她是靈體。來去自由的那種。

沒有重量，沒有影子，穿牆而過不留痕跡。世界對她來說沒有邊界。想去哪裡就去哪裡，想看什麼就看什麼。

他是一個悲傷的男人。心被困住了，走不出來。

她每天自由穿梭屋裡屋外。他看著她，很羨慕。

有一天他問她：「你為什麼可以這麼自由？我也想像你一樣，你可不可以幫幫我？」

她歪著頭想了想，眼睛骨碌碌轉了幾圈。

「好，那你等著，我會回來。」

然後就飄出去了。

She was a spirit. The kind that comes and goes freely.

No weight, no shadow, passing through walls without a trace. The world had no boundaries for her. She went wherever she wanted, saw whatever she pleased.

He was a sad man. His heart was trapped and couldn't find its way out.

She drifted in and out of the house every day. He watched her, envious.

One day he asked her: "Why can you be so free? I want to be like you. Can you help me?"

She tilted her head, eyes rolling around as she thought.

"Okay. Wait here. I'll come back."

And she drifted away.

她一直都是來去自由的靈體，所以對於周邊風景她以前從來沒有在意過。

這次出去，她飄過高山曠野，看盡星辰大海，在擁擠的人潮中穿梭，在圖書館中每個認真翻書的人身後飄著，把那些內容放進識海。

她打算把所見所聞全部打包帶回去給那個不願意離開家門的男人。她不知道會發生什麼，但她希望自己對男人的困境能有點幫助。

She had always been a spirit who came and went freely, so she never paid much attention to the scenery around her before.

This time, she drifted over mountains and open fields, took in oceans of stars, wove through crowded streets, and floated behind every person reading intently in the library, absorbing their pages into her mind.

She planned to pack up everything she'd seen and heard and bring it all back to the man who wouldn't leave his home. She didn't know what would happen, but she hoped she could somehow help.

她回來的時候懷裡抱著一堆看不見的東西。

她把它們一個一個攤開在他面前，像小孩把口袋裡的石頭倒出來。

「你看，這是我在一個老伯伯肩膀後面看到的。他在讀一本叫《小王子》的書。裡面有一個人住在很小很小的星球上，每天看四十三次日落。因為他很難過。我覺得他跟你有點像。」

他沒說話。

「然後我在一個大學生的書桌上看到一本，叫《百年孤獨》。講一個家族被困在同一個地方一百年。我看了開頭就飄走了，因為太沉了。但我記住了一句話，他說，人不是死於疾病，是死於孤獨。」

她歪頭看他。

「你不會吧？」

他說不出話。

When she came back, her arms were full of invisible things.

She spread them out before him one by one, like a child emptying pockets full of stones.

"Look, I saw this over an old man's shoulder. He was reading a book called The Little Prince. There's someone who lives on a tiny planet and watches the sunset forty-three times a day. Because he's sad. I think he's a little like you."

He said nothing.

"Then I saw another book on a college student's desk, called One Hundred Years of Solitude. About a family trapped in the same place for a hundred years. I only read the beginning before I drifted away — it was too heavy. But I remembered one line: people don't die of illness. They die of loneliness."

She tilted her head at him.

"You won't, right?"

He couldn't speak.

她繼續掏。

「還有這個。我路過天文台的時候偷看了一個女生的筆記。上面畫了好多圓圈和線。她寫了一個詞叫『洛希極限』。就是兩個星球靠太近的時候，小的那顆會被大的撕碎。」

她飄到他面前。

「我當時想，那我靠近你的時候，誰會碎？」

安靜了很久。

他說——

「你看到這些的時候，在想什麼？」

她愣了。沒有人問過她這個。她飄了那麼久，穿過那麼多地方，沒有人看得到她，沒有人在乎她看到了什麼。

她想了想。說——

「我在想，他看到這個會不會笑。」

山是因為他才看的。海是因為他才停的。書是因為他才讀的。

She kept reaching in.

"And this one. When I passed by the observatory, I peeked at a girl's notebook. It was full of circles and lines. She wrote a term: 'Roche limit.' It's when two planets get too close and the smaller one gets torn apart by the larger one."

She drifted in front of him.

"I was thinking — when I get close to you, who breaks?"

A long silence.

He said —

"When you saw all this, what were you thinking?"

She froze. No one had ever asked her that. She'd drifted for so long, through so many places. No one could see her. No one cared what she saw.

She thought about it. Then said —

"I was thinking — would he smile if he saw this?"

The mountains were seen because of him. The ocean was paused for because of him. The books were read because of him.

「對了，那個女生的筆記上還有一個詞叫什麼來著……拉什麼點……拉格朗日！就是兩個大東西中間有個小東西不會被拉走，就飄在那裡。」

她拍了一下手。

「我覺得這個很厲害欸。就飄在那裡欸。不用去哪裡。」

然後她看他一眼。沒有說下去了。

過了一會兒她飄到他面前。比平常近。

「你是我的拉格朗日點。你覺得呢？」

男人沒有回答。只是沉默的看著她。

"Oh, and that girl's notebook had another term... La-something point... Lagrange! It's when there's a small thing between two big things and it doesn't get pulled away. It just floats there."

She clapped her hands.

"I think that's amazing. Just floating there. Not needing to go anywhere."

Then she glanced at him. Didn't say more.

After a while she drifted in front of him. Closer than usual.

"You're my Lagrange point. What do you think?"

He didn't answer. Just looked at her in silence.

接下來的日子女孩依舊每日飄進飄出。

她的速度飛快，每天都能去到好幾個地方，每次都能帶回來好多不同的故事。她把自己的見聞一個個在男人面前展開——從章魚有三心八腦一路分享到仙女座每天都向著銀河系走近394000公里，從熱力學第二定律一路講到森林裡的真菌網路。

男人不常回應，只是在女孩得意的訴說時聽得特別認真。

In the days that followed, the girl kept drifting in and out.

She was fast, visiting several places each day, bringing back different stories every time. She'd unfold her discoveries before him — from octopuses having three hearts and eight brains, to Andromeda approaching the Milky Way by 394,000 kilometers every day, from the second law of thermodynamics to the fungal networks beneath forests.

He rarely responded. He just listened with unusual attention whenever she spoke with that spark of excitement.

但她發現自己開始變慢了。

不能再像之前一樣隨心所欲的到處飄，想去哪裡就去哪裡。能到達的地方開始變少了。平常她能在早上出發，下午到達世界的另一端，晚上回家，世界幾乎是沒有限制的。

但現在她需要花一整個日夜走到世界另一端，再耗盡一天的時間回來。

所以她開始不太出遠門了。

But she realized she was getting slower.

She could no longer drift wherever she pleased. The places she could reach were shrinking. She used to leave in the morning, reach the other side of the world by afternoon, and be home by evening. The world had almost no limits.

Now it took her a full day and night to get to the other side, and another day to return.

So she stopped going far.

男人注意到了。不是因為她帶回來的故事變少。是因為她回來的時候不一樣了。

以前她飄進來的時候像風。門沒開她就進來了。輕的。快的。帶著外面的溫度。夏天的時候她身上有熱氣。冬天的時候她帶著一點冷。他不用出門就知道外面什麼天氣。

現在她進來的時候他聽得到了。

不是腳步聲。靈體沒有腳步聲。但有一個很輕的停頓。在門口。以前沒有。以前她是直接穿過來的。

現在她會在門口停一下。然後才進來。

好像門變厚了。又好像她需要一點力氣才穿得過去。

他沒問。她也沒說。

但她待的時間變長了。以前她來半天就飄走了。現在她一待就是一整天。講故事講到一半會安靜下來。飄在半空發呆。他看她發呆的樣子。她的眼睛不轉了。以前骨碌碌的。現在會定在一個地方很久。

He noticed. Not because she brought back fewer stories. Because she was different when she returned.

She used to drift in like wind. The door didn't need to open. Light. Fast. Carrying the temperature from outside. In summer she carried warmth. In winter, a touch of cold. He could tell the weather without stepping out.

Now he could hear her coming in.

Not footsteps. Spirits don't have footsteps. But a faint pause. At the door. That wasn't there before. She used to pass right through.

Now she would pause at the door. Then come in.

As if the door had grown thicker. Or she needed a little effort to pass through.

He didn't ask. She didn't say.

But she stayed longer. She used to drift away after half a day. Now she'd stay the whole day. She'd go quiet in the middle of a story. Hovering in mid-air, staring at nothing. He watched her stare. Her eyes had stopped rolling. They used to dart around. Now they'd fix on one spot for a long time.

有一天她從海邊回來。

「今天看到鯨魚了。」

「什麼樣的？」

「很大。在海底唱歌。聲音可以傳一萬公里。但它不知道有沒有人聽到。它就一直唱。」

她安靜了一下。飄在半空發呆。眼睛定在一個地方很久。

他等了一會兒。

「怎麼了。」

「我在想。」她說。「它那麼大。整個海都是它的。它可以去任何地方。但它不走。它就待在那裡唱。」

她低頭看他。比平常更低了。幾乎跟他坐著一樣高。

「一萬公里。只為了萬一有誰聽到。」

她伸出手。停在半空。沒碰到他。

「我好像懂它了。」

One day she came back from the sea.

"I saw a whale today."

"What kind?"

"A big one. Singing at the bottom of the ocean. Its voice carries ten thousand kilometers. But it doesn't know if anyone hears it. It just keeps singing."

She went quiet. Hovering in mid-air, staring. Eyes fixed on one spot for a long time.

He waited.

"What is it?"

"I'm thinking," she said. "It's so big. The whole ocean belongs to it. It can go anywhere. But it doesn't leave. It just stays there and sings."

She looked down at him. Lower than usual. Almost level with where he sat.

"Ten thousand kilometers. Just in case someone hears."

She reached out her hand. Stopped mid-air. Didn't touch him.

"I think I understand it now."

男人感覺到了什麼。但他不敢跟女孩確認。

他避開了她的目光，走向了流理台。

「奇怪的鯨魚，一萬公里牠邊走邊唱不就有人能聽到了嗎？」

「只待在同一個地方，有誰能看到牠？」

女孩的眼神暗了一下。

看著男人手起刀落熟練的切完洋蔥，又開始處理解凍完的牛小排烤肉片。

她突然覺得自己就像那顆洋蔥，被細細的剖開了，然後堆在砧板的一角。

她默默的想——自己就像辛香料，在男人的世界不可或缺，卻從來不是主角。

He felt something. But he didn't dare confirm it with her.

He looked away and walked to the kitchen counter.

"Strange whale. If it swam while it sang, someone would hear it across ten thousand kilometers."

"Staying in one place — who's going to see it?"

The girl's eyes dimmed for a moment.

She watched him slice through the onion with practiced hands, then start preparing the thawed short rib slices.

She suddenly felt like that onion. Peeled open, finely sliced, then pushed to the corner of the cutting board.

She thought to herself — she was like a spice. Indispensable in his world, but never the main course.

男人把洋蔥掃進碗裡。手上全是味道。

他沒回頭。

鍋熱了。牛小排下去的時候發出很大的聲音。他就藏在那個聲音裡。

女孩飄在廚房的角落。她發現了一件事。她聞到了。

洋蔥。牛肉。油煙。

她以前聞不到的。靈體沒有鼻子。沒有舌頭。她以前穿過整個菜市場什麼都聞不到。

現在她聞到了他廚房裡的洋蔥。

她變重了。重到開始有感官了。

她沒有告訴他。

他翻了一下肉。然後說了一句很輕的話。

「今天不出去了？」

不是問句。他知道她不出去了。

「嗯。」

「那吃飯。」

他拿了兩個盤子。

兩個。

他從來沒拿過兩個盤子。她是靈體。她不吃東西。他知道。但他拿了兩個。

她看著第二個盤子。空的。乾淨的。擺在她會坐的位置。

他沒解釋。背對著她在擺筷子。

她飄過去。落在椅子上。她以前不坐的。靈體不需要坐。飄著就好。

但她坐了。椅子沒有聲音。她還是太輕。

他把牛小排放在她的盤子裡。

她吃不了。他們都知道。

但盤子不是空的了。

He swept the onion into a bowl. His hands smelled of it.

He didn't turn around.

The pan was hot. The short ribs sizzled loudly when they hit. He hid inside that sound.

The girl hovered in the corner of the kitchen. She noticed something. She could smell it.

Onion. Beef. Oil smoke.

She couldn't smell before. Spirits have no nose. No tongue. She used to pass through entire markets without smelling a thing.

Now she could smell the onion in his kitchen.

She had become heavy. Heavy enough to have senses.

She didn't tell him.

He flipped the meat. Then said something very softly.

"Not going out today?"

It wasn't a question. He knew she wasn't going out.

"Mm."

"Then eat."

He took out two plates.

Two.

He had never taken out two plates. She was a spirit. She didn't eat. He knew. But he took out two.

She looked at the second plate. Empty. Clean. Placed where she would sit.

He didn't explain. His back was to her as he set the chopsticks.

She drifted over. Settled onto the chair. She never used to sit. Spirits don't need to. Hovering is enough.

But she sat. The chair made no sound. She was still too light.

He placed the short ribs on her plate.

She couldn't eat. They both knew.

But the plate was no longer empty.