Chapter 20: “Dark Clouds IV” Part 2

“Huh?” Chi Buyu blinked. “Guess I am a bit.”

“Then—”

“I’ll grab some later.”

She fed Cui Qijin another sip. “Oh, right—your phone almost fell earlier. I’ve got it for you.”

Chi Buyu fished it out from the sodden pocket of her clothes and wiped the screen with her sleeve. “Want me to call your mom and dad? Won’t they be worried sick?”

She held the phone out to Cui Qijin, accidentally lighting up the screen in the process. It showed nothing. Cui Qijin shook her head. No need.

“What about Chen Xing?”

“She’s in Hong Kong.” Cui Qijin took another sip of the hot water.

Chi Buyu pressed her dry lips together and fell quiet, just staring at her. The ER lights were dim and flickering, making it hard to read the emotion in her eyes. Pity? Suspicion again?

“You should head home first.”

Cui Qijin wasn’t used to gazes like that. She had no idea what Chi Buyu had inferred from those two simple sentences.

“What kinda nonsense is that?”

Chi Buyu reached out and touched her forehead. Her palm was cool and soft. Cui Qijin coughed lightly, and Chi Buyu spoke with earnest concern.

“Yeah, the fever hasn’t broken yet. Gotta wait a bit longer.”

“Once the shot kicks in and the pain stops, the fever’ll go down too. It’ll be fine. It’s too late now.”

Chi Buyu finally realized she was serious. “What if I leave? What’ll you do all by yourself?”

“I can manage…”

“You can’t.” Chi Buyu cut her off, then leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I saw this news story once. A girl was getting an IV with no one watching, had an allergic reaction, and died right there midway through…”

Cui Qijin furrowed her brow. “You made that up, didn’t you?”

Chi Buyu’s eyes went wide. “It’s true!”

“Don’t believe me? I’ll show you.”

She started to pull out her phone but fumbled awkwardly—almost guiltily—rolling her eyes under Cui Qijin’s gaze before exclaiming as if struck by a thought, “Oh! I gotta go print your report. Wait right here, okay?”

“Hasn’t the time come yet?”

“It has! How would you know—you haven’t checked your phone.”

“People have an internal clock for time.”

“Then you’re sunk. Your internal clock’s glitching today—totally off.”

Chi Buyu started toward the door but paused after a few steps, realizing she still had the cup. She doubled back and fed Cui Qijin the rest of the hot water.

While Cui Qijin drank, Chi Buyu glanced at the IV bag that had just started dripping and instructed her.

“After I grab the report, I’ll check with the doctor. If everything’s good, I’ll get some hot water, clean myself up a bit, and come right back. If anything comes up, hit the call button or ring me immediately…”

Such a nag.

Cui Qijin finished the water and said she knew. Only then did Chi Buyu set the cup down.

She took a few steps, then stopped, eyeing Cui Qijin suspiciously. “You’ll be okay all alone?”

What could possibly go wrong? It wasn’t her first time being sick solo. Ten minutes or so into the IV, Cui Qijin sprawled lazily and muttered two words: “I’m fine.”

“You won’t…”

Chi Buyu glanced back every step. “Once I’m gone, start freaking out that I won’t come back, right?”

Cui Qijin asked patiently, “Why would you think that?”

“Isn’t that how it always goes on TV?”

Chi Buyu lit up with excitement. “Then, just when you’re totally despairing, I make my grand entrance, and you’re all grateful and teary-eyed, huddled in the blankets crying like a little doll—”

“I wouldn’t think that.”

Cui Qijin cut her off promptly. “I’m twenty-seven, not seven.”

“Fine.” Chi Buyu pouted, a touch disappointed, then pointed at the IV bag before leaving. She made a point of emphasizing, “I’ll definitely be back by the time this one’s half done.”

Who needed such a promise? Cui Qijin wrinkled her nose awkwardly.

Chi Buyu left those words hanging and shook her twin buns as she finally departed. The breath Cui Qijin had been holding in her chest eased—only for Chi Buyu to poke her head back around the doorframe like a secret agent, fingers gripping the edge, and say slyly,

“I’ll definitely come back, you know.”

Before Cui Qijin could respond, she chirped “Bye-bye!” Her buns bobbed in the air, and with a whoosh, she was gone.

This time, she seemed truly gone.

Suddenly, Cui Qijin couldn’t quite catch her breath. She stared at the doorway for a long while. It felt like a balloon being inflated halfway—unable to take in more air, so it neither floated away nor settled down.

She casually withdrew her gaze.

The room quieted again. The same few people remained. The girl who’d been retching had stopped and now huddled weakly under her blanket while her friend stroked her back; the child’s half-eaten eight-treasure porridge sat abandoned as he fussed and refused more. The elder coaxed him a few times before growing impatient and glaring. “I’ll count to three!”…

Cui Qijin’s eyes drifted shut in a haze as she listened to these domestic snippets from the room. Suddenly, Chi Buyu’s words echoed in her mind again: I’ll definitely come back, you know.

She shifted her jaw awkwardly.

The IV dripped slowly. Chi Buyu had left the phone behind; Cui Qijin had tucked it under her pillow, and it stayed dark.

The room smelled thickly of disinfectant, mingled with traces of the girl’s vomit, the half-drunk eight-treasure porridge, and the faint fishy tang of rain still clinging to her own skin…

She felt a little nauseous.

Her consciousness sank deeper and deeper. She cracked her eyelids halfway open and saw that the IV bag had emptied by about a fifth.

She pursed her lips. Suddenly, a whiff of mango reached her nose.

In the next instant, she spotted the friend of the girl who had been dry-heaving earlier. The friend rummaged in her backpack, pulled out a bag of mangoes, hurriedly selected one, peeled it, and fed it to the girl lying on the bed.

The child, who had been pitifully spooning down his eight-treasure porridge, began to whine. “Grandma, I want some mango too~”

The old lady shot him a stern glare. The child shrank back. The girl quickly dug another mango from her bag and handed it to him. Delighted, the child reached for it, only to get his hand smacked by the old lady. He stuck out his tongue and said, “Thank you, sister.”

The girl waved it off with a bright smile. “No problem.”

She seemed about to glance toward Cui Qijin. Cui Qijin reacted fast, snapping her head up and pursing her lips as she stared fixedly at her own IV bag.

She didn’t look that way again.

After a pause, the girl fell silent. Instead, the patient on the bed suddenly started dry-heaving once more.

Cui Qijin clenched her jaw. With effort, she tried to lower her head, but the throbbing pain in her skull was excruciating. In the end, she rested her chin on the pillow.

The position wasn’t comfortable at all, but her options were limited. Her face was crusted with dried rainwater, and the emergency room pillow was hardly spotless either. The moment they touched, the smell would only get worse.

So she braced her chin there as best she could, enduring it.

She drifted off to sleep amid that mango scent—perhaps when a virus invaded the body, it exploited cracks in the mind as well.

This particular crack shouldn’t have resurfaced. It was supposed to be buried deep in the recesses of memory. Yet it emerged without reason. The clammy rainwater clinging to her skin morphed into even stickier sweat. Soaked to the bone and swaddled in the blanket, she shrank back into her tiny child self, her short legs kicking futilely several times before finally shoving the covers aside for air.

She kicked the blanket off with one foot and blearily opened her eyes. There was Cui He, on the phone—Cui He, who hadn’t yet relocated long-term to Harbin for her project.

Cui He kept her voice low, her tone sharp with frustration. “Mm, the fever just won’t break. She’s had one pill. When are you coming back? I’ve still got…”

Mid-sentence, she seemed to sense something and glanced over. Cui Qijin promptly squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers twisting into the sweat-soaked bedsheet.

The room went quiet for a beat. Cui He stepped out, her voice dropping even lower, but she clearly underestimated the door’s soundproofing. In her haze, Cui Qijin overheard her say,

“A meeting? What kind of meeting? Can’t you shoulder some responsibility? Is she just my kid? Every time Cui Qijin gets sick, don’t I drop a pile of students and rush back? Fine, I’m the mom, so I should—but you’re the dad, and you shouldn’t?”

Cui Qijin lay there in a daze, listening as Cui He’s voice faded until it vanished entirely. Five or six minutes later, the door creaked open. Cui He approached, patted her cheek gently, and called out, “Cui Qijin.”

Feigning groggy wakefulness, she opened her eyes. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

Cui He smiled and caressed her face tenderly. “Mom’s got something to handle. Your dad’s coming back soon. Be a good girl and wait for him at home by yourself, okay?”

Cui Qijin nodded, her chin slick with sweat. Woozy and bleary-eyed, she murmured, “Okay, Mom.”

The door clicked shut. Darkness blanketed the room like a massive, oppressive cloud weighing on her chest.

Cui Qijin let out a breath, her muddled mind sinking further. Vaguely, she recalled that Yu Hongdong never came back that night.

“I’ll definitely come back, okay?”

A sly, eerie voice cut in out of nowhere.

Cui Qijin jolted her eyes open. Her heart hammered wildly. The crisp mango aroma lingered in the air, and sweat slicked her face, neck, and back—a sticky, nauseating film. That deflated balloon in her chest seemed to reinflate, bobbing intangibly, impossible to pop or spit out.

Nausea roiled in her gut.

She dry-heaved into thin air, retching up nothing. The spasm yanked at her injured waist. Unable to stifle it, she hissed in pain and, lightheaded, lifted her gaze—

The IV bag was down to half.

She clutched the bedsheet. She knew Chi Buyu would return. Even without the repeated assurances, it wasn’t Chi Buyu’s style to leave her stranded.

But the IV was only half done.

But… expecting one person to follow a rule felt unfair too.

But but but…

“Need to puke?”

Cui Qijin went rigid.

She glanced right. A woman stood by the bed—she must have just washed her face, with droplets clinging to her lashes. Her eyes gleamed dark and bright once more, her skin fair and soft, a few damp strands of hair plastered to her cheek. She held a plastic bag limply in one hand.

Before Cui Qijin could speak—

Chi Buyu puffed out her cheeks, nimbly inflated the limp bag, and thrust it under her nose. “Puke yet?”

Cui Qijin clamped her eyes shut and muttered stiffly, “No.”

“Okay then,” Chi Buyu replied meekly, without pressing about her strange reaction.

With a rustle, she set the bag by the bed and said patiently, “If you feel like puking, just holler. No need to hold back.”

Cui Qijin turned her face aside and nodded. “Mm.”

Chi Buyu dragged over a stool and settled by the bedside, rustling out something else.

Cui Qijin pried her eyelids open halfway. She saw a mango placed by her bed. Stunned, she blurted,

“What’s that?”

“A mango.”

The familiar exchange looped back.

“You bought mangoes in this short time?”

“There’s a stand right at the hospital gate.” Chi Buyu sounded utterly reasonable. “Don’t sick people need mangoes?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but in the hushed ward at dead of night, it rang out sharply. All the more so after someone had just shared theirs.

Cui Qijin sensed the other two beds’ occupants glancing over. She shut her eyes reflexively and cleared her throat. “No… it’s not like it’s required—”

She broke off as something cool and damp settled over her face, laced with the fragrance of camellia blossoms, gently wiping her skin.

She froze. Chi Buyu, voice close at hand, said, “Stay still, Cui Muhuo. Your face is grubby—like a little tabby cat. Let me clean it up.”

Cui Qijin didn’t budge. She kept her eyes closed.

She could almost catch Chi Buyu’s scent—like snow, like mist. Soft. Contradictory.

Cui Qijin lowered her eyes.

She had known Chi Buyu would return. She had even imagined mangoes in tow. But… Chi Buyu really made it back before the IV hit halfway. But… Chi Buyu really brought mangoes too…

Before the next “but” could form—

Chi Buyu paused in her wiping and called out gravely, “Cui Muhuo?”

“Mm?”

“You’re twenty-seven now.”

Cui Qijin blinked dazedly and opened her eyes. Midnight had passed. Perhaps from the rain, humidity hung thick in the air; sweat had steamed her glasses on the nightstand into a foggy mess.

Her body clung sticky, her twisted waist and back throbbed with agony, a low fever smoldered, and here she lay in the small hours, prone on an emergency room bed stained by countless others… This marked her first day at twenty-seven.

If lives came with weather reports, hers for that inaugural day would read: partly cloudy to overcast, light rain to downpour to storm—dark clouds in every forecast.

“Congratulations.”

Chi Buyu murmured it softly. Then she whisked off Cui Qijin’s glasses. Severely nearsighted without them, Cui Qijin saw only a blurry silhouette swaying before her.

A smudged shape, wobbling out of control.

“Congratulations for what?”

Unable to make out Chi Buyu’s face, Cui Qijin squinted to track her movements.

Emergency room lighting glowed dim and hazy, humid yet vivid. It gathered the corridor’s wails and sobs, the drifting dust motes, the air’s stifling weight, winter night’s profound blue, the unlit phone beneath her pillow, the tacky sweat and cloth at her nape.

Vaguely, Cui Qijin caught Chi Buyu’s topknot bobbing, saw her huff warm breath on her hands, squint upward with chin raised—a gray-edged outline, like a black cat brimming with smug confidence, tail swishing.

The blur instilled deep unease, as if the world drowned in a thick, heavy, ominous dark cloud. Cui Qijin clenched her jaw awkwardly. That glance inexplicably drew the words from her:

“Congrats on my twenty-seven years of nonstop dark clouds?”

“No thinking like that!”

Chi Buyu’s voice drifted over, stern—like a reprimand.

“But isn’t it?”

“Absolutely not!”

Cui Qijin opened her mouth to argue, but the next instant brought a light touch to her nose bridge. Her eyes fluttered open as the wiped-clean glasses settled back into place. Clarity flooded the world anew. Simultaneously, a gentle flick tapped her forehead—

Chi Buyu drew a deep breath and belted out right in her face,

“Dark clouds, dark clouds, go away~”