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Heartbeat.
It seemed a little strange, as if frantic, as if it was going in a direction that couldn’t even be described. He had the impression that the beats were vibrating in his chest, that they were spreading with a distinct rumble throughout his body, rumbling steadily in his ears, giving him a rhythm that seemed to be different from anything he had known until then. But at the same time, it was a sound and a rhythm that rocked him, that carried him ahead, like the rush of a wave, like a storm that nothing could stop. He let it float him, straight into sweet oblivion, where time had no meaning and the present didn’t exist; letting his mind live on memories.
To bring them back, to make them into something as real as possible. He created a dream that one wanted to dream, bringing solace that was far from real peace, constantly reminding of life that rumbled with the accelerated beating of a grieving heart. Soft, yet so clear, as if it hid not only life, but the simplicity of joy, laughter and contentment that couldn't be hidden. It was a new song, and its lyrics were the past.
The rumble that was growing inside him seemed to suffocate him in this drunken dream that he didn't fully understand, that he couldn't grasp, having the impression that the world around him was spinning. It was as if everything he had known had become mere blurs of color, from which long-forgotten places emerged, too vivid for him to banish completely from his memories. It was enough to turn his head and, with the rhythm of his heart, to climb again the hill overgrown with daffodils.
There were so many of them, but they didn't mean much to his brother, and he sighed heavily when he saw him picking them, telling stories about them, trying to weave garlands out of them. It didn't make sense, for their stems were too hard and their flowers too delicate to last long without water. However, Mingjue didn't know this, because he had never been too interested in nature and art, limiting himself to the basic information that virtually every person had on these subjects.
The man preferred to climb to the top of the hill, as if he could see beyond it something he was looking for, though in a way he undoubtedly appreciated what surrounded him. For the yellow of the flowers, as unadorned as the sea, had something startling and lurid about it, yet at the same time somewhat unsettling. At least, that was how Nie Mingjue seemed to perceive it, as he wrinkled his eyebrows threateningly as he watched his brother's foolishness as he tried to place daffodils on his head.
He had been doing this for as long as he could remember, feeling that he was repeating his mother's behavior in this way, as light and gentle as he was. He took pleasure in the beauty of the world around them, trying to share it in every way possible, knowing that although his older brother wasn't fond of it, he always listened intently, allowing him to tell his absurdities. At least until that time, until the day when everything they knew didn't turn upside down.
The ringing in his ears seemed to increase as he recalled more and more things, more and more details that had eluded his memory so far, that he tried to banish in order not to return to them. He didn't want to live with them constantly, feeling that they imprisoned him uninterruptedly, but he couldn't break free from these shackles, couldn't just forget fully and move forward as if his past didn't exist. He knew that it was said that those who were loved couldn't be forgotten, and he fully agreed.
But why couldn't he get rid of the memories of the kites that settled on the trees when, not knowing quite how to send them into the sky, they tangled them haphazardly in the branches? They shouted to him with their colors and shapes, the intensity of life that they were supposed to bring happiness. All those swallows and dragonflies that seemed to tremble boldly in the air and then settle in the trees, dead and useless, as if they were a warning they didn't yet understand then. They only laughed quietly, trying to hide their lack of skill, promising themselves that they would do better next time.
He twitched quite a bit as a new sound came between the beats of his raging heart, one that also seemed strangely familiar to him. There was something pearly in the singing that entered his ears. High, fast, and vibrant, something that made for an incredibly pleasant chirp that was pleasant to listen to all day long. The song of the larks was something that seemed to even harmonize with his body, with his thoughts, with his memories, in which these birds played a truly great role.
When Nie Mingjue was able to drag him out of bed before dawn, they would run out into the fields behind the house, which were full of these birds, taking flight as soon as they flushed them. They would take to the air hastily, and they would fly after them without a thought, listening to the rumble of their own hearts, just as rumbling as they were at that moment, just as rumbling as they were now as he looked down the bay, as he followed the trembling of the first rays of the sun on the gently swaying waters. He immediately raised his hand to shield his eyes, as if he were afraid that the light would reach him, that it would rob him of those memories that his whole body seemed to be living with.
He had no idea if the alcohol he'd consumed earlier tasted so bitter, but it was the successive waves of memories churned by the loud beating of his heart that carried bile up his throat. No Huaisang didn't know why, but he felt like a kite in the wind, a kite that had broken free of its tether and simply let the successive gusts carry it further and further, higher and higher, to the beat of his heart. So even and wild at the same time, so familiar and yet new, as if he were living the life of another man, a stranger to him.
Perhaps he was a stranger to himself. He didn't know what was left of the old days in him now that the last sandcastles had long since been washed away by the water, taking with them fond hopes and boyish dreams. Little did Huaisang know that down by the bay, probably the previous day, many children had erected magnificent sand buildings, many of them pouring their great desires into them, creating unforgettable scenarios that were likely to earn the most distinguished rewards. And he used to be like that, able to live that way, but he realized that what he had so far was just like a sand castle.
Impermanent, built on a shore where the waves could rage. He believed he was building something more, he believed he had everything he wanted and could have, but it turned out that all he was chasing were crazy dreams. Dreams he didn't even understand, probably too childish to see through early enough, probably too sure that what he had would never change. He had been a fool, but he had learned that too late, and now all that remained was that unbearable feeling of salty air burning in his lungs.
Once, years ago, it had a decidedly sweeter aftertaste as it filled him whole, along with that frantic thudding of his heart. But then, he simply rushed ahead on the wet sand, trying to escape the inevitable, trying to run faster than his older brother, merging into one with the lengthening shadows on the ground. They frolicked, unfettered, forgetting that they had responsibilities, that they should be far more serious, that their lives didn't consist only of pleasures.
Nie Huaisang was painfully aware of it, but it was those sweet memories that now tasted of bitterness that were most important to him at that time. Those moments when everything important was put aside, when it was outright abandoned to make way for other things, seemingly unimportant, seemingly utterly trivial, and yet the kind of things that gave him confidence that he wasn't alone in this world. Because he wasn't, and he was perfectly aware of it.
He didn't know when exactly, he spread his arms wide and moved ahead, along with the treble of the larks, towards the bay and the rising sun, letting the wind sweep him along like a kite. He was almost certain that the strong gusts would be able to lift him up, that they would be able to carry him along with them, and the rumbling of his heart began to play the tune he knew so well again. His accelerated breathing sounded the same as before, the same way it burned his entire body, making him feel as if he had pushed rewind. He was going back in time, flitting towards what he had then, and now only grasping the shadows of the past.
The man had no idea who was trying to grab him at the moment, who was reaching out towards him, and whose voice he heard calling his name. It didn't matter to him anymore, it didn't count, at least as long as he wasn't halted in his momentum, in that mad leap in which he rolled incoherently down the slope, his legs buckling under him as he headed for the bay. The murmur of the water, so in tune with the rhythm of his heart, called to him far more strongly than anything else, was a call from which he didn't want to run, was a song that had more happiness in it than what surrounded him.
He jerked, demanding that the others leave him, that they get away from him, no matter who they were. They had no right to do this to him, no right to wake him from his crazy dream where everything was so real, as if it were true, as if he was actually able to go back in time and reach for something that was long gone. Sure, some would say that he was just chasing ghosts, that he believed in children's stories, but to him, it was all more real than the life he was living. At least, that's what he thought now, in this moment when the past gripped him tightly and refused to let go of his hands.
Nie Huaisang didn't even know how much strength he had, didn't know that he jerked forward, that he leapt ahead, feeling at the same time as if he were breaking free from some sort of shackle. He didn't want to wake up from his drunken slumber, didn't really want to convince himself of what was waiting for him when he opened his eyes again and found that his world was strangely empty. There were those who said he was crazy, that his attachment to his brother was too great, but he looked at them with a shadow of disdain, wondering if they knew anything at all about feelings.
He didn't have to love Nie Mingjue possessively; he didn't even have to act toward him as if he were jealous for some reason. But he was his younger brother, and he knew so much about him and knew him so well that he couldn't forget him; they were there for each other in good times and bad, challenging and watching out for each other, knowing that life didn't just consist of beautiful moments. But it was those now that filled Nie Huaisang's head, causing him to scream so insistently for him to be left behind. To be allowed to dream his dream.
He didn't know exactly when he ran onto the sand as it crunched quietly under his boots to begin sinking into them, but it didn't matter to him. Maybe it had. He didn't know, unable to decide which reminded him more of what was, this happiness he had lost after all, this stability that allowed him to enjoy his life, even if it was far from perfect. Somewhere in the midst of this confusion, however, swirled the constant thought that he wished he could split in two, that he wished his better half could stay in this world from his dreams, the one that was filled with joy and didn't taste so bitter.
If he could, he would leave her here forever, wandering on without burden, without pain and memories that, for some unknown reason, took on an unpleasant bitterness whenever he tried to wander after them. Whenever he tried to grasp them, forgetting that his dreams had ceased to be mere drunken vistas, as they were at this moment. Aware of what surrounded him, he found much more pain than happiness in the past, realizing that what he had before would never come back to him. He was told that this was a good thing, that it would teach him to wander on, that he would have a strong foundation for the future, but he felt completely as if he was constantly tearing down castles built on sand.
He was alive, but sometimes when he felt bad, he wondered what this life he was living really was. Could he really not go back to the past and name the flowers in the meadow? There was something funny about this, because Nie Mingjue had no idea what the surrounding plants were, so he always checked everything repeatedly, as if he didn't want to mislead his little brother. He took many things incredibly seriously, not wanting them to miss out on something, for something bad to happen because of his inattention, even if it involved thoroughly simple things.
Nie Mingjue was bored when they sat and counted the waves hitting the shore of the bay, but at the same time he didn't run away from it, fully aware that it gave Nie Huaisang pleasure. He, in turn, wanted this better half of him to come back to it, to live it, to breathe it, to stay by his brother's side and go on like this indefinitely, no matter what this was to bring. It was a big and crazy dream, lined no doubt by the alcohol that rumbled along with his heart, rocking it slightly, making it hard for him to wade through the sand towards the shore he eventually fell on.
The cold waves washed over his body in parts, but that didn't matter to Nie Huaisang. He breathed heavily as he gazed into the brightening sky, watching the clouds among which he seemed to see scenes long forgotten. He was now like a castaway for whom what had been the past had become a dream from which he didn't want to awaken, had become a dream that couldn't be fulfilled, but he persisted in pressing the scroll backwards, returning to what he had lost. Nie Huaisang wanted to be there, he wanted to forget, and he didn't want anyone to interfere.
The others could have left him. They had no right to wake him from his sleep, no right to interfere with what he was doing without completely understanding his loss, his grieving, which, after all, had only just begun, though it seemed to go on for years. That was why he had the feeling that he wasn't the only one pressing rewind over and over again, that he wasn't the only one reaching for it, believing that he really was able to find himself back in the past. In a past where they had built sandcastles and flown kites into the sky, not caring that they were sometimes out of breath.
Just like he's now.