Chapter 55: “At this rate, we should reach Paris soon.” Part 1

One night in March 2025, in Murmansk, Russia—the legendary ice-free port.

The northern lights erupted spectacularly in a certain area, and they finally saw the aurora they had missed back in 2021.

Qiu Yiran had never imagined there would really be such a day. She had even less imagined that after turning thirty, she would still see the northern lights, and still with Li Wuhui.

Much later, when she returned to Mang City and lay in her sealed-up rental apartment, recalling this day, she felt it was truly a pity—

A pity she hadn’t looked a bit more at Li Wuhui under that red northern lights that night.

And that night, on the way back.

Qiu Yiran couldn’t help but ask Li Wuhui, “What wish did you make under the northern lights just now? Why did it take so long?”

Li Wuhui was looking for a parking spot, spared her a glance, then chuckled lightly and spat out two words without any pretense, “Make money.”

Qiu Yiran was stunned.

Li Wuhui finally found a spacious spot at that moment, parked the car, and turned back.

She saw the shocked expression on Qiu Yiran’s face.

“Are you that surprised?” Li Wuhui smiled and added in a relaxed tone, “My wish is to make a lot of money.”

Qiu Yiran wrinkled her nose slightly. She still didn’t believe Li Wuhui could be that superficial.

“I am that superficial.” As if knowing what she was thinking, Li Wuhui sighed,

“Qiu Yiran, not everyone is like you, treating money as something external whether poor or rich, happy or in pain.”

With that, she naturally unbuckled Qiu Yiran’s seatbelt for her. “For me, money is the greatest sense of security, and also my confidence.”

The words fell.

She wasn’t in a hurry to get out of the car—

Instead, she patiently looked into Qiu Yiran’s slightly surprised eyes and asked in return,

“After all this time, don’t you know what kind of person I am yet?”

Li Wuhui knew she was superficial, not noble, very ordinary, never believed in so-called “wishes coming true,” and was usually evaluated by others in terms of “expensive” or “cheap” for her own value.

But Qiu Yiran was emotional, sincere, kind; she had once been willing to love such a Li Wuhui, and even now was still willing to believe that the northern lights were a miracle left by a fox’s tail brushing past.

Li Wuhui never believed in legends or made wishes. But she was willing to believe in Qiu Yiran, so she had made a wish just now.

However, Li Wuhui also knew that spoken wishes wouldn’t come true, so she didn’t tell any creature except the fox her one true wish: that the kind Qiu Yiran could be safe and sound, forever sincere.

For that, the superficial Li Wuhui was willing to give everything she had.

“That doesn’t count as superficial.” And the kind Qiu Yiran always took a tolerant attitude toward her choices, always happy to find excuses for her.

“After all, if you can make a lot of money, you won’t be easily bullied.”

Her tone was very accommodating, inevitably reminding Li Wuhui of the past—

She had been just as solemn back then.

Defining what she thought was her thick skin as a symbol of tenacity and vitality.

In the end, this person hadn’t changed at all. Li Wuhui thought calmly with these eyes.

And after saying that.

Qiu Yiran seemed to remember something, her expression looking relieved as she smiled at her. “In that case, my wish is actually pretty similar to yours.”

“So your wish was to make money too?” Li Wuhui pulled back her thoughts.

“Pretty much.” Qiu Yiran said vaguely.

Knowing she didn’t really want to say it, Li Wuhui didn’t press and just raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Then let’s get out of the car first.”

–

As a temporary detour in this journey, the Aurora Journey officially ended.

That night, after the two room doors separated them, Qiu Yiran thought about a lot on her own.

Hearing Li Wuhui sincerely state that her greatest wish was to make money, Qiu Yiran felt sincerely relieved, thinking she had found strong evidence for the past three years.

Li Wuhui was strong, had clear goals, and would put in unwavering effort for them, so she could overcome the pain after the car accident, carry the three screws in her lumbar spine, return to the T-stage, and ultimately rank at the top of the world model rankings.

The cowardly Qiu Yiran never had that kind of courage, but that didn’t stop her from being genuinely happy for her.

At the same time, she unrepentantly believed—that her idea that year hadn’t been wrong; Li Wuhui had always dared to love and hate, and would live better after leaving her.

That was enough. Qiu Yiran concluded.

Even though the next morning when she woke up, her blanket and pillow were wet.

But these were unimportant details.

After seeing the northern lights, they rested briefly in Murmansk, contacted the aurora guide Fried Egg, explained they wouldn’t continue with the group and would proceed with their journey to Europe.

Fried Egg felt sorry about it.

She told them over the phone—

She had thought they would definitely meet again, so she hadn’t said a proper goodbye that night.

But she still sent her blessings, hoping their journey went smoothly and that they would come back to Murmansk someday.

They gave no answers implying any possibility, just bid farewell to this guide with the cute Chinese name.

Because although the two hadn’t explicitly discussed it with each other, they both tacitly decided they would never come here alone again.

On the day they set off again.

Qiu Yiran put on her prosthetic leg and went downstairs—and found Li Wuhui leaning against the car waiting for her.

Murmansk was at a very northern latitude, and in this season, the nights were long, so when they departed, the clouds were still thick, and the weather quite overcast.

But Li Wuhui had wrapped a colorful patterned scarf around her neck, softly covering the lower half of her face.

The wind blew from Qiu Yiran’s direction across to her face, tousling her natural flaxen long curls, letting them scatter freely and lazily over the scarf, immediately noticeable.

Qiu Yiran walked over.

She hadn’t gone far.

Li Wuhui suddenly called out to her, “Stop right there.”

Her tone really sounded like an order.

Qiu Yiran stopped instinctively and made her usual surrender gesture—

Hands raised high, blinking in bewilderment.

Seeing her do it unconsciously, Li Wuhui seemed very satisfied, even laughing. The laughter floated lightly, leaping over the wind to reach her.

“Qiu Yiran, why are you so obedient?” Her voice still carried amusement.

Qiu Yiran looked around and realized she’d done it again, lowering her face a bit embarrassedly.

Her brain had long gone numb from blocking out pain, often unable to give her accurate instructions, but every time it bypassed her own will, incredibly docilely obeying Li Wuhui’s commands.

Qiu Yiran didn’t know what was going on with this, so she clumsily lowered her raised hands.

But then it was like she had nowhere to put them.

They dangled awkwardly, fumbling twice at the non-existent pockets of her jacket, and finally hung unnaturally at her sides.

“Why did you suddenly tell me to stop?”

How strange.

Where did people without jacket pockets usually put their hands?

—For a second, this absurd thought popped into Qiu Yiran’s head.

The next second, Li Wuhui made an unmistakable sound, interrupting her jumbled thoughts. “Where’s your camera?”

“Right here.” Qiu Yiran belatedly lifted the camera hanging around her neck. “What’s up?”

Yesterday, Li Wuhui had disliked how she always clutched the camera tightly like she was afraid of losing it.

While eating, she suddenly said she was going out for a bit, and when she returned, she had bought her a strap to hang it around her neck.

The strap was colorful too, knitted style, very similar to Li Wuhui’s scarf.

Qiu Yiran had tried to refuse—

Because she felt the camera already looked like a toy, and adding a colorful strap would make it seem like playing house.

But Li Wuhui rejected her refusal and wouldn’t listen to any reasoning.

So Qiu Yiran accepted.

“Then take a photo of me.” Li Wuhui leaned against the car and made the request very naturally—

She seemed afraid that when she woke up one day, Qiu Yiran wouldn’t pick up the camera again, becoming even more timid than before.

So these past few days, she kept making these sudden requests.

Qiu Yiran knew what she was worried about and always tried to cooperate no matter what she was doing at the time.

“Wait a sec.” Li Wuhui said. “Let me strike a good pose.”

Qiu Yiran drawled out an “oh” slowly, then raised the camera and waited patiently—

In her viewfinder, Li Wuhui adjusted her scarf, fixed her hair, walked around the Bright Yellow Taxi, and finally seemed to find a suitable spot. She stood next to Xuebing’s head veil, arms crossed formally, smiling.

“Ready to shoot?” Qiu Yiran adjusted the focus.

“Go ahead.” Li Wuhui responded.

But the next second she changed her mind. “Wait a sec.”

Qiu Yiran waited.

“Better do a side profile. My side profile looks good.” Li Wuhui said this.

She turned slightly.

Finally lowering her arms, resting them awkwardly on the side mirror.

“Shooting now?” Qiu Yiran asked again.

“Mm, go ahead.” Li Wuhui said casually.

Qiu Yiran didn’t speak but didn’t press the shutter right away either. She narrowed her eyes and zoomed in—

Sure enough, just two seconds later, Li Wuhui in the lens furrowed her brow slightly.

The framing caught at the woman’s chin, magnifying her subtle facial expressions.

So Qiu Yiran could see clearly—

Li Wuhui first raised a hand to smooth her wind-tousled hair, then suddenly turned to face the lens.

“Did you take it?”

Qiu Yiran sighed. “No.”

“Good.” Li Wuhui relaxed her mouth slightly, lifted her chin.

“This angle makes me look too melancholic. I don’t like it.”

Qiu Yiran had no choice but to zoom out again.

The lens edge brushed past the small mole under Li Wuhui’s lip, expanding to her wind-whipped fluttering long curls, then slowly to her full body.

Li Wuhui turned to face the lens. This time she seemed to have thought it through seriously and said meticulously, “Better do a front view.”

“No more changes?” Qiu Yiran asked.

“Have I changed that many times?” Li Wuhui frowned slightly, sounding not very pleased.

“Not really.” Qiu Yiran denied helplessly, thought for a moment, and added, “Then once you’ve adjusted, just count down three-two-one yourself.”

“Okay.” Li Wuhui nodded.

“Three—”

Li Wuhui crossed her arms, forehead exposed by the wind, her striking bone structure open and looking very cold in winter.

“Two—”

Li Wuhui lowered her arms again, her lip color vivid against her pale skin, opening and closing.