Chapter 21: The Sky-Blue Umbrella

“Dark clouds, dark clouds, don’t bother me~”

Chi Buyu sang without remembering the lyrics, looping the same few lines over and over. Not only that, she never sang seriously. The first line respected the original tune, but when she repeated it, she arbitrarily changed it—turning low notes high, high notes low, adding her own little flourishes wherever she felt like it.

She always belted it out in her raw, powerful voice, twisting a perfectly good song into something uniquely Chi Buyu’s.

No one could keep up.

“Do you know I don’t usually carry an umbrella~”

Hadn’t she brought one, though?

Cui Qijin lazily lifted her head and glanced at the long-handled umbrella Chi Buyu had placed by the hospital bed—an uncommon shade of vibrant sky-blue. Chi Buyu’s belongings always featured such bright, eye-catching colors. They stood out a mile away.

“Carry an umbrella~” But that wasn’t Chi Buyu’s voice.

Someone had actually kept up?

Cui Qijin turned her head in surprise and saw that it was one of the two girls from the other bed.

It was the one who’d been dry-heaving earlier. She must have sat up for a mid-puke break, looking all sickly as she chimed in.

“Oh yeah~” Chi Buyu lit up like she’d found her soulmate.

This woman had a real talent for it. Even in the emergency room ward, she could casually find her own Zhong Ziqi.

“Dark clouds, dark clouds, go away~”

Chi Buyu’s eyes sparkled. She picked up the next line while glancing at the patient who’d joined in. At the same time, she kept wiping the dried rain from Cui Qijin’s face.

She was somehow managing three things at once. Impressive.

Just four hours ago, this woman had been asking if her big doll could breathe fire. Three hours ago, before calling the ambulance, she’d been staggering along under a wobbly umbrella, lips bright red, panicking as she asked what the emergency number 120 was because she couldn’t remember…

“Feels like you’re challenging my optimism~”

This time, it was the girl who’d been handing out mangoes earlier who jumped in. She wasn’t quite as bold as the dry-heaving one and smiled shyly as she sang.

How did they all know the words?

Cui Qijin frowned slightly. For some reason, she instinctively glanced at the elderly woman and child eating eight-treasure porridge. The child had probably finished his by now and couldn’t join in, so he just clapped dumbly with the hand hooked to the IV.

The elderly woman shot him a stern look and pinned his hand down. But she couldn’t resist herself and hummed along. Then she glanced over. “No more clapping, kiddo. Keep singing~”

Cui Qijin awkwardly pulled her gaze away.

Only to find Chi Buyu propping her cheek on one hand, grinning at her.

What was that supposed to mean?

Cui Qijin rationally avoided Chi Buyu’s eyes. She absolutely wouldn’t join this bunch.

How could she possibly do something so ridiculously on-the-nose?

“My optimism~”

Chi Buyu saw she wasn’t responding and didn’t get mad. She just happily picked up the line herself.

Cui Qijin breathed a sigh of relief—only to watch as Chi Buyu tossed the damp tissue and meticulously rolled a new paper tube.

She curled her fingers.

The next second, the paper tube was poking under her chin, and Chi Buyu was gazing at her with those big, bright, pretty eyes.

“I’m not—” Cui Qijin started.

“My optimism~” The dry-heaving girl gagged once, then repeated the line. Chi Buyu clapped the paper tube twice in delight.

“I’m really—” Cui Qijin insisted.

“My optimism~” The child babbled along off-key. Chi Buyu propped her cheek and smiled at her.

“That’s not—” Cui Qijin refused to give in.

“My optimism~” The elderly woman hummed it too. “Come on, just you left!”

“My optimism~” The shy girl joined in.

“My optimism~” Chi Buyu brought the tune back, her voice soft, like she was coaxing her.

Cui Qijin couldn’t believe she was actually giving in, but in the end, she closed her eyes in defeat, lifted her chin, and murmured,

“My optimism.”

“That’s the spirit!” “Good girl!” “Good!” “See? It works when we’re all together!”

The responses erupted around her in a lively chorus—friendly, proud laughter mixed with a smattering of scattered applause.

It was as if her single line had qualified their little crew for the Grammys.

Cui Qijin cracked her eyes open suspiciously. No one seemed to have noticed what she’d done.

The dry-heaving girl weakly flopped back under the covers. The mango girl tucked her blanket in and whispered, “Still hurting?”

The child poked his chin drowsily against the elderly woman’s chest. “Granny, my head’s so dizzy I might disappear.”

The elderly woman grumbled, “Quit yapping nonsense,” but rocked the child anyway…

In truth, they were just patients, their little group expiring after one night. But just now, everyone had forgotten they were in an emergency ward—someone with a fever, someone with a stomachache, someone with a twisted back, someone fretting over a grandson who wouldn’t eat his eight-treasure porridge and kept acting up, someone shyly worrying if her friend was in real pain…

Yet they’d all sung “Don’t Bother Me” together. So childish, so weird, so silly, so absurd… One day, looking back, Cui Qijin might cringe and file it away as another black mark on her history.

But right now, surprisingly, it didn’t feel that way. It felt like everyone was working together to chase the dark clouds away. Like something out of a cartoon.

A sudden wet, soft touch brushed her jaw. Cui Qijin caught the scent of camellia again and snapped back to reality. Through her glasses, she looked at the culprit right in front of her—

Chi Buyu was earnestly wiping her face, humming softly under her breath and stifling a yawn.

By now, Chi Buyu’s bun had come half-undone, stray hairs messy around her neck. Her makeup was just hastily washed off—bare-faced, lips naturally red, lashes not curled to perfection, and a fresh pimple sprouting along her jaw, small but red…

She’d probably blow a fuse if she knew.

Cui Qijin stared for a while, then pictured it and burst out laughing.

Chi Buyu paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why the sudden laugh?”

Cui Qijin lazily rested her chin on her hand. “Didn’t you tell me to be optimistic?”

“True.” Chi Buyu seemed to buy it, grinning as she patted Cui Qijin’s head. “See? Everyone says we should stay optimistic~”

“I’m not unoptimistic,” Cui Qijin stressed.

She just wasn’t like Chi Buyu, greeting every human interaction with such boundless enthusiasm and cheer.

She wasn’t like Chi Buyu, who never got irritated by the daily weather. She wasn’t like Chi Buyu, who thought minor troubles could just slide unsolved.

She wasn’t like Chi Buyu, who panicked in tough spots but bounced back ready to fight.

Chi Buyu had gone from forgetting the 120 number to dashing around the ER—registering, grabbing reports, buying mangoes non-stop—without a single complaint, turning a gloomy ward into “Dark clouds, dark clouds, go away.”

But Cui Qijin hadn’t known—you could loop “my optimism” forever without anyone telling you to shut up.

In some ways, Chi Buyu knew things she didn’t.

“Cui Muhuo, your back’s celebrating its fortieth birthday today.” Chi Buyu’s voice echoed suddenly in her mind, even a bit serious.

“What?” Cui Qijin came back to herself, wondering if she’d misheard.

Chi Buyu sighed, finally wiped her face clean, tossed the tissue, and propped her cheeks on her hands against the bed rail, looking at her earnestly. “The doctor said your back’s like a forty-year-old’s already. Know that?”

Cui Qijin coughed lightly. “It’s not that bad…”

“It is!” Chi Buyu propped her chin. “I just took your scans over there. Doctor’s exact words. Don’t believe me? Wait for her to tell you herself.”

Cui Qijin glanced instinctively at the ward door. Speak of the devil—the doctor in the white coat strode in, scans in hand, brow slightly furrowed.

She bent down next, pressing several spots along Cui Qijin’s back, giving her a quick checkup. “No bone damage. Just a regular muscle strain. Finish this IV, and you should be good to go home by tomorrow morning. Hold on, I’ll prescribe some meds for you to take home. Remember: strict bed rest at home. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks. Family should prep a wheelchair…”

“Tell her that line again, Doctor.” Once she’d finished, Chi Buyu urged from the side.

Cui Qijin pressed her lips together wordlessly.

“What line?” The doctor blinked.

“You know, what you just told me.” Chi Buyu sounded impatient.

Cui Qijin cracked up at her, but the motion tugged her back. Pain flared, and she froze.

Chi Buyu hurried over, face worried. “What? What happened?”

The doctor frowned too, adjusting her position and eyeing them both. “Back injuries aren’t a joke, you two. Take it seriously.”

Chi Buyu pouted obediently. “Got it, got it. We’ll get the wheelchair.”

Cui Qijin curved her lips. “We don’t need a wheelchair, right?”

The doctor’s frown deepened. “Of course you do!”

Chi Buyu echoed like a little tail. “Of course we do!”

Cui Qijin fell silent.

The doctor gave a few more instructions, satisfied, and left. Chi Buyu watched her go, then pulled a face at Cui Qijin without missing a beat.

Once the doctor was gone, Cui Qijin couldn’t help saying, “Chi Buyu, you act like an elementary schooler.”

Chi Buyu bristled. “Cui Muhuo, your back’s forty years old.”

Cui Qijin snorted coldly. “You’re lying. The doctor didn’t say that.”

Chi Buyu suddenly faltered, her cheeks puffing out slightly in reluctance, though she had no comeback. She shuffled over awkwardly and tucked the blanket back over Cui Qijin, which the doctor had left askew earlier.

After a brief truce, she blurted out unexpectedly, “Cui Muhuo, you’re such a little doll.”

Cui Qijin was about to fire back, but a sharp twinge in her waist made her realize how childish it all was.

Why was she bickering with Chi Buyu over something like this?

She decided to call a ceasefire. “Chi Buyu.”

“What?” Chi Buyu looked puzzled.

Cui Qijin hesitated, her lips parting before she asked abruptly, “Why did you… come back just now?”

Chi Buyu yawned, her voice laced with drowsiness and turning soft. “Because I said I definitely would come back, remember?”

“I’m not talking about that ‘just now.'”

Cui Qijin explained patiently. “I mean before we called 120. Why did you suddenly turn back? Did you forget something at my place?”

Chi Buyu yawned again before it clicked. “Oh, that ‘just now’…”

“Yeah, that one.”

Chi Buyu blinked sleepily. “I don’t think I forgot anything.”

“Tired?” Cui Qijin asked. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

“What about you?” Chi Buyu gazed at her, her eyes barely open, yet still fretting over her.

“This bottle’s got a ways to go.” The doctor had swapped it out for a larger one. Cui Qijin urged her on. “You go ahead and rest. I’ll nap too.”

“Okay, I’ll catch a bit then.”

Chi Buyu headed toward the row of recliners, still uneasy. “Earlier, when I got home, it suddenly started pouring outside. I set down the Loopy cup, took off my jacket, and spotted a bottle of Pocari Sweat inside…”

She was probably circling back to the question, recounting her evening step by step like a trip report. She just had that chatty streak.

“Pocari Sweat?” The topic had veered off, and Cui Qijin no longer cared. She watched idly as Chi Buyu claimed a recliner.

“Yeah, Pocari Sweat.”

“What about it? Expired?”

Chi Buyu shook her head slowly, straightened the recliner, and curled up on it. The chair was a vast expanse of blue, designed for IV patients, and with the row empty, she looked tiny nestled there. Her voice grew quieter too.

“Pocari Sweat…”

Chi Buyu smacked her lips unconsciously and fell silent, as if drifting off right then. She really could fall asleep in record time—no worries carrying over to tomorrow, Cui Qijin thought naturally.

It was already the wee hours, and the ER wasn’t too quiet. Another bed was wheeled in, surrounded by a noisy crowd. A boy in a mask was helped past them, letting out a wail that made Cui Qijin wrinkle her nose. She glanced toward Chi Buyu, but people kept darting in front, reducing her to a small shadow across the chaos, as if separated by a busy street.

Cui Qijin noticed Chi Buyu had nothing covering her and grew uneasy. She tried lifting her own foot but winced and flopped back. Her gaze wandered frantically before landing on the old lady in the next bed, cradling her grandson.

She pursed her lips, debating how to ask. The old lady seemed to notice.

“Need a hand?”

Without overthinking, Cui Qijin touched her big cotton jacket, shed earlier. It had gotten damp in the rain but dried inside after being removed for the exam and aired in the room.

She let out a breath of relief and handed it over. “Could you cover her with this, please?”

The old lady took it deftly, but she realized her tone might have been brusque and added, “Thank you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for.” She shuffled over to drape it over Chi Buyu.

The new patient’s commotion was in full swing. Doctors in blue scrubs and white coats bustled about. Through the flurry of figures, Cui Qijin watched the old lady tuck the jacket carefully around Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu stirred, blinking drowsily from her spot on the recliner. She murmured obediently, “Thank you, Grandma.” The old lady waved it off and pointed toward Cui Qijin.

Chi Buyu looked her way.

Their eyes met for a moment. Cui Qijin dropped her gaze, avoiding it.

The ER suddenly buzzed with activity—footsteps everywhere, mingled with groans. Once the old lady returned to her bed, Cui Qijin slowly looked over again.

Chi Buyu was huddled in the big cotton jacket, her face pale and soft. She wasn’t sleeping anymore, just staring blankly at Cui Qijin.

“Go to sleep already.” Cui Qijin wasn’t used to that look and urged her softly.

Her voice was soon drowned by the clamor. Chi Buyu didn’t seem to hear. Between them, white and blue hems fluttered like countless butterflies swooping in and out.

Chi Buyu stayed shrunk in her chair.

Through the swaying hems, she stared in a daze, as if saying something.

Cui Qijin strained to catch it.

“Then, I noticed the Pocari Sweat cap twists open so easily now. I remember way back… the caps used to be super hard to twist, so I’d never buy one to drink myself.”

“And then I thought of…”

Her chin dipped uncontrollably, her voice faint from exhaustion—like the most elusive butterfly flitting among them.

“You…”

Thought of… you… It hung unfinished, or maybe complete. Cui Qijin couldn’t help asking,

“Thought of what about me?”

She imagined Chi Buyu’s logic as visible butterflies darting everywhere—herself one of them.

“Yeah…”

Chi Buyu, half-asleep and muddled, mumbled it again. “Just thought of you…”

Cui Qijin clenched her fingers tighter.

Chi Buyu’s chin drooped fully then, jerking her awake as if realizing what she’d said.

She looked up in alarm, ducking her lower face into the cotton jacket. Her bright eyes darted, and she stammered,

“It’s just—the rain was so heavy, and I thought you didn’t have an umbrella!!”

The ER floor was slick with tracked-in rain from Crocs, adding a sticky squelch to the chaos. Through the milling crowd and misty air, Cui Qijin spotted the light-blue umbrella propped by her bed—and Chi Buyu’s eyes.

She unclenched her fingers.

After a pause, she ventured, “Anyway, about today…”

But she didn’t finish.

The next instant, Chi Buyu called out, “Cui Muhuo,” cutting her off. She rubbed her face against the cotton jacket, lifted her eyes with effort, and mumbled,

“You’re not gonna get mad at me again, are you? You’ll probably say I have night blindness, drank all that booze, it’s pouring rain, you already took me home, and here I come charging back like an idiot.”

Cui Qijin froze abruptly.

Chi Buyu’s voice trailed softer, a bit deflated—like that slippery little butterfly returning, this time with a warning, though still sleepy.

“If you’re really gonna say that, I’ll fight you on it, but I’m wiped out today. Tomorrow, when I’m recharged, we’ll argue. Don’t you dare think you can win…”

It was deep night; the rain had stopped long ago. The ER traffic ebbed and flowed as Chi Buyu muttered on, burrowing deeper into the black cotton jacket.

Her colored contacts must have slipped out—nearsighted and blurry, drowsy, she was squinting vaguely at Cui Qijin’s expression. Cui Qijin knew she couldn’t see clearly, just as Chi Buyu knew the same.

Figures rushed by in a frenzy, frames jumbling like a glitchy film reel.

From some unnoticed frame, Chi Buyu stopped looking, curling into a ball from exhaustion. Still, Cui Qijin watched her through the shadows for a long time.

“No.”

Butterflies of motion blurred her view. Cui Qijin lowered her eyes and said gently,

“You did great today, Chi Buyu.”

She was only glad Chi Buyu hadn’t gotten hurt again because of her. And besides… Her thoughts trailed there as she touched the faint scratch on her finger.

Pocari Sweat caps had always been tough to twist.