Chapter 33: “Zoe – P” Part 1

Summer always seemed to burn on with unusual length.

It was like a massive, broad firework stick limited to three months—when looking back on it later, it was always filled with a strange, flashing white light.

And Fu Tingli’s birthday fell on the longest day of this endless summer. She believed it was the part of the firework stick that could withstand the most burning.

June 21st, the summer solstice.

On this day, the sun’s direct rays would unhesitatingly reach the northernmost point of the year.

Thus, the vast Northern Hemisphere would welcome its most expansive daylight.

——This was something Qiao Lipan had taught her on her sixth birthday.

From then on, she knew that her birthday each year was the longest day of daylight in the entire world. After all, to a six-year-old, half the Earth was already the whole world.

Later, she learned that June 21st wasn’t always the solstice. The solstice was a fickle date, sometimes arriving a day early, sometimes a day late.

But that didn’t stop her from loving her birthday. She thought that the arrival of a life on Earth was something worth celebrating in the first place.

Otherwise, what was the point of dates?

This was another lesson Qiao Lipan had instilled in her from a young age. She knew her birth had probably been a painful event for her mother—even adults had teared up when telling her about it.

It was on her sixth birthday. She stood in front of a massive cake taller than herself, wearing a little crown, happily preparing to blow out the candles.

One adult lifted her high up, then smiled and said to her, “Little Li, don’t be too happy on your birthday. This is Mommy’s bitter day. Do you know? They had to cut open Mommy’s belly to get you out.”

Cut open the belly.

The six-year-old was held up high, the people around her swaying dizzily. She burst into frightened tears, recalling the image of Qiao Lipan gutting a fish, thinking how painful it must have been.

She sobbed with tears streaming down her face, saying she’d never celebrate her birthday again, so Mommy wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

But that day, Qiao Lipan smilingly took her flailing, helpless little hands, lifted her down from the adult’s shoulders.

She held her close, guided her hand to cut the candles on the cake taller than her, kissed her forehead, and taught her word by word:

“Baby, you must always first give thanks for your own birth, and only then come to love me.

“Mommy does the same for Grandma.”

From that sixth birthday onward, Fu Tingli understood that a child’s birthday and a mother’s hardship day weren’t a complete paradox.

Every June 21st.

Was a day when she could receive endless love and give endless love in return.

Later, even though they didn’t always spend birthdays together, they both tacitly agreed to shower each other with endless love on this day.

Saying “I love you” on a birthday felt even better, even purer than on ordinary days.

A twentieth birthday was probably an important starting point in anyone’s life.

Fu Tingli chose a road trip along California Highway 1, starting from San Francisco and ending in Los Angeles.

She resolved to treat everything that happened on this journey as her twentieth birthday gift to herself.

But she never expected that the first birthday gift she received at twenty would come from a nameless woman.

A one-piece swimsuit printed with blue-and-white butterflies, traded for what looked like an expensive lighter.

Emerging from the outdoor pool, Fu Tingli felt refreshed. It was like her hot, weary lungs had been soaked and rinsed by cool, azure water.

When refilled, they were clear and bright, her breathing deep and satisfying.

As she hit the road again toward Los Angeles, the sun was already dipping low. If she drove straight through without stopping, she’d arrive a bit late.

They were almost in Los Angeles now.

The hot wind lifted Fu Tingli’s half-dried hair. Amid the drifting golden strands, she glanced at the woman in the passenger seat.

That morning, the woman had changed back into the clothes she’d worn when she first hitched a ride: a classic American plaid shirt, denim shorts, and those chunky Martin boots.

It was as if they’d both silently agreed that today would bring them to the end.

Back at the outdoor pool, the woman—who couldn’t swim—had suddenly plunged downward, clinging fiercely to her body and delivering a wicked, exhilarating kiss.

Her clothes still weren’t fully dry. Fu Tingli had asked if she wanted to borrow some of hers.

The woman shook her head carelessly, saying that under such blazing sun, they’d dry in no time.

So she’d walked out of the outdoor pool in those sopping clothes, now half-dried on her body. Lounging against the car door in the wind, only a hint of dampness remained, along with her tousled, moist hair.

In the roaring wind, Fu Tingli knew this journey was truly nearing its end.

A powerful wave of regret and reluctance rolled in from all sides, chasing the forward-spinning wheels.

The feeling had never been so intense. It was like a movie reaching its finale, her sitting alone in the dark theater as everyone scattered.

Leaving only her to watch the credits roll to the bottom.

——For now, she chalked it up to the lingering symptoms of journey’s end, adhering to her travel philosophy.

But compared to her own subtle unease, the woman’s strangeness after leaving the pool was far more obvious.

They hadn’t even parted ways yet, but this person already seemed to be fading. She sat right beside her, her hair occasionally brushing her arm.

Yet she felt like a cloud burned to ash, about to dissolve into a wisp of smoke and drift away.

Then, as if to confirm her thoughts, the woman pulled out a small bottle of pills from her shirt pocket like a magician.

She shook two or three white tablets into her palm.

“What’s that medicine? Are you sick?”

Fu Tingli wrinkled her nose and handed her a bottle of water. She didn’t recall the woman taking any pills before.

“It’s nothing, just feeling a bit off.”

The woman took the water with little change in expression, unscrewed the cap, tossed the pills into her mouth, took a sip, and swallowed.

She closed her eyes briefly; when she opened them again, the dusk in her gaze seemed a shade darker.

“You have to take it when the temperature exceeds 37 Degrees?”

“Not really.” The woman denied it, then laughed casually. “I just take it whenever I feel like it.”

“There’s medicine you can just take whenever?” Fu Tingli laughed too.

“That’s nice. I’m scared of bitter tastes; I hate taking pills.”

“Don’t you find it weird? Aren’t you scared?” The woman tilted her head to look at her from the side.

“Weird how? Scared of what?” Fu Tingli asked.

The woman stared at her for a moment, then looked away, offering her assessment. “Don’t you have way too little wariness? You seem to accept anything so easily.”

Fu Tingli rested her hand on the steering wheel and thought for a bit. Then, with a slight crinkle of her eyes, she echoed back:

“Don’t you have way too much wariness? You act like it’s a bad thing for people to trust you so easily.”

“Trusting strangers easily is a bad thing.” The woman said again.

“I trust what I choose to trust, and that won’t be a bad thing.” Fu Tingli felt like she was spouting tongue twisters.

The woman seemed caught in the loop too, staring at her for a good while before giving a light, indifferent laugh.

As if conceding defeat, dropping the argument.

The atmosphere eased. Fu Tingli glanced at the deepening night around them.

Streetlights along the road had come on, their yellowish glow melting into the darkness, illuminating the ocean flanking the open highway.

The road was wide and dreamlike at this hour, accommodating only their speeding car—like a midsummer night’s dream on the verge of fading.

After passing two streetlights, Fu Tingli brought it up again.

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

After mulling it over, she didn’t want to leave any questions at the journey’s end.

“I overheard you talking to Nicole about it.”

The woman leaned back against the headrest, gazing into her eyes, something silently burning there—like a sun sunk to the horizon, with only a faint afterglow left.

Fu Tingli nodded. “I figured. But actually, my birthday isn’t today.”

“Tomorrow?” The tone didn’t sound like a question at all.

There was a big curve ahead; Fu Tingli turned the wheel, keeping a good view.

Guessing the woman’s temperament, she was probably just saying it offhand. So Fu Tingli smiled faintly and teased,

“I’m not telling you.”

The woman laughed, then lazily reached out, stroking her wind-tossed golden hair as before. After a pause, she said,

“When was that?”

The radio station she’d tuned into kept playing without pause, looping “California Dreamin'” over and over, its melody restless yet upbeat.

In the rearview mirror, a motorcycle sped past, its headlight glaring so brightly it was almost blinding. Fu Tingli wrinkled her nose slightly and veered to the right.

After a moment’s thought, she decided to reply using the words Qiao Lipan had given her.

“My birthday is the longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere—”

The words cut off abruptly amid the roar of the accelerating motorcycle.

In the melding twilight and night, blue and red lights flashed in a chaotic dance, like a gritty arthouse film caught in conflict.

The motorcycle surged forward with blinding intensity, blocking their view. Several people shouted wildly, their lights flashing relentlessly to cut off their car.

It was those blond thugs!

Fu Tingli hit the horn in a panic, but her vision was suddenly overwhelmed by strobing white light. She remembered there was a sharp turn ahead.

Straight in front of them loomed a cliff, and below it… the sea, perhaps.

Just then, another blast of harsh white light hit them. Instinctively, she jerked the wheel to the left. The tires screeched sharply against the road as the blinding glare faded slightly.

But the car was now veering toward the cliff’s edge!

“Go right!”

A massive gust of wind mixed with the blaring horn and eerie howls of curses. Then, clear as day amid the chaos, came a voice right by her ear.

Her hands trembled on the steering wheel. In the next instant, a pair of hands seized her, wrenched the wheel away, and yanked it hard to the right.

Amid the explosive roar and bone-jarring impact, lights of all kinds—white, yellow, flashing—collided, pierced by the piercing wail of the horn.

The car hurtled forward, flipping over the right side of the cliff and tumbling down with violent shudders.

Weightlessness hit in that instant, the world spinning wildly as the screeching horn and frantic shouts faded into the distance.

Next came the thunderous rumble of motorcycles, growing fainter and more indistinct.

Close at hand, only the deafening crash of the car and its relentless collisions remained.

Fu Tingli clutched the door handle tightly, her waist and back pinned by the seatbelt.

The car rolled down the cliffside path, who knew how many times, shards of shattered glass slicing countless wounds into her body.

Beside her, someone was pressed firmly against her, holding her in a death grip as they tumbled together, bloodied and battered.

At first, the woman’s strength hurt so much that even amid the rolling chaos, Fu Tingli had the presence of mind to think how incredibly strong she was.

But soon, the woman’s grip weakened, grew slick with blood and sweat, slipping away bit by bit.

Then, with a heavy thud.

She plunged into the water. Salty seawater surged up instantly, stinging her open wounds.

Pain wracked her entire body—sharp stabs, dull throbs, and a heavy blow to her forehead where something warm trickled down, dripping onto her eyelids. Blood, bright red.

The water rose to her chin.

With immense effort, she thought: Thank goodness, thank goodness they hadn’t plunged into the deep sea. After all, the woman couldn’t swim.

There had been two of them tumbling down the cliff. Now, in the seawater, only she remained.

She had to save this woman!

The seawater lapping at her chin slowly turned red. Struggling fiercely, she shoved aside the wreckage pinning her down and kicked away the heavy debris.

It hurt—so much. Like countless needles piercing her flesh.

She had lived a smooth, pampered life; she’d never known pain like this. Tears, sweat, seawater, and blood all mingled together.