[bonfire] Bonfire nights

On a night as bustling as this, Xīyuàn knew well the weight of her responsibilities. The world outside was teeming with stories that beckoned her, stories waiting to be chased down before the year bade its final farewell. Yet, here she was, defying the urgent call of her work. Because, in the end, family held a value that surpassed even the most compelling story.

Ascending the stairs, Xīyuàn’s fingers danced over her phone, a silent companion in her solitary journey. She had chosen her attire with careful deliberation for the occasion: a sleek, high-waisted black skirt that sculpted her form, coupled with stockings that offered both warmth and style. The ensemble was completed with her predictable yet elegant black shoes. A touch of opulence was evident in the black and gold belt cinching her waist, a motif that echoed in her black button-up adorned with golden buttons. The shirt, neatly tucked into her skirt, harmonised with the long, flowing black coat that draped over her shoulders. Golden earrings and a selection of rings lent a subtle but unmistakable air of festivity, while her black purse, embellished with fine golden details, was a nod to the New Year’s spirit. She had dressed to impress, perhaps to ward off her mother’s reprimand.

Her phone now safely tucked away, Xīyuàn rang the doorbell, a flutter of anticipation in her heart. The door swung open, revealing her cousin, his presence a comforting reminder of why she had set her work aside tonight. His smile was a warm welcome, and she stepped into his embrace.

“Well, at least one of us knows how to keep a job,” she teased lightly.

Míngzé's job, it seemed, was far from a source of joy. Xīyuàn's smile softened as she listened. “I think there’s some shady stuff happening there, but I don’t have the proof yet,” she mused, nodding thoughtfully. Her investigative instincts had already been piqued when Míngzé started that job. She remembered all too well being unceremoniously escorted out, a clear sign that something was amiss. The mystery lingered on her expansive list of things to uncover.

As Míngzé handed her a box, Xīyuàn's curiosity piqued. Peering inside, her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight – it appeared to be filled with actual shit. A wave of anger surged within her, breaking the dam of her usual composure. In an instinctual shift, she reverted to her mother tongue, her voice slicing through the air like a blade of ice. “Míngzé, Rúguǒ nǐ dì gěile wǒ yī hé shǐ, wǒ jiù shā nǐ,” she hissed, her threat as chilling as it was stern.

* 如果你递给了我一盒屎，我就殺你。
“If you handed me a box of shit, I will kill you.”

As Xīyuàn's fingers grazed the contents of the box, her face twisted in disgust. Her reaction was visceral, reverting instinctively to her native tongue. Words in Fènghuáng, sharp and rapid, spilled from her lips like a torrent. Only someone deeply familiar with the language could grasp the speed of her cursing. Her threat, laced with venom, was unmistakably serious. Despite the deep bond she shared with her cousin, this betrayal – this repulsive prank – pushed her to the brink.

Míngzé, in stark contrast, wore a mask of bewilderment. “You could have just said so, no reason to get angry,” he replied, only fanning the flames of her fury.

“No reason?” Xīyuàn echoed, her voice a mix of disbelief and rising anger. “Wǒ shǒu lǐ názhe tā mā de shǐ. Nǐ fēngle ma?” Her words, sharp and biting, hovered in the air.


* 我手里拿着他妈的屎。你疯了吗 ？
“I am holding fucking shit. Are you crazy?”

The very moment Míngzé alluded to the labour he had invested in his turds, Xīyuàn felt a murderous rage ignite within her. Her mind raced with thoughts of using every bit of her crime-scene-coverup knowledge to ensure not a trace of him would ever be found. It was a cold, calculated plan that formed almost instantaneously in her mind. Surely, if he had dared to present her with a box of his turds, then he had crossed a line that merited such drastic measures.

However, Míngzé's next words caught her off guard, throwing her into a state of bewildered disbelief. “Brownies?!” she spat out the word, her voice sharp as a blade, a hiss of incredulity. “Míngzé, did you know your brownies look like lumps of human shit?” The question burst forth, laced with incredulity and revulsion. With a vigorous shake, she rattled the box, the brownie turds tumbling and rolling inside like a true shitfest.

Xīyuàn’s emotions churned tumultuously — from visceral disgust to a reluctant curiosity, her initial homicidal impulse now wrestling with the bizarre reality of brownies masquerading as lumps of shit.

She was in the midst of an uproar over brownies, of all things. When he accused her of exaggerating, her eyebrow arched so dramatically, it seemed to defy gravity, as if it might just float off her forehead. He reached for the contentious box of baked goods, which she relinquished with an exaggerated huff, arms folding defiantly across her chest.

“I am not,” she asserted with a sharp edge to her voice, her eyes flashing with indignation.

She threw her hands up in the air. “What else am I supposed to think, Míngzé? Just look at them! They're the spitting image of… well, turds. And not just vaguely - these are the epitome of turd-likeness. You hand me this box, no explanation, and expect me not to be horrified? What am I, a mind-reader? These are unlike any brownies I've ever encountered. They're a culinary catastrophe!” Her words tumbled out in a rapid, exasperated torrent.