Chapter 68

Bai Kou stayed silent and quietly watched Bai Yuqiao’s retreating figure.

The two stood in place until Bai Yuqiao’s hem completely vanished around the corner. Only then did Lu Tongtong turn to look at Bai Kou as if she had some realization.

Bai Kou noticed the gaze and turned to smile at Lu Tongtong. “Hm?”

Lu Tongtong grinned back and hooked her arm through Bai Kou’s. “Nothing! Let’s go! Time to tour the zoo!”

After Bai Yuqiao turned the corner, she stopped, turned back, and took a few steps in their direction. With calm eyes, she soon spotted Bai Kou and Lu Tongtong walking off into the distance.

As they walked, Lu Tongtong said something—Bai Kou suddenly halted, turned her head, and her profile seemed to mouth, “Really? No way?!” Then the two friends threw their heads back and burst out laughing.

Just like when they were kids.

Bai Yuqiao smiled sincerely along with Bai Kou and gripped the phone in her pocket tighter.

She knew Bai Kou wasn’t as aloof as she seemed. If she had really wanted to join them earlier, Bai Kou wouldn’t have objected.

Like that year when Bai Kou probably hated her the most. Their group had accompanied Bai Kou to register at university. At the payment counter, Bai Kou hadn’t wanted to stand with her and stubbornly went to the very end of the longest line by herself.

They gazed at each other across the long queue. In that moment, Bai Yuqiao truly panicked for an instant because she read “stranger” in Bai Kou’s eyes.

But later, as they toured the campus together, she hadn’t noticed and nearly got hit by a passing suitcase.

Bai Kou had pulled her back very quickly.

At the end, when parting, Bai Kou hugged everyone goodbye one by one.

She waited quietly at the back. Bai Kou walked up to her with a wooden expression, looked at her for a moment, then hugged her.

In a volume that no one else but the two of them could hear, Bai Kou said, “Sister, I hope you can be even happier from now on.”

Bai Kou studied diligently at the Central Academy of Fine Arts for four years.

After graduation, thanks to her good academic performance and many outstanding works, she smoothly entered the art position at a major company in Beijing through campus recruitment. At that time, domestic online games were booming, and even a newbie original artist like Bai Kou, fresh out of school, could command a decent salary.

But high pay meant high demands. Their team leader especially loved 996, claiming jet lag from studying abroad and disliking morning work. He often didn’t start the endless meetings until two in the afternoon, then leisurely reviewed their content late into the night.

A colleague in the group worked himself to vomiting blood and ended up hospitalized.

Bai Kou couldn’t hold back and challenged the leader once in a meeting, politely saying such a work style was terribly inefficient.

After that, for a while, she was tormented—sleeping at two or three in the morning, only to be woken by calls at eight or nine, rushing to the company.

And so it went.

After barely enduring two years, a project faced major delays due to the leader’s personal style, and someone had to take the fall.

They were locked in a conference room day after day for meetings to divvy up the blame, unable to do anything else.

In the end, the blame fell on Bai Kou’s desk mate.

The cheerful girl who used to say every day, “Beijing’s autumn is so beautiful,” silently wiped tears beside Bai Kou that night.

Bai Kou couldn’t take it anymore. She called Bai Xiaochu and angrily explained the whole story, then said, “Mom, tomorrow I’m going to do something really impulsive. I might get fired on the spot.”

Bai Xiaochu laughed on the other end. “No problem! Just stay safe. Go for it! If you’re fired, come to Zhejiang! Mom will support you!”

So the next day, when the leader demanded her neighbor stand up for the meeting, Bai Kou spoke up loudly. “What does this have to do with her? The problem this time is clearly yours!”

At the same time, she compiled all the evidence, including records of the leader’s attendance photos, and sent it all to HR and every higher-up’s email.

The result was a bit regrettable.

The leader got off scot-free, and she was fired.

Not regrettable, though.

Because that beautiful autumn, her desk mate was kept on. She cried and hugged Bai Kou downstairs, saying goodbye.

Bai Kou was so happy. After bidding farewell, she casually tossed all her office trash into the bin and waved at the golden-glinting building under the sun.

“Bye-bye!”

“But—” Lu Tongtong raised a finger, “Pei Yue, don’t let my description make Bai Kou sound so carefree. That night, she got all emo and called me sobbing, like, ‘Oh no, I’m unemployed, what do I do? My first job ending like this—am I done for?’—”

Bai Kou, who had been staring blankly at the glass fish tank while sipping plum juice, frowned and glanced back at her friend. “Tongtong, you’re exaggerating so much these days. When did I ‘sob’?”

“Not sobbing, at least on the verge of tears.” Lu Tongtong pretended to wipe tears.

Bai Kou shook her head and looked across the table at Pei Yue, who had been smiling quietly at them without speaking for a while. She curved her eyes. “Pei Yue, enough about us. Tell us about you. How did you end up working at the zoo?”

“Me? Nothing much.” Pei Yue smiled faintly. “Just went to university step by step, interned, got a job. Ran into travel bans and couldn’t go back home, so I stayed longer.”

“Oh.” Bai Kou nodded. “Hey, I saw you were at the zoo before too. Is it easy to apply there?”

Pei Yue shook her head. “Most positions have background checks and need recommendation letters. Sometimes hundreds apply, and only one or two get in.”

“Wow, that intense.” Lu Tongtong was surprised. “Your salaries must be high!”

Pei Yue smiled and shook her head again. “Minimum wage, so I picked up two extra jobs.”

“Minimum wage? Do you only work one or two days a week then?”

“No, basically no days off unless it’s Christmas or something, but even then it’s just shifted. The animals still need care, after all.”

After she finished, Pei Yue noticed Bai Kou hadn’t responded for a long time. Her gaze shifted from Lu Tongtong’s face to Bai Kou’s, only to see her head lowered, pinching a napkin, frowning as if lost in thought.

After eating, they first dropped Lu Tongtong off at the zoo dorm nearby.

Then they headed to the Park District parking lot together. While fishing for her keys, Bai Kou casually asked, “Back then, with so many jobs, were you trying to experience life?”

“Huh?”

Pei Yue paused for a second before realizing Bai Kou had circled back to their meal conversation. She suddenly understood—Bai Kou hadn’t been spacing out; she’d been pondering this.

She smiled frankly. “No, short on cash.”

Bai Kou lifted her chin slightly and looked at her. Her eyes glimmered faintly under the lights—no matter how many years passed, these moments still made Pei Yue’s heart stir.

They gazed at each other. Bai Kou said nothing, and neither did Pei Yue.

“Oh…” It took a while before Bai Kou looked away, her voice calm. “I see.”

They walked forward again.

Pei Yue accompanied Bai Kou to the back of the car. Bai Kou cheerfully said bye and went to open the door alone.

The door slammed shut with a “bang,” and the taillights came on.

Pei Yue stepped aside and watched the silver SUV reverse out.

Bai Kou’s window passed in front of Pei Yue and stopped. It rolled down, revealing a puzzled face inside. “You not leaving?”

“Heading out soon.” Pei Yue said, “Haven’t called a ride yet.”

“You didn’t drive?”

“Nope.”

Bai Kou’s gaze drifted away briefly, then returned to Pei Yue. “Get in then. It’s late and remote here. I’ll drop you.”

The wind picked up outside, and the car was very quiet.

Bai Kou’s car smelled wonderful, but there were no air fresheners or anything deliberately placed. The center console was spotless. Pei Yue glanced around and thought the scent was similar to the one on Bai Kou’s clothes.

So Bai Kou was the fragrance of this car.

With that thought—and realizing Bai Kou sat right beside her—Pei Yue suddenly felt a long-lost happiness. She turned toward the window and smiled at her fuzzy reflection in the dark glass.

“You don’t live with Auntie Pei anymore?” Bai Kou suddenly asked after some time.

“Nope.” Pei Yue looked at her. “Rented my own place.”

“Oh, then—” Bai Kou pursed her lips. “Does Little Roll live with you?” She remembered goldfish and guinea pigs only lived six or seven years, but cats had longer lifespans, so she picked the safest question.

“…” Pei Yue went quiet for two seconds. “No, Little Roll got sick and passed early on.”

“…” Bai Kou’s hand tightened on the wheel, nearly slamming the brakes instinctively. She steadied herself, but her heart ached at the answer. She glanced at Pei Yue, trying to keep her voice even. “How… Last year? Or the year before?”

Pei Yue just smiled. “Can’t remember exactly. Must’ve been years ago.”

They didn’t talk anymore.

On New Year’s Eve, Bai Kou’s home was bustling.

Besides her and her mom, Bai Yuqiao and Auntie Gao were there, and Auntie Yang got off work early from the hospital, bought a freshly slaughtered free-range chicken from the market, and happily brought it over.

The adults wouldn’t let the two juniors, who’d been busy all year, help. They shooed them to the living room, gave them candy and fruit, and treated them like kids.

On the long sofa.

Bai Kou hugged a pillow and huddled at the very edge, head tilted, expressionless as she scrolled through messages in various group chats.

“Bai Doudou, stop playing with your phone all the time. Didn’t you say your back and neck hurt the other day?” Bai Xiaochu brought another plate of strawberries from the kitchen. “Get up and move around!”

Bai Kou dropped her arm and opened her mouth with an “ah,” signaling her mom to feed her a strawberry.

Bai Xiaochu smiled at her daughter, picked up a bright red one, walked over, and popped it into Bai Kou’s mouth.

“Thanks, Mom!” Bai Kou said with a smile, then chewed while talking. “I do want to move around, but you won’t let me help. What am I supposed to do, just pace the living room?”

Bai Xiaochu put her hands on her hips. Her peripheral vision caught Bai Yuqiao also on her phone at the other end. Her eyes lit up. “Want to move, huh? Fine, then—”

A cold wind of the twelfth lunar month swept through, scattering dry leaves.

Bai Kou had one hand in her pocket, the other gripping a badminton racket. She stared speechlessly at a fallen leaf on the ground and sniffed.

“Bai Kou—” Bai Xiaochu called from the window. “Why stare at the ground while playing badminton—Yuqiao—you too, hands out—get ready to serve—”

What the heck…

What the heck.

What the heck!

Bai Kou was truly speechless!

It was freezing, and they chased her out to play badminton—and specifically with Bai Yuqiao. She’d rather go back to her room and work on drawings!

As she thought that, a shuttlecock whistled through the air… No way, she couldn’t lose to her no matter what.

Bai Kou focused instantly, raised her arm high, and smashed the shuttlecock back hard.

She didn’t know how much time passed, but she played until she was sweating all over, got into it, and served a perfect shot.

“Whish—”

But Bai Yuqiao didn’t return it. The shuttlecock landed straight on the ground.

Bai Kou frowned and nearly parted her lips to criticize Bai Yuqiao like she used to as a kid.

Then she heard applause from behind.

“Clap clap clap clap clap—”

Followed by a teasing laugh.

“Whoa! Impressive! You two have so much energy on New Year’s!”

Bai Kou turned and saw a weirdo decked out in a baseball cap, sunglasses, and mask.

Probably because she’d grown used to seeing celebrities in gossip news with perfect makeup and outfits over the past year.

This weirdo had a black cap, black sunglasses, black mask.

Even the seemingly ordinary jacket was black—though once upstairs, Bai Kou would discover it was a luxury brand worth twenty thousand, and she’d change from tossing it casually to folding it carefully.

Seeing Bai Kou eyeing her suspiciously.

Yang Wanxi, who had returned with just one piece of luggage and hands in pockets, removed her sunglasses.

“What’s that look? No hello? Can’t recognize me after a year?”