Shu Chi rarely got involved in these kinds of projects, though from a business perspective, these girlish trends were currently quite the moneymaker.
Last year, Jing Yuqi had even proposed opening a branch to sell Hanfu, but they scrapped the idea after doing the market research.
The last time Shu Chi had worn Hanfu was on New Year’s, when she and Jing Yuqi’s then-boyfriend had played an escape room murder mystery game together.
The kind that lasted two days and one night—it was sheer agony for Shu Chi.
There were simply too many couples. While being a lone wolf didn’t bother her, the lingering atmosphere was exceptionally awkward.
She’d also been chased by an NPC, who asked for her WeChat, making such a horrified expression that Jing Yuqi caught it on camera and posted it to her WeChat Moments—a truly humiliating experience.
This shop had a minor reputation in Bramble City, considered a must-visit check-in spot for tourists at Willow Garden.
The owner ran other ventures too. After changing her clothes, Shu Chi noticed photos on the wall of the owner participating in various traditional-style music festival projects.
The owner said, “Hello! Just to let you know, as a lucky customer, you don’t just get to freely choose Hanfu for a night tour. We’re also including a complimentary follow-along photo shoot service, valued at 899. You…”
Shu Chi cut in, “Not needed.”
The owner: …
She glanced imperceptibly at Ding Ya, who had stood up.
Ding Ya’s earlier offer to pay extra had completely stunned the owner. It took her a few seconds to ask, “You two? What’s your relationship?”
Ding Ya blinked. Her round face was naturally cute, and the girlish-style wig only made her look more charming.
Her eyes held a hint of shyness and nervousness, completely indistinguishable from a genuine expression. “I like her.”
The owner was worldly-wise, having heard plenty of love-and-gossip stories within her circles. In all her years running this shop, she’d seen same-sex couples come for photo shoots before. She let out an “Oh.”
Most people carry a bit of a matchmaker’s nature, but she remained fairly rational and asked again, “Will that cause her any trouble? If it’s…”
Ding Ya said, “I’ll take responsibility.”
In these situations, most people are happy to see things work out. If this were a man-woman pair, the owner might have hesitated more, but she’d seen the two of them holding hands earlier and figured they were in some kind of ambiguous, budding stage.
She hadn’t expected Shu Chi to refuse so bluntly.
The owner stammered, totally at a loss for words.
Ding Ya cheerfully stepped closer. Her entire frame looked a full size smaller than Shu Chi’s.
The owner thought: The height difference must be over twenty centimeters…
Ding Ya said, “It’s a package deal, and I really want to take pictures. If it’s possible…”
She looked up at Shu Chi. Her eye shadow had been changed to a peach blossom pink, catching the bright yellow ceiling lights with a scattering of starlight. Shu Chi’s mind, however, settled.
She felt this person didn’t really resemble the one in her memories.
There must be plenty of people with similar voices, and the ages didn’t seem to match up either.
Shu Chi said, “You can just have them take solo shots of you.”
Her voice was incredibly bland. Back then, this person had refused to turn on her mic, even lying that she was mute… was it because her voice was too ordinary?
Ding Ya took another step forward, so close they were almost touching.
Shu Chi subconsciously stepped back.
Plenty of tourists were passing by the entrance. Their position faced the door directly, and every time Ding Ya stepped closer, Shu Chi retreated a step.
Yet these two outfits had an inexplicable color resonance in their designs. The dark, ink-black robe’s hem was traced with crimson hidden patterns, and Ding Ya’s pink gauze seemed to intertwine with it.
Ding Ya held a round silk fan, a red sand-dot adorning her brow that the owner had just painted on. “But you’ve already changed into your clothes. It’d be a shame not to take pictures.”
Shu Chi was about to say it wasn’t a shame at all when Ding Ya reached out and grasped her sleeve. “We aren’t strangers. Help me out? I’ve never been this lucky before.”
For a second meeting, Ding Ya’s behavior seemed overly enthusiastic.
Yet her appearance wasn’t off-putting. Even with her slight overstepping, it somehow made people look at her furrowed brows and tightly pursed lips and reflect inwardly, wondering if they were the ones in the wrong.
A tourist at the door asked, “Are they filming a short video or live-streaming in there? They’re quite good-looking.”
The owner thought to herself: This kind of pursuit method… impressive.
She immediately sent the photographer to get the equipment ready.
Unsurprisingly, after Ding Ya turned up the coquettishness, Shu Chi agreed.
Her expression, however, was terrible—like a bride being kidnapped by bandits.
As they headed outside and the staff scouted a location, Ding Ya stood next to Shu Chi and asked softly, “Are you mad?”
Shu Chi shook her head.
Ding Ya smiled and extended her hand toward her. “I still don’t know your name. Thank you for giving me the dog the day before yesterday, and thank you for sharing a table with my family today.”
Willow Garden’s paths were all cobblestone, with the restaurants on either side all built in an ancient style. Even the night’s neon lights weren’t overly modern. It was the weekend, and children were running ahead, carrying lanterns.
Ding Ya said, “My name is Ding Ya. I’m twenty-six this year. And you?”
Shu Chi asked instinctively, “Ya as in ‘tooth’?”
Ding Ya replied, “Ya as in ‘bean sprout’.”
A thunderous boom echoed inside Shu Chi. She felt something tear through her brain at high speed.
It was like a flock of crows passing over, their feathers scattering in disarray, enough to whip up earth-shattering waves in her heart, pinning her down in the dust of memory, coughing herself hoarse.
Shu Chi stood frozen on the spot for a long moment. Ding Ya wasn’t impatient; she just watched her with a smile.
Ding Ya had told Yang Jie she was off to take pictures. Her parents hadn’t been in any rush either, deciding to go watch a performance in the park first.
Shu Chi just stared at Ding Ya, dazed.
Ding Ya’s hand remained suspended in the air before she finally reached out to take Shu Chi’s hand.
Ding Ya asked, “And you?”
Shu Chi’s first reaction was: So small.
Her hand is so small, so soft. Shu Chi reflexively squeezed back.
The woman spoke. “Shu Chi.”
“My name is Shu Chi.”
Ding Ya leaned in closer. She seemed to really enjoy speaking close to people. “I didn’t catch that. What was it?”
She even stood on her tiptoes, but the height difference between her and Shu Chi was too great. Standing on tiptoe didn’t help.
Shu Chi lowered her head. “Shu, as in ‘comfortable’.”
Ding Ya curved her brows and eyes, a hint of teasing seeming to ripple within them. “Chi, as in ‘to arrive late’?”
Shu Chi’s heart leaped into her throat. She shook her head. “Chi… as in ‘pond’.”
Ding Ya let out an “Oh,” drawing out the sound into a long tail. “I knew it was you.”
Shu Chi met her eyes, stunned, and even stammered a little. “You… you recog-…”
Ding Ya’s laugh was light and airy. She rose on her tiptoes and then settled back down, like a mischievous girl. “I recognize you. I saw you on the tail end of yesterday’s trending searches, didn’t I?”
She revealed a sly smile. When she blinked, it was as if a stream of light swept across someone’s heart. “My friend really likes your business partner.”
Shu Chi’s heart sank again, an unprovoked sense of disappointment washing over her.
Her racing heart hadn’t yet calmed, but she didn’t know if she wanted confirmation or not.
If the person standing before her really was the one from the past… what would I do?
Shu Chi didn’t know either.
Up close, Ding Ya saw her own reflection in Shu Chi’s eyes and felt inexplicably cheerful.
Why does she look kind of dumb? All that height just gone to waste?
“Jing Yuqi… oh.”
Shu Chi repeated it dully, her expression returning to normal.
Ding Ya said, “Don’t just stand there. Let’s go shoot. They’re waiting for us up ahead.”
Shu Chi found herself being pulled into a run by Ding Ya. It took her a moment to realize—
Was running really necessary?
Willow Garden was so crowded. People in period costumes weren’t unusual, but running—that made them eye-catching. Tourists were even filming them.
Shu Chi had always been very self-aware about her own looks. Back in the day, if hiring models weren’t so expensive, she never would have done it herself.
Even with Jing Yuqi, an outwardly flirtatious person, they still couldn’t handle both shooting and retouching photos alone. Once business improved, they finally started hiring students as models.
Shu Chi also disliked being photographed, except for mandatory company events. Annual meetings, team-building exercises—those were unavoidable. But for all other group photos, Shu Chi avoided them if she could.
She wasn’t even willing to record daily, no-face vlogs when Jing Yuqi asked her to.
So, what am I doing right now?
Because this girl resembles her?
Because her name, like hers, also has the character “Ya”?
[Why are you called Shu Chi?]
[I’m so tired today. So much homework in the evening. Finals are coming up soon. Are you super busy with finals too?]
[It’s been two hours and you haven’t replied, so I’ll go back to my books first.]
[Damn it, wasn’t university supposed to be easier? Why are you still this busy every day? Do you have to take grad school entrance exams too?]
…
Shu Chi rarely had that feeling of “being missed by someone.”
She was the third daughter in her family. She always wore the clothes her older sisters had outgrown. Because her father worked away from home all year, the family left behind consisted mostly of women.
Her paternal grandmother favored boys over girls, doting immensely on the adopted younger brother.
She was very displeased about having so many daughters in the family—more mouths to feed—and especially impatient with Shu Chi, who had a big appetite during her growth spurt.
The old woman’s eyes were murky, her back hunched with age. Her calf still bore the after-effects of a tricycle accident where it had flipped over, leaving her with a permanent limp.
Even though Shu Chi grew to be a head taller than her grandmother, she remained terribly afraid of her.
Afraid she’d be drowned, becoming a mournful bubble on the lake’s surface, shoved down after the struggle, becoming vestiges among the waterweeds.
She did survive, albeit losing her voice.
Her mother had followed the doctor’s words, seeming to understand something, but said nothing more. She merely stroked Shu Chi’s hair and told her to go home and eat.
“Everything will be better from now on.”
That was what everyone said, and they naturally accepted that Shu Chi had become mute.
Always forgotten during games. Never getting a share of the New Year’s red envelopes. The new cotton jacket her father bought still went to the eldest sister.
The second sister wore what the eldest wore last year. Shu Chi wore what the second sister wore last year.
Year after year, being missed was a kind of discarded, recycled sentiment. Shu Chi had never felt she was planted in anyone’s heart.
Even though her mother had given birth to her, she wasn’t a treasure.
The treasure of the family had always been that adopted younger brother.
Yet there she was, inside a blocky cell phone, missed by someone separated from her by a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers.
It turned out that someone’s longing could truly be for “you,” not “you all.”
[Very busy today.]
[Sorry, I replied late.]
[Chose this name because I started school too late.]
Back then, Shu Chi was still out delivering takeout and hadn’t entered “that kind of relationship” with “Bean Sprout.”
Every day, Shu Chi had to go in and out of the university across from her shop countless times, watching her peers carry their books into the classrooms.
She, however, was already stuck at the edge of society, an outsider who had to support herself and still send blood-money back home.
It wasn’t that she’d started “school too late.”
She simply had no chance to attend.
If she didn’t work, she’d have to marry.
Shu Chi didn’t want that. She’d rather do hard labor.
Surprisingly, she didn’t feel it was hardship.
She lived in the janitor’s room of an internet cafe. Late at night, she’d harvest virtual crops online for that girl who cared about her.
The luxury cars in “Parking Wars” were many, their names often difficult to pronounce.
Bean Sprout had said: I want to ride in a car like that someday. Ah, but they’re so expensive. Several millions…
Shu Chi had thought then: What if?
If I work a little harder to earn money… could I let you ride in a car like that, bought by me?
Time passed, circumstances changed. Relationships that came out of nowhere could also break out of nowhere.
At first, Shu Chi thought Bean Sprout was just busy and hadn’t logged on. Later, she heard from people at the internet cafe about software called Rainbow QQ Status Viewer that could show if someone was invisible.
But Bean Sprout wasn’t invisible either.
Her icon was just… gray. She simply didn’t come online anymore.
The other person had arrived so abruptly, and departed just as abruptly.
Initially, Shu Chi couldn’t understand. Then she felt it was for the best.
I lied to her. One lie must forever be covered by countless more lies.
I can’t bear to lie to her again.
But if I don’t lie, I’m not worthy of her.
A girl cherished by her parents in a small town—even if her grades weren’t great, she still got to go to university. Not like me.
Junior high graduate, forever working odd jobs, barely able to save any money by the year’s end, still having to send subsidies home.
Shu Chi thought: I have nothing at all. I’m simply not worthy of being liked.
That meager bit of caring attention had already been an unexpected delight in her life, a windfall, an indescribable, priceless treasure.
“Alright, miss with the high ponytail, you can place your hand on your sister’s shoulder.”
“Or wrap your arm around her. Your clothes kind of look like a noble lady and a female knight-errant, haha. It’s a bit like…”
The photographer was also a cheerful woman, quite witty with her words.
Ding Ya chimed in, “It looks a lot like an elopement, right? How about the script where the rich young lady gets tricked and swept away by a wanderer of the jianghu?”
Her laughter was like silver bells, always drawing sidelong glances.
After the photos were taken, Shu Chi silently moved her hand away.
Her heart was trembling.
Ding Ya had no intention of quitting while she was ahead.
Elopement. Deception. All topics they’d mentioned in their chats long ago.
Back then, they were young, their online words random and unfiltered.
[Where’s your home? How about I elope with you?]
[Have you ever thought about marrying me?]
[Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll get mad.]
All bullshit.
But now, she wanted to burn this person just a little.
Ding Ya tugged Shu Chi’s sleeve and waved her phone.
“Hello, can I add you on WeChat?”
