Chapter 8: There’s Hope

Flowers with a phone purchase?

Ji Huaqing’s gaze landed on the bouquet—bellflowers. The flower language of the bellflower was eternal love; love that is devoted, but without hope.

A phone store might give away red or pink roses, but bellflowers?

While Song Mingyao bent over to put on her shoe covers, Ji Huaqing took a closer look. She caught sight of a card tucked among the flower stems and pulled it out.

As she withdrew it, Song Mingyao straightened up, panicking. “Teacher Ji, that’s… that’s…”

Before her exclamation finished, Ji Huaqing had already read the card, then put it back in its place and walked off.

“Teacher Ji, why are you leaving?” Song Mingyao scrambled to explain. “This girl is Sister Gu’s… Sister Gu’s…”

She trailed off after two “Sister Gu”s, not knowing what to say. For a while, Sister Gu had treated this girl quite well—there might have been romantic interest…

Gu Yining came over at the sound and spotted the bellflowers. Her eyes flickered, then she looked at Ji Huaqing. “The brand owner’s daughter sent them.”

“That’s right, the brand owner’s daughter.” Song Mingyao jumped in. “Teacher Ji, you don’t know this yet, but e-commerce is all the rage now—online shopping, you know, it’s…”

“Stop.” Gu Yining stood in the entryway with her arms crossed, looking at her meaningfully. “Why are you explaining? How did you end up bringing these flowers up?”

“A courier delivered them. I didn’t ask for them either.” Song Mingyao tried to explain, only to realize she was making it worse. “How does she know your address?”

This place was an old neighborhood, hard to find. When Gu Yining returned here, she rarely went out, hiding herself away for weeks at a time like she’d vanished off the face of the earth.

Gu Yining thought it over, couldn’t figure it out, and shook her head. “I don’t remember. Throw the flowers away. Give me the card.”

Song Mingyao, helpless, handed her the card. “I’ll wait outside. I’ve ordered flowers to take to Donglai Cemetery.”

“Alright.”

Two long, fair fingers took the card from Song Mingyao’s hand. Song Mingyao looked at that snow-white hand, dazzled by her beauty, and couldn’t understand what meaning there was in holding onto one person for fifteen years.

People said death was like a lamp going out, but Gu Yining lived in the past. What was the point?

The living should move forward. Gu Yining especially had money and looks—what couldn’t she accomplish, except bringing the dead back to life?

Modern technology looked impressive, but it also brought plenty of problems. Plane crashes, for one.

Song Mingyao gave a gentle nod and a faint smile, then stepped back out of the entryway.

Gu Yining looked at the name on the card, smiled faintly, and drew a curve at the corner of her eye—cool, with a touch of playfulness. She turned to Ji Huaqing with a lazy smile. “Teacher Ji, do you like bellflowers?”

“Me?” Ji Huaqing looked up at the figure in the entryway—casual white clothes, cold and elegant, rivaling the spring. Same face, but a completely different temperament. She caught her breath. “Yes.”

Ji Huaqing loved bellflowers, and Gu Yining did too.

Seeing her daze, Gu Yining tore up the card, her brows curving. “Then one of these days, I’ll send you bellflowers. Will you accept them?”

The joy of giving flowers lies in the recipient’s happy acceptance—the full emotional value. Only that was truly satisfying.

Ji Huaqing was speechless. What kind of question was that?

Gu Yining tossed the card into the trash, the upward curve of her lips showing her excellent mood. “Giving flowers and receiving flowers are very romantic things. Many people say give food instead of flowers, but I think flowers can’t be replaced by food. Emotional value matters.”

Ji Huaqing looked at her, concerned. “What are you trying to say?”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Gu Yining looked at her persistently, walked over, and reached up to her collar, undoing the top button to reveal her fair collarbone.

She withdrew her hand, brushing over Ji Huaqing’s collarbone as if by accident. “It’s not meant to be worn like this, Teacher Ji.”

With that single undone button, the cool, elegant woman unintentionally revealed a hint of allure.

Gu Yining stepped back two paces, her gaze locked on Ji Huaqing’s collar—a spring sight hard to hide. “Let’s go, Teacher Ji. Donglai Cemetery. You can cry—cry as openly as you like.”

The last sentence stripped away all of Ji Huaqing’s shyness.

They got into the car. The air conditioning was freezing. Gu Yining lounged bonelessly, her hand resting at her side, her ten slender fingers clean and bare.

Gu Yining closed her eyes, her clean profile unblemished, as if washed of all worldly dust. Ji Huaqing looked at her once, then looked away.

Suddenly, Gu Yining sat up, took out the phone she’d brought, and handed it to Ji Huaqing. “Your phone, on my supplementary card. Use mine until you get your ID sorted.”

The hand held a white phone. The white was bright and eye-catching, yet next to those five fingers, it seemed to pale in comparison.

Ji Huaqing took the phone. From the front, Song Mingyao said, “WeChat is already registered, but the wallet isn’t verified. Sister Gu, set it up for Teacher Ji.”

Ji Huaqing opened WeChat. It was empty, and then a friend request came in.

She tapped it. The avatar was blank. Curious, she asked, “Why is it blank?”

“I thought it over and couldn’t find an avatar I liked, so I left it blank.” Gu Yining played with her own phone, her eyes reflecting its glow. “Accept it. I’ll recommend Zhou Hui’s WeChat to you.”

Ji Huaqing agreed, passed verification, and a contact card came through. She saw Zhou Hui’s avatar.

Just then, Gu Yining reached over, her palm pressing against the back of Ji Huaqing’s hand. Ji Huaqing’s heart suddenly lurched.

She looked up at Gu Yining, her gaze settling on that cold, beautiful profile. In the rearview mirror, Ji Huaqing’s flustered expression was reflected. Song Mingyao took a glance. Sister Gu was flirting.

Song Mingyao’s eyes lit up.

There was hope.

Gu Yining said calmly, “Your wallet won’t work; it’s inconvenient outside. I’ll link my bank card for you. Why is your face so red?”

Song Mingyao up front: “…” You grabbed her hand without explanation. Who said anything about linking a bank card?

Ji Huaqing pulled her hand back and let her link the bank card. Finally, the phone returned to her hands.

However, the phone had grown warm. She still wasn’t used to such a big screen. Her nose twitched as the fragrance drifted closer. She raised her hand, but Gu Yining leaned over, showing a QR code. “This is the payment code. Scan it and you’ll know how to pay. These days, one phone can take you anywhere in the world.”

It was cold in the car, so Gu Yining’s scent was colder too, like snow on plum blossoms.

Ji Huaqing couldn’t find the buttons. After a flurry of fumbling, she accidentally opened a video call and startled herself.

Gu Yining calmly pressed the green button. The screen connected, showing Ji Huaqing’s face fully losing its composure.

Panic, helplessness, wonder.

Ji Huaqing didn’t hang up right away. Instead, she stared seriously at the Gu Yining in the phone screen. Meeting those amber eyes, a string in her heart gave a gentle pluck.

Looking at someone face-to-face and looking at them through a screen were somehow different.

Ji Huaqing couldn’t explain it. She studied the woman on the screen like a living painting.

She stared for a long time, her ears reddening ring by ring, threatening to spread.

Suddenly, the screen went dark. Ji Huaqing blinked, whipped around to look at the real person. Puzzled, she watched Gu Yining lean close, her lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “If Teacher wants to see me, look directly. Why stare at a screen? Or is it that the filter in the video makes me look prettier?”

She was too close—her breath sprayed onto Ji Huaqing’s face. Ji Huaqing, flustered, inched back.

Gu Yining took the phone again, opened the corner menu, tapped the scan icon, scanned the QR code, and handed it back. “Try it.”

Looking at the amount displayed, Ji Huaqing dutifully entered “8888.” Then came the password screen. She remembered Gu Yining’s password and entered it without overthinking.

090620.

After entering, Gu Yining received the 8888. At the same time, the bank sent a WeChat notice—8888 had been deducted from the card.

The money went from left hand to right hand. It was still hers.

Gu Yining turned off her phone. Suddenly, Song Mingyao in the front seat eagerly offered her own QR code. “Teacher Ji, try this one too.”

Ji Huaqing scanned it. When it came to payment, she again thought to enter 8888. She typed two 8s, then, on a whim, paused and typed in the password directly.

Song Mingyao received 88.

Song Mingyao stared wide-eyed at the number on her screen. “Teacher Ji, wasn’t it just four 8s? Why is it only two 8s when it’s my turn?”

“Well… that isn’t my money.” Ji Huaqing smiled softly, casting a sidelong glance at the woman beside her. “Next time, once I’ve earned some, I’ll send you more.”

A splendid carrot was dangled. Song Mingyao was full.

For the rest of the ride, the two said nothing, each lost in their own devices. Ji Huaqing had only one contact on WeChat: Gu Yining. She didn’t add Zhou Hui, afraid of startling her.

She tapped into “Moments” and swiped. She found a photo.

Gu Yining had just posted to Moments—visible only to Ji Huaqing.

A screenshot of her face—small, clean, flawless, light in her eyes. Ji Huaqing tapped to enlarge and look closely; hidden there was Gu Yining herself.

She stared at the photo, transfixed, then quietly shifted her eyes to the Gu Yining beside her. Gu Yining had closed her eyes after posting. Her silhouette was still in Ji Huaqing’s memory; the green features had matured, the lines of her face grown colder.

What had she been through in those fifteen years?

The car sped along the wide highway, the wind howling past.

Finally, it decelerated and came to a steady stop. Song Mingyao looked back at the two. “Donglai Cemetery is here. Teacher Ji, prepare yourself—there’s a tombstone with your name on it too. The photo, um, is quite nice.”

Gu Yining’s eyes flew open, a cold blankness in them. “I bought that grave. It only contains your clothes.”

Ji Huaqing turned to look at her. Gu Yining looked back, the coldness clearing from her eyes, the corners curving upward. “Ji Huaqing.”

A thin ray of sunlight streamed in, falling on Ji Huaqing, gilding her with brilliance, breathing life into her.