Chapter 17: Dare Part 3

Before leaving, Ran Yan wanted to take Chi Buyu home too. But Chen Wenran winked conspiratorially at Cui Qijin. “Let Cui Qijin take her—she lives close. We’re heading south; no more subway soon.”

They were the Drunk Ghost Couple; they never drove.

Cui Qijin met Chen Wenran’s gaze and suddenly remembered—the whole point of this birthday gathering had been to return Chi Buyu’s things, to draw a clear line with her.

But the surprise party had derailed that. Now Chen Wenran was reminding her.

She rubbed her brow and glanced at Chi Buyu, who was dozing crookedly on the sofa. She nodded in agreement.

Chi Buyu hadn’t drunk this time, so nothing else should go wrong. Cui Qijin could use her drunkenness to hand back the items directly, sparing them both awkwardness later.

It was 8:34 p.m.

Cui Qijin leaned lazily on the balcony railing, wind in her hair, watching Chen Wenran and Ran Yan let themselves out. She peered down from the balcony.

The complex had plenty of greenery. Chen Wenran pushed her suitcase along the flower beds. Passing a tree strung with lanterns, she suddenly plopped onto the suitcase, spun a circle, and waved exuberantly up at her, shouting, “Happy birthday, Cui Qijin!”

Ran Yan was a beat behind, towing her own suitcase. She looked up too, apparently unsure of the right window, and waved toward the neighbors before adding, “Happy birthday!”

The neighborhood probably had its share of idle busybodies, and Chengdu’s nature was to love a spectacle anyway.

After them, a few scattered unfamiliar voices chimed in from below, chattering and shouting in Chengdu dialect—

“Happy birthday, Cui Qijin, yo!”

It was as if the whole world was wishing her happy birthday. Twenty-six years old, 2024—she’d been an adult for eight years now, and birthdays no longer felt like big deals.

Yet suddenly someone had planned this elaborate surprise for her. Suddenly all these people were shouting happy birthday.

The voices blurred into the restless night and were soon drowned by the rush of traffic.

But Cui Qijin heard every word crystal clear.

Her hands braced on the railing, she hesitated before stretching out a bit farther. When a passerby looked up, she pulled back instinctively. Once they were gone, she extended her hand again and gave a faint wave to their retreating figures. Very softly, she murmured,

“I hope you two never break up again.”

That could count as her birthday wish too. The day wasn’t over yet. She could keep wishing. Whether they came true wasn’t her concern.

“Happy birthday.”

A faint murmur came from behind.

Cui Qijin turned, leaning back against the railing. There was Chi Buyu on the dark green leather sofa—

hugging her knees in a crooked slouch, or rather huddled at the edge. She clutched Chen Wenran’s birthday gift to Cui Qijin: an onion with green limbs, her slender wrist dangling from her sleeve to wrap around the Onion Hug Pillow’s limbs. She also gripped the Loopy cup by its handle—the one Cui Qijin had just refilled with honey water.

An odd pose altogether. Like an embrace. An embrace with a four-limbed onion.

She didn’t look like she’d just spoken, or perhaps Cui Qijin hadn’t either and had no idea what she’d said.

Cui Qijin watched her in the breeze for a moment, then pulled out her phone. WeChat had a message from Chen Wenran: safe on the subway, work handoffs, belated New Year’s wishes, approval from the Thai restaurant owner on her green plant selections…

The four-person group chat was silent. No word from Yu Chenxing; the latest message was still Yu Hongdong’s “Wishing you a bright future in your new year,” from Lunar New Year’s Day. They’d all sent birthday wishes by then.

They hadn’t forgotten. They remembered. Professor Cui and Professor Yu just worked efficiently—no need to repeat what was done.

“Happy birthday~~”

Another drunken mumble.

Cui Qijin had lost count of how many times that night. Why did some people repeat themselves when drunk? Maybe Chi Buyu just shouldn’t drink. Not even Baileys.

She thought about it without much emotion.

Glancing back, Chi Buyu had already shifted to the other side, fidgeting like a kid with ADHD.

Then, as if startled by her own unconscious words, Chi Buyu jolted awake. Her eyes bleary, she glanced around.

Spotting Cui Qijin, she lifted the Loopy cup for a sip of the sweet water, smacked her lips, tilted her head, and passed out again.

In that instant, Cui Qijin recalled an animated show—Fake Veteran and Windmill Car. Chi Buyu wasn’t quite Fake Veteran or Windmill Car. She was like a character who could slot right into it, or the whole show’s essence.

No telling when she’d wake.

Cui Qijin checked her phone.

There was also a new delivery notification. Sender: Lady Wang. Lady Wang sent a parcel every year around this time—sometimes an eye candy, sometimes a tooth candy, sometimes a mummy head, all sweets. From the first glimpse, Cui Qijin knew they were candy, and that’s when she knew Lady Wang was Yu Chenxing.

No idea what Lady Wang had sent this time.

She sighed.

Then came a lip-smack and the creak of leather. Looking up, Cui Qijin saw Chi Buyu rolling across the dark green leather sofa. The pink ceramic Loopy cup dangled precariously from her hand over the edge, about to fall.

Luckily, the sweet water inside was already gone.

Head aching, Cui Qijin walked over to the sofa and reached for the cup in Chi Buyu’s hand.

She grabbed it. But it wouldn’t come free.

Instead, Chi Buyu’s hand lifted with hers.

She gave it a little push. Chi Buyu’s hand rose even higher. If this were a comedy, she could probably use a single Loopy Cup to lead Chi Buyu around the entire Earth, only to wake up the next day in Africa watching elephants. If it were a romance, she’d crouch down carefully, pry Chi Buyu’s fingers apart, and then—bam—accident strikes. Chi Buyu would tumble right into her arms for an intimate collision. If it were an artsy drama, she’d gaze at Chi Buyu curled up on the sofa, light a cigarette, and stroke her cheek without a word, though an inner monologue would surely whisper what-ifs…

Reality had Cui Qijin standing there, frozen in hesitation.

Then, at some unknowable second, Chi Buyu suddenly let go. Her whole body pitched forward, her face hurtling toward the floor.

The accident unfolded in a flash.

Cui Qijin only saw the fuzzy nape of Chi Buyu’s neck dropping lower and lower. She thrust out her arm on instinct, her forearm slamming straight into Chi Buyu’s throat.

In that instant, her forearm barred Chi Buyu’s neck, elbow pressed to the side of it—a move that felt eerily familiar, like she’d just delivered an elbow strike.

Chi Buyu tilted her chin up slightly, her full weight leaning on Cui Qijin’s elbow. Even then, she didn’t wake, just nuzzled her chin sleepily against it.

Cui Qijin held steady for a few seconds.

She unclenched her fist—the one she’d instinctively balled up—held her cup in one hand, and used the back of her other forearm to prop up Chi Buyu’s chin in rigid support. Awkwardly, she guided her back to the edge of the sofa.

Chi Buyu went along with it perfectly, curling right back up without another fuss.

Cui Qijin withdrew her slightly numb forearm and let out a breath of relief. A parade of similar mishaps suddenly flooded her mind. She stared at Chi Buyu’s crooked sleeping posture and thought, oddly, that they were probably destined to star in a slapstick cartoon where rescues always looked like elbow strikes.

–

Chi Buyu jolted awake.

She clapped a hand over her mouth—no drool in sight. With a sigh, she let her hand drop and hugged the pillow in her lap more comfortably. Only then did she notice a faint soreness in her chin.

Looks like she’d been mouth-breathing in her sleep again.

Yawning, she glanced around. A single nightlight glowed dimly yellow in the room—not too dark. She could make out all the furniture clearly.

Tilting her head toward the sofa arm, she spotted the Brazilian Turtle in its glass tank, seemingly asleep too. Stretching quietly over the sofa back, she saw Cui Qijin—

Wearing a flower-gray sweater and black pants, legs tucked under her as she sat in the corner. Her long black hair was loosely piled up, showing just her profile from this angle. Her chin was lifted slightly, lips a healthy red—no more scabs.

In front of her sat a suitcase. One hand rested on her knee; the other held… what looked like a phone.

But it wasn’t on. Cui Qijin just stared at it blankly.

The light over there was too dim for Chi Buyu to make out details, but she could tell it was an old model—small screen, oval bezel, seriously dated.

She had no idea how long Cui Qijin had been sitting like that, cross-legged, staring at the phone. Right now, she looked deadly serious, like she was performing some solemn ritual.

Chi Buyu didn’t dare interrupt. She just watched quietly. Before long, she saw Cui Qijin slowly unzip the suitcase, tuck the phone inside, and yank the zipper shut. The suitcase itself was ancient too—some long-forgotten style, tiny thing with a three-digit combo lock. Cui Qijin fiddled with it absently.

Then, out of nowhere, Cui Qijin glanced back and spotted her. Chi Buyu’s hands were still draped over the sofa back, refusing to retreat. The alcohol hadn’t fully worn off; she felt woozy. She poked her chin against it.

“Whatcha pawing at?”

Cui Qijin didn’t seem startled. “You’re awake?”

Chi Buyu figured not quite. “Nah, not yet.”

Cui Qijin took that in stride.

With deliberate poise, she slid the suitcase into the corner, rose to her feet, brushed nonexistent dust from her clothes in elegant sweeps, and strolled to the coat rack. She snatched an outer coat and tossed it over Chi Buyu’s head.

“Then sleepwalk your way home with me.”

Truth was, Chi Buyu hadn’t slept long at all.

Cui Qijin bundled up in a black padded coat that draped to her calves. By the time they reached downstairs, it was only 9:23 p.m. This was the far end of Love Adrift Street; step out of the complex, and bam—a bustling night market. Not too late by any means. Food stalls everywhere hawked skewers, grilled rice, stir-fried noodles, baked sweet potato skins, starch sausages, Wang Niang Hot Braised Cao Duck Necks—the aromas wafting thick, folks clutching snacks all along the way. As long as it didn’t snow, Chengdu winters weren’t brutal, but the night breeze always carried a chill.

Cui Qijin dangled the paper bag she meant to return to Chi Buyu in one hand, the other jammed in her pocket for warmth. She ambled along at an easy pace until Chi Buyu piped up.

“What’s this?”

A gust blew through. Cui Qijin coughed lightly and extended the bag, ready to hand it off.

But a glance up showed Chi Buyu cradling her Loopy Cup with a grin. Inside sloshed the fresh coconut jelly boba milk tea they’d poured at Shuxia.

The staff had said no outside cups, so Chi Buyu ordered one just to dump it in—insistent on sipping from her Loopy. This woman really loved her Loopy.

“For me?”

Chi Buyu’s cheeks were still flushed. She clutched the Loopy Cup in both hands, her Barbie wrist bag dangling from one, and chewed a boba as she spoke. “Anything besides the cuppy?”

“Cuppy” wasn’t baby talk—just Chengdu’s fondness for reduplication.

“Not a gift.” Cui Qijin saw Chi Buyu had her hands full and pulled the bag back. “It’s yours anyway. I’ll give it to you when we get to your place.”

Chi Buyu chirped “Sure thing!” and dove back into her boba.

Cui Qijin pulled out her phone.

She checked the address Ran Yan had sent—the complex was just across the street, a ten-minute walk tops.

She glanced at Chi Buyu, who was squinting blissfully, cheeks puffed as she chomped boba. Those pearls seemed endless; Shuxia’s night-shift crew was ridiculously generous. Wonder if Cui Qijin would score the same next time.

Another look at the sky—still heavy with clouds.

“Whatcha looking at?”

Cui Qijin heard Chi Buyu sidle closer, dropping her voice in mischievous devil-whisper. A sidelong peek revealed a boba-fresh imp.