Da Liu felt that what was piled up in the warehouse wasn't finished fabric, but his solidified desires.
That day, during his usual rounds, he stumbled upon A Juan doing something intimate. One sees what one shouldn't, but peeping isn't a crime.
He remembered Xiao Hong's resolute back as she left, his mother's cautious inquiries over the phone, and finally, there was only the yellowed mirror in the security room—in it was a man of thirty-two, his hair thinning, his eyes murky.
Today was his day off. He lay on the bunk bed in the dormitory. The fan whirred, unable to dispel the summer heat, nor the fire in his heart. He closed his eyes, replaying the scene in the warehouse over and over, imagining if he had stepped forward then, if his fingers could have touched that warmth... Thinking of this, he suddenly sat up and walked into the narrow washroom.
The man in the mirror had fatigue etched around his eyes. Splashing cold water on his face did nothing to quell the restlessness within his body. Ever since Xiao Hong was ordered to leave, he hadn't touched a woman for two whole years. His meager security guard salary, after sending money back home, left him hesitant to even afford a decent braised pork, let alone satisfy his physical needs. Occasionally, he would help himself, but the pleasure would fade, replaced by a deeper emptiness, like a hole in his chest, letting the wind whistle through.
At dusk, he found himself, as if guided by an unseen force, walking towards the public square outside the factory.
Before he got close, the noise hit him. The music from the square dancing was deafening, as if tearing a hole in the night sky. Swarms of female workers and middle-aged women swayed to the rhythm, their sweat glistening under the lights. They wore cheap dresses and shorts, their bodies stretching freely in the unrestrained dance, exuding a vibrant, sweat-scented vitality.
Da Liu hid in the shadows of the plane trees, his eyes uncontrollably following the swaying curves. A middle-aged woman in a red dress, her chest heaving with the movements, reminded him of the plump ears of rice during the harvest back home. Just then, he smelled the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume.
"All alone?"
Da Liu turned his head and saw a woman in a tight-fitting top and a short skirt. She looked about his age, with fine wrinkles around her eyes, but she had a full figure, her lips painted a bright red. She swayed gently to the music, her gaze lingering on him.
"I saw you standing here for a while," the woman leaned closer, the perfume stronger. "Want to dance?"
The music was deafening, and the colorful lights spun in the night sky. Da Liu awkwardly swayed with the rhythm, his limbs unresponsive. The woman didn't mind; instead, she moved closer, her perfume mixing with the scent of sweat, becoming the most alluring aroma of the summer night.
"My name is A Fang," she said, leaning close to his ear as they spun, her warm breath on the nape of his neck.
Da Liu's throat tightened. He wanted to say his name, but only a muffled sound came out. His palms were sweating, and through the thin fabric of his clothes, he could feel A Fang's warmth. How many years had it been? Ever since Xiao Hong left, no woman had been this close to him.
Just as Da Liu was lost in thought, he heard the woman chuckle softly and pull his hand to her waist.
"Like this, follow me."
His palm felt the warm skin, and through the thin fabric, he could sense the soft curves. The music grew louder, the lights spun, and the whole world blurred, leaving only this living body in his hands. The woman was so close, her breath on his neck, carrying a faint scent of tobacco.
He suddenly came to his senses, pulling his hand back as if burned.
The music transitioned to the next song, and in the brief silence, he heard his own heavy breathing, a hint of impatience. A Fang's casual smile faded, her eyes flickering.
As the song ended, A Fang pulled him out of the dancing crowd. "Want to get a drink?" Her eyes sparkled under the neon lights.
Da Liu felt the crumpled twenty yuan in his pocket and nodded.
They didn't go to a bar, but ordered two bottles of cold beer at a roadside stall. A Fang said she was also a worker, sewing on a machine in a garment factory. Her husband was back home, and they rarely saw each other. "And you? Are you here alone?" A Fang asked, her fingers lightly tracing the condensation on the beer bottle.
Da Liu drank half a bottle of beer in one go. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, but it couldn't quench the fire in his heart. He nodded, suddenly emboldened: "I, I'm a security guard."
"I could tell," A Fang smiled, fine wrinkles around her eyes. "You haven't changed out of your uniform yet."
They sat there on plastic stools, chatting aimlessly. Da Liu found himself talking more than he ever had, about the musty smell of the warehouse, the loneliness of the night shift, his childhood dream of becoming a soldier. A Fang listened quietly, occasionally taking a sip of her drink.
It got late, and the stall owner began to pack up. Da Liu insisted on paying, leaving him ten yuan left. "Shall I walk you back?" His voice was bolder, fueled by alcohol. As he spoke, Da Liu took A Fang's hand and placed his other hand directly on her waist.
A Fang didn't refuse. They walked back under the dim streetlights, their shadows stretching and shrinking. They reached the building where she rented her room, and A Fang stopped.
"Want to come up for a bit?" she asked, her voice very soft.
Da Liu's heart pounded. He looked at A Fang's face, softened by the lamplight, and at the door behind her. He knew that if he stepped inside, he wouldn't have to spend the night relying on memories and imagination.
But just then, he saw something flash in A Fang's eyes—a loneliness similar to his own, and a hint of complexity he couldn't decipher.
"I..." Da Liu opened his mouth. "I have the morning shift tomorrow."
A Fang paused, then smiled. This smile was different, more genuine, and more weary. "Well, goodbye then."
Hearing her say "goodbye," Da Liu instinctively hugged A Fang tightly, his hand caressing her waist. Then he gently let go.
Da Liu watched her turn and walk upstairs. It wasn't until the light came on on the third floor that he slowly turned and walked away. A night breeze blew, and he suddenly felt much more clear-headed.
Back in his dormitory, he lay on his bed, regretting not going up to A Fang's room. He tried to feel the warmth of A Fang's body, inhaling the lingering scent of perfume, the intense desire that was almost unbearable making him toss and turn on the bed. Da Liu no longer thought of A Juan's white buttocks.