Chi Buyu pouted, wanting to say more.
Just then, the driver yelled from the front, “Are you getting off or not?!”
She could only mutter, “Fine.”
Still woozy, she clutched her empty Loopy Cup, the paper bag, and the Barbie Wrist Bag on her wrist. She gripped the handrail and shuffled toward the exit. That nagging thought swayed along with her, refusing to leave her mind—
It was so hard to imagine what kind of person Cui Qijin would even like. Would they be as smart as Cui Qijin? As independent? As proud? Setting ground rules right from the start? The two of them pinching pennies on meals and sleep schedules all day? During arguments, whipping up PowerPoint decks to outline each other’s faults? Neither backing down, yet somehow managing to live together even in the heat of anger?
Wait, no one even knew when Cui Qijin had dated. Maybe back in school, before PowerPoints were a thing. High school? College? Same major? Or from another university? Arts? Engineering? Liberal arts? Sciences? Or after graduation? Coworker? Client? Neighbor? But why didn’t even Chen Wenran know? And she’d never heard a whisper of it… Could it be that this person…
Knew Cui Qijin even before she did??
Hiss—
The doors slammed shut. The driver stomped the accelerator, the empty bus lurching off like it was racing home for a Valentine’s dinner—or blasting straight into outer space.
Chi Buyu stumbled off, even more disoriented. Her eyes widened in horror, and she suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth.
Cui Qijin eyed her suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”
Cars streaked by on the street, rain veiling them in mist. Against that backdrop, Chi Buyu clutched her mouth, eyes huge—as if she’d just realized something monumental.
“Chi Buyu?”
Cui Qijin waved a hand in her line of sight.
Chi Buyu’s eyes tracked it, finally snapping back to focus on her. She blinked dazedly.
Cui Qijin let out a breath of relief. “Come on—”
“Cui Muhuo.”
Before she could finish, Chi Buyu called out. As Cui Qijin started to ask what was up, Chi Buyu stared at her and blurted, “I think I…”
“…feel like throwing up.”
?
“Your ‘think’ better not be for real,” Cui Qijin said, her tone cool.
Chi Buyu said nothing, just stared at her pitifully. Then her gaze landed on the paper bag in her hand, and her eyes lit up.
Cui Qijin swiftly pinned the hand reaching for it. Chi Buyu blinked, as if baffled by the interruption.
Cui Qijin cleared her throat and scanned the area. Spotting an open 7-Eleven, she relaxed a fraction. Glancing back at Chi Buyu, she tossed out,
“Hold it together for a sec.”
Then she dashed into the store, brows furrowed, eyes flicking over the shelves. She snatched a bottle of Pocari Sweat and a Grape Chrysanthemum drink. At checkout, she impatiently yanked a plastic bag from the counter. Paid up and bolted back out.
The glass door swung open and shut.
She hurried down the steps, paused after a few, and took in the bustling street traffic and crowds. The trash bin by the 7-Eleven overflowed with discarded bouquets.
Chi Buyu sat on the edge of the flower bed outside the store.
Her back view was tiny, head slightly bowed, lost in thought.
Cui Qijin approached.
One hand held the Pocari Sweat and Chrysanthemum Joy; with the other, she chucked the plastic bag to Chi Buyu. Unable to help herself, she asked,
“You didn’t hurl already, did you?”
Chi Buyu looked up at her and shook her head.
Then she tore open the plastic bag, puffed out her cheeks, and blew a big breath into it. She hooked the handles over her ear, looking primed to puke at any moment.
The white bag obscured most of her face. Green print ran across it, too blurry for Cui Qijin to make out from here.
“I don’t feel like throwing up anymore.”
Chi Buyu said it, plastic bag dangling from her ear, arms full of her stuff.
Cui Qijin glanced at Chi Buyu’s haul, then at the drizzly sky. The rain was light, but the clouds hung heavy, right down to her eyelids.
But Chi Buyu didn’t stand.
So Cui Qijin stepped over neon reflections on the wet pavement and sat beside her. Hands in her pockets, she squinted idly through her glasses and started reading the green text on the 7-Eleven bag.
“Sustainable development, 7 promises for the future, one share of strength, one share of contribution…”
Chi Buyu avoided her gaze the whole time. When Cui Qijin reached the last line and she had nowhere to hide, she clutched her bundle tighter and said slowly,
“Sorry. I got too hasty earlier. Didn’t listen to you and opened that paper bag ahead of time.”
Cui Qijin replied calmly, “Did you puke in it?”
Chi Buyu jumped at the question, as if she’d forgotten to check. She gingerly pulled out the bag, peered inside with vigorous shakes, and finally exhaled in relief.
“Good thing I didn’t.” “It’s my favorite…”
She clamped her mouth shut midway, ears reddening as her head drooped.
Cui Qijin inexplicably wanted to laugh. “Then what’s there to be sorry about? It’s your stuff anyway.”
“But… but…”
Chi Buyu hesitated. “You told me to wait till I got home to open it, which probably meant…”
“I accidentally took it home that day,” Cui Qijin said bluntly.
…probably hoping to gloss right over this—Chi Buyu seemed on the verge of saying as much, but she trailed off.
Cui Qijin wavered a bit. Her fingers twitched in her pocket, but she pressed on. “I meant to find a chance to give it back, but the right moment never came.”
She’d thought today might work, that she could slip it over unnoticed. But it hadn’t panned out. On reflection, that was normal. Plenty of things in the world lacked the perfect timing—they always fell just a little short.
Chi Buyu nodded, murmuring “Oh, okay,” then let out a breath. The plastic bag swayed with it, its faint sound lost in the ambient noise, tone unclear.
“So today…”
“Today?”
“Is the birthday invitation today just to return something to me?” Chi Buyu said this while swinging her legs like a little kid, keeping her expression hidden.
Cui Qijin fell silent.
In a way, she had no way to refute Chi Buyu—this had been her goal from the start. But Chi Buyu seemed unhappy now. Why aren’t you happy, Chi Buyu? Did I go too far? I think we need to reach a mutual understanding on this matter.
“You could see it that way,” Cui Qijin said after a moment. “Or you could interpret it as—”
She finished awkwardly.
“I’m only celebrating this birthday to give you back your things.”
Chi Buyu jerked her head up. The plastic bag draped over her face rustled loudly as she stared at Cui Qijin for a long moment before her gaze shyly darted away. She nodded like a timid quail and muttered to herself,
“No wonder your reading comprehension score was always so much higher than mine.”
It felt like she was changing the subject, but not really. Or maybe this was a topic that couldn’t be sidestepped anyway.
By now, Chengdu’s first snow was long past, and the weather forecast said there wouldn’t be any more snow that winter. It felt like that night had faded into the distant past too.
There had been more than one rain since then, washing away every trace of leftover alcohol, plus the Lunar New Year holidays, which should have swept away all the old events of the past year.
That had been Cui Qijin’s plan too. She would quietly return the paper bag to Chi Buyu, muddle through without the conversation, just like dodging tonight’s rain… Everything was going smoothly, right on track.
The rain seemed to have stopped—or maybe it was picking up again.
“You—”
“You—”
They spoke in unison again.
Cui Qijin parted her lips, and Chi Buyu clamped her mouth shut, dropping her head so her two little hair buns bobbed back and forth.
The tension in Cui Qijin’s back eased all at once. It was funny how something that felt awkward and hard to bring up became easier when the other person was even more nervous.
So she reached out and lightly brushed Chi Buyu’s gently swaying buns, then said generously,
“You go first.”
Chi Buyu noticed the gesture and unhappily patted her hair down, grumbling, “Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying.” Then she crinkled the paper bag with a crackle, bit her lower lip,
“So what are we now…?”
She hemmed and hawed, hesitating endlessly without finishing. Cui Qijin’s patience wore thin, and she cut in,
“Do you remember everything that happened that night?”
“Huh?”
Chi Buyu blinked in confusion at the interruption, but she mumbled a response from under the plastic bag. Her words made it rustle.
“I remember we kissed three times.” “Rustle~”
Cui Qijin coughed awkwardly. In a way, she envied Chi Buyu—having a plastic bag to blow into at a time like this.
“I remember you said… you said you’d love me for a hundred centuries.” “Rustle rustle~”
Cui Qijin decided she could never do something as silly as blowing a plastic bag. Drunks weren’t exactly known for their smarts anyway.
Without any cover, she stressed, “You definitely misunderstood that.”
“Oh.” “And I still remember, remember when we…” Chi Buyu trailed off—remember when we had a kiss that didn’t quite land—but Chi Buyu didn’t say it. Instead, she kept blowing the bag. “Rustle rustle rustle rustle rustle~”
Cui Qijin grabbed the rustling plastic bag. Chi Buyu puffed out her cheeks and looked over, her face still flushed. She was acting like a fish desperate to blow bubbles.
“Since you remember…” Cui Qijin cleared her throat, tightened her jaw, and said, “Then you should know… nothing else happened.”
In her memory, nothing had. And logically, a drunken hookup meant premeditation. She certainly hadn’t planned it, and Chi Buyu probably hadn’t either.
But she didn’t know why she was speaking so slowly. They were adults—what if they had? The situation wouldn’t be much worse than this.
Chi Buyu took a beat to process it. She twisted her fingers, speaking even slower, with a slight stutter.
“Yeah… I guess not.”
Cui Qijin hummed in acknowledgment. She was sure her movements and expression were perfectly normal. But it didn’t bring the relief she’d expected.
Chi Buyu blinked. Her cheeks were still rosy as she stared at Cui Qijin.
“Things are settled,” Cui Qijin said.
“I know,” Chi Buyu nodded.
Cui Qijin hummed again. Chi Buyu kept staring.
“Why are you still looking at me?” Cui Qijin asked bluntly.
“You’re still pulling my ear,” Chi Buyu shot back.
What ear? Cui Qijin felt baffled, then realized she was still gripping Chi Buyu’s plastic bag.
She let go abruptly and explained flatly, “Forgot.”
“Uh-huh, I know.” Chi Buyu didn’t question it.
Cui Qijin cleared her throat. Noticing Chi Buyu’s slightly flushed cheeks, she suddenly remembered the drinks she’d pocketed. She pulled out the Pocari Sweat with her left hand and the grape-flavored Chrysanthemum Joy with her right, asking Chi Buyu, “Which one?”
Chi Buyu wrinkled her nose and slowly pointed to the Pocari Sweat in Cui Qijin’s left hand. Cui Qijin handed it over. Then Chi Buyu pointed to the right one, enunciating each word,
“Eeny—meeny—miny—mo—whatever—you—point—to—is—the—one—I’ll—pick—”
Cui Qijin watched her finger sway back and forth.
Before she finished, Cui Qijin cracked open the Chrysanthemum Joy, stuck in a straw, and handed it over.
“Wow—” Chi Buyu took a sip, then grinned like a grape-flavored goofball. “You react so fast.”
“Little Doll’s the only one who plays eeny-meeny.” As Cui Qijin spoke, she glanced around—Chi Buyu looked busy—so she stuffed the Pocari Sweat from her left pocket into Chi Buyu’s clothes.
Chi Buyu obligingly pocketed it.
Her pocket bulged. She took a big gulp of Chrysanthemum Joy and said with a grin, “Uh-huh, us two Big Brothers both get one.”
Little Doll, Big Brother. She was starting in on the Calabash Brothers now.
Cui Qijin didn’t respond.
Sure enough, next Chi Buyu asked curiously, “Does Big Brother breathe fire?”
Cui Qijin was speechless for a few seconds before answering, “Big Brother has super strength.”
Her face stayed calm, but the fingers in her pocket twisted in regret. Why was she playing along with the Big Brother bit? It was just Da Wa.
Chi Buyu didn’t notice. “Oh, right.”
After a bit, she asked again, “Then who breathes fire?”
Cui Qijin suspected she’d quiz her on all seven Calabash Brothers. “Fourth Brother.”
“What about Third Brother?”
“Invulnerable to blades.”
“Second Brother has x-ray vision, right?”
“Yeah, and super hearing.”
“Who’s the invisible one?”
“…Sixth.”
Five and Seven were left unasked. Cui Qijin braced herself. But Chi Buyu suddenly stopped, nodding like a wooden fish. “My yogurt’s gone…”
Cui Qijin hummed.
She wasn’t sure whether to bring up “heading back” or the drunken night again—or more Calabash Brothers.
For a moment, they had nothing to say.
Cui Qijin wasn’t sure if they’d truly wrapped up the drunken incident, or how they’d veered into Calabash Brothers. It felt off. Normally, conversations needed a clear ending to feel right.
Like when Chen Wenran said “Happy birthday” before heading home. Or what Cui Qijin had said to Chi Buyu when she got out of the car: “I’m off.” Chi Buyu’s usual line: “Through metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, we’ll share joy and sorrow…” She had a bit of OCD about loose ends.
“I know” sounded like a statement, but it felt unfinished, like there should be a follow-up. So why had they jumped to pointless Calabash Brothers? Chi Buyu really had a knack for derailing things.
And right as Cui Qijin thought that—
Chi Buyu was fidgeting with the paper bag again, poking the ground with her toe. After a long pause, she asked haltingly, “So what are we now…?”
“What?” Right—this was the unfinished line.
“Are we good now?” “Rustle rustle rustle~”
She was blowing the plastic bag again. The question felt like both an ending and a beginning. Just like the rain, with no telling when it would stop.
