“No, I didn’t really think she was dying. I know that once she got to the hospital, she’d be fine. But I was still scared. I couldn’t stop being scared, wuwuwu. I was so scared because I talked to her, said so many things, and she couldn’t hear me, didn’t react at all. At first, when I asked the doctors to give her painkillers, they… they ignored me. Maybe they have procedures I don’t understand, but at the time, I just felt so wronged. That’s when I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. But I forced myself to hold them in—I was afraid my crying would delay things. It’s so frustrating. Why do I keep wanting to cry all the time? Why am I so unreliable? If it had been you two, you definitely would have handled it better than me…”
That was the moment when Cui Qijin had thought of her as a female hero. But apparently, even then, Chi Buyu had been holding in so much grievance.
The fourth message followed quickly. Car horns blared one after another outside—unclear what area they were passing through. The wind grew even more bitter. Cui Qijin silently touched her fingers as she heard Chi Buyu wiping away tears while choking back sobs, her breaths coming in shaky hitches.
“Ranran, are you asleep? It doesn’t matter if you are. I’ll… I’ll handle it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Right now, I just feel so embarrassed and want to cry. I’m twenty-six years old… and I can’t even handle something like this… and here I am crying my eyes out…”
Messages five, six, seven, eight… up to thirteen. By the end, Chi Buyu gradually stopped crying. Instead, she began reporting on the situation for the two of them—how Cui Muhuo’s complexion no longer looked so frightening, how she’d finally found the report right where the security guard had yelled at her (it had just been delayed by a few minutes). She sent photos of the IV drip count, of Cui Muhuo’s messy hair, of her sweat-drenched face…
Ran Yan replied on the fourteenth message, probably just having woken up. Then Chen Wenran joined in, and the three of them discussed the morning discharge, the wheelchair, and other arrangements together.
“How is it?”
Chen Wenran kept watching Cui Qijin’s expression. She suddenly realized that she had never seen an emotion like “moved” on Cui Qijin’s face. From the moment they met, anything Chen Wenran might consider touching had only elicited rejection or embarrassment in Cui Qijin’s eyes.
For example, one night in the cold wind, Cui Qijin had wrapped herself in a thin padded jacket and ridden a shared electric scooter to pick up Chen Wenran after a breakup fight. Her little face had been frozen pale, her whole body shivering like a leaf, yet without a word, she had grabbed Chen Wenran and taken off, giving her the thin jacket while Chen Wenran—sulking in just a sweater after storming out—huddled in the back seat with reddened eyes. But when Cui Qijin got off the scooter and saw it, she had impatiently pushed away Chen Wenran’s pouted chin and said she had warned her that being lovesick brought no good end, that she didn’t approve of running to another city for love, and that she was allergic to tears—please don’t cry.
Now the protagonist was Cui Qijin herself. How would she face it? Chen Wenran looked forward to her reaction a little. She didn’t believe anyone could listen to these dozen-plus voice messages without being moved. Even she herself, hearing them that morning, had felt her heart wrench hard.
Cui Qijin lowered her eyelashes.
After a long moment, she removed her earbuds, carefully put them away, and handed the phone back to Chen Wenran. Her hands remained lightly clasped over her knees as she slowly turned to look at Chi Buyu in the passenger seat. From this angle, she could only see the top of Chi Buyu’s head and the beige silk ribbon fluttering in the wind.
After a while, she suddenly smiled faintly and asked in a low voice, “Do you know that Chi Buyu has four aunts and seven older female cousins?”
“I do.”
Chen Wenran found her smile odd and put the phone on the holder. She glanced at Chi Buyu huddled in the passenger seat, feeling particularly indignant but forced to keep her voice low in complaint.
“Shuishui cried like that for you, and you can still laugh? How are you so heartless, Cui Qijin?”
Cui Qijin’s hand twitched, as if caught off guard by the words. She paused, then started, “I just…”
She stopped after three words.
As if suddenly remembering something, she stared at the back of Chi Buyu’s head. After a pause, she pulled out her phone and typed a WeChat message to Chen Wenran:
【Before she started school, she lived in Taiwan for a while with one of her aunts. That aunt taught her that girls should be true to themselves—that nothing in the world matters more than being happy herself.】
【When she came back to Chengdu, her whole family lived in the same neighborhood. Her seven older female cousins took turns driving her to school every day. When she was bullied at school, three aunts and her parents all went to meet with the teacher. After that, she held her head high at school, and no one dared to mess with her. Her cousins and aunts bought her snacks, little dresses, and toys that other kids didn’t have.】
【When she was applying for college, the whole family held a meeting to analyze majors and schools for her. After graduation, when she said she wanted to be an independent fashion designer, her mom secretly disguised herself as a clueless rich shop owner and placed orders with her. When she found out, she got really angry and felt defeated. Her mom hugged her, crying, and apologized. The two of them cried in each other’s arms all night.】
【Later, she really became an amazing fashion designer. The brand manager is her own older female cousin, who handles all operations, promotion, shoots, and client dealings. She does the designs, patterns, tailoring, and makes the beautiful clothes. The model who stuck with her through the early storms is her good friend Ran Yan… Her life is like a demo cruise ship—not luxurious, but steered by countless hands, all wholeheartedly protecting and guiding her.】
【And this captain is clearly a little willful, with a lot of clueless clumsiness. From childhood, she only ate shrimp that others peeled for her—even now as an adult, that’s still the case. She won’t eat ugly food because she thinks it’ll make her ugly inside. She can’t tolerate any lies or betrayal. There’s no gray area in her world—it’s always like a cartoon, supporting absolute justice. She still doesn’t want to learn to ride a bike, still whines to her mom, to Ran Yan, to anyone close to her… No one around her doesn’t love her.】
“This family atmosphere is indeed pretty great. I knew Shuishui was raised like a little princess from childhood…” Chen Wenran finished reading the WeChat messages and muttered in confusion. “But why are you suddenly telling me this now? And…”
Her glance from the rearview mirror was highly suspicious, her voice dropped extremely low. “How do you know so much about Shuishui’s childhood? What’s really going on here?”
【But…】
Cui Qijin didn’t answer, only replying with “But…”.
Wind kept blowing into the car. The beige silk ribbon swayed and fluttered like some uncontrolled tropical butterfly, its wings fanning as it slowly slid down from Chi Buyu’s hair.
From the front seat, Chen Wenran asked, “But?”
Cui Qijin stared at the precariously dangling ribbon and said softly, “Yes, but yesterday she handled everything alone and did a great job…”
I thought she had unknowingly become a reliable adult—that the six months in Hong Kong had changed her a lot.
I had even felt surprised, apologetic, gratified about it—and reluctantly admitted to a vague unease. I’d doubted it, denied it, pondered it. Was it because she was moving forward while I was still spinning in place? Was it what she said when drunk, about me in adult clothes and her in a school uniform becoming the underclassman? I didn’t know. I was supposed to want her to improve, to mature.
But hearing these voices I never knew about, I truly didn’t know what to do. My surprise, apology, gratification, and unease… didn’t vanish just because of this missed information coming to light.
On the contrary, this wind multiplied them, and something else disobediently pushed in. I couldn’t see it clearly, had no clue about its origins, and didn’t know why I chose to smile under this pressure.
In this moment, I was like an out-of-control container, knowing and only knowing one thing…
In the end, Cui Qijin didn’t voice any of this. She just pressed her lips tight and typed another line in the chat box—
【Long ago, I always thought all that stuff above was the whole of her. Only today did I realize it isn’t.】
After much hesitation, she stared blankly at the words in the chat box and deleted them one by one, without sending them to Chen Wenran. And for some reason, Chen Wenran suddenly fell silent and didn’t press further.
Cui Qijin turned off her phone and sent no more WeChat messages. Inside the car, only Chi Buyu’s beige silk ribbon danced in the mango-scented wind, slowly drifting down, fluttering gracefully until it finally landed on the back of her hand.
The beige silk ribbon entwined with the wind, rising and falling in a reluctant dance. Suddenly, even twitching her fingers made her feel itchy. Just then, the car sped into Love Adrift Street. Some record store nearby was blasting S.H.E’s “Tropical Rainforest.” After rounding the corner, the sun crashed down like a vast net, smothering everything in blinding light. Coconut trees lining the road whipped their fronds in the breeze. Perhaps it was because Chengdu’s winds carried a sweltering heat this season—like something out of the tropics—the car felt as if it had plunged straight into a tropical rainforest. Countless alluring, enigmatic butterflies flitted about, their wings stirring the air as they swept her forward in a surging rush…
Up front, Chi Buyu smacked her lips amid the dreamlike haze. She rubbed the fuzzy nape of her neck against the headrest, mumbling and humming drowsily for a moment. Then, in a shaft of sunlight, she murmured along with perfect timing: “Darting through the tropical rainforest.” The words came out muffled—definitely sleep-talking.
Chen Wenran burst into laughter at the sight, only to clamp it down quick, afraid of waking her. She stifled chuckle after chuckle until the giggles subsided. Then, unable to help herself, she sighed,
“Shuishui’er is just so well-behaved.”
Cui Qijin twitched her fingers. The beige silk ribbon slid slowly from the back of her hand, and all the illusions snapped back into focus in an instant. Her skin still itched there, as if one of those tropical butterflies had paused upon it, etching some inescapable mark deep beneath the surface. Twirling the ribbon between her fingers, she squinted out the window. Lifting her gaze, she found a brilliant expanse of azure blue…
Today, there were truly no dark clouds in the sky.
