Q: Why the grand entrance? Because of Cui Muhuo?
A: It’s not grand at all—this is just my usual routine when I head out. Really, I swear.
–
Chi Buyu’s irises were darker and brighter than those of most adults. She took great pride in her natural eyes, convinced that no colored contacts could outshine her own bare ones.
But today, she wore a pair of light coffee-brown colored contacts that made her eyes look even more dewy, perfectly matching her overall outfit.
Chi Buyu was always fiddling with her hair—double ponytails, a bun, double buns, an updo, double braids, half-up high ponytail, you name it. Yet no matter the style, her hair always looked fantastic: sleek, glossy, and full of shine.
Today, she had gone with double ponytails. Her bangs were parted slightly in the middle, softly framing her plump forehead, while the ends curled into gentle waves. Two silk beige ribbons were tied behind her ears, resembling bows but not quite—like floppy lop-eared rabbit ears, all in all, intricate and adorable.
Chi Buyu rarely went out bare-faced. Back in high school, when Cui Qijin showed up every day with a plain face and thick black-rimmed glasses, Chi Buyu would slather on shiny lip gloss, making her mouth look like it had just feasted on a juicy red loquat. In college, while others stumbled into their 8 a.m. classes at the last second, looking disheveled with greasy hair and clutching buns or dumplings, Chi Buyu would wake up an hour early to wash her face and hair. She’d rather go hungry and arrive ten minutes late than skip a full face of makeup. Then she’d strut in with her chin held high, stunning everyone—not out of arrogance, but sheer exhaustion. Mornings always left her puffy; if she didn’t hold her chin just so, she’d sport a double chin.
Today, she seemed to have tweaked her slightly drooping eye corners. Brown eyeliner winged upward, elongating her eye shape, paired with distinct, layered lashes. When she glanced up at someone, it was as if diluted liquid jelly was oozing from within.
Chi Buyu believed outfits demanded perfection in every detail, with standout highlights. That was why, during military training, she insisted on wearing a pair of notoriously tricky apple-green Converse shoes under her uniform. Today, she sported a low-saturation gray-white wool-blend blazer and wrapped herself in a fluffy mauve scarf.
“I didn’t keep anyone waiting, did I?”
Chi Buyu glanced at Cui Qijin, then awkwardly looked down, smoothing her wavy bangs and tugging at her clothes. She ignored Chen Wenran’s silly remark.
Cui Qijin slowly withdrew her gaze. She picked up the scissors and snipped toward another dead leaf on the parlor palm with a crisp click.
“No.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the plant.
Unfazed, she listened as Chi Buyu chirped, “Oh, good then,” and as Chen Wenran cheerfully ushered her inside.
Amid the rustle of footsteps, she overheard Ran Yan asking Chi Buyu how her New Year had gone and if she’d tidied up at home.
She heard Chi Buyu take the water cup Chen Wenran offered and exclaim in delight, “This coffee mug is so cute! And there’s even a Loopy on it!”
“I knew you’d love it,” Chen Wenran said.
Cui Qijin’s movements paused.
With utmost casualness, she glanced over. There they were, the three of them huddled at the wooden bar counter in the living room: one with a Lina Bell pattern, another in StellaLou sleepwear, and the third… a lop-eared rabbit.
Their three heads clustered together.
They reminded Cui Qijin of a sneaky little gang from an old cartoon she’d watched, bumping heads to plot mischief—almost comical.
For a split second, it even seemed like one head might lift and turn her way.
But that was probably just her imagination. She quickly pulled her gaze back, straightened her spine a touch, and cleared her throat.
A car horn blared from outside the complex. She heard Chen Wenran continue,
“This is a souvenir Cui Qijin brought back from Bangkok for us. One for each of us three—this one’s yours. I just rinsed it; you can use it right now.”
“Cui Muhuo?” Chi Buyu’s voice came, soft and moist, laced with surprise.
Cui Qijin gave a faint “Mm.”
Nonchalantly, she swept away the trimmed dead leaves, tidied up, and set down the scissors. Only then did she look over at Chi Buyu.
“I spotted them at the airport. Buying three got us a discount, and I had some Thai baht left over, so I grabbed them on impulse.”
Chen Wenran let out a “Whoa,” and teased, “Oh, so it was just a bulk discount buy for us, huh.”
Ran Yan chimed in, “Be grateful you got one at all—quit nitpicking.”
Chi Buyu cradled her Loopy coffee mug and tilted her head at Cui Qijin, her ponytail ends bouncing. “So you didn’t get one for yourself?”
Cui Qijin stepped in from the balcony, eyed the ceramic coffee mugs in their hands, and withdrew her gaze with mild disdain.
“They’re ugly.”
She drank water from a silver insulated tumbler with a lid, coffee from a dark green enamel mug, and medicine from a blue glass one.
One more tacky hand-painted coffee mug would leave her stumped, unsure where it fit.
She insisted everything in her life have a category, a defined place—and she handled them strictly accordingly.
“She’s just super sentimental about her stuff,” Chen Wenran said bluntly, throwing her under the bus.
“She’ll never replace anything until it’s totally broken. And even then, unless something unexpected happens, she’ll buy an exact duplicate.”
Cui Qijin shot her a look but didn’t deny it. Chen Wenran shrugged.
“Enough about our Big Birthday Star.”
Ran Yan told Chen Wenran, “Wasn’t it your job to handle the kitchen today? Come on, let’s not stand around shooting the breeze and leave the birthday girl hungry.”
After assigning tasks to Chen Wenran and herself, Ran Yan turned to Chi Buyu. “Shuishui, why don’t you keep the Big Birthday Star company for a bit?”
Chi Buyu flicked a glance at Cui Qijin, met Ran Yan’s eyes, and nodded with exaggerated caution. “Sure!”
They looked like two cartoon spies making contact. And Chi Buyu was probably the least spy-like of the bunch.
The odd comparison made Cui Qijin’s eye corner twitch. Then Ran Yan dragged Chen Wenran into the kitchen.
And Chi Buyu really committed to her “keep the birthday star company” mission, just as instructed—watching her every moment, as if terrified she’d be left alone.
Cui Qijin sat on the sofa, and Chi Buyu swung her ponytail.
Cui Qijin flipped a magazine page, and Chi Buyu craned her neck.
Cui Qijin set the magazine down, and Chi Buyu handed her a new one.
Finally, the Birthday Star herself sighed, eyeing the rather silly Loopy coffee mug in Chi Buyu’s hands.
She looked up, meeting her gaze inescapably. Clearing her throat, she said,
“Want more water? I can pour you some.”
Chi Buyu lifted her Loopy mug and took a sip. “No need, I’ve got plenty here.”
Cui Qijin nodded.
Then she noticed the lipstick smudge on the rim. She grabbed a few tissues from the coffee table and started toward the bar counter.
She’d only taken a step.
Chi Buyu, perched at the bar, shot to her feet like she was facing a dire threat, setting down her mug.
“What are you doing?!”
Her shout startled Chen Wenran and Ran Yan, who poked their heads out from the kitchen.
Cui Qijin halted, glanced toward the kitchen, and the pair ducked back in.
She turned her gaze back.
First came the sweet scent of Berlin Girl perfume tickling her nose, then a pair of clear, translucent eyes.
Her eyes drifted lower to lips like pale berries—soft, moist.
Cui Qijin averted her gaze.
She took two steps back and subtly extended the tissues. “Your lipstick’s on the rim.”
Chi Buyu blinked, her pupils swirling like rich latte as it bloomed.
She lifted her chin with an “Oh,” took the tissues, and sat back down obediently to wipe the mug—unfazed by the lipstick mishap.
Suddenly, Cui Qijin remembered the fire crystal persimmons in the fridge. Maybe that could redirect Chi Buyu’s overzealous attention.
“Want a fire crystal persimmon?”
She asked offhandedly, already heading for the fridge. She’d barely moved when Chi Buyu yelled tensely from behind.
“Cui Muhuo!”
Cui Qijin froze at the shout, startled, and turned back with lingering unease. “What’s wrong?”
“I…”
Chi Buyu stared at her, stammering a dry “I” for ages before blurting, “I got you a birthday gift.”
Then, even more awkwardly, she stepped up and said,
“Wanna take a look?”
“You got me a birthday gift?”
Cui Qijin asked suspiciously. When? She didn’t remember Chi Buyu bringing anything in.
“Of course I did.”
Chi Buyu headed to the bar counter as she spoke.
She bent down, squatted, and rummaged for a while, her twin ponytails swaying. In a secretive whisper,
“Don’t come over—I’ll bring it to you.”
Cui Qijin halted her approach.
She watched Chi Buyu pull out a garish hand-painted gift bag.
Chi Buyu shuffled back to her.
Without giving her a chance to peek at the counter, her eyes locked on straight ahead.
“See if you like it?”
Cui Qijin eyed the gift bag.
It hit her that she had a white camisole to return to Chi Buyu, packed in a similar paper bag.
Maybe now was the perfect moment.
—So Cui Qijin thought impassively, then took the bag from Chi Buyu’s hands.
It was emblazoned with huge, gaudy “Happy Birthday” letters in wild colors, surrounded by hearts and stars.
Chi Buyu loved that kind of flashy stuff.
“You didn’t get me something tacky, did you?”
Cui Qijin asked idly.
She tugged at the stapled edge of the bag but couldn’t rip it open. Chi Buyu leaned in close to her ear, her voice bubbly like a goldfish blowing bubbles.
“Pull harder—it’ll rip right open.”
Cui Qijin glanced at Chi Buyu’s dangling, slender lashes and said, “I know.” But she still didn’t use much force.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Aw—”
Chi Buyu said, “Cui Muhuo, you’ve got such tiny strength.”
Then she couldn’t resist taking over.
She snatched the bag, yanked it open with force, and handed it back like a cat elegantly extending its paw.
“Can’t even tear a paper bag.”
Cui Qijin found her amusing and took the now-tattered bag.
The flashy “Happy Birthday” had been mercilessly shredded and crumpled into a battered, bruised mess.
Inside was a soft, thick velvet scarf in berry red. She gave it a squeeze—the material felt nice.
She slipped it back into the ruined bag, opened her mouth, and murmured, “Thanks.”
She started toward the bedroom but pivoted only slightly before being yanked back. Out of respect for the birthday gift, she held onto her utmost patience and asked, “Now what?”
Chi Buyu clutched her sleeve tightly and mumbled vaguely, “Aren’t you gonna try it on?”
“What’s there to try on?” Cui Qijin thought she was being ridiculous.
“How could it not be?”
Chi Buyu pulled the scarf out of the paper bag on her own, holding it up and blinking at her.
“Lower your head a bit. Let me see if this color suits you.”
The scarf was already in Chi Buyu’s hands.
Cui Qijin stared at the fingers gripping her sleeve. The nail polish from last time had been removed, leaving clean, pale half-moons.
She looked up again, and Chi Buyu’s eyes fixed on her intently. Her gaze clung like some thick, sticky syrup.
Then Cui Qijin glanced at the tattered paper bag in her own hand, its hand-drawn “Happy Birthday” still as garishly colorful as ever.
She gave in reluctantly.
“Fine, then. I’ll do it myself.”
Chi Buyu let out a breath of relief and handed the scarf back to her.
Cui Qijin’s mind wasn’t on trying the scarf at all. She was only thinking about the things in the bedroom, about the main purpose of hosting this birthday gathering today. She draped it loosely around her neck twice for show and asked, “Good enough?”
“It looks pretty good,” Chi Buyu said. “But you could add another loop.”
Cui Qijin added another loop. “How’s that?”
Chi Buyu rubbed her chin and gestured with her hands. “Like this—loop it around and tie a knot?”
Cui Qijin thought she was being fussy but humored her anyway. She tried it, but it didn’t work. The scarf ended up a tangled mess, with one end too short.
Chi Buyu wasn’t satisfied. “It should be like this—”
As she spoke, the scarf around Cui Qijin’s neck was suddenly tugged by a firm pull. Cui Qijin didn’t react in time.
She looked down abruptly and met Chi Buyu’s eyes.
In that instant, it was as if something sparked and crackled to life. Cui Qijin parted her lips, feeling the heat rush toward her mouth—where there had once been a scabbed bite mark left by someone.
Before she could speak.
The one who had bitten her seemed to realize something was off too. She froze abruptly, let go, and stammered, “I just… wanted to show you how.”
The scarf wrapped around her throat felt a little itchy.
Cui Qijin turned her neck slightly and let out a toneless “Oh.” For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
It was as if the scarf between them had wound around their noses and mouths—whoever spoke first would be bound tighter, unable to breathe.
From this angle, the tiny fibers on the scarf loomed large, blurring into a haze. Through them, Cui Qijin could even see Chi Buyu’s eyelashes. It was as if Chi Buyu’s fine lashes were trembling, or perhaps the soft fibers were swaying with each breath.
Cui Qijin should have said there was no need for a demonstration, but instead, she blurted out, “Aren’t you going to demonstrate?”
“Huh?”
Chi Buyu looked as if she hadn’t expected that at all.
It took her a good while to react. She glanced at Cui Qijin, then quickly lowered her eyes, smoothing the slightly curly fringe on her forehead. In a small voice, she said, “I am.”
She leaned in closer, head down as if afraid to meet her gaze. She gently tugged the ends of the scarf, looping it around once, then hazily looping it back.
She didn’t dare pull too hard, as if afraid of choking her. Or maybe she had suddenly forgotten how to tie the knot.
The single scarf was fussed over back and forth.
It stayed draped around Cui Qijin’s neck the whole time. She could feel how this touch differed from when she tied it herself—
The fibers brushed lightly over her skin, like dandelion seeds seeping into the crevices of her bones, endlessly scattering.
She had to tilt her head back slightly, creating some distance.
But the soft fibers hugged tight at her neck, even a little itchy. The Berlin Girl fragrance that wasn’t hers swirled around her nose, sweet to the point of cloying.
Why was Chi Buyu taking so long? How could tying a scarf knot be this slow?
Cui Qijin wondered, distracted.
Then she noticed the ribbon bows on Chi Buyu’s twin tails and thought that those knots were probably far more intricate than any scarf tie.
“Done.”
As her mind wandered, Chi Buyu’s voice came again.
The pull at her neck eased.
Chi Buyu slowly released her hands, and the dandelion seeds in her bones finally took flight.
Cui Qijin felt a touch unaccustomed to it. She looked down—it was just a plain Four-Hand Knot. So why did it feel like it had taken forever, like something so complex?
Chi Buyu was thorough about it.
She circled in front of Cui Qijin, looking left and right. “How’s that? Doesn’t it look better this way?”
Cui Qijin replied unhurriedly, “It’s fine.”
“You say ‘fine,’ which means it looks great.”
Where had she gotten that logic?
Cui Qijin looked at Chi Buyu wordlessly. Chi Buyu grinned until her eyes curved into upside-down crescents, looking a bit silly.
Cui Qijin wasn’t used to wearing a scarf tied by someone else. She shifted her neck and stressed deliberately, “Fine is just fine.”
With that, she glanced at the two in the kitchen already playing music and prepping ingredients. Then she looked back at Chi Buyu, remembering what she had been about to do. She cleared her throat.
“You sit here for a bit—”
She started toward the bedroom.
In a flash, her eyes caught the fridge in the hallway. Then she saw Chi Buyu’s eyes widen suddenly. She hadn’t figured out why Chi Buyu was so panicked when the scarf at her neck was yanked taut.
Her whole body twisted rigidly back, her head dipping from the force.
For a moment.
She and the lip-biting, slightly panicked Chi Buyu stared at each other, their foreheads no more than two inches apart.
The overhead light shone straight down like a spotlight on a stage. Cui Qijin finally registered Chi Buyu’s odd behavior and parted her lips. “Are you—”
She got out four words when the song in the kitchen changed, the melody carrying a familiar tune.
At the same time, Ran Yan opened the door and stepped out. The female singer began crooning, “Ask me how many seconds I can go without breathing.”
Memories surged in an instant.
She and Chi Buyu whipped their heads toward the sound together, that two-inch gap between their foreheads vanishing in the strangest way. Through the soft stray hairs, smooth skin pressed close, the increasingly heady Berlin Girl scent, a nose accidentally brushing her ear…
In the chaos, she was rigidly held by the scarf tug and parted her lips.
Ran Yan came out humming, carrying a plate of Thousand Layer Tripe. She saw this bizarre scene and hesitated, retreating to the kitchen. Then she opened the door again and let out another surprised yelp.
“You two… are you fighting or…?”
About to kiss for the fourth time? Ran Yan still didn’t say it outright.
So they pressed foreheads together and turned to look at her simultaneously.
Chi Buyu’s whole face was red as a Fire Crystal Persimmon.
Cui Qijin’s face was squished against one, her expression cool as she said, “Change the song.”
