MAMA-14: Are you a puppy?
When Mi Shanxin woke up the next day, she felt even more groggy. She couldn’t replicate the good sleep from the day before, and even leaving the house felt utterly draining.
When her energy was at its lowest, she was too lazy to even reply to messages. Just opening a chat window felt exhausting.
Li Yin knew she was always like this, which was why she rarely messaged her, afraid of scattering the little energy Mi Shanxin had left.
Her friend was passionate about group chats. Mi Shanxin could check the group to see her daily meals, movement patterns, what jokes the online class teacher told, what new focus-boosting software she’d subscribed to, and so on.
Ever since Mi Shanxin, with Li Yin’s encouragement, decided to record vlogs, Li Yin had been promoting it everywhere, hoping everyone would give her some attention.
Unfortunately, up until now, Mi Shanxin’s video likes hadn’t exceeded twenty, half of which were from Li Yin using her parents’ and grandparents’ phone numbers to register new accounts just to give her likes.
Mi Shanxin had given up. She herself felt her videos were utterly unremarkable. Who would want to watch a boring person’s mundane daily life?
Today, however, seemed a little different.
Li Yin had sent her a lot of messages.
[Shanxin, why is your vlog suddenly getting so much attention?]
Mi Shanxin had just heated up some leftover food she’d packed. She ate her late breakfast at ten o’clock, planning to leave for the institution soon and buy a Frappuccino on the way.
[Link]
Mi Shanxin tapped on it and saw it was indeed her vlog. The comments and likes were no longer the desolate scene from before. Suddenly, there were many comments from what seemed like real people, asking if Mi Shanxin could show her face more in future videos.
Mi Shanxin: ?
Li Yin: [I think you forgot to crop yourself out in your day-before-yesterday’s video.]
Li Yin: [I’ve always said it’s fine to show your face. You’re very pretty, just too thin. You need to take care of yourself more.]
Day before yesterday.
Mi Shanxin pondered, unable to continue tidying up her dishes. Her attention span was very limited, which was why she had been quite talented at calligraphy as a child.
The day before yesterday, when she ran into Jian Wanji, she had been editing the video. Because the other woman had disrupted her rhythm, she’d uploaded it without double-checking her content.
Mi Shanxin was not a warm or sociable person. Before her parents divorced, they’d argued countless times about whose personality she took after, neither wanting to admit they had such a sullen child. Eventually, they attributed Mi Shanxin’s temperament to the ancestral grave’s feng shui.
Her mother had also lamented countless times, thankful at least that Mi Shanxin hadn’t inherited her father’s protruding mouth and single eyelids.
But even with her good looks, Mi Shanxin hadn’t been chosen. She was dumped at her grandparents’ place and never reunited with her parents again.
In Mi Shanxin’s view, good looks were the most useless thing. They were more likely to breed malice than to elicit affection.
Character was far more important than appearance. In her class before, the lively girls were always more popular. She never provoked anyone, attended school silently, but was still seen as looking down on others.
Mi Shanxin didn’t know how to reply. She thought for a long time.
Li Yin’s reply came faster than hers: [Maybe our Shanxin can become popular later, then you can buy whatever you want.]
The comments on Mi Shanxin’s backend were numerous, and there was no shortage of haters. Worn-out clothes, disheveled hair, a peeling backpack, etc. Some insisted her unintentional face reveal was too calculated, suspecting a mastermind behind the scenes, waiting for everyone to be amazed by her, and so on.
There were critics and praisers. Somehow, university alumni had also come across the video, saying things like “I don’t know her, but our school really is full of hidden talents.”
Her classmates from her own cohort had also seen it. Mi Shanxin had little presence in class, though her homework scores were always high. Since she didn’t live on campus, they didn’t know her well, so a few spoke up in her defense.
They didn’t mention Mi Shanxin’s poverty. Instead, they fiercely argued with the person who called Mi Shanxin sloppy, their fight spanning over a dozen nested replies. Their combativeness was so strong that Mi Shanxin had to spend a long time parsing whether their emojis were meant well or maliciously.
To be able to argue like that… Mi Shanxin was quite impressed.
She was too embarrassed to delete the comments and didn’t know how to explain she hadn’t intentionally shown her face. In the end, she simply made the video visible only to herself, as if that would restore peace to the world.
After handling this, Mi Shanxin exhaled, then replied to Li Yin: [I forgot to edit it before uploading. I’ve set it to private now.]
Li Yin: [Huh? What’s the big deal? You have to seize the opportunity!]
Mi Shanxin’s personality often made Li Yin feel exasperated, believing she was letting a golden chance slip. Li Yin had expressed many times that she envied Mi Shanxin’s palm-sized face. Although some classmates said her eyes were like sesame seeds without catchlights, Li Yin insisted they were like jewels. Mi Shanxin never took any of it to heart.
She seemed completely unmoved by praise from others, yet would overthink because of a stranger’s curses. Combined with Mi Shanxin now living alone, Li Yin was very worried about her mental health.
But she herself had a heavy school workload and couldn’t be by Mi Shanxin’s side all the time. So she maintained their connection, at least wanting to not miss any stirrings in her friend’s life.
Mi Shanxin: [I might…]
She thought for a moment, then typed: [Not be suited for this.]
She didn’t want to let down Li Yin’s expectations, so she added: [Thank you, Yinyin.]
Li Yin clutched her phone and sighed, knowing this was Mi Shanxin’s way of saying she didn’t want to continue the conversation. She had no choice but to change the subject, sending a voice message: “Have you eaten? Are you heading to class now?”
“Remember to use the drink card.”
Mi Shanxin also replied by voice, her tone flat and methodical, “Thank you, I’ll use it.”
“I won’t drink Steamed Milk.”
Li Yin explained: “I wasn’t laughing at you for drinking milk. I just wanted you to try other flavors. Don’t take it to heart.”
Mi Shanxin’s voice reply also carried an “Mm-hmm,” and one could easily imagine her nodding, perhaps even the ends of her hair, like octopus tentacles, swaying along. “I am trying new things. I’ll get a different one today. Thank you for the drink card you gave me.”
Li Yin let out a heavy sigh.
She was studying at the Provincial Library and had also arranged to meet a classmate who was home for winter break. The classmate, knowing her relationship with Mi Shanxin, asked with amusement and curiosity: “Why are you so attentive to her? She’s so hard to get close to.”
Even though their high school classmates were generally nice to Mi Shanxin, in most people’s eyes, there was still a thick barrier between her and others. She wasn’t like some other students with divorced parents who managed to remain cheerful.
Mi Shanxin’s sullenness was something her delicate appearance couldn’t compensate for. It often reminded people of decaying coffins; she herself was like a corpse preserved in quicksilver, lifelike yet dead.
“She’s actually quite nice. She’s very cute. Once she considers you a friend, she treats you incredibly well.” Li Yin found it hard to explain anything specific. The classmate studying with her suddenly seemed to recall something and asked: “Do you know she’s a lesbian?”
Li Yin stared at her in surprise: “What are you talking about?”
The classmate shrugged: “I thought you knew. I can’t remember where I heard it, but someone said before that she liked the older sister who sold Fire Chicken Noodles at the school gate.”
Li Yin: “You people are sick.”
Fire Chicken Noodles were delicious, yes, but Mi Shanxin definitely just liked the noodles themselves.
She enjoyed watching these street vendors’ craftsmanship. She had once watched someone fry dough sticks for half a day, completely oblivious to the fact.
“Why are you yelling at me? I’m just telling you the gossip,” this classmate wasn’t in their group chat and hadn’t even added Mi Shanxin on WeChat. “I’m just reminding you to pay attention to social boundaries. Otherwise, with how enthusiastic you are, I’d think you like Mi Shanxin yourself.”
Li Yin: “That’s enough. Don’t slander our pure friendship.”
The classmate was still laughing: “With such a good relationship, can you confirm her sexual orientation? Setting that aside, she really is quite good-looking. Some people secretly admire her, feel protective of her.”
Li Yin recalled something unpleasant and stopped smiling: “That’s her private business.”
She said this verbally, but in her chat window with Mi Shanxin, she typed and deleted many different sentences. Mi Shanxin, riding the subway, read this ongoing but unsent conversation for the whole journey. Although she didn’t fully understand, she grasped that people often had things they hesitated to say, just like her own repeated hesitations with Jian Wanji’s WeChat window, even scrolling all the way down to the bottom of the other woman’s Moments feed.
It was all business-related—link shares, personal outings mixed in with this information. It was easy to accidentally tap on a video.
Jian Wanji’s frivolousness clearly wasn’t superficial. She privately drank and smoked, indeed. Golf courses, cruise ships, cigar bars… too many places. Mi Shanxin was overwhelmed with questions and curiosity, but didn’t dare ask Jian Wanji, let alone like any posts. She was thankful that Moments didn’t show visitor records and that Jian Wanji’s settings weren’t limited to three days. She could absorb a large amount of information about Jian Wanji.
From photos covering all four seasons, travel, work, and team-building events, she could see Jian Wanji had an excellent figure. Mi Shanxin even zoomed in on a photo of Jian Wanji in a wetsuit. It was a bust-waist-hip ratio she could never grow into no matter how hard she tried.
Those holiday bathrobes, swimsuits, mountaineering outfits, and ethnic costumes from overseas trips were dazzling. Some locations were in obscure countries Mi Shanxin knew she’d never visit in her lifetime, their names a mouthful to pronounce.
Had Tianyancha not confirmed Jian Wanji did own a company, and a quite large one at that, Mi Shanxin would have suspected this was a Pig Butchering Scam custom-tailored just for her.
So a life at thirty-nine could be this rich. She suddenly began to look forward to her own future.
But her next task was to be the mother of this thirty-nine-year-old woman. Jian Wanji had said that to protect her rights, she would hire a professional lawyer to draft a contract. There was also an unread message asking Mi Shanxin if she wanted to inform her Parents about this.
Mi Shanxin certainly did not.
That was out of the question. If her Father found out she had such a channel, he’d likely stop paying her tuition afterward.
And her Mother knowing…
Mi Shanxin’s eyes drooped with sadness as she nearly missed her stop. She felt she was becoming bad, but she didn’t want to tell her Mother about this either.
Even though she had thought about buying gifts for her Younger Sister with the money.
Mi Shanxin packed a Frappuccino to take to her class. At the cafe, she ran into Jian Wanji.
The other woman seemed to be waiting for her there. Seeing her arrive, she stood up promptly and walked familiarly over to Mi Shanxin. “You’re here?”
The cafe staff had long since recognized Mi Shanxin. The clientele here was actually quite singular, mostly white-collar workers from the surrounding office buildings. Working here, people even became numb to business dealings involving tens of millions changing hands.
Today was a workday. Jian Wanji’s inner attire wasn’t as flashy as when they first met. Her shirt was standard but not tight. The white fabric underneath was velvet-textured, and a red silk scarf, tied like a knot, hung down, becoming the most eye-catching accent against her black coat and white shirt.
“Aren’t you working today?” Mi Shanxin showed the staff her screenshot code for her order. Jian Wanji glanced at it. “Why don’t you just say it out loud?”
Mi Shanxin: “You read it yourself.”
“The wind stirs… the heart also stirs…” Jian Wanji read it out, laughing. “Isn’t this very youthful? It suits you, Student Shanxin.”
Mi Shanxin couldn’t be bothered to deal with her. She picked up her paper bag and walked off. Jian Wanji followed closely, step by step.
“Aren’t you working today?” Mi Shanxin asked again. “We haven’t even signed a contract yet. I don’t need to be your mother starting today, do I?”
Just then, someone entered the shop door and heard this sentence, casting a surprised look at them. Even after Mi Shanxin and Jian Wanji had walked away, the person kept staring outside.
“No, you don’t. But I signed up for your class. If I have time, I still need to take it.” Jian Wanji showed Mi Shanxin her payment record; the receiving account was the institution’s.
Mi Shanxin reminded her: “I didn’t agree to a One-on-One Course.”
Jian Wanji hummed. “So I also signed up for your Basic Course separately.”
The girl frowned. “Do you have more money than you know what to do with?”
She knew how much one term of her course cost. Jian Wanji’s fee was clearly overpaying. “You overpaid.”
Mi Shanxin had swapped her black Trench Coat today for a wool-blend coat, still pilled. The buttons were neatly done up. Inside was a stiff, scratchy turtleneck, like a lotus collar buckled around her neck, restricting her from even lowering her head.
Jian Wanji: “You should get a commission too, right? Consider this my little bonus for you.”
In Mi Shanxin’s eyes, she was like an easy mark, a nouveau riche.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jian Wanji smiled. “Don’t worry. Whatever I said I’d pay you, I’ll still give you.”
She still had her Smile-Lip Surgery results, her squinting eyes, her complex earrings swaying like willow catkins in the wind.
The scent seemed to have changed. Mi Shanxin suddenly leaned in close and sniffed. Jian Wanji didn’t understand at first, then realized, letting out a hearty laugh. “Are you a puppy?”
“Your reaction is a little slow, though.”
She reached out and loosely circled Mi Shanxin’s shoulders, not making actual contact, maintaining a strong sense of propriety.
The pungent Perfume had been replaced. It was closer to the soapberry scent Mi Shanxin had mentioned, an artificially pursued naturalness, just like Jian Wanji herself.
Mi Shanxin recalled that dream again. She pursed her lips, then suddenly wrapped her arms around Jian Wanji’s waist, which was right there, burying herself into the woman.
“Oh?” The woman looked down at the girl in her arms, surprised. “What are you doing? You’re not trying to set me up, are you?”
The voice from within her arms was muffled, seeming to carry a slight choke. “A daughter isn’t allowed to ask her mother why.”
