Chapter 23: Sunny Coconut Part 1

After a whole night of chaos at the hospital, the car first dropped off Chi Buyu at her place. She got out yawning nonstop, looking back every few steps as she headed inside. The moment Cui Qijin got home, her first order of business was a shower.

Chen Wenran tried to lend a hand with that, but after Cui Qijin politely turned her down, she racked her brain, scratching her head in frustration. Finally, she attempted some gentle persuasion.

“How about you skip the shower? What if you slip in the bathroom and end up back in the hospital?”

In response to the question, Cui Qijin simply maneuvered her wheelchair, casually circling the room. She deftly gathered her clothes and ordered Chen Wenran to stay on her side of the boundary line. Then, in a leisurely drawl, she uttered two words: “Not possible.”

Chen Wenran was at a loss with her. Standing beyond the line, she snorted coldly. “Stubborn breed!”

Cui Qijin couldn’t be bothered to argue. Before her shower, she shooed the woman out.

It was already the sixth day of the New Year, and the holiday was just about over. The architecture company never paid much mind to official holidays once things got busy, and Chen Wenran had taken half a day off to come over. She had a meeting that afternoon, so she didn’t keep bantering. Before leaving, though, she issued a stream of instructions.

“I’m begging you—if there’s anything you can’t handle on your own, don’t hold out. Just give me a call, and Ran Yan and I will rush right over. Worst case, there’s always Shuishui. Oh, right—how are you going to manage dinner tonight? Are you still heading to the studio these next few days? And if you do, how? I really think you should skip it. Use this chance to take some sick leave…”

She nagged on and on, piling up questions. Cui Qijin didn’t answer a single one, brushing her off with a perfunctory “Got it” before sending her off to her meeting.

It was indeed tough for someone with a back injury to shower independently. But for Cui Qijin, letting someone else join her in the process—or going to bed after such a night, wrapped in damp rainwater, antiseptic, sweat, and all sorts of unfamiliar smells without washing up? She’d rather grit her teeth through the pain.

She prided herself on a solid pain tolerance, but the shower didn’t go smoothly. She could barely stand, leaning against the wall. In the shortest time possible, she rinsed her hair, showered, changed clothes, and slapped on a medicated patch on her back—facing away from the mirror.

When she emerged, pain twisted her posture, her face pale. She carefully lowered herself into the wheelchair, gasping for several breaths. Her hair was only roughly towel-dried; she had no energy left to blow-dry it.

Her second task was charging her phone. In WeChat, she found Chen Wenran and Chi Buyu, asking them to send over the medical bills. Neither replied right away. She furrowed her brow, suddenly at a loss for a third thing to do.

According to her schedule, at this time of day, she should be at the studio across town, wrapping up work.

She was strict about categorizing everything, including work space and living space. Even as a freelancer, she kept them separate, renting a dedicated studio a full street away to guard against the universal human laziness that might otherwise creep in.

During a project, she stuck to a rigid schedule: nine in the morning to noon, then one to six in the afternoon. Everything else got shelved outside those hours.

That was why she often got flak—Chen Wenran always said she vanished when working, like she’d dropped off the face of the earth.

But clearly, her back wouldn’t let her sit for long, and the doctor had recommended bed rest.

Cui Qijin checked the time: 11:43. She’d just eaten the milk bread Chen Wenran had bought, so she wasn’t hungry yet. With a pillow propping up the sore spot on her back—maybe thanks to the painkillers and fresh medicated patch—the pain eased after a bit. She wheeled toward the recliner.

At the balcony door, she remembered she hadn’t fed the turtle yet. She turned back, only to find the turtle food stashed up high, and a pile of meds and snacks tossed on the sofa. Her brow furrowed again; she couldn’t stand things out of order. Gritting her teeth, she sorted it all away. Then she noticed the rug was crooked at one corner…

Somehow, she ended up circling the apartment over and over. At first, it was fixing what needed fixing. Then it was deliberate laps in the wheelchair, inspecting for anything out of place or undone.

The activity made her forget she was an injured patient. She was quite pleased with her wheelchair skills, like a kid with a shiny new toy.

The comparison irked her, and she stopped short.

In that instant, she toppled forward, tumbling from the wheelchair onto the rug. Her back wrenched under the impact—

Her shoulder hit the rug first. The world flipped upside down in a daze. She blinked blankly, still-damp hair falling across her face, tickling. She couldn’t get up right away.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

Had Chen Wenran come back?

She pursed her lips on the floor, stuck in a pose like a toddler who’d just taken a spill. After a while of trying, she still couldn’t sit up.

The next second, she heard someone punching in the door code outside.

No. She couldn’t let Chen Wenran see her like this.

She strained to prop up her upper body but didn’t dare move rashly with the stab of pain in her back. Defeated, she stayed put in defeat.

The code finished inputting, but the door didn’t open. Wrong code? Wrong apartment? Then a familiar “Huh?” came from outside.

Cui Qijin hadn’t processed it yet.

The person outside punched the code again, faster this time. With a click, the door swung open.

Their eyes met.

Cui Qijin lay sprawled on the rug, on her side, head pointed down, shoulder squishing her cheek, blinking in bewilderment.

Chi Buyu wore a fresh new Chinese-style denim outfit and slim-framed glasses. Her newly washed hair was tied in a princess ponytail, her face full of shock.

Sure enough, whenever they ended up in the same space, it turned into some slapstick cartoon.

Chi Buyu snapped out of it first. With grave seriousness, she backed out, closed the door, re-entered the code, and came in again. Finding Cui Qijin still in the same spot, she gasped in horror, slammed the door, and waddled over like a penguin. Then—

She tilted her head to match Cui Qijin’s floor-level gaze—an impossible angle for most, but normal for Chi Buyu. Maintaining that view, she asked solemnly,

“How long have you been down?”

“Not long.” Cui Qijin had just tried sitting up again and failed. In resignation, she chatted with Chi Buyu from that position.

She blinked wordlessly, then asked,

“Why are you here?”

Chi Buyu blinked back from across the space, then carefully helped her up and into the wheelchair. Gravely, she explained, “I just showered and washed my hair, then dozed off on the bed. But I couldn’t sleep—kept dreaming you were sprawled out like your little turtle. So I came to check…”

“And you really had fallen!”

“…So you thought it was still a dream?”

“Yep.”

Cui Qijin tugged faintly at her mouth. “Then how’d you know my door code?”

Chi Buyu circled behind her, hands on the wheelchair. “Chen Wenran told me—for emergencies. If there was no answer, I was supposed to bust in.”

Fresh from her shower, Chi Buyu smelled clean and new: a hint of coconut body wash, plus the sunny scent clinging to her clothes from the walk over. She was like a small slice of toasted coconut meat.

That aroma mingled with her swaying ponytail tendrils, burrowing wildly into Cui Qijin’s skin.

She gripped the wheelchair controls, itching to escape the scent’s reach. But Chi Buyu lightly pushed her forward instead. The wheels rolled, and the little coconut even piped up from behind.

“Though I did mess up the first try. 762813—what’s that mean?”

The electric wheelchair surrendered to manual control. Cui Qijin gave in, letting the coconut scent tickle her nose as she replied offhandedly,

“Nothing. Random.”

“Huh? Isn’t that hard to remember?”

“Nope. And any string with meaning behind it is easy to crack. Dangerous.”

Chi Buyu sounded amazed. “So all your passwords are random?”

Cui Qijin hummed in affirmation.

“Each one different?”

“Why would they be the same?”

Using the same password everywhere? Utterly risky for Cui Qijin—unthinkable.

Chi Buyu gaped. “You remember them all?”

Cui Qijin found her odd. “Don’t you?”

Chi Buyu pursed her lips. “Of course.”

Cui Qijin nodded, a touch surprised.

But Chi Buyu sighed dejectedly. “As if. A lifetime of passwords—if they’re all unique, how could anyone keep track?”

Cui Qijin laughed despite herself.

Chi Buyu didn’t mind being laughed at. She just huffed, muttering that only a weirdo randomized every password. Then she wandered aimlessly around the apartment a couple times. Noticing Cui Qijin’s hair still damp, she frowned disapprovingly.

“Why’s it still wet? Wet hair after washing isn’t good for your head. Cui Muhuo, let me blow-dry it for you!”

“No need…” Cui Qijin’s knee-jerk response was refusal.

But halfway through the words, Chi Buyu was already bustling around. “Where’s your hairdryer?”

The sun shone perfectly bright, right at noon, flooding half of it into the apartment. Everywhere glowed. Chi Buyu’s freshly washed hair floated in the warm light, fine and soft with natural curls at the ends—like dandelion fluff carrying toasted coconut scent. She drifted from spot to spot, scattering the aroma, impossible to refuse.

Cui Qijin parted her lips, thinking she should still say no. But Chi Buyu emerged from the bathroom, blow-dryer in hand, grinning.

“Found it.”

Fine, then. Blow-dry it is, Cui Qijin thought—she could hardly order her to put it back now.

Chi Buyu was already standing behind her, the hot wind roaring from the hairdryer as her fingers toyed with Cui Qijin’s damp strands. The fragrance wafted over, and that sweet roasted coconut scent somehow grew even stronger.

Cui Qijin suddenly felt a bit thirsty. She attributed this thirst to unfamiliarity—not being used to someone standing so close, not being used to such meticulous care for every little detail.

That was when she heard Chi Buyu say, amid the whir of the hairdryer,

“Your hairdryer doesn’t even have a cord tie. When I checked earlier, it was just dangling there all by itself, looking so lonely.”

She even went so far as to make a request. “Next time I come over, can I get it a pretty tie?”

“Next time?” Cui Qijin immediately sensed trouble. “What do you mean, next time?”

“You didn’t see it?”

As she spoke, Chi Buyu ran her fingers through Cui Qijin’s hair. Seeing that it was mostly dry, she set the hairdryer down on the table without any regard for tidiness.

Cui Qijin frowned slightly.

Spotting her displeasure, Chi Buyu stuck out her tongue. “I’ll put it back later!”

Cui Qijin forced her gaze away. “So what’s this about next time?”

Just then, her phone chimed with a notification.

Chi Buyu winked at her. “Check the group chat.”

Then, with perfect obedience, she picked up the hairdryer from the table and headed toward the bathroom.

Cui Qijin opened her phone suspiciously and discovered that at some point, she’d been added to a group called “Save Cui Muhuo.” The latest message was a picture from Chi Buyu—a garishly colorful duty roster.

It meticulously divided three weeks’ time, assigning primary responsibility each day, with Chi Buyu’s name appearing most frequently.

Ran Yan had followed up with a thumbs-up emoji.

Chen Wenran added another thumbs-up, along with a text message:

【As expected of Shuishui’er】

What did that mean?

“Those two live too far away, so I scheduled myself for more shifts.”