Chapter 14: “Colorful Leaf Taro”

Q: Do you know you’re the only one who calls her Cui Muhuo?

A: Well, do you know? You’re the only one who calls me Chi Buyu.

–

But Chi Buyu had always been overflowing with enthusiasm.

Just like that song “Good Luck Comes” playing in her earbuds, she always carried this fiery energy surging through her, whether good or bad. She seemed forever bursting with it.

Amid the sweltering heat wave ravaging Bangkok, Cui Qijin thought—

Someone like Chi Buyu probably never sent out mass New Year’s greetings.

Since they weren’t mass-sent, there was probably some need to reply. Cui Qijin absentmindedly chewed the last bite of her fried rice. She patiently waited for Zu Hai to finish the final line, “spreading good fortune across the four seas,” and in the lingering echoes of 2023, she typed back:

【Happy New Year, gorgeous.】

“Miss, your mango ice is ready!”

Just as she sent it, a restaurant staffer in a bright red uniform—a Chinese-looking woman—brought over a cup of golden mango ice with a thick Thai accent.

Cui Qijin politely pushed her fried rice aside to make room. She let the server set down the shaved ice and said warmly, “Thank you.”

The Chinese staffer waved it off with a grin, mangling her words in “Not at all~ Happy New Year~.” Before leaving, she flashed an even wider smile. “Miss, you look like you’re in a much better mood now, huh~?”

In a much better mood now… huh?

Cui Qijin didn’t agree with that assessment—it felt too subjective.

She took a sip of the mango ice, so cold it chilled her throat. Her doctor had told her since she was little never to touch iced drinks. But this was Thailand, and none of her doctors were Thai.

The juicy mango had been mashed into chunks, blended with shaved ice, and topped with sticky rice and coconut milk—full sugar, full ice. It tasted just right going down.

Indulging like this felt refreshingly novel.

Her phone buzzed, temporarily set aside. Through the sweet, refreshing mango ice, she saw her sent message 【Happy New Year gorgeous】, followed by an exclamation point in the chat bubble and a “typing…” indicator that had lingered for a dozen seconds.

Chi Buyu was probably over there scratching her head in bewilderment, wondering if Cui Qijin had taken the wrong medicine.

The thought made her chuckle. Glancing over, her eyes caught Zu Hai’s profile picture on the music-sharing link.

Condensation beaded thickly on the mango ice cup.

Her finger tapped it, picking up some moisture, then she tapped away on the screen to add:

【The gorgeous I meant was Zu Hai.】

The “typing…” on the other end froze instantly. First came a “QQ penguin punching” emoji, then two seconds later:

【Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!】

Cui Qijin tilted her chin up slightly, slurping her mango ice through the straw as she typed: 【Didn’t the gorgeous one sing it for me?】

It was the evening of Lunar New Year’s Day, and Chi Buyu had nothing better to do. She fired back right away:

【Can’t the one sending blessings be gorgeous too?】

【Playing favorites】

【Black cat side-eye.jpg】

Cui Qijin laughed out loud: 【Your blessing was too loud】

Chi Buyu shot back fast: 【Perfect for listening in Thailand】

【How’d you know I’m in Thailand?】

【Chen Wenran told me.】

【Did she and Ran Yan finally make up?】

【No idea.】

【Feels like it, anyway. Those two don’t make much difference whether they’re on good terms or not.】

【So you’re spending New Year alone in Bangkok, huh?】

Cui Qijin figured Chi Buyu’s next line would be some consoling words, like that Chinese staffer who assumed she must be down because she was spending New Year alone in Thailand. In truth, she hated talking about that stuff with people—

The concern, the gentle words, the heart-to-hearts. What counted as deep bonding for others felt like allergens to her, quick to trigger a reaction.

She meant to cut it off, but Chi Buyu blurted out bluntly instead:

【Aww~ poor~ thing~】

…That was classic Chi Buyu—mischievous even across the screens and the borders of Myanmar and Laos.

Cui Qijin’s mango ice had melted into a sticky slush.

She was just about to type something back, to make it seem like she hadn’t lost this little game or come off as childish as Chi Buyu—

Before she could decide, another voice message popped up from Chi Buyu.

The background noise was chaotic and lively: a deep male voice calling out during mahjong, “One bamboo? Pong!”; a woman’s voice in slippers yelling, “Shuishui’er, want some Ehime oranges? I cut ’em up!”; a kid screeching and crying, “Auntie Shuishui, I wanna go light fireworks!”

Family bliss all around, everyone needing Shuishui. And amid it, Shuishui’s voice came through muffled as she said to Cui Qijin,

“Okay, see you on the fifth, Cui Muhuo. Um… I won’t say happy birthday early, since birthdays only count if you say it on the day—”

The message cut off right at the tail end. Then a new one jumped in:

“I’m so annoyed, my niece keeps begging me to go light fireworks with her. Gotta go. Oh, I did say happy New Year, right? Whatever, one more time…”

“Happy New Year, Cui Muhuo~”

Chi Buyu really did have a terrible memory. Halfway through, she even forgot they were chatting because of that noisy New Year’s blessing.

When the voice message ended,

Zu Hai’s “Good Luck Comes” looped back to the start. Only then did Cui Qijin realize she hadn’t paused the music or taken off her earbuds.

So she replied with a simple “Okay,” paused for two seconds, glanced at the festive red glow outside the window, and sent:

【Happy New Year】

Her mango ice wasn’t finished yet.

Bored, she propped her chin on her hand and scrolled up through the chat. She spotted 【Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!】 Chi Buyu had said that plenty of times, she recalled.

A quick search through their chat history turned up a solid 303 instances. They’d known each other for eleven years, adding each other on WeChat back in university.

Over eight years, thanks to Ran Yan and Chen Wenran, high school classmates, Yu Chenxing, university clubs, electives, dorm life, graduation, and even sporadic stuff four years post-grad…

They’d bickered endlessly, dramatically declaring “it’s her or me” to outsiders more than once, half-serious, half-joking.

Like the 2016 College Entrance Exam. The night after the first day, Cui Qijin couldn’t find her admission ticket. Chi Buyu happened to be in the same testing center and had accidentally picked it up into her own bag.

That evening, she dashed a whole street over, sweating buckets, to deliver it. Cui Qijin clutched the soft pouch with her admission ticket and launched into a tirade right off the bat—

Chi Buyu, have you watched too many teen movies? I could’ve called the exam center, or my homeroom teacher, or figured something else out. You could’ve just told me the next day. Worst case, call me and I’d pick it up. Did you really need to rush like that before the exam? What if…

She couldn’t finish that “what if.”

Because Chi Buyu’s face was flushed red from the summer heat, her eyes rimmed red with anger.

Choking back tears, she said—

I was just scared you’d worry too much and not sleep! Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!

Later, seeing that battered admission ticket again, Cui Qijin could piece together Chi Buyu’s thought process.

Their homeroom teacher had warned them endlessly about “last year’s senior who lost her ticket and missed the deadline to replace it,” true or not.

And back then,

Chi Buyu was only seventeen—fiery and impulsive. Just seeing Cui Qijin’s admission ticket in her bag had probably scared her out of her wits. No way she could think straight.

Cui Qijin might’ve come up with saner options in the moment. But not for Chi Buyu—that’s why she ran straight over.

“Calmness” wasn’t every teenager’s strong suit. Cui Qijin just lacked empathy by nature.

What she should be grateful for…

Was how Chi Buyu’s emotions flared hot and faded fast; how she wasn’t that important to Chi Buyu; how Chi Buyu hadn’t let Cui Qijin’s ingratitude throw off her exam.

Otherwise, she’d owe her even more.

–

On the second day of the New Year, Cui Qijin had already bought her tropical plants and shipped them back home. Before heading to the airport, she passed the Chatuchak local flower market and spotted a colorful leaf taro thriving beautifully.

Its leaves were healthy, a vibrant green veined with pink.

The vendor’s sales pitch was top-notch—even pulling up a translation app to tell her in Chinese that the colorful leaf taro was an especially upbeat, positive plant, its colors so vivid. Didn’t it remind her of someone?

She shook her head. No.

She was flying back tomorrow. Buying plants here to ship home meant quarantine certificates and express shipping. If she got this one, she’d have to delay a day—but her return flight was booked. No way she’d change it for a pretty plant.

The fee didn’t matter.

What mattered was throwing off her schedule and her work plans afterward.

She wandered the market for over ten minutes after that, eyeing monsteras, begonias, orange-stemmed vines, green velvet—all sorts, but nothing special.

They all made her think of that stunning colorful leaf taro, of Chi Buyu’s face flushed red and slick with sweat from the heat during the 2016 College Entrance Exam, her reddened eyes; of Chi Buyu’s red birthmark on her ribs that snowy night in Chengdu; of the festive red glow outside the Cantonese restaurant behind Chi Buyu’s rowdy New Year’s blessing on the first…

She shut her eyes against the irritation, but fireworks still cracked in her mind’s eye. With a sigh of defeat, she doubled back and told the vendor,

“I’ll take that colorful leaf taro from before.”

The colorful leaf taro was the world’s most refreshingly unique plant. Every one grew differently—patterns, veins, colors, leaf sizes…

Each one felt like it had its own vibrant, one-of-a-kind life. Swap it for another, even slightly off, and it wouldn’t be the exact one that caught her eye.

She craved the unique, yet loved the unchanging. The two desires clashed sometimes. She was contradictory. She knew it.

The next day, she got the quarantine certificate for that rare find and shipped it home with the paperwork. Filling in the address—Love Adrift Street—she thought of how gifts often came with notes. She added a plain “Happy New Year.” Then she froze, realizing she’d absentmindedly tacked on three more words—

Gorgeous.

–

The fifth day of the New Year.

Chen Wenran was back from Chongqing. She gawked at the hand-painted coffee cup Cui Qijin brought back. “When did you start bringing souvenirs from trips?”

She patted Cui Qijin’s shoulder gleefully. “Don’t worry! I’ll handle everything around your twenty-sixth birthday—no need for you to lift a finger!”

Cui Qijin shot back without missing a beat, “Even without the coffee cup, that’s your job anyway.”

After all, Chen Wenran had insisted on hot pot at Cui Qijin’s place, saying the New Year month was cozier at home—eating out just wasn’t as fun.

Of course, Cui Qijin only agreed on the condition that the hotpot be confined to Chen Wenran’s half of the space. And afterward, Chen Wenran had to restore everything to its original state—or else Cui Qijin would never welcome her through the door again.

Chen Wenran nodded her head vigorously, like she was pounding garlic.

That very day, Cui Qijin trimmed her plants on the balcony with serene focus. She watched impassively as Chen Wenran, clad in her StellaLou nightgown, and Ran Yan, wrapped in a Lina Bell sleeprobe, bustled in and out of her living space.

Ran Yan had rushed straight from her family home in Meishan after the New Year. Her suitcase was stuffed to the brim with treats for Chen Wenran: Frozen Baba, Longan Pastry, Popcorn Candy, Sesame Cake, Baba Citrus, and even some carefully packaged Valentine’s Day gifts.

As for Cui Qijin’s birthday present…

Ran Yan had tactfully asked for the address ahead of time and ordered it online for direct delivery.

It seemed lovers always craved that special treatment. After the New Year, with nearly a month apart under their belts—fueled by a bowl of luosifen and a breakup postmortem that had gone south—their argument had fizzled out completely.

Chen Wenran had spent the entire afternoon waiting eagerly for Ran Yan to arrive. Now that she was here, bearing a whole box of sweet local specialties just for her, any lingering resentment melted away.

Freshly reconciled couples were practically glued at the hip, loath to spend even a moment apart. Inevitably, Cui Qijin overheard a few saccharine endearments and wished she could poke her eardrums until they burst.

“What about Shuishui? When’s she coming?” Chen Wenran finally asked during a lull.

Cui Qijin paused in trimming the dead fronds from her new Parlor Palm. Perhaps the lovebirds in their Lina Bell and StellaLou robes were just too blinding; hearing Chi Buyu’s name actually sounded pleasant by comparison.

“She just finished moving a couple of days ago.”

“It’s only a street away from here. If she’s already on her way, she should be here any minute.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the doorbell rang.

Cui Qijin instinctively set down her shears. She heard Chen Wenran shout, “I’ll get it!”

Then she turned back quite naturally, picking up the shears again and pointedly ignoring the commotion at the entryway.

Patter-patter went Chen Wenran’s footsteps. For some inexplicable reason, Cui Qijin’s throat felt scratchy, and she cleared it softly.

A clatter as the door swung open. Cui Qijin realized she wasn’t standing quite straight and straightened her spine.

“Wow!” came Chen Wenran’s gasp of delight.

Cui Qijin tucked in her chin slightly and turned around—

Only to see a delivery rider from Ele.me standing at the door, cradling a vibrant bouquet of red roses. He grinned broadly with perfect white teeth. “Excuse me, which one of you is Ms. Chen?”

Ms. Chen bounded forward with unrestrained glee.

Cui Qijin’s face remained utterly blank as she turned back around.

Impatiently, her shears prodded at the Parlor Palm. Behind her, the lively banter flowed back and forth—

Chen Wenran said coyly, “You got me flowers too?”

“Of course,” Ran Yan replied. “It’s Valentine’s Day! If I didn’t send flowers, you’d just complain I lack romance again…”

Cui Qijin thought to herself that having a birthday on Valentine’s Day was clearly a poor choice. What had she been thinking, agreeing to celebrate with a couple?

In the end, she decided to tune it all out. She poured her full attention into the Parlor Palm.

Some time later—

The evening sun cast a hazy glow, while the road outside the complex buzzed with traffic. Footsteps approached faintly from behind her, followed by the sound of the door opening once more.

Cui Qijin was still focused downward, snipping at the branches, when she heard Ran Yan let out a drawn-out “Whoa…” full of meaning. Chen Wenran must have prepared a Valentine’s bouquet for her too.

Disinterested, Cui Qijin clamped the shears tighter around a dead leaf. Before she could snip it off, Chen Wenran paused for a few seconds and then echoed with exaggerated awe, “Whoa!”

Were the two of them stirring up trouble again?

Holding her shears, Cui Qijin glanced up instinctively. Sunlight spilled onto her eyelids just then, blurring her vision—

A few seconds later, her gaze locked onto a pair of stunning eyes, liquid honey in their glossy depth. As they met hers, those beautiful eyes blinked shyly, then veiled themselves behind long, thick, lustrous lashes.

Snip—the shears severed the dead leaf. Beside her, Cui Qijin heard Chen Wenran cry out in self-conscious envy.

“Shuishui, you look stunningly dressed up today!”