Chapter 18: Fleeting Companionship of a New Friend

蚂蚁的蓝

图片：网络，作者：蚂蚁的蓝，美篇号：17129321

Qingchen wandered the streets with its frost-bitten tail drooping, paws burning on scorching asphalt under the relentless sun. Hunger gnawed at its belly, yet the trash bins offered little relief—only exhaustion.

Then, a faint whimper pierced the silence. Ears perked, Qingchen spotted a skeletal stray puppy trembling by a derelict car's tire. The pup's patchy fur clung to protruding ribs, mirroring Qingchen's own gaunt .

Approaching cautiously, Qingchen offered soft whines of greeting. The puppy—"Weiguang"—flinched, eyes wide with fear until Qingchen lowered itself submissively. After a tense silence, trust bloomed.

"Hi... I'm Qingchen," it ventured, hope threading its voice.

"I'm... Weiguang," came the timid reply.

Thus began their fragile fellowship.

At dawn's first light, Qingchen nudged the sleeping pup: "Up! Let's hunt by the river!" Through morning mist, they scavenged. Finding half a stale bun, Qingchen always took the smaller portion, warmth swelling as Weiguang devoured its share.

In bustling markets, they dodged stomping feet. When Weiguang toppled a vegetable stall, Qingchen shielded it from the broom-wielding vendor. Their panicked escape ended in breathless laughter—danger transformed into adventure.

Afternoons brought gentle sun and grassy romps. "Catch me, Weiguang!" Qingchen would challenge, rolling in fragrant turf until sunset painted the river crimson. Caught in sudden rain, they huddled in an abandoned warehouse, sharing warmth to the rhythm of falling drops.

But joy proved as transient as fireworks. One day, Weiguang vanished. Qingchen circled their meeting spot desperately, cries echoing through empty streets. It raced past garbage heaps and parks, paws bleeding on sharp stones, until the three-legged cat revealed the truth.

Old wounds ached as Qingchen limped along the Southern Canal. Fish scales glittered in its sun-bleached fur, inflamed paws chewing at embedded glass shards. The junkyard stank of rust and oil when Weiguang first appeared—a gray shadow with butterfly bones visible through sparse fur, front paw scarred.

"Want this?" Qingchen had pushed moldy scallion pancake crumbs toward the trembling pup. A fish-market breeze stirred Weiguang's muddy tail, their kinship sealed in transmission fluid puddles.

They'd chased tides along algae-choked canals, Weiguang barking at oil-slick rainbows. Qingchen taught survival tricks: swatting flies from watermelon rinds, finding intact chicken frames in restaurant dumpsters. Thunderstorms found them counting lightning flashes in mossy drainage pipes.

Fate pivoted on White Dew's misty morning. A rolling meat bun lured Weiguang past safety. Qingchen watched from a hardware store awning as its friend was carried into "Cherished Home Pet Hospital"—the clinic's pastel sign bleeding through rain like tears.

Now Qingchen resumed solitary scavenging, instinctively saving the best fish scraps for a ghost. Stormy nights found its left paw reaching for empty air. Reeds still bore their nest-shaped imprints, but wind-blown plastic bags no longer transformed into play monsters.

Discovering a moth-eaten sweater during the cold snap, Qingchen wound the yarn around its neck—a phantom warmth at its shoulder. Across the river, demolition-site spotlights rippled on waves, illuminating a truth: in a stray's world, camaraderie is but fleeting—shared wounds and stolen feasts mere coincidences in fate's grinding gears.

"Weiguang has a home now... No more hunger or rain," Qingchen repeated, eyes damp. Yet loneliness surged. "How do I go on alone?" The streets once softened by companionship now yawned with endless darkness.

"Why must happiness vanish so fast?" It trudged forward, each step heavy with uncertainty. Without Weiguang, winter's approach felt crueler than ever.