Chapter 19: “Making It Last” Part 1

“So, are we making up now?”

Chi Buyu had said those words more than once, as far as Cui Qijin could remember.

The first time was after “Trouble Maker” at the Freshman Orientation Party. Even from her wheelchair, Chi Buyu had insisted on it, only to pass out from the pain and forget the whole thing later, never bringing it up again. Cui Qijin hadn’t understood at the time. Did she and Chi Buyu have the kind of relationship that required “making up”? So she hadn’t given a clear answer.

The second time came during their senior year of high school, because of Yu Chenxing.

As for the third time…

It was after that fight during the College Entrance Exam period. Chi Buyu had been truly furious that time, ignoring her all the way through their class’s graduation dinner.

Instead, she sulked in silence, viciously downing a glass of alcohol while glaring at her—only to whip her gaze away the moment Cui Qijin looked back.

Finally, she slammed the empty glass down on the table with a loud thud and stormed out, head down, with no clear destination.

In her peripheral vision, Cui Qijin caught sight of Chi Buyu’s flushed face and her increasingly distant footsteps. People tended to accept whatever came their way when lost in thought.

So Cui Qijin smoothly took the glass that Crab Boss the Class President offered her, drained it without a change in expression—ignoring whatever look was on her face—and set it down before following after her.

That night, Chi Buyu stormed ahead in a huff, while Cui Qijin trailed behind, thinking how even her hair seemed to bristle with anger, her bun bobbing with every step.

She wasn’t sure where they ended up—some street aglow with blue and red neon lights, still damp from recent rain, as she recalled.

A ragtag film crew was shooting on the roadside, their equipment a mismatched hodgepodge. One guy in a baseball cap and vest was red-faced, arguing with what looked like the owner of a lighting shop: “Come on, we’ll put your store name in the credits, deal?” Another crouched at the curb, chain-smoking and making endless calls, babbling into his phone: “Hey man, otherwise, come on, throw me some more investment dough, and I swear I’ll make you famous across the whole country!”

The crew hadn’t cleared the street.

The two of them just wove through the alleys and streets, barging right into the set, one stomping ahead with her head down, the other following suit. God knows how many people saw them. In the end, the assistant director grabbed them both, stared at them quizzically for a moment, then grinned and asked,

“You two… fighting?”

Chi Buyu jerked her chin away and snorted through her nose. “No.”

Cui Qijin’s head throbbed from the alcohol, and she mumbled awkwardly, “I don’t fight with her.”

To any adult, it was obvious they were quarreling—classic kids throwing a tantrum. The end result? The assistant director enthusiastically invited them to be background extras in an empty shot, playing a pair of bickering high schoolers.

Chi Buyu, buzzed and thrilled at the idea of becoming a big star, immediately raised her hand in agreement. Cui Qijin, pliable from the booze, went along with it.

And so they actually started arguing right there on that street. It was absurd, bizarre. Cui Qijin had never done anything like it in her life, and later she often thought that without Chi Buyu, how could she have accumulated so many weird, embarrassing stories? Some of them even captured on film.

At the time, they really stood on the roadside, putting on a show of quarreling for the crew. But neither of them had much talent for it.

Chi Buyu kept repeating, “Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!”

Seeing the director gesturing frantically from the sidelines to egg them on, Cui Qijin felt the alcohol surging inside her. Her head swam as she blurted out,

“Do you even know how infuriating you are? Don’t you have night blindness? And you still chug booze? Fine, drink if you want, but then you wander the streets like a blind person!”

Her tone must have struck a nerve. Chi Buyu rolled up her sleeves in a fury—only to realize she wasn’t wearing any—and instead crossed her bony arms, her eyes growing redder with rage. She vented all the pent-up frustration she’d been holding in:

“How am I supposed to know I can’t hold my liquor if I don’t drink?”

Cui Qijin was stumped.

“You still shouldn’t go running around at night after drinking!”

“I’m mad, so I run around!”

“Listen to yourself. Does that even make sense?”

“Isn’t that exactly logical?”

“No, it’s…”

“It is!”

Chi Buyu got more worked up with every word, her eyes reddening further as tears began to spill, like a fish flopping on dry land.

“I’m just worried you’ll blow the exam! I’m not like you, all smart and rational. I’m just a dummy. If I lost my admission ticket, I’d lose sleep, barely eat. I’d lie awake staring at the ceiling till morning, show up with bags under my eyes, and figure screw it, head to the Panda Base and take the test with the giant pandas! I’d even think about having to repeat the year, ending up a grade below you, your underclassman!”

Cui Qijin was dumbfounded by the outburst. At the last part, her lips twitched faintly, her resolve wavering.

But the next second, catching the director rubbing his hands in anticipation, she held it back.

She hesitated, trying to stay calm as she asked, “So what if you’re my underclassman?”

Chi Buyu charged on furiously, “Being your underclassman would mean—”

Then she jammed up like a stuck cassette tape, tears still streaming down her face. She wiped her cheeks, clamped her mouth shut, and jutted out her chin stubbornly, like an enraged little lion.

Cui Qijin finally couldn’t hold back her laughter.

She latched onto the wrong point, derailing the conversation entirely, and asked again,

“What’s so bad about being my underclassman?”

Chi Buyu pouted, sniffled, tears rolling uncontrollably into her mouth. Salty. She spat “Pah!” a few times before whining,

“You’d be a whole level above me! You’d be in college, and I’d still be stuck in high school? At class reunions, you’d be all grown-up in real clothes, while I’d have to show up with my backpack and school uniform? No way! I’m not as smart as you already—next time we fight, I wouldn’t even be able to hold my head high!”

What kind of logic was that? If Cui Qijin had been sober, she would have said she had no interest in fighting with her anyway.

But it was Cui Qijin’s first time drinking. She didn’t know she’d end up laughing uncontrollably, or that this line would have her doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Chi Buyu, humiliated, stomped her foot and snarled fiercely,

“Cui Muhuo, stop laughing!”

Cui Qijin kept giggling like a child.

Chi Buyu, probably tipsy herself, shook her shoulders, yelling loudly, “Don’t laugh and sway like that—I’m getting dizzy!”

So Cui Qijin swayed along with her.

That must have been the scene Crab Boss the Class President walked into later, mistaking it for an actual fight.

Afterward, once Cui Qijin sobered up, she learned she’d downed wine-and-Coke mixed by Crab Boss the Class President. Disgusted by the lingering smell, she showered three times and stayed indoors for three days, terrified someone from that street would recognize her.

Later still, Cui Qijin watched the full movie and realized—thanks to her sharp memory—that she and Chi Buyu had argued for a solid half hour.

But the film preserved only a fleeting shot of them.

About three or four seconds long, filmed from the perspective of the lead actor’s fish shop, a distant view through a glowing red fish tank. They stood outside; a tropical fish obscured each of their heads.

In the frame, two figures topped by fish: one in a black New Balance short-sleeved shirt, a red scrunchie on her slender wrist, a wide yellow tropical fish on her head; the other in a white short-sleeved shirt with a faded print design, a red tropical fish atop her head, its fins splayed like eight legs.

The yellow tropical fish blubbered, “Blah blah blah.”

The red tropical fish snickered, “Hee hee hee.”

Finally, the yellow one, snot and tears flying, shook the red one’s shoulders amid a stream of bubbles, whining pitifully,

“So, are we making up now?”

From that shot onward, Cui Qijin gained yet another black mark on her history she preferred not to revisit. The culprit, as usual… could only be pinned on Chi Buyu.

The movie was called Love Adrift.

A artsy flick by a director from Taiwan, linking Chengdu and Taiwan in some strange, inscrutable tale. It actually got funding and was shot in Chengdu with a tropical vibe.

These days, whenever Cui Qijin spotted news about the film, she’d quickly close the tab. That three-and-a-half-second clip was just too ridiculous—no wonder it bombed.

“Are we making up now?”

The line lived on eternally in some indie film’s obscure shot.

But in her memory, she never got around to answering before passing out cold.

Chi Buyu always said it, and she always forgot to reply—or fate intervened somehow. Even so, as time wore on, they always slipped back into their stable, peculiar relationship.

It was strange. Cui Qijin drew clear lines with everything, especially relationships, categorizing them rigorously. Yet over all these years, she could never neatly slot what she had with Chi Buyu into any one box.

They weren’t sworn enemies like Crab Boss the Class President imagined—not the type to throw down on sight, or fight like tigers over territory, or gloat at each other’s misfortunes, or swear bloody vengeance unto death.

Nor were they the close friends some classmates like Pippi assumed—though most people defined friendship loosely, they didn’t even qualify under the broadest terms. They didn’t chat constantly, didn’t hang out on whims, rarely exchanged gifts. Over a decade, in joy or sorrow, neither was the other’s first confidante.

One was hostile, the other affectionate—both intense. But theirs was neither, and not quite in between either.

Sometimes Cui Qijin felt that there was a triangle between the two of them too. They weren’t close enough to hurt each other badly, nor would they one day infiltrate each other’s lives so deeply that they ended up cutting ties forever.