“Teacher Kong! Teacher Kong, wake up!”
The world shook with earthquakes, highways crumbled, and the train plummeted into a black hole. Kong Liyuan jerked her eyes open as the clamor of reality flooded her vision, with cars jammed up right in front of her.
They were at the parking spot. She wasn’t in California.
Kong Liyuan leaned back against the headrest and wearily closed her eyelids. The world flipped upside down into a thick, tidal darkness. She could still hear that person laughing in her ears, still hear those words:
/We won’t make it to Los Angeles tonight, but we’ll still be on the same road./
“Teacher Kong, we’ve arrived,” came a very cautious voice from the front seat. It was Rong Wu.
Kong Liyuan rubbed her brow and steadied her breathing. “Mm, I know.”
“We didn’t arrive late, did we?”
“No.” Rong Wu checked her watch. “The dinner with Director Zhang and the others is at seven. It’s six forty now, so we’re five minutes early. It’ll take about five or six minutes to walk from this parking spot to the private room. Teacher Kong, you can rest for another five or six minutes and freshen up a bit.”
Rong Wu had always been a thorough assistant.
“Alright, I’ll sit here a little longer before getting out.” Kong Liyuan replied, her gaze drifting calmly out the one-way glass.
There was no trace of exhaustion on her face, nor any lingering aftertaste from that old dream. Only her downcast lashes trembled faintly.
A dark red glow from the streetlights across the road washed over her face without warning, like the tint of a nineties Hong Kong film.
It reminded Rong Wu of a line from the director who had propelled Kong Liyuan to her current status: “That’s the vibe I want from her. No matter what light hits her face, the shot goes up a notch. Doesn’t matter who her dad is—she was born for this business.”
Rong Wu didn’t think the director was exaggerating. The dark red glow right now was proof enough.
She wasn’t sure if it was an illusion, but Rong Wu often felt that Kong Liyuan was a lonely soul.
That feeling was too vague, though. Kong Liyuan smiled often and showed kindness and patience toward others.
It was just like the line people in the industry often used about her: “I thought an actress of Kong Liyuan’s caliber would have a huge ego, but she’s surprisingly easygoing.”
Even after four years working in the position closest to Kong Liyuan, Rong Wu still couldn’t pinpoint where that vague, distant feeling came from.
Was it because of her father, Kong Yan? Or her mother, Jiang Man, who had passed away young? Or maybe that incident…
Rong Wu watched quietly for a moment without saying another word.
After years as an assistant, she had learned the one rule for getting along with Kong Liyuan: Don’t get too curious about her, or you’d find yourself drifting further from the job.
So she simply turned back around, leaving Kong Liyuan undisturbed.
After a while, Kong Liyuan pulled her gaze away and unlocked her phone. Notifications from delayed social apps popped up due to the signal.
It was Instagram. Among her special follows was an account with a cartoon rocket balloon avatar and the username Nicole_echo.
The account belonged to a Down syndrome model who had gained some fame abroad by recreating poses from classic sculptures.
She had just posted an update: several commercial shots of a brown-haired girl at an exhibition. She wore haute couture gowns and held her own next to the brand’s supermodels, flashing a bright, toothy grin.
Scrolling through, her expressions and poses grew more vibrant with each photo.
The five or six minutes passed quickly. Kong Liyuan stared at the photos for a good while before absently saying to Rong Wu up front, “Has it been long enough? Let’s get out.”
“Yeah, about time. Okay.” Rong Wu got out first and walked to the back to open the door for Kong Liyuan, but she saw the rear door already swinging open from inside. So Rong Wu just stood there obediently.
She watched as Kong Liyuan stepped out of the car, swiftly closed the door, and strode past in her high-top boots. One hand in her pocket, the other fiddling with her phone.
Rong Wu didn’t dare stare or pry. But she couldn’t help glimpsing the phone screen. Recognizing the familiar app interface, she knew:
It was that account again.
Logically, domestic actors didn’t put much stock in running Instagram accounts, so the company hadn’t assigned anyone to manage Kong Liyuan’s like they did for Weibo.
But Kong Liyuan had opened her own private account, not public-facing—a burner, really. Still, some fans had sniffed it out and followed along, picking up hints.
Rong Wu had no idea how those fans linked her bird-filled Instagram to Kong Liyuan.
But she did know this account followed only one person.
A Down syndrome model who had burst onto the scene online in recent years. Rong Wu couldn’t fathom the connection between them. She only knew one thing:
Every post from that model got a like from Kong Liyuan.
She had probably just liked another one.
~~~
The dinner was at a local private dining spot, not crowded. Tonight, they had only opened two private rooms in total.
The place was spacious, practically in the suburbs. The decor had a unique theme: steep-roofed low buildings. Step inside, and you faced a massive human sculpture, three or four times life-size, with a long, trailing beard and a grotesque expression.
Rong Wu introduced it to Kong Liyuan: a sculptor who wasn’t hugely famous had opened this private kitchen after retirement to showcase his works and make ends meet.
She couldn’t tell if it was just a gimmick or genuine romantic passion.
After the dinner ended, Kong Liyuan was bundled up neatly, scarf covering the lower half of her face, as she stood at the private room door.
Leaning against the frame, head down, her high-top boot tapping idly at the floor while she waited for Rong Wu to return from the restroom and bring the car around.
Suddenly, voices drifted from the other private room:
“I can’t believe she actually showed up. I heard from Xiao Huang the other day that her mom’s business partner jumped off a building.”
“Huh? Did the guy die?”
“No idea, just overheard it. But I didn’t expect her at this reunion. Didn’t her studio pull funding and blow up?”
One voice dropped even lower. “Yeah, I heard she sold her house and car. She’s not here to borrow money from us, is she?”
“Hey, don’t jinx it. She never came back from California for our old class reunions. Why show up in Shanghai now? We only went to school with her for a year. If she asks me for cash, I don’t have any.”
“Wasn’t it Li Weili who dragged her here?”
Hearing Li Weili’s name, Kong Liyuan frowned. The boot tapping the floor stopped.
“But Li Weili got too busy to come herself, and she still showed up. I heard Li Weili hooked her up with a gig as a sculpture consultant on Kong Liyuan’s set?”
It was definitely Fu Tingli they were talking about. Corridor lights flowed slowly as Kong Liyuan listened with her head slightly bowed, picking up details. She thought to herself:
Shanghai was even smaller than she’d imagined.
More fragmented chatter spilled out. “Sculpture consultant? That’s just glorified grunt work. Man, a pampered young miss who never lifted a finger, family bankrupt and foreclosed, living apart from her mom in different countries, reduced to running errands—isn’t that kinda tragic?”
The speaker sounded a bit pitying, but mostly laced with veiled schadenfreude.
“How could it not be?” the response came in a gawking tone. “How many rich girls aren’t spoiled rotten? I heard she lived it up in California, messing with sculptures and race cars. Back then, she was the star of our class circle—way above us regular folks.”
“Now the house is gone, the cars sold off, and she’s burned bridges with all her rich kid friends. Oh yeah, those vintage rides of hers? My buddy’s an international broker. I saw her selling them when I went to his place. Old classmate and all, I even told him to jack up the price a bit!”
That drew laughs from the others. “You’re a saint. Hey, why don’t we skip making the bankrupt heiress foot the bill for tonight? Call it a good deed?”
“Sure, but if she asks to borrow money, I’m not lending. Who knows if I’d ever see it back?”
Jack up the price? Good deed? Kong Liyuan let out a cold scoff. She couldn’t stomach listening anymore.
Her gaze dripped with mockery as it drifted casually to the massive human sculpture by the inner room door. There, a crumpled hem of clothing shrank back inside.
In an instant, Kong Liyuan’s eyes hooded beneath lowered lashes. The fingers in her pocket slowly clenched into her palm.
She listened to the idle gossip leaking out, disgust plain on her face. She took a few steps closer to the sculpture. A rustling sound came from its side.
She halted, stopping three steps away.
Her eyes didn’t glance down. They fixed on the wings draped around the sculpture’s neck. For a long moment, no sound emerged.
She simply stared coolly at the sculpture before her.
The ceiling light formed a perfect dark yellow halo, like a layer of luminous gauze spreading out, shrouding the grotesque human form in a fuzzy halo of light.
She tilted her head up. She tilted it down.
They stood one behind the other, facing sideways, framed within the circle of light. Their shadows stretched thin by the refracted glow, they positioned themselves on opposite sides of the sculpture.
Both of them simply stood there.
It felt like a standoff, or perhaps they were each just gazing off in their own direction.
Until the person hiding behind the sculpture suddenly let out a light cough. Kong Liyuan sighed softly.
“Were you crying?”
“Not to that extent.” A low voice drifted from behind the sculpture. It was Fu Tingli.
Kong Liyuan murmured in acknowledgment.
She glanced over and noticed that the other woman was wearing gloves—the pair she’d given her last time.
Before she could look for long, Fu Tingli pulled her hands back. Kong Liyuan averted her gaze.
“You know to wear gloves this time?”
Fu Tingli didn’t reply. Kong Liyuan noticed the shadow behind the sculpture flicker faintly.
“Then I’m off.” Kong Liyuan stared at the somewhat wavering shadow as she spoke.
“Don’t squat there too long just to avoid me. Your legs will go numb in this winter chill, and it’ll cramp up when you stand.”
With that, she didn’t move an inch.
From behind the sculpture came the rustle of movement, and the trembling shadow seemed to rise.
It was as if it had been folded up until now, only to shake free from the overhead scrim of light.
Yet it still appeared hazy, as if it might scatter at a single touch.
Then came Fu Tingli’s voice, pitched extremely soft.
“Teacher Kong.”
“Yeah?” Kong Liyuan hadn’t planned on leaving anyway.
