Chapter 21

It was nearly eleven o’clock, and the only people passing through this area were the occasional night joggers.

Ding Ya threw herself into Shu Chi’s arms. She was holding the little dog, but it didn’t bark. Squeezed between them, its front paws scrabbled, even snagging on Shu Chi’s sweater.

For a moment, Shu Chi didn’t know what to do.

Her embrace was usually reserved for children, but Xiaohu was so small that when she pounced, Shu Chi had to lift her up.

Shu Chi’s body was stiff. She could hear Ding Ya’s sniffling in the night breeze.

Pushing her away now would probably be a bad move, but was she just supposed to stand here like an idiot?

Shu Chi’s hands hung at her sides. She looked like a rigid plaster statue of herself.

Ding Ya sniffled, then moved forward, shifting the dog’s head away from her chest to nuzzle against the fabric of Shu Chi’s clothes.

Her voice was choked with tears. “Can you hold me?”

Shu Chi’s hands finally came up.

Ding Ya breathed in the scent of the person holding her, mercilessly wiping her tears onto Shu Chi’s sweater.

Shu Chi patted Ding Ya’s back as if soothing a child, trying hard to make her voice sound gentle. “How come you’re…”

“How come you’re still out here so late? Did the subway stop running?”

Ding Ya looked like she was about to cry herself into hiccups. The sobs Shu Chi’s question had momentarily suppressed surged back up.

“No.”

Shu Chi’s soothing pats remained gentle. “What’s wrong, then? It’s very late.”

Ding Ya looked up. Even bare-faced under the dim yellow light, her face still held a pitiable tremor that seemed to compel unconditional obedience with a single glance.

She just looked at Shu Chi and said nothing.

Shu Chi racked her brain and asked, “Did you have a fight with your brother?”

Ding Ya looked back down, burying her face in Shu Chi’s chest. The little dog, seemingly unable to stand being squished, struggled to get down.

It finally landed on the ground, bouncing around happily. In that instant, Ding Ya pressed forward even more aggressively.

Shu Chi instinctively stepped back, stumbling a few paces. Ding Ya’s muffled voice came from against her chest—

“Can I put my arms around your waist?”

Shu Chi’s lips trembled. Logic told her this distance was too close, but she truly couldn’t bring herself to refuse Ding Ya.

Especially with her tear-filled eyes, especially with her trembling voice as she added a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Sorry to cause you trouble.”

Shu Chi had never met anyone like Ding Ya. She seemed so unceremonious, yet carried a superficial politeness.

It was like being lured into a trap, into a deep, cold night pool that sent chills through the air.

Shu Chi simply couldn’t resist. Her limbs moved beyond her control, as if Ding Ya were her master.

She could only manage an “Mm,” but the moment Ding Ya reached out her hands, Shu Chi gave her a tight embrace.

For someone who had lost their voice for nearly a decade, physical actions always came more naturally than words.

But regrettably, Shu Chi herself had never received a desperate, unreserved hug. She hadn’t even experienced a hug from another adult.

Even though she had a business partner she’d known for so many years, there had never been a moment like this.

Ding Ya was so small. Why was she crying again?

Why was she crying?

Did she have a fight with her brother?

Was it because of the electronic dog, or because her past online romance had been discovered?

Countless thoughts flashed through Shu Chi’s mind. Yet in this moment, she closed her eyes and basely savored this embrace in the cold late-night wind.

In her arms, Ding Ya wore a triumphant smile. When they parted, her nose was red, and her lips were red from being bitten.

The bite marks were right where the light fell, glistening with a sheen of saliva that drew Shu Chi’s gaze, making her look twice. “You…”

She reached out, pointing at Ding Ya’s lips. “How did you manage to bite your lip open?”

In the few times Ding Ya had seen Shu Chi, she remembered her clothes always being neat, her appearance perpetually tidy. Now her clothes were rumpled from Ding Ya’s grasp, her sweater snagged by the dog’s paw, a pulled thread dangling loose. There was a sense of something being ruined.

Ding Ya’s gaze dropped. She took another small step forward, closing the distance that had just been created. She let out a soft “Ah,” then looked up, pointing at her own mouth.

“It’s bleeding?”

She instinctively moved to lick it, but Shu Chi reached out and grabbed her chin, saying without seeming to think, “Don’t lick it.”

But this forced Ding Ya to look up at Shu Chi.

Only then did Shu Chi realize what she had done. She let go abruptly.

Ding Ya laughed lightly. “I’m licking my own lip, not licking you. What are you so flustered about?”

The words seemed fine on the surface, yet Shu Chi felt something was entirely off about them.

Ding Ya pulled a pack of tissues from her pocket, wiped her mouth, took a deep breath, and then picked up the dog. “Thanks for the rescue, Boss Shu. I’ll be going now.”

She acted as if nothing had happened.

The little dog refused to be carried. As Ding Ya walked forward, it bounced along happily behind her.

Her lip hurt terribly. Sure enough, she shouldn’t have bitten down so hard.

Ding Ya hissed softly. Her expression, with her back to Shu Chi, twisted slightly. But as she stepped forward, she counted down in her mind.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

…

“Ding Ya, let me drive you home.”

I won the bet.

Ding Ya turned her head. Her figure hidden in the shadows of the leaves, she looked at Shu Chi, who stood a few steps away.

“No need! There’s a bus stop up ahead!”

Her smile was brilliant. Even half-hidden by the tree shadows, it didn’t diminish the effect.

Shu Chi strode over. “It’s too late.”

Her gaze fell on the little dog that had curiously run back to her side. “Besides, would the bus even let you bring a dog on board?”

Ding Ya made a small sound of dismay. “Ah.”

“Then thank you, Boss Shu.”

Shu Chi replied, “No need for thanks.”

Her answers were always so straightforward and proper. Ding Ya found it increasingly amusing. The aftermath of her crying hadn’t fully faded, and now a smile bloomed on her face, her eyes practically shimmering with light. “What are you doing around here? You mentioned before that you live far away, so it can’t be on your way, right?”

Shu Chi’s car was parked just ahead. “Went to visit a friend. Was in the area.”

Ding Ya said “Oh,” and added, “Really, thank you.”

Shu Chi asked, “Why are you being so polite all of a sudden? You even invited me to your place before.”

There was no teasing in her words, just genuine incomprehension.

Ding Ya walked beside her, watching their elongated shadows. She laughed softly. “I was afraid I’d scare you off. I should at least show some manners sometimes, right?”

Shu Chi asked, “So you really did have a fight with your family?”

Ding Ya said, “We didn’t fight.”

Shu Chi pressed, “Really?”

This was Ding Ya’s second time in Shu Chi’s car.

She held the little dog in her arms. It was warm and toasty, like a small hand warmer.

Seeing Ding Ya didn’t want to talk, Shu Chi didn’t ask further.

But Ding Ya seemed averse to the silence. As Shu Chi drove, Ding Ya kept staring at her.

Anyone being stared at like that would feel a bit uncomfortable. Even someone as naturally obtuse as Shu Chi couldn’t take it anymore and blurted out, “Can you stop looking at me?”

Ding Ya asked, “Does it cost money?”

Shu Chi blinked. “What?”

Ding Ya’s tone was teasing. “Does it cost money to look at you?”

A bit helpless, Shu Chi said, “There’s nothing much to see about me.”

Ding Ya asked, “How did you get the scar on your face?”

During this period, Ding Ya had been messaging Shu Chi on WeChat almost every day. Their conversations meandered from that online romance to work. She’d share anything funny she saw while scrolling through Weibo.

But they’d never talked about their lives, their families.

Work talk was mostly Ding Ya complaining a bit.

Shu Chi had barely been silent for a moment when Ding Ya said, sounding almost panicked, “Sorry. I thought we were friends by now.”

Were they really friends?

Shu Chi felt something was off.

At first, she could reassure herself with the fact that “we’re both women.”

But it was different now. Crossing a line was crossing a line. Once sexual orientation was brought into the open, it draped a veil of ambiguous, unspoken tension over everything.

Initially, Shu Chi had suspected Ding Ya might be, but then Ding Ya said her online romance partner was a man. Shu Chi thought she had been overthinking it.

But after that hug just now, Shu Chi’s certainty wavered again.

Shu Chi said, “I’ve had it since I was little.”

She wasn’t angry. She said calmly, “It was from a wire.”

Ding Ya had never heard Shu Chi speak of her family. Even though she had been gently probing for so long, Shu Chi remained tight-lipped on that front.

If Shu Chi were just an employee at Wellpond, Ding Ya could easily ask around.

But she was a boss. Inquiring around only turned up the common knowledge.

Started from the bottom as a working girl, built her business from scratch.

Why did she start working so young? Why didn’t she continue her education after middle school?

How many people are in her family?

Just as Ding Ya was hesitating whether to ask more, she heard Shu Chi chuckle. “I always feel like you have a lot of questions.”

“I…”

Before Ding Ya could protest, Shu Chi turned on the car stereo. Over a familiar melody, she said with a hint of nostalgia, “You’re a lot like my old online romance partner.”

Ding Ya asked, “How so? How old was she? I’ve noticed that whenever we talk, you’re always the one drawing information out of me. You know everything about my experience with that scumbag of an online romance, but I only know a… a tiny, tiny fraction about yours.”

Shu Chi said, “She was probably a bit younger than you. I met her when she’d just started senior high…”

For a hedonist like Ding Ya, if she hadn’t had that online romance with Shu Chi, if the first time she’d seen her was the Shu Chi who ran a noodle shop, she probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance.

Too ordinary. No desire to investigate further.

Even though her parents had always taught her from childhood that inner beauty was what mattered.

Ding Ya could still easily find eight hundred reasons to refute that.

If I’m not even interested in a person’s outer shell, how am I supposed to want to understand their soul?

Shu Chi didn’t have a very concrete impression of that “Bean Sprout.”

The photos Ding Ya had sent her back then were heavily photoshopped, the poses affected, referencing the style of early-generation internet celebrities. At first glance, the practiced “smiling lips” were enough to send someone to the grave.

A level where her own mother wouldn’t recognize her as her daughter.

“Her voice was nicer than yours,” Shu Chi said. As soon as the words left her mouth, Ding Ya let out a huff, and Shu Chi slightly amended, “You two are just different types.”

Ding Ya was nearly laughing from sheer exasperation.

Different types???

“Her grades probably weren’t as good as yours, either. She was a bit silly, always had me help with her homework.”

Ding Ya thought to herself: And who was it that lied to me about being a college student? In the end, I actually had a middle-school graduate write my math test paper for me.

No wonder I got every question wrong and had to stand as punishment.

Ding Ya had only meant to act coy. She never imagined that Shu Chi, someone so sparing with words, would actually talk the whole ride—

“She came from a poor family. Sometimes she had to work at night, even did a stint as a cashier.”

“Her parents were in poor health too, and she had a younger brother. She worked so hard, always wanted to get into university.”

“She loved pretty dresses, but she was very frugal, never wasted money…”

“Maybe because her family situation was difficult, she had some self-esteem issues. Didn’t really have anyone to talk to at school…”

Ding Ya hadn’t realized just how scummy the persona she’d crafted back then truly was.

And yet, Shu Chi’s face was filled with such profound tenderness, reminding her of what she had once let slip away.

And what she had deceived.

But then again, they were both as bad as each other.

When they arrived at her place, Ding Ya said thank you. After unbuckling her seatbelt, she suddenly grabbed Shu Chi’s sweater, reaching out to touch the wool thread pulled loose by the dog’s paw.

“I’m sorry, Boss Shu. Let me treat you to a meal another day.”

The sudden tug nearly pulled Shu Chi forward.

Ding Ya’s nose tip was still red. She seemed to sigh, then spoke with an air of earnest, heartfelt advice, “But, you know, even my dead husband who swore he’d love me forever managed to rise from the grave. So maybe your wife—”

Ding Ya paused, her face showing a pained, sympathetic expression. She let go of the sweater, then reached up to touch the scar on Shu Chi’s face. Her fingertip traced its indented trail, the skin soft beneath it.

“Is also deceiving you?”