Chapter 22: Tropical Rainforest Part 1

Sleep in the emergency ward was bound to be restless.

All through the night, the abdominal pain patient wailed incessantly and smashed things around. The alcohol poisoning victim kept vomiting uncontrollably. An elderly person was wheeled into the room only to be rushed out in a panic to the resuscitation bay, foaming at the mouth…

In short, every slice of human life was crammed and layered into this tiny ward.

Cui Qijin wasn’t sure if she had actually fallen asleep. She felt like she had a particularly chaotic and drawn-out dream—or perhaps it was simply her soul leaving her body—

The room from her childhood sick days, where Cui He had left a crack in the door. Light slipped in through the gap, which grew wider and wider, expanding from a mere triangle into an uncontrollable expanse.

No one ever came back. She stared at it stubbornly for a long time until her eyelids grew too heavy to lift. In the end, drenched in sweat, she dragged herself out of bed and slammed the door shut tight.

From then on, she couldn’t sleep with any light creeping in.

Then there was the old man who had been wheeled away and never returned, the cake with two triangular chunks dug out, the QQ group of 103 tropical plant enthusiasts, the trash bin flashing chaotically with red lights amid swirling debris…

Everything turned into a madly plummeting black hole, poised to devour her whole. Amid the endless terror and crushing pressure, a voice suddenly belted out at the top of its lungs—”Clouds, clouds, go away!”

That single shout shattered the black fog. In the midst of her erratic heartbeat, Cui Qijin fled wildly and glanced back amid the chaos. The singer who had turned around was none other than a yellow tropical fish, chasing after her with particular resentment, shouting from behind—

I resent her, I hate her—she made me feel like the sky was collapsing for the longest time!

She jolted her eyes open, her heart still pounding.

The world was dark. Her hand groped under the pillow and found a soft, cool object—a mango.

She gripped the mango tightly in her hand as the clamor slowly filtered into her ears: hurried or sluggish footsteps, the “beep-beep” of unidentified machines, heartbroken sobs echoing from the hallway…

She lifted the eye mask, squinting against the sudden glare. A hunched shadow passed in front of her, casting a fleeting patch of shade before she slowly opened her eyes fully. Her vision gradually sharpened, first catching the shimmering golden light on Chi Buyu—

A row of clerestory windows lined the outer wall of the ward, slicing the sunlight into slanted blocks that fell across Chi Buyu’s body. She huddled sideways on the recliner in an uncomfortable position, clutching a large, rumpled cotton jacket like a body pillow, the hood pulled up over her head, hiding her face.

People kept passing by, severing the light on her body only to let it reconnect elsewhere. The sunlight seemed to dance upward a bit each time, flickering back and forth until it finally settled on her soft, indistinct facial contours—like an impressionist oil painting being colored with molten sugar.

This process felt more vivid than any sunrise.

Cui Qijin clutched her eye mask, barely registering if her back had improved or if all those IV bags from last night had finished dripping. She watched the light leap and melt across Chi Buyu’s face, remaining motionless for a long while.

She figured the eye mask must have been something Chi Buyu had bought during one of her nighttime outings, slipped under the pillow at some point.

“What perfect weather today!” someone in the ward suddenly exclaimed.

Like waking from a dream, Cui Qijin followed the voice to the clerestory windows, where sunlight poured in great swaths, almost blinding.

She instinctively glanced back at Chi Buyu—only to see Chen Wenran’s yawning face instead.

Chen Wenran squeezed up to her bedside, waving a bag full of milk, bread, and mouthwash in front of her eyes. “What are you staring at, huh? You’ve been spacing out forever.”

Leaning in even closer to peer at her eyes, she added, “Don’t tell me your back injury messed up your eyes too?”

Cui Qijin wearily closed her eyes for a moment, pushed Chen Wenran’s face away, fumbled under the pillow for her glasses, put them on, and said curtly,

“Nothing.”

She was telling the truth—without her glasses, she couldn’t see a thing.

Chen Wenran let out an “oh” and backed off boredly. She glanced over at Chi Buyu, who was sleeping soundly, oblivious even to the vomiting from the next bed over.

Chen Wenran grinned. “Shuishui’s got some solid sleep game. Out cold in all this noise.”

At that moment, footsteps approached the bed amid the cacophony of shuffling feet, wheelchair rattles, and cart wheels. A routine voice announced,

“Cui Qijin? Time to remove the IV.”

“Here!”

A voice thick with exhaustion but belted out at full volume rang out.

Cui Qijin looked over.

Chi Buyu’s hand shot up from inside the cotton jacket, her slender wrist raised high as if afraid it might go unnoticed. Her hair was a mess; she rubbed her eyes vigorously. Still half-asleep, she hugged the jacket and stumbled over.

Halfway there, she spotted Chen Wenran and said, “Hey, Chen Wenran, you made it.” Seeing Cui Qijin awake too, she sleepily felt Cui Qijin’s forehead and sighed in relief.

“Good, no fever.”

Cui Qijin hadn’t slept well the night before and knew Chi Buyu would jolt awake now and then, come tuck in her blanket, check her forehead, monitor the IV drip…

In those moments, she seemed like the most reliable adult.

She had exhausted herself into looking haggard, a far cry from her polished beauty at the start.

Even Chen Wenran gazed at her fondly and patted Chi Buyu’s head. “Our little Shuishui’er worked so hard.”

She shot a glance at the pale, exhausted Cui Qijin lying in bed and jutted her chin. “After this, make Cui Qijin treat you to a feast, buy you cute dresses, whatever you want—just say the word. Don’t hold back. She hates owing people favors, so she’ll agree to anything you ask right now.”

She said it loud and clear for Cui Qijin’s benefit, but Cui Qijin didn’t object. She just lazily nodded her chin in agreement.

By then, the doctor had removed the needle. The last of the fluid spurted out, leaving a cotton swab pressed to the back of Cui Qijin’s hand. Chi Buyu hurried over to take over, holding it down.

As the doctor packed up, she said, “Alright, head back and rest properly. Stay prone for the next three weeks—no exercise. One of you come with me to get the meds.”

Chen Wenran chimed in with “Got it!” and headed off, leaving Cui Qijin and Chi Buyu staring at each other wide-eyed.

Maybe because she wasn’t fully awake, Chi Buyu’s eyes looked a bit puffy. Her usual sleek double eyelids were now swollen into barely-open monolids.

Cui Qijin stared for a moment but said nothing.

Chi Buyu promptly covered her eye with one hand and mumbled, “Don’t look at me.”

Cui Qijin obligingly turned her head away. Just then, the IV was removed from the kid in the next bed. The child had buried their face in their parent’s shoulder during the procedure, too scared to look. Afterward, they burst into wails, and the parent cooed reassurances while pressing tightly on the chubby, lotus-root-like arm to stop any blood backflow, looking tense.

For some reason, Cui Qijin’s gaze met the tearful child’s. She awkwardly lowered her eyes.

“I’ll press it myself.”

“No way!” Chi Buyu shot back immediately.

Cui Qijin’s half-extended hand paused.

Glancing at the still-fussy child nearby, she had no choice but to withdraw it. It was the first time she’d been such a burden to someone, the first time anyone had insisted on handling even something as minor as pressing a cotton swab for her, the first time someone had cared for her so earnestly and seriously, treating her like a child.

After a while, she heard Chi Buyu ask,

“Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head, noting Chi Buyu’s tightly pursed lips, and said, “Not anymore.”

It was also the first time she’d told such a clumsy lie, and it came from sincere honesty—she didn’t want this person worrying over her.

“It hurts so bad!!!” The kid’s wails intruded, soon carried away by the parent, who tossed the cotton swab into the trash bin on the way.

Cui Qijin glanced over. “I think I’m good now.”

Chi Buyu shook her head firmly. “Nope, hold it a bit longer.”

Cui Qijin narrowed her eyes at her.

Chi Buyu tilted her chin up defiantly.

Cui Qijin relented with a sigh. “You’re not actually treating me like a kid, are you?”

“Isn’t that fine?”

Chi Buyu grinned mischievously, inching forward to pat her head. “Twenty-seven-year-old little baby?”

Cui Qijin neither agreed nor disagreed. After a pause, she said, “How much were the medical fees? I’ll transfer you the money.”

“Oh, that?”

Chi Buyu yawned. “No rush—I’ll sort the receipts and send them over later.”

Cui Qijin frowned slightly.

She hated owing anyone anything, hated troubling others with tasks. From childhood to now, she’d never borrowed money, never owed a dime, never let anyone cover for her. She preferred to front the bill for splits rather than the other way around. Just thinking about unsettled accounts made her inexplicably anxious.

But Chi Buyu wasn’t in a hurry, so Cui Qijin couldn’t very well force her to tally up all those bills right then. In the end, she just stressed, “Don’t forget any of them.”

“Got it, Master Cui.”

As she spoke, Chi Buyu lifted the cotton swab to check—no blood. She breathed a sigh of relief and tossed it away.

Now Cui Qijin could clearly see Chi Buyu’s slightly swollen eyes. She hesitated but asked, “What happened to your eyes?”

“Oh, this…”

Chi Buyu hurriedly shielded them, mumbling vaguely, “Didn’t sleep well, they’re just puffy.”

She added, “Stop staring—I’m probably super ugly right now.”

Chi Buyu was such a contradictory person.

In a downpour, she’d cry until her colored contacts fell out; with her makeup smeared into a mess, she’d still chase the nurses with questions; with her bun bobbing wildly, she’d sing “Clouds, clouds, go away”; amid the constant traffic in the ward, she’d huddle on a recliner clutching an old cotton jacket, hair disheveled, clothes damp, fast asleep. Sometimes she truly didn’t care about her appearance, and other times she obsessed over whether she looked pretty—obsessed to excess.

Cui Qijin sometimes felt like she could see right through her, and other times, not at all.

Logically, she ought to exclaim dramatically that Chi Buyu wasn’t ugly at all. Then Chi Buyu would demur, “Really not?” and she’d reassure her, “Really, or I’m a dog.” But on second thought, she couldn’t bring herself to say something so flippant.

Besides, with Chi Buyu, things could go another way—

Chi Buyu might just slap her across the face and declare righteously, “Cui Muhuo, don’t think I can’t tell when you’re lying!!”

She had never complimented Chi Buyu on her looks. She was stingy with praise, shied away from sweet talk, and once she settled on an opinion, she never wavered. In her worldview, there was only one ironclad rule: compliments without reason were the same as lies.