tone is light, and as he says that, his chin lifts in the direction of the female singer.

What kinda question is that…

I look away from him and back at the female singer, not answering his question. “I think she sings beautifully.”

No sooner have I said this when I hear a faint sound from behind me, and see Shang Muxiao walking past me towards the female singer.

I subconsciously pull him to a stop, fearing he might make a spectacle of himself.

“What are you going to do?”

Maybe it is because he has been drinking, his hand is hot, almost like I’m making contact with a glowing flame. In just a few seconds, I feel as if I am about to be scalded, and I hastily release my hand. The moment my fingertips break away, however, Shang Muxiao catches up and holds my hand firmly, not letting me pull it back at all.

“What do you think I’m going to do? Make a scene?” He caresses the back of my hand with his thumb, warming up my stiff, cold fingers. “I told you I’d sing for you, wait.” He lets go of my hand and walks slowly towards the four-piece band at the centre of this terrace.

I have no idea how he manages to talk it over, but the female singer nods repeatedly but does not leave her place, instead it is the pianist on the side who gets up and makes way.

Shang Muxiao takes a seat on the piano bench, adjusts the microphone position, plays a few notes to check the pitch, and when he is almost ready, nods to the band and presses the first note.

The world-renowned ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ plays quietly on the terrace, its light tune full of childlike feeling. But after two stanzas, the style changes abruptly as he repeats the opening again, the tone has changed from light and short to mellow and lazy.

The guitar and the drums slowly merge up, producing a unique, blues-influenced version of… ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’.

Shang Muxiao’s voice carries a slight ‘smoker’s voice’ that is not noticeable in his day-to-day speaking, but is clearly audible when he sings.

The ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, which he has adapted and altered to a different level, is not at all like an innocent nursery rhyme, but more like an adult’s sad love song.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…… Like a diamond in the sky……”

The female singer then joins the harmony at the opportune time, without overpowering Shang Muxiao’s voice, but perfectly complementing it.

The customers on the terrace one after another stop chatting and look curiously at the singer in the centre because of the familiar yet unfamiliar tune, and they never look away.

“Then the traveller in the dark; Thanks you for your tiny spark……”

There are many people recording and taking pictures of Shang Muxiao, but he is unaffected by this, just focusing on the keys under his fingers.

The original version of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ is not very long, and this blues adaptation is also only three minutes long. As Shang Muxiao strikes the last note to end the song, the female singer also slowly drops the last note.

And just then, the discordant sound of shattering glass suddenly breaks out as a couple at one of the tables near the stage quarrels.

“What did I do wrong, please tell me? I don’t want a breakup, don’t leave…” The girl struggles to keep the man to stay, but he just shakes her off indifferently.

“Stop bugging me, we’re done.” He shakes out his suit, shoves two banknotes into the arms of the waiter who rushes over when hearing the noise, and leaves without looking back.

The girl covers her face and bawls, regardless of the whispers of the people around her.

The waiter approaches her and asks if she needs any assistance. The girl shakes her head sobbing, looks in the direction the man has exited, picks up her bag, and goes after him.

Shang Muxiao returns to his seat after the song, his face full of displeasure.

It should have been his moment, but the couple overshadowed it.

“I’m so sick of all this crying, just find someone else, what else is there to insist on pursuing.” His mouth might have gone dry from singing as he finishes his glass of whisky in one gulp and raises his hand to call the waiter again.

“Maybe it’s because… they’re in a committed relationship, not some one-night engagement.” While I wish everyone would give precedence to rationality, I also know that this ideal state does not happen; humans are emotional creatures after all, they are easily swayed by emotions.

Shang Muxiao is puzzled. “Does every relationship have to rush into so-called forever?

“What’s there to rush about?

“It is fine as long as you are happy, of course, but if you no longer are, be decisive and just walk away. It is hard to let go, but it only produces pain if you keep holding back.”

With my mouth open, I find myself in the rare moment of agreeing with his point of view.

The waiter soon comes, and Shang Muxiao is just about to speak when I beat him to it and say, “A glass of orange juice.”

Shang Muxiao raises a brow upon hearing this, and the waiter is standing there somewhat unsure.

After a moment of stalemate, I still insist, “Orange juice.”

I don’t know how many glasses he’d had before I arrived, but whisky has a high alcohol content and is always intended for when you’re taking your time to savour it, and the way he drinks glass after glass just isn’t normal.

Shang Muxiao gives the whisky glass back to the waiter, and finally gives in.

“Whatever, orange juice it is.” Lighting a new cigarette, he slowly releases a white smoke and says, “It is clear that I ask you to come here for a drink, it does not matter to me that you only want to have tea. But now you insist on me to have juice, so what is the point of us coming to a bar?”

I don’t know.

I can’t give a reason.

I find myself wondering about it all.

Seeing that the ashtray is already full of cigarette butts, I cannot help but say, “You are only twenty, smoke less, this is not good for your lungs.”

He looks at me and suddenly presses the long cigarette to extinguish it.

“You don’t like it when I smoke? I thought you do, you always look at me extra long whenever I smoke.”

I cough awkwardly and look away.

“You’re just imagining things.”

The juice comes up and Shang Muxiao takes a sip, dislikes it for being too sour and never touches it again.

With no cigarettes and no alcohol, he seems bored and starts endeavouring to find amusement from me.

“Laoshi, have you ever been romantically involved with someone?”

I pick up my cup of tea with both hands when they pause unconsciously in mid-air and then resume like it is nothing. “For a thirty-two-year-old, of course I have been, I’m no monk.”

A few years ago, I actually had no shortage of suitors.

All of them, without exception, were so taken by my looks that they ignored my disability and courted me passionately. However, after only a few dates, they suddenly sobered up about being what I am, made awkward apologies and left my world one by one.

They just want to try on something new, something they hadn’t tried before. Once they realise that this ‘something’ is nothing more than having good looks but actually lacks real worth, that it is not only very boring but that it requires a lot of care and attention, all these inconveniences quickly make them bored with the relationship.

When I was in my twenties, I still had the energy to give other people as well as myself a chance, but now I just want to live out the rest of my life in peace and quiet.

So, if these brief dates count, yes, I have been involved in relationships.

“Male or female?” Shang Muxiao adds.

I stop answering, but he doesn’t stop there.

“How far did the relationship go?

“Have you brought them back to your apartment?

“Have you also gone stargazing with them?”

The more I hear these questions, the stranger they get. I cannot help but give him a side eye that suggests he shut up.

He pouts, raises his hands up, leans back and stretches, and says nothing more than he should.

After listening to two more songs, Shang Muxiao then beckons a waiter to pay the bill.

“Laoshi, is there any alcohol at your apartment?” Shang Muxiao asks.

I fail to understand his intentions for a moment, so I answer honestly, “There is, but it’s all wine.”

“Then let’s go to your apartment and have some wine.” His brows furrow, seeming surprised that he’s only just come up with such a brilliant idea. “I should have just gone to your place earlier instead.”

I feel the veins near my temples throbbing and my head starting to ache.

“…It’s already this late in the night, it’s not convenient.”

“Is there anyone else there?”

“…No one.”

“Then what’s the inconvenience?”

I stay silent for quite a long time, wondering if I should tell the truth — it is not convenient for you to go, no matter how you look at it.

After paying the bill, we then make our way to the elevator and while waiting for it to arrive, he leans against the wall and asks me again, “I want to go to your place and look at the stars through that telescope of yours, is it not possible?”

“…”

I suspect that he has figured out my character and has seen that I am the persuadable type of person, so he changes his tone every time he sees that I am impervious.

Assertive statements can be objectionable, but when replaced with soft statements and a subtle puppy face, they can be hard to refuse.

“Is it okay? Laoshi.”

Just then, the elevator arrives, and I take the lead in entering, turning around and tossing the jacket covering myself back to Shang Muxiao.

“We’re heading outside, put it on.”

He chuckles as he lets out an ‘oh’, puts on the jacket, and follows me to the parking lot.

Though I don’t say yes to this suggestion, nor do I say anything at all, he already knows my answer.

He sits in the front passenger seat with an air of triumph, muttering as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Only I can sit on this seat from now on.”

I look at him, wondering if I’ve misheard. “What?”

“What what?” With his seatbelt on, he snaps his fingers and says, “All set, let’s go.”