Chapter 19

After ordering the cold medicine for Nan Qi, Bo Ranying pushed her out of her mind and threw herself into dance practice for the entire morning.

During the lunch break, she turned down Ye Xingyu’s invitation to grab a meal together.

She slipped quietly into the changing room, unwrapped the towel from her neck, and wiped the damp sweat from her temples. Then she pulled out her phone and tapped open WeChat first. Her chat history with Nan Qi was still frozen at last night.

【Cherry Little Done-For:】 Little Qi, pick up some wontons on your way home from work. I wanna eat them QAQ

【Crayon Squinty-Eyes:】 Okay.

————

And that was it—a blank void after that. No new messages had come in.

Bo Ranying stared silently at the two matching nicknames, a fragmented smile gradually blooming in her eyes.

It had all started back in her freshman year of college, when a wildly popular competitive mobile game swept the nation. A classmate had recommended it to her; she downloaded it on a whim, got hooked instantly, and became obsessed. She even convinced Nan Qi to download it too, so they could team up and climb the ranks together.

The game offered various friend relationship options: bros, lovers, best buddies, besties.

Before Bo Ranying could figure out the mechanics, Nan Qi sent over a request to set them as lovers—along with a message hedging her bets: All my other slots are full. This is the only option left.

Bo Ranying didn’t think twice. She hit accept. It was just a game, after all.

Right around then, she’d spotted a hilarious pair of bestie usernames online.

Cherry Little Done-For & Crayon Squinty-Eyes.

She thought it was cute and forwarded it to Nan Qi.

The reply came quick: “Looks good. Let’s go with those.”

Bo Ranying shrugged it off but went along with Nan Qi’s idea. She changed her in-game display name, then hopped back to WeChat to chat—only to discover that Nan Qi had updated her WeChat name to match, too.

She likes it that much? Bo Ranying muttered to herself.

To match her, Bo Ranying changed hers as well.

They’d been using those usernames ever since, like second nature. Neither had ever bothered to switch them out.

Nan Qi always had a stream of little tidbits to share with her—everyday snippets from her life. Even though they lived together and knew practically everything about each other, the moment they parted ways in the morning for work, Nan Qi’s messages would start rolling in, nonstop.

Ordinary stuff, nothing fancy. But Nan Qi’s tone always carried this spark of excitement.

Nan Qi, who was usually so cool and aloof, not one for casual chit-chat, would scour the internet for cute, fun stickers to soften her vibe. She’d pair them perfectly with whatever she was sharing.

For instance:

【Saw a puppy on the way to work. Super cautious crossing the street—dodging traffic, swaying left and right, hopping along in this wobbly curve. Just like you when you’re drunk.】

【Only difference is, the puppy avoids obstacles. Ranran charges straight into them.】

【Photo.】

【Black-and-white stick figure tilting its head, pink blush lines on its cheeks, big 3D eyes with long lashes blinking away, hands on hips like it’s picking a fight and begging for a smack jpg.】

She’d fire off a whole string like that.

Or:

【MIAO Livehouse has a band playing tonight. Saw the singer standees out front—paired up and holding hands!!!】

【Even the cardboard cutouts get to hold hands. Me? Nothing. Just hugging Ji Ji tight.】

【A brown plush teddy bear in a light blue plaid shirt, lace trim around the collar, one shoulder peeking out with “Undress Me” printed above it, and below, the pitiful plea: “Is this what it takes for your forgiveness?”】

Besides the chatter, Nan Qi never skipped sharing her lunch.

But not today.

Nothing.

The chat was dead silent.

Bo Ranying felt hollow inside, all out of sorts. She couldn’t muster an ounce of appetite.

Was her phone out of credit? Or maybe the signal was blocked?

She called her carrier—plenty of balance. She posted in the work group chat; it went through fine.

Still nothing from Nan Qi.

It was already twelve-thirty.

She’d refreshed the chat page countless times.

That pissed off? Bo Ranying frowned, puzzling it over.

This was the longest she’d ever seen Nan Qi stay mad.

In the past, whenever Nan Qi got upset over something she’d done, she’d talk herself down eventually and come back to normal. If not, a little concern or care from Bo Ranying would smooth it over.

But this time, Nan Qi’s temper had really flared up.

Throwing a little tantrum over something so minor.

Bo Ranying’s head throbbed faintly. She hesitated, then opened the delivery app. The order showed as delivered—Nan Qi had gotten the cold medicine.

Using that as an excuse, she messaged Nan Qi first, extending an olive branch.

Give her this out, and Nan Qi should take it, drop the sulk.

【Little Qi, got you some cold medicine. Mix a packet with warm water as per the instructions—one packet, three times a day. Take it with the roxithromycin. If you feel bad, take the day off and come home. Don’t push yourself. I’m worried about you.】

Message sent.

New entry in the chat.

Bo Ranying’s fingers flew to the screen, swiping down to refresh over and over.

Any second now, Nan Qi would reply.

Little Qi would probably say she’d been swamped at work, phone out of reach blah blah, thanks for the meds, she’s taken them like a good girl. Then she’d share today’s lunch, whine about how the cold made everything taste like cardboard, head spinning, and top it off with a string of stickers begging for hugs and comfort…

But Bo Ranying refreshed for ages.

Long enough for the chatter of colleagues to filter back in from outside, footsteps echoing as they returned from lunch to the dance troupe.

Long enough for the fullness in her chest to burst like a bubble, leaving her anxious and lost.

Her hand clenched around the phone for so long that blood flow stalled, nerves going numb and rigid. The slightest twitch sent jolts of pain shooting through.

Ding-dong—

The chime rang out like heavenly music.

Bo Ranying reacted in a flash, sliding her finger to unlock the screen. But she’d forgotten how numb her body was.

The tiniest motion unleashed a tidal wave of agony. Her grip failed; the phone clattered to the floor. As it hit, the lit-up chat page flashed by, showing Nan Qi’s new reply.

Bo Ranying saw it clear as day. Ignoring the lingering numbness, she dropped to a crouch, snatched up the phone with her good hand, and flipped it over.

The screen was still on.

Nan Qi’s brief message filled her vision, growing larger and larger.

【I’m very busy with work right now.】

So cold. Not a shred of warmth. No acknowledgment of Bo Ranying’s concern. Just a perfunctory line hammered out to shut things down.

That was how Nan Qi talked to everyone else.

Bo Ranying’s heart stuttered. That ant from this morning was back, crawling across the tip of it before drifting away—this time lingering longer.

She felt the dull ache clear as day.

Squatting there on the floor in her slightly pitiful pose, she refreshed again and again in disbelief.

Still just that one message.

A moment later, her phone blared to life—a WeChat video call invite.

Bo Ranying perked up, eyes lighting with hope. But then she saw the name at the top: Qiao Xiuyu. Her excitement faded, bit by bit.

She stared blankly at the ringing prompt, not hitting accept.

The next second, the changing room door swung open. Colleagues streamed in.

The buzz from outside flooded in, wrapping her in a din of voices.

A familiar coworker spotted her and gasped in surprise. “Little Ran? What are you doing squatting here?!”

Taking in her state, the woman ventured hesitantly, “You… you didn’t even have lunch, did you?”

Bo Ranying heard her, but she was in no mood to respond.

Ye Xingyu came in too, caught the tail end of the conversation, and sidled up to Bo Ranying. She glanced at the phone screen—Qiao Xiuyu’s name—and bumped her shoulder playfully, teasing with understanding. “Oho, a call from the almost-fiancé.”

“Pick up.”

Then, winking at the other coworker, she added, “Ranran Jie’s got a video date all lined up with her boyfriend. Love’s all she needs right now—we’re the ones cramping her style. C’mon, let’s get changed and clear out so they can have their moment.”

Bo Ranying had no intention of kicking everyone out for privacy. But Ye Xingyu’s words hit like a lifeline, yanking her from the pit of dejection. She shot Ye Xingyu a grateful look, snatched up her phone, and hurried out of the changing room.

Ye Xingyu, catching that odd grateful glance, blinked in confusion.

What had she even done? Why was Bo Ranying looking at her like that?

The principal dancer’s thoughts were truly unfathomable.