溝蓋之下

那晚，林修遠沒闔眼。

That night, Lin Xiuyuan didn’t sleep.

他回到家，一間狹小的套房。屋內昏黃的燈光照不透角落的陰影，牆角還留著去年梅雨季滴水留下的霉痕，像是時間悄悄刻在牆上的舊傷口。

He returned to his small studio apartment. The dim lighting couldn’t reach the shadows in the corners, and in one corner, mold stains from last year’s rainy season still lingered—like old wounds time had quietly carved into the wall.

坐在沙發上，林修遠盯著茶几上那幅被雨水模糊的畫——那是小艾還是九歲時畫的，一棵樹。

Seated on the sofa, he stared at a painting on the coffee table—blurred by rain. It was a drawing Xiao Ai had made when she was nine: a tree.

畫裡的那棵樹，顏色暈染成藍與灰的交界，彷彿天空在其中翻湧。他盯著那幅畫，眼神失了焦，卻不是睡，而是墜入某種熟悉又陌生的境地。

The tree in the picture bled into shades of blue and gray, like the sky churning within it. He stared at the painting, his gaze unfocused—not from sleep, but from falling into a place that was both familiar and strange.

夢裡，小艾仍是九歲的模樣。

In his dream, Xiao Ai was still nine years old.

她站在陽光斑駁的山徑前，牽著他的手。腳下是一條舊石階，通往山坡上的一座寺院。屋簷斜低，掛著一排紅色燈籠，燈籠在風中輕輕晃動，彷彿也在呼吸。

She stood on a sun-dappled mountain path, holding his hand. An old stone stairway lay beneath their feet, leading up to a temple on the slope. The low eaves were lined with red lanterns, gently swaying in the wind as if breathing.

她回頭望向他，眼神清澈又帶著一絲不屬於孩子的堅定。

She looked back at him, her eyes clear, carrying a firmness uncharacteristic of a child.

「爸爸，那裡的燈，一直都不會熄掉。」

"Daddy, the lights there never go out."

她聲音很輕，眼神卻很亮。說完便轉身跑上階梯，風一吹，她的黃色洋裝與風車一起旋起，像一抹陽光被拉遠了。

Her voice was soft, but her gaze was bright. Then she turned and ran up the stairs. A breeze caught her yellow dress and the toy pinwheel in her hand, spinning them like a ribbon of sunlight being pulled away.

修遠想追過去，卻一步也動不了。那座寺廟的輪廓漸漸遠去，燈光卻一直掛在空中，像什麼還沒說完。

Xiuyuan wanted to follow, but couldn’t take a single step. The temple’s outline faded, but its light stayed suspended in the air, as if something had been left unsaid.

他猛地醒來，額頭滿是汗。天色未亮，城市的顏色仍舊灰濛濛的，窗外的雨已停，屋內卻依舊潮濕，像被泡在一杯過期的茶水裡。

He jolted awake, his forehead drenched in sweat. Dawn had yet to break. The city outside remained shrouded in dull gray. The rain had stopped, but the room was still damp—like it had been steeped in an expired cup of tea.

那場夢好像沒真的結束，而是滲進了空氣，黏在皮膚上，讓人無法呼吸。

It felt like the dream hadn’t truly ended, but had seeped into the air—sticking to his skin, making it hard to breathe.

屋裡忽然變得特別安靜，連牆角平常滴水的聲音都不見了，只剩時鐘滴答作響，每一聲都像敲在空心的胸口。

The apartment suddenly grew unnaturally quiet. Even the usual dripping from the wall corner was gone. Only the ticking of the clock remained, each tick like a knock on the hollow of his chest.

不過，今天的他，心中倒是異常安靜。

And yet, today, his heart felt unusually still.

這些年來的他，總是試圖用許多看似瘋狂的方法，只希望能再次看見小艾。

For years, he had tried countless desperate means—just to see Xiao Ai once more.

但此刻，他的腦海中浮現的，是昨天出現的那位僧人。

But now, what surfaced in his mind was the monk he saw the day before.

那雙眼睛像是穿過他的悲傷，看見了更深處的某樣東西。

Those eyes seemed to pierce through his grief—seeing something deeper.

「他說……心之門？」

"He said... the Gate of the Heart?"

他重複著那句話，像在咀嚼某種難懂的咒語。

He repeated the words, as if chewing on an obscure incantation.

黎明前，他起身，走進浴室，洗了個澡。熱水流過肩頭，他看見排水孔旁有一片畫紙的碎角，是先前不小心扯下的，像是小艾留下的一部分。

Before dawn, he got up and went to the bathroom to shower. As hot water flowed over his shoulders, he noticed a torn corner of the drawing near the drain—ripped earlier by accident. It felt like a fragment of Xiao Ai left behind.

他沒撿，靜靜盯著那片紙溼透、軟化、漸漸捲邊，像命運自己在剝落。

He didn’t pick it up. He just watched as the paper soaked, softened, and slowly curled—like fate peeling itself away.

他擦乾身體，換上久未穿過的乾淨襯衫。站在鏡子前，他望著鏡中的自己。

He dried off and changed into a clean shirt—one he hadn’t worn in ages. Standing before the mirror, he looked at himself.

那不是熟悉的林修遠。

It was no longer the Lin Xiuyuan he knew.

臉上的皺紋多了，眼神沉了，髮線也後退了。他不確定是幾年沒正視過自己，還是這些年，悲傷早已把他的五官重新排列。

More wrinkles marked his face, his eyes sunken, his hairline receding. He wasn’t sure if it was from years of avoiding his reflection, or if grief had long since rearranged his features.

他喃喃說：「我要找到他，那個和尚。」

He whispered, “I need to find him—that monk.”

不知道他是誰，也不知道該去哪裡找。但他隱隱感覺，那人不是偶然出現。

He didn’t know who the monk was, nor where to find him. But something deep inside told him—that man hadn’t appeared by chance.

他像是，被某種看不見的力量牽引，走進了一條從未預料的路。

It felt as if some unseen force was pulling him forward—onto a path he had never expected to walk.