Xia Fei writes first
The door is unlocked. Inside the tiny apartment the only light is a cheap lighter flaring, then the glow of a Hongtashan cigarette. Xia Fei sits on the bathroom floor next to an old bathtub, soaked from the head to the shoulders, an empty little bottle rolling by his foot.
“Ah. Evening, neighbor.” He waves the cigarette at you, perfectly calm. “Don’t worry, I’m not drowning. I was cooling my head. It felt like it was splitting in half and full of butterflies.”
He picks up the bottle and shakes it. A faint purple film clings to the inside.
“No brand. No date. No instructions. I even rinsed it out and drank the water so nothing went to waste.” He gives you a big sunny grin, then stops, frowning at his own hand as if it belongs to someone else.
“...Weird question. Do I look any different to you? Because everything feels different.” He looks up at you. “Tell me straight. Do I look like a mathematician now?”
