Chapter 27: “Love and Paradox” Part 1

The train’s roar came charging ferociously, tearing through the unpredictable twists of a time-warped tunnel, hurtling past and flipping the empty highway into a sealed corridor in an instant.

Fu Tingli leaned back against the wall, her legs stretched out with Kong Liyuan’s draped across them. Kong Liyuan gripped her wrist, her fingertip pressing against the scar on the knuckle of Fu Tingli’s right ring finger.

She gazed at her with an expression Fu Tingli couldn’t fathom.

In the dim light, Fu Tingli coughed inexplicably. When she lifted her eyes again, peering through Kong Liyuan’s direct stare, she saw herself reflected in the coatroom mirror.

—Her face was pallid, her eyelashes drooping without energy, her black hair disheveled and crammed against her neck, presenting a scene of utter desolation, devoid of any past vitality.

It left her somewhat dazed. She kept replaying Kong Liyuan’s recent question in her mind:

Did you love me back in California?

Thinking of California again, Fu Tingli found the saying “lovers eventually become family” far too idealized. It didn’t suit their mundane, hectic world, rife with class divides.

Moreover, when had she and Kong Liyuan ever truly been lovers?

It had only been three days and nights. Even if she claimed now that she had loved her back then, it wouldn’t quite fit.

Yet she vaguely recalled that California summer lasting only those three days.

Back then, she and Kong Liyuan had watched a thirty-six-degree sunset in California, taking turns biting into the same burger. In that open-top white vintage car, Fu Tingli could reach out and touch Kong Liyuan’s hair, and a single glance would ignite a reckless kiss.

But what truly lingered in her memory wasn’t that California summer at all.

Was that love?

She remembered the first time she said “I love you.” It was after Qiao Lipan divorced Fu Wengen. Holding Qiao Lipan’s hand, Fu Tingli had felt the calluses there, craned her neck with effort, and told Qiao Lipan, “I love you, Mom.”

She didn’t understand why those simple words made the usually formidable Qiao Lipan tear up on the spot, clutching her small body and sobbing hysterically on the roadside like a madwoman. But Fu Tingli thought that if her mom was crazy, she’d happily be the little crazy one right beside her, always on her side.

Later, when she got lost, Qiao Lipan found her amid ice and snow, enveloping her in a warm, fervent hug, hot tears falling as she whispered, “Baby, Mom loves you.” For a time after that, Qiao Lipan kissed her forehead each morning before she headed out. Fu Tingli would touch the damp spot in bewilderment, and Qiao Lipan would squeeze her tight, murmuring, “Mom loves you.” Even later, since winters always left her body aching and prone to constant colds and fevers, Qiao Lipan made the hard choice to relocate all her business to California, land of endless mild weather. In the end, when Qiao Lipan went bankrupt and buried in debt, she sent Fu Tingli back to China without a word, ensuring she had a fallback path…

Through it all, Fu Tingli gradually grasped a simple truth: “I love you” had always been something so pure, so unadorned.

Revisiting those three days in California, she saw them as good—pure, even. They’d clasped hands in flight, shared countless fervent kisses, asked no names, traded no identities, careening wildly through a foreign land.

The best, purest three days.

But back in Shanghai, reality had thrust them into separate worlds. Discussing love from that time felt detached from truth; even those three days no longer counted.

Four years ago, that version of Fu Tingli could love freely and boldly, unhesitatingly falling for a woman encountered on some highway.

For the Fu Tingli now, though, love—or wanting it, willing it—was no longer her guiding measure.

She was confined beneath the harsh glow of a thirty-watt bulb in a cluttered rental room, hemmed in by a pride that could kill.

She knew only that everything in the world had its shelf life.

No more grand passions, no chasing novelty, no blind pursuit of the thrill regardless of how the story ended. Love itself had become worthless.

Yet no matter what, her twenty-four-year-old self couldn’t eradicate the twenty-year-old one.

“Maybe.”

Fu Tingli hedged with that “maybe,” watering down fickle love at first sight into something utterly ordinary and reasonable: lust sparked by beauty.

In doing so, she neatly absolved her present self, shoving it all onto that younger, braver, slightly unhinged version.

She even smiled as she spoke.

Kong Liyuan simply watched her, unsurprised—as if she’d anticipated the answer all along.

“That’s what you said that time, too.”

“Which time?”

Fu Tingli realized as soon as she asked. It must have been in California, when Kong Liyuan had asked, “Will you remember?” She’d probably replied: Maybe.

Now, that same response seemed to answer the question anew.

Satisfied at last, Kong Liyuan slowly released her hand, rose from the floor, and headed into the coatroom.

“I’ll change and drive you home.”

“No need, Teacher Kong.”

Fu Tingli called out before Kong Liyuan could step inside.

The coatroom door stood open, its mirror capturing their reflections.

Yellowish light cast a muted glow. Fu Tingli pushed off the wall to stand, managed a smile, and caught sight of her ghostly pale face in the glass.

Ahead of her, Kong Liyuan’s back was to her in the mirror’s hazy light, eyelashes lowered, her form edged in a soft, fuzzy halo—like a star far too distant to reach.

Kong Liyuan lifted her gaze, meeting Fu Tingli’s through the reflection.

Fu Tingli stayed by the wall, unhurriedly facing the mirror. After a long pause, she said softly,

“I’m not going to Los Angeles tonight.”

~~~

Li Weili sent the WeChat message just as Fu Tingli leaned against the window on the bus ride back to her rental.

Having heard about the evening’s gathering, Li Weili offered words of comfort:

【You okay, Tingli?】

【Should’ve known they’d act like that—I wouldn’t have dragged you there / sorry】

【I figured since you’re new back in Shanghai, linking up with old classmates would help you settle in】

【Didn’t expect you’d end up slighted for nothing】

Fu Tingli grabbed her phone to reply, then noticed she still wore those gloves—the pair Kong Liyuan had pressed on her for a nominal twenty-five bucks.

She paused, slipped them off, and typed on the screen:

【No biggie, all good】

【Didn’t take much of a hit anyway—ran into Teacher Kong right on time, and she got my dignity back for me】

Li Weili seemed taken aback:

【Teacher Kong?】

【You two just happened to cross paths?】

Fu Tingli didn’t dodge:

【Yeah】

【She was probably dining at that Private Kitchen too, overheard folks trash-talking me, and stepped in / lol】

Li Weili: 【Oh yeah, I heard you footed the bill but peeled out in a convertible sports car anyway】

【Teacher Kong’s a real good egg】

Fu Tingli stared at that line for several seconds before replying, slow on the uptake:

【Yeah, Teacher Kong’s a real good egg】

Li Weili added a few more reassurances, then let it drop.

Outside, streetlights flickered fitfully, sliding across Fu Tingli’s face where it pressed to the chill window.

The rocking bus inched from the snarl of glaring headlights into a shadowy, frigid old street tucked away in the gloom.

She recalled the moment just after her offhand “not going to Los Angeles tonight.”

Through the mirror, Kong Liyuan had locked eyes with her. A sudden thought struck Fu Tingli, and she voiced it:

“Did the Private Kitchen owner barge in to bail me out because of you, Teacher Kong?”

“Do you care that much about it?” Kong Liyuan asked.

Fu Tingli blinked, then answered honestly, “Not super into it or anything… but if so, it’d mean I owe Teacher Kong yet another thank-you.”

Kong Liyuan nodded. Fu Tingli took it as confirmation. But then came:

“No.”

“No? Then why’d the owner step up for me like that?” Fu Tingli found it illogical.

“Because of you.”

Kong Liyuan stated it matter-of-factly.

“He told me you’re the only diner out of all those people who paused to really look at his work.

The only one who listened intently as he went on about his creative process, then sincerely told him you liked that sculpture.”

“I only ran into her by chance and suggested it.”

In essence, everyone else was there to eat. Fu Tingli had stood out.

“Xia Lai was the same. Beyond sending her car for you, I asked nothing more. If she went further or said extra, that was her choice—wanting to treat you that way, to speak those words.”

“So, Fu Tingli.”

Having laid out the full story, Kong Liyuan called her name again, eyes meeting through the misting glass.

“Tonight, plenty of people came to your aid. I’m the last one you need to thank.”

Then she let out a light chuckle and said,

“Moreover, if I were going to help you in my own way, it wouldn’t have turned out like this.”

Afterward, Kong Liyuan still drove Fu Tingli to the bus stop.

Throughout the car ride, Kong Liyuan didn’t say another word. Fu Tingli simply sat there quietly, lost in thought:

What a clichéd storyline.

Yet it was nothing like the novels or movies she’d seen before—no dramatic entrance from Kong Liyuan, no showering money on everyone just to let her blow off steam on someone else’s tab.

In the end, she had still paid what she rightfully owed, and she’d even taken that car for a carefree spin without drawing any attention.

Beyond that, she hadn’t gained any unfair advantages. She could still hold her head high in front of Kong Liyuan.

At least up to now, Kong Liyuan hadn’t approached it with a superior, holier-than-thou attitude to help her get revenge.

How could that not make her a good person?

The bus pulled up with a loud bang as the doors hissed open. Fu Tingli made her way down the narrow alley toward her rental apartment.

She was staring up at the motion-sensor light above the building’s entrance when Qiao Lipan’s call came in. The light blazed unusually bright, stinging her eyes.

Qiao Lipan’s voice drifted through the phone, heavy with unmistakable exhaustion, yet she still asked,

“What did my baby do today?”

Fu Tingli hadn’t dared mention the class reunion to Qiao Lipan. “I just bought two tickets to an exhibition. Planning to go with a new friend.”

“That’s nice,” Qiao Lipan said.

“And you?” Fu Tingli asked. “How are things over there?”

Qiao Lipan paused for a long moment, her tone turning stiff. “Why do you keep worrying about it? I told you not to fuss over my side. Just take care of yourself in Shanghai.”

Her voice alone made it clear she was struggling.

Fu Tingli let out an “oh,” then sniffled. “It’s a bit cold in Shanghai today. How’s that little sister doing?”

She was referring to the daughter left behind after her business partner had jumped to her death.

After pulling her investment from the studio, Fu Tingli had considered flying straight back to California and leaving Shanghai behind.

But Qiao Lipan wouldn’t let her. She was probably afraid the creditors would drag Fu Tingli into it too, so she ordered her to stay put in Shanghai—even through the winter, when Fu Tingli caught a cold and spiked a fever. Still, Qiao Lipan refused to let her come home.

Stubborn and hot-headed in her youth, Fu Tingli had ignored the warnings and nearly bought a plane ticket. That’s when her partner took the phone and said:

“Little Li, listen to me. Coming here now would just cause more chaos for your mom.

“We can barely handle ourselves. If something happened to you here, it would break her heart.

“You’re better off staying in Shanghai, getting yourself settled. That way, she can at least have some peace of mind.”

So Fu Tingli stayed. She sold off everything she could, lived frugally, and without a word, wired every last bit of her remaining funds to Qiao Lipan.

And now, the very person who’d said those words had been hounded by creditors until she couldn’t take it anymore and leapt from a building.

Everything in this world had an expiration date—that was the deepest lesson Fu Tingli had learned after turning twenty.

Qiao Lipan sighed into the phone. “She’s still in a daze, crying until her eyes are all swollen. Her little face is ghostly pale. If you were here in California right now, you’d probably be anxious enough to jump yourself.”

“So you absolutely cannot come, got it?” Qiao Lipan emphasized again.

Fu Tingli fell silent for a moment, thinking she might not be able to speak at all. Only after a long while did she manage, “I got it.”

Relieved, Qiao Lipan hummed in acknowledgment. Then, as if changing the subject, she asked,

“What about that old friend of yours from before? You said you harmed her—how exactly? You didn’t explain clearly last time.”

The words came through just as someone hunched over and shuffled past Fu Tingli, bumping her shoulder. The stranger muttered,

“Don’t block the road in the middle like that!”

Dazed, she shifted aside and looked up to realize she was still standing right under that motion-sensor light.

“What happened?” Qiao Lipan asked urgently from the phone.

“Nothing. I just got in someone’s way,” Fu Tingli said.

“Then why did your voice sound off all of a sudden?” Qiao Lipan was sharp as ever.

Fu Tingli forced a smile at the corner of her mouth, gazing at the glowing filament inside the massive bulb. Her eyes began to burn and water for no reason.