Chapter 32
Night fell gradually, yet Shang Che sat on the sofa without moving a muscle.
The sounds of occasionally passing cars echoed from downstairs. Headlights flickered rapidly across his balcony, drowning out his faint breathing, yet briefly illuminating the scene inside his bedroom.
Shang Che’s gaze instinctively drifted toward that lit-up space—it was the rocking chair and doll bed where the cotton doll was most active.
At this time on ordinary days, the bedroom wouldn’t be quiet at all. It was always made extraordinarily lively by a soft, squishy, chattering voice—
“Human! You’re finally back! Cotton waited for you for so long!”
“Human, look at Cotton!”
“Human, did you miss Cotton today?”
“Huuu~man—”
That little creature, despite having a pitifully sparse vocabulary and repeating the same few phrases over and over, always found different ways to talk to him.
Moreover, it never could behave itself.
Sometimes it would sway on the rocking chair with a “heave-ho, heave-ho”, sometimes it would mimic his sleeping posture on the doll bed, and sometimes it would simply call out to him, flashing a silly smile the moment he looked over…
Yet it would worry if his hand fell outside the bed, worry if he wasn’t covered properly with the blanket, worry if he slept well…
…A worrisome little creature…
None of those were matters it needed to spend its mind pondering.
Shang Che used to think it was noisy, but now felt it was a bit too quiet.
So quiet that it made his heart panic.
Shang Che suddenly recalled the guilt-ridden, cover-up smile the cotton doll had shown him when he left home this morning.
So his feeling hadn’t been wrong—that little creature was indeed feeling guilty, having likely planned long ago to secretly follow him to school.
…A disobedient little creature.
Shang Che’s throat moved slightly. Lowering his eyes, his fingers touched those two neatly folded tiny outfits beside him, the soft texture transmitting from his fingertips to his beating heart like a feather, tickling and numbing.
He had thought that when the weather cooled down a bit more, he could ask Lin Zhi if there were autumn and winter outfits, claiming he was buying them for his little niece, or he could look online himself—buying clothes for a cotton doll shouldn’t be hard.
He had also thought that in the future, he could take the cotton doll out to the garden to sit on the swing more often, letting it sit for a bit longer, since no one would see anyway.
He had even thought…
Shang Che closed his eyes, his fingers unconsciously clenching tight before loosening.
The cotton doll had no idea, but in reality he had thought about many, many things he would have never considered before, and every single one of them featured that tiny pink figure.
When did it all begin?
At the very beginning, Shang Che merely found it troublesome.
A cotton doll that could move and speak was a colossal trouble. He had thought about how to deal with it, how to get rid of it, and how to get his life back on track.
Yet that little creature simply didn’t know how to read the room and was intensely “self-opinionated.”
Even though he had snapped at it, been disdainful toward it, and left it ignored off to the side, every single time it saw him, it would still greet him with those sparkling eyes, calling him “human” in a soft, squishy voice.
As if his coldness and rejection never left a single mark on it.
Even though it didn’t like listening to his words, sometimes it would act exceedingly good…
That cotton doll would sit quietly to the side while he studied, playing by itself. Sometimes it would look at the scenery outside the balcony, sometimes it would follow the sunlight to watch its own shadow, and sometimes it would simply soak in the sun, staring dazedly at him—just so that whenever his gaze casually swept over, it could smile at him at the very first moment.
Whenever he furrowed his brows, it would use its small round hands to touch his forehead, as if tentatively probing or comforting him.
It would dance with joy over a single phrase like “suit yourself,” and squint its eyes in bliss when he reached out to pet its head, muttering in a small voice, “Human petted Cotton~ Human petted Cotton~.”
It was so easy to coax.
A tiny bit of kindness could keep it happy for a long, long time.
Shang Che had never known he could harbour such complex emotions toward a… a living creature.
Those emotions interwove together, slowly shifting from initial annoyance and helplessness into habit and indulgence, and then into what it was right now—something he couldn’t put into words, except that a piece of his heart felt hollowed out, impossible to fill no matter what, with even that surging rage completely vanishing without a trace.
He recalled last night, when the cotton doll was wearing those blue cloud pajamas, lying obediently in its little bed, quietly asking him about school.
Why would a cotton doll suddenly birth an interest in school?
Was it curiosity? Or was it due to some other reason?
Shang Che suddenly realized that perhaps… from beginning to end, that little creature merely wanted to be a bit closer to him, wanting to spend a bit more time with him.
It wanted to eat breakfast together with him, wanted to look at the garden together with him, wanted to ride the swing together with him, and wanted to go to the school he went to every day…
That silly Cotton used every single way it could think of, clumsily and earnestly trying to melt into his life.
And what about him?
What had he ever given it?
A human who wanted to throw it away right at the start, an impatient keeper, a tsundere human who always “spoke in ways Cotton didn’t like.”
Yet the cotton doll seemed to have never cared about any of that.
It would still call out “human” with joy when he came home, still proactively rub against his palm when he reached out his hand, and still gaze at him with those golden eyes sparkling, as if he were its entire world.
Shang Che’s eyes suddenly burned faintly.
Standing up abruptly, he paced back and forth in the room for two steps before coming to a halt. Clenching both hands tight with his head lowered, his shoulders rose and fell slightly.
“It’s merely a cotton doll,” he whispered to himself, his voice raspy. “What is there to care about so much.”
Yet the moment those words were spoken, not even he believed them.
If it were truly merely an ordinary cotton doll, why would he feel a surge of unfamiliar envy when he saw Lin Zhi being anxious for it and dressing it up nicely?
Why would he pretend not to see the message sent by Lu Zeming?
And why would he sit in a daze in this empty room for so long after returning home?
Shang Che couldn’t help closing his eyes. At this moment, he finally admitted—he was deceiving himself, pretending not to care, finding excuses for his own unknown envy and self-consciousness, regretting his cowardice and insecurity in that instant, and feeling terrified over the fact that he had actually birthed an emotion called “need” and “possessiveness.”
From when had he begun regarding the cotton doll as so important?
Was it from the first time it wrapped its small round hands around his finger? Was it from when it sat in his palm saying earnestly that “Cotton will always stay with human”? Or was it from when its tuft of hair swayed wildly with joy on the swing?
Or was it from even earlier… from the very first time the cotton doll gazed at him with those golden eyes, filled with reliance and trust, that he could no longer let go?
Shang Che didn’t know, nor could he offer a definitive answer.
He only knew that right now, his mind was entirely filled with every single action of that little creature—the soft, squishy voice when it called him “human”; the earnestness when it patted its chest with its small round hands guaranteeing that “Cotton will be very good”; its moody little face when it turned its head away with a “hmph”; and every single moment it had kept him company…
Shang Che remembered that every time before he left home, the cotton doll would gaze at him expectantly, asking softly: “Human, can Cotton really not go?”
Whenever he refused, the cotton doll’s expression would turn disappointed, yet it was never angry, merely sitting obediently on the rocking chair, waiting for him to return.
On the rare occasion he agreed, the cotton doll’s eyes would curve into crescents, saying in a sweet tone with a beaming smile, “Human, you’re so good~.”
No, Shang Che thought, he wasn’t good in the slightest.
He was tsundere and arbitrary, put on a tough front, and loved to escape—even taking it upon himself to make a decision for the cotton doll out of fear that his expectations would fall flat.
He was a coward who didn’t dare admit his own inner thoughts.
He was merely accustomed to being the person who was unneeded and didn’t proactively need anyone else.
He was merely terrified that when he reached out his hand wanting to hold tightly onto something, it would turn out to be nothing but empty air.
So he always pretended not to care, pretending to accept every “departure” with calmness.
Shang Che recalled the message Lu Zeming had sent him—it was a photo of the cotton doll accompanied by the note: [Lin Zhi said she’s helping this little creature look for its owner, asking us to help forward it].
He wasn’t sure if Lu Zeming had discovered something, but he didn’t dare to gamble.
In that photo, the cotton doll was lying in a palm, its golden eyes opened wide into round circles, its tuft of hair sticking up, its cat-like mouth pulled into a line, the entire Cotton displaying a complex state of being vigilant yet aggrieved, wanting to escape yet not knowing where to escape to.
Shang Che stared at that photo for a long, long time.
He zoomed in on the photo, zooming in further and further, until only those golden eyes remained on the screen—fearful, surprised, lost, and seemingly carrying a hint of grievance.
And all of this was because of him.
But… that was his cotton doll.
It was the cotton doll that would bid him farewell and wait for him to come home; the cotton doll that would feel joy because of him and feel sad because of him.
Suddenly, Shang Che raised his head, the trace of bewilderment and struggle in his eyes replaced by an unprecedented firmness.
He didn’t know if he could take good care of the cotton doll, nor did he know how much trouble he would encounter in the future, but he knew that if he didn’t go find the cotton doll and bring it back right now, he would regret it for a long, long time.
That little creature, from the very first day it came to his side, had never once thought about leaving.
Even if he snapped at it or was disdainful toward it, it still waited for him expectantly.
The cotton doll had chosen him, trusted him, and tied its everything onto him.
It had never thought about finding a new owner.
It was he himself who was letting his thoughts run wild, worrying over gains and losses.
Taking a deep breath, Shang Che turned and pulled open the bedroom door, practically rushing out. As he walked swiftly toward the foyer, he pulled out his phone and dialed Lu Zeming’s number.
The call connected after two rings, as if the other party had been waiting for him for a long time.
“Hello?” Lu Zeming’s voice sounded as calm as usual, yet seemed to hold a trace of expected certainty.
“Where is the cotton doll?” Shang Che cut straight to the chase, his voice still a bit raspy, but his tone urgent in a way that didn’t resemble his usual self.
Silence fell on the other end of the line for a second.
“At my place.” Lu Zeming’s tone betrayed no emotion as he inquired: “Are you coming over now?”
“Mm.” Shang Che had already changed into his shoes. Grabbing his mountain bike keys, he spoke at a rapid pace, “I’m heading over right now.”
“Right now?” Lu Zeming seemed to check the time. “It’s almost eight.”
“I know.” Shang Che opened the door. The night wind poured in, carrying early autumn chill, yet failing to extinguish the fire in his heart. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“Alright.” Lu Zeming asked no further questions, merely adding: “Drive safe on the road.”
The call ended. Shang Che shoved his phone into his pocket, shut the door, and with a push of his mountain bike pedals, charged straight into the night.
