Flight Traces

Bian Ji glanced skeptically at the position of the traffic lights, which had just turned green, and continued driving. The road ahead wasn't smooth; they hit rush hour, and it took them a good ten minutes to travel a few hundred meters. Bian Ji appeared focused, saying nothing as he stared straight ahead at the Santana car in front of him, his lips tightly pursed.

Yan Ankuo noticed, tentatively asking, "Not in a good mood?"

Bian Ji turned his head, forcing a smile, "No."

"I'm sorry." Yan Ankuo started apologizing for no apparent reason, "I don't always know how to measure my words."

Bian Ji found this behavior odd, "What are you apologizing for?"

"My little sister once said that I can come off as quite fierce when I'm serious, and everything I say seems heavy," Yan Ankuo explained seriously, "I don't know if you're upset about that."

Bian Ji hadn't even considered that, his cold demeanor was due to something else entirely, "That's not it."

Yan Ankuo pressed on, "Then what were you thinking about?"

Bian Ji usually kept his emotions hidden, maintaining a polite smile with everyone, so he didn't understand how Yan Ankuo could tell something was amiss. Just as they reached the end of the congested stretch, Bian Ji accelerated into the parking lot, skillfully activating the automatic parking function.

"Thinking..." After backing into the spot, Bian Ji leaned back in his seat for a moment, letting out a light sigh, "Turns out, even you can tell something's off with my voice."

Yan Ankuo remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Bian Ji reclined against the chair, suddenly turning his head to ask, "But why didn't she?"

The silence lasted only two seconds before Bian Ji rubbed his cheeks, smiling, "We're here? Let's get out!"

Yan Ankuo didn't move, instead asking if Bian Ji's car stereo could still play music. Upon receiving an affirmative answer, he pulled out his phone, "Mind if I connect via Bluetooth?"

Bian Ji wouldn't mind at all, so Yan Ankuo connected the car audio system to his music app, turning up the volume.

Playing was a song of blues, its rhythm like a measured waltz, with many interludes of guitar and saxophone duets, perfectly suited to Bian Ji's taste.

The small pit left by the earlier unpleasantness was filled note by note, Bian Ji gradually forgot his troubles, captivated by the song, "What's it called?"

"Powerful Stuff." Yan Ankuo said.

Bian Ji felt that Yan Ankuo's voice was lower than usual when he pronounced the English song title, with a slight gritty quality, like sand swept by the wind over the desert.

It was a quiet song, and Bian Ji listened intently, commenting, "Beautiful."

The song was three and a half minutes long, and Yan Ankuo spent those three and a half minutes in silence beside Bian Ji. When the last guitar note faded, Yan Ankuo unfastened his seat belt, asking, "Ready to go?"

Bian Ji smiled, "Yes."

On their way upstairs, they passed a convenience store. Yan Ankuo asked Bian Ji to wait while he went in to buy something. Bian Ji assumed it was some daily necessity and waited outside.

Soon, Yan Ankuo emerged, holding a small metal box, wearing a restrained smile, like a high school student before chatting with his secret crush.

Bian Ji asked curiously, "What do you have there?"