Chapter 17: Dare Part 2

One of those voices was right in her ear, the loudest and brightest. It didn’t sound like it had spent time in Taiwan as a kid—instead, it was more like Harbin.

The guy downstairs yelling for “one more chance” had gone silent. Who knew if he’d get his happy ending tonight.

Cui Qijin slowly lowered the phone from her ear, letting her hand drop to her side. The screen glowed faintly white.

“Happy birthday to you~ Happy birthday, happy birthday~”

The three of them guarded the cake as they slowly came around the bar toward her. The shaking candlelight blurred the outlines of their young faces, the light casting a uniform glow. They looked like figures from an impressionist painting with a cohesive color palette—shadows soft and hazy, smiles full of joy.

Cui Qijin belatedly hung up the call.

“Happy birthday to you~”

The song seemed to be all about repetition. Their voices were unified and exuberant—

They were soon right in front of her. Ran Yan, clearly not practiced at this, grinned as she tried to put the birthday hat on her, only for it to slip right off and land at her feet.

That set Chi Buyu giggling uncontrollably, her eyes nearly disappearing into slits. Her mouth bubbled with laughter, but she kept doggedly singing “Happy birthday to you~” in her deflated little tune.

Suddenly, only Chi Buyu was still singing, so Chen Wenran hurriedly bent down to snatch up the hat. Humming along, she put it back on like a fussy old butler, adjusting it firmly before letting go with satisfaction.

“Happy birthday to you~”

The final line ended joyfully and in sync. The three flushed faces crowded in close. Chen Wenran let out a breath and pointed at Chi Buyu in the middle.

“It was Shuishui’s idea. She said it was the first time celebrating your birthday, so it had to have a surprise. She custom-ordered the cake—cute, right? And she picked it up today from that viral shop on Chunxi Road, almost late because of it.”

Cui Qijin had guessed as much. Who else was so obsessed with Loopy?

Ran Yan wasn’t happy with Chen Wenran dodging blame. “It was all three of us conspiring. No one’s off the hook.”

Then she explained to Cui Qijin, “We knew you don’t like surprises much, but we figured a cake wasn’t a big deal. Originally, we thought Chen Wenran could pick a fake fight with you and then reveal it, but Shuishui said that was too cliché and might make you mad. The phone call wasn’t too scary, was it?”

It really wasn’t a big surprise.

Cui Qijin gazed at the Loopy cake, the two candles melting slowly. Everything clicked into place—

So that was why Chen Wenran had insisted on hotpot at home? Why she’d been playing music on the Bluetooth speaker from the start, calling it Valentine’s romance? Why Ran Yan had joined in for once? Why Chi Buyu…

Had acted so strangely all afternoon, keeping her away from the bar and fridge, and accepted those punishments so readily just now?

They’d been setting this up all through Spring Festival, just to throw a birthday for a twenty-six-year-old adult.

The balcony door was half-open, and the wind was strong tonight.

Cui Qijin saw Chi Buyu in front of her pursing her lips slightly, shielding the flickering candles. Through the dark yellow flames, she looked at her cautiously, emphasizing a bit uncertainly,

“I saw you liked Loopy last time. I drew the design for this cake myself. Even if you think it’s ugly, don’t say it to my face.”

It wasn’t ugly at all.

They’d all studied art in high school, and after graduation, Chi Buyu had gone into fashion design, sketching heaps of designs. Drawing a plump, vivid Loopy? No way it could be ugly.

And…

“This shop does good work.”

After the whole repetitive birthday song, Cui Qijin finally spoke her first words. Seeing Chi Buyu pout defiantly, she asked casually,

“So all that Truth or Dare tonight was just buildup for this cake?”

“Hey, let me clarify—” Chen Wenran jumped in.

“That card wasn’t rigged—it was totally random. We figured we’d draw a few and find a way to bring out the cake. But that one was perfect for improvising. Shuishui’s sudden Balala move? Me and Ran Yan were in perfect sync, eyebrows nearly touching.”

So the “Balala Little Fairy” bit was pure improv.

“Okay, enough already.”

Probably because they’d brought up that embarrassing ex too many times tonight, Chi Buyu finally showed a hint of reluctance at the memory. She urged softly,

“Time to blow out the candles, or they’ll melt away.”

“We still have to blow them out?”

Cui Qijin wasn’t used to the ritual and shifted her feet.

“Yeah!” Chi Buyu blocked her tightly, eyes blinking rapidly. “How’s it a birthday if you don’t blow out candles, close your eyes, and make a wish?”

“It’s your twenty-sixth big one,” Chen Wenran added dramatically.

“Make one. It might come true,” Ran Yan chimed in.

Chi Buyu pulled a face at her. “Exactly.”

It didn’t seem like a bad idea to play along. Cui Qijin stopped shifting. Under their intent stares, she closed her eyes awkwardly.

Make a wish.

—A term utterly foreign to her.

She’d never believed birthday wishes came true, and she hardly ever celebrated. What was everyday for others left her strangely at a loss.

When the mind wanders in confusion, thoughts drift freely.

She easily recalled the last similar scene—three days after her eighteenth birthday.

She’d suddenly declared her stance on staying single forever.

Yu Chenxing had been much younger then, not yet covered in shiny piercings like now.

Fresh from school, she’d kicked off her shoes, glanced flatly at Cui He and Yu Hongdong, tossed her backpack in her room, then came out sucking on a lollipop. She plopped onto the sofa and fiddled with her phone, dangling with sparkly charms.

Cui He sat across from her, smiling steadily. After a moment, she pulled a handkerchief from the collar of her parka and rubbed her palms—her hands always sweated easily, a trait that never changed.

She’d been kind then, not asking why, just saying what she’d said many times before. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Cui Qijin.”

She covered Cui Qijin’s hand with hers. The sweat was sticky, and for a second, Cui Qijin thought she’d get a warm hug on the third day after her eighteenth birthday. But Cui He didn’t. She just gazed at her from across, as always, and said,

“Just one thing to watch out for.”

She paused, like she was leaving room for a question, then continued,

“You’re too eager for approval. It seems like you need others’ permission to feel motivated, but I’ve always thought you’re independent. We all need to make our own voices louder than others’, or we’ll always crave validation from them.”

Cui Qijin looked down, meeting Cui He’s eyes and words. “I shouldn’t be like that.”

Cui He smiled softly. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. You’re an adult now; you should judge for yourself. Do you think I’m right?”

Cui Qijin nodded. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Cui He patted her hand smilingly and pulled back, saying no more.

Yu Hongdong sat across too, one seat away from Cui He. He adjusted his glasses—the frames always seemed bent, though he never replaced them.

He stared at her calmly. His hand on the table was about a meter from Cui He’s, two meters from hers. That dining table at home was just enormous. He scuffed his slipper sole, took a sip of wine, and suddenly asked, “Cui Qijin, you turned eighteen this year, right?”

She said yes, a bit nervously.

He smiled. “You’re that old already? Then you can totally decide little things like this yourself.”

He checked his watch.

“I’ve got a flight to Shanghai tonight. If you want to talk more, WeChat me. I’m free this Sunday afternoon.”

Cui Qijin said, “Okay,” then watched calmly as they took the takeout cake from the doorway.

The cake was ringed with strawberries—very sour ones. Cui Qijin didn’t eat a single one. Pressed for time, they asked if they could skip the candle-blowing, and she kindly agreed it was fine.

So they cut the cake.

Cui He bundled up in that jacket that wasn’t nearly warm enough and started a video conference with her students to discuss their papers. Yu Hongdong headed out right on schedule for his daily routine—this time slot had a fitness class in Chengdu that he hadn’t finished yet.

Yu Chenxing, who had been sitting on the sofa for a while, snorted rudely at their backs. Then she bounded lightly over to the cake, scooped out a huge bite, and swallowed it down. Shrugging her shoulders, she said to Cui Qijin,

“Maybe one day I’ll have an episode and die out there somewhere, and you three will discuss my funeral in this perfect equilateral triangle formation.”

A triangle was the most stable shape.

What was wrong with that?

Cui Qijin couldn’t find a single flaw in the structure. In a way, she couldn’t argue with Yu Chenxing back then—because she herself might have thought the same.

She paused for a moment and realized she had mashed her piece of cake into mush. The cream was sticky and blended with the cake base, forming something like sludge.

That double-layered slice was missing two triangular chunks, yet it still looked perfectly intact.

She stared at it for a while, then tossed her spoon aside in irritation. “Eat the cake, Yu Chenxing.”

Yu Chenxing licked the cream off the tip of her nose and replied indifferently, “Okay, Cui Qijin.”

These three always called her by her full name and never pried into why. They were family, with a four-person WeChat group named after FamilyMart—the convenience store chain whose slogan was “FamilyMart is your home.” They were family: neat, complete, whole. Even now, Cui Qijin often reminded herself—

There’s nothing wrong with this, Cui Qijin.

“Cui Muhuo? Did you make your wish?”

The voice came suddenly by her ear—not loud, but carrying a sweet whiff of cream. In that moment, she wondered how a voice could have a smell.

The next second, the cloying cream scent drew even closer. Not strawberries—those sour strawberries she hated.

She cracked her eyes open slightly. The candle flames flickered.

Loopy’s pink face grinned idiotically, and Chi Buyu’s specially applied tipsy-blush makeup looked a bit foolish right then, her cheeks flushed bright red.

How did one celebrate a birthday with night blindness?

Was it while she gazed at her for no reason at all…

Chi Buyu could only make out the two candles clearly. She couldn’t tell if Cui Qijin’s expression was malicious or pitiable, couldn’t tell who she even was—and had no idea what lay behind the over eighty percent cloud cover that night.

But maybe not being able to see clearly was best for her. A Gloomy Day was never good weather, after all.

“Hm?” Not getting a response, Chi Buyu tilted her head.

“No.”

Cui Qijin closed her eyes again. This was her first birthday as an adult.

A triangle was the most stable shape.

She needed the most stable shape. She needed a structure no one could shatter—not even herself.

So she wished:

I hope tonight’s clouds never part, my triangle never collapses, and my world stays forever unchanged.

–

The Loopy cake wasn’t large—just six inches, perfect for one slice each.

After bickering over the perfectly even portions Cui Qijin had divided into quarters, Ran Yan and Chen Wenran changed clothes and prepared to head home. Chen Wenran’s sixth breakup odyssey had finally reached its end; Ran Yan had won her back, hand in hand, with a suitcase full of sweets.

Chi Buyu, quite satisfied with her performance all day—and probably feeling she deserved double rewards for her efforts—snuck a cup of Baileys mixed with oolong tea while no one was looking and sipped it furtively.

By the time they noticed,

she was curled up on the sofa, knees hugged to her chest, her face beet red. She sipped blissfully one mouthful after another, her twin buns still in place, grinning like a Lop-eared Rabbit showing its buck teeth in sneaky delight.

Chi Buyu seemed really happy tonight.

Happy? Cui Qijin thought so.