Chi Buyu had bounced back out of the bathroom by then, grinning as she explained.
Cui Qijin stared at the densely packed roster. It was beautifully made, even accounting for everyone’s work schedules and commute distances. Annotations outside the table noted little details—like things a patient with a back injury shouldn’t do, foods to avoid, and some of Cui Qijin’s personal habits.
Looking at all this, her expression darkened. Her first thought was a single word: trouble.
She had become a burden.
In many relationships, “trouble” might serve as a key foundation, even pushing intimacy forward.
But not for Cui Qijin. Most of the time, she didn’t want to trouble others, nor did she want others troubling her. She only did things she could fully control herself. If she couldn’t manage something, she’d rather go without than impose on anyone. Once she realized she was burdening someone, panic set in, and she lost all ability to cope. Her default was to avoid the trouble at once.
“Save Cui Muhuo”? She couldn’t accept the premise of that phrase.
In a way, she admitted that someone like her came across as prickly in these situations—unsuited to friends, unfit to be woven into any close relationship.
But…
“You can tell me your usual schedule today. That way, when I come over tomorrow, I can work around it and let Ranran and Chen Wenran know ahead of time.”
Yet Chi Buyu said this as if caring for her after the injury was the most natural thing in the world.
“Chi Buyu, listen to me…”
With Chi Buyu rushing right back to her side, Cui Qijin felt she should remain polite, but she had no idea how.
How should she put it?
The normal Cui Qijin would handle this firmly: I don’t need it. Don’t assume you know what’s best. Stay out of my life.
Yes, that’s what she should say.
But as she parted her lips, Chi Buyu let out a soft “Hm?” Then she circled around in front of her, squatting down to meet her eyes levelly. She gazed at her earnestly, ready to listen and respond in whatever way she might. A puddle of sunlight pooled behind Chi Buyu, shimmering like water. It crept up through her soft hair, into her lovely eyes… And in that moment, fragments of memory flooded Cui Qijin’s mind—
“You’re just too desperate for approval.” “You need to form your own judgments.” “I’ll drop a bunch of students if Cui Qijin is sick.” “Don’t always crave everything from others.” “As outsiders…” “Is this my child alone?” “Be good and stay by yourself.” “There’s nothing wrong with that, Cui Qijin”…
The ever-stable equilateral triangle. The widening gap in a triangular doorframe. Perpetually warping eyeglass frames. Mashed strawberries turning sour on a discarded birthday cake. “Happy birthday.” A custom cake, sweet and delectable. Chi Buyu curled up in a lounge chair. Chi Buyu raising a hand from a rumpled cotton jacket. The sniffling, clingy Chi Buyu in all those voice messages. Chi Buyu blurred into color blocks like a snowman on the verge of melting…
And Chi Buyu, right here and now, watching her.
Cui Qijin shifted her neck uneasily, placing her left hand over her right. The words that emerged were especially feeble.
“I can manage on my own.”
The sunlight kept spreading. Chi Buyu tilted her head, her pupils flashing like a cat’s in the light. She didn’t object right away but thought for a moment before saying,
“What about that situation just now? How would you handle it?”
Cui Qijin sat silently in her wheelchair for a bit. “I could wait a while before getting up.”
Her defense sounded so weak—like an alien spaceship attacking Earth amid global chaos, and all she had was a broken broom.
Chi Buyu pressed on relentlessly. “What about going out? There are still a few steps after the elevator to get out of the building. You can’t stay cooped up for weeks, right?”
Cui Qijin stayed silent.
Chi Buyu coaxed gently. “Blow-drying your hair? You’ve been skipping it after washes these past weeks? Wow, that’s how you get headaches…”
Cui Qijin pressed her lips together. She did have a history of migraines—triggered by too little sleep or too much. She really didn’t want to make it worse.
Chi Buyu sighed dramatically. “What about your little turtle? It can’t get proper care while you’re sick. Your deliveries? You gonna wheel yourself down to grab them? Can you even lift the bigger ones? Or have them delivered upstairs—but even staying home all the time, you’ll still run into inconveniences now and then…”
As she spoke, she tilted her head, and the sunlight glinted in her eyes, bright with color. Cui Qijin suddenly thought of that colorful leaf taro plant, drifting who-knew-where overseas.
At that moment,
Chi Buyu must have realized she could hold out, so she deployed her ultimate move. She stood slowly, tossed her phone onto the carpet, and gasped dramatically with a hand over her mouth—”Oops!” Then she made an exaggerated princess gesture toward it.
“Fetch it for me, please.”
Cui Qijin snapped back to attention and stared at the fallen phone. She gripped the arms of her wheelchair and rolled forward a step. The wheels sank into the carpet, leaving imprints, as Chi Buyu watched her the whole time.
At this point, Cui Qijin pursed her lips, pushed stubbornly against the armrests, and hadn’t even stood before giving up in frustration.
Seeing Chi Buyu’s eyes crinkle with laughter made her huff out a laugh herself.
“Chi Buyu, you’re being completely unreasonable!”
“Mm-hmm~ Guilty as charged.” Chi Buyu lifted her chin proudly, refusing to argue further.
As if Cui Qijin were the unreasonable one.
“And you’re proud of it?”
“Cui Muhuo.”
“…Why call me that all of a sudden?”
Her flustered outburst must have been hilarious, because Chi Buyu doubled over laughing, her soft hair tips bouncing on her shoulders. When she finally caught her breath, she reached out to pat Cui Qijin’s head, her voice softening.
“Come on, be a good girl.”
The palm on her scalp felt strangely wondrous, carrying a warmth that wasn’t hers—intensely unfamiliar. Gentle pats, so light.
Like coaxing a child—or like Chi Buyu was the one pouting to her.
Cui Qijin nearly gave in. She was this close to nodding agreement. Fortunately, an incoming video call nipped her lapse in the bud.
Unexpectedly, it was from Yu Chenxing. Why would she call out of the blue?
Cui Qijin breathed a sigh of relief. Under Chi Buyu’s watchful gaze, she answered—and heard a pop fill the screen.
A bubble burst across the display. Yu Chenxing was propping her chin on the other end, idly shaking her head. Black Beats earbuds filled her ears. When the call connected, she lifted her thick lashes and exclaimed in surprise,
“Sister Shuishui!”
As if her Sister Shuishui were a savior from a past life. Cui Qijin thought coolly that Chi Buyu had indeed saved Yu Chenxing’s life in this one. And because of that, every crack in Cui Qijin’s existence seemed filled with traces of Chi Buyu. Sometimes this woman really was like a dandelion—needing just a breeze to drift everywhere.
Chi Buyu cleared her throat, circled behind the wheelchair, propped her chin on it, and beamed like a big sister.
“Xingxing~”
Yu Chenxing appeared to be on an open-top bus, the sky vividly blue over there. Her signature sweet-cool bangs were tousled by the wind. “How’d you end up at my sister’s place?”
Cui Qijin let out a “Hmph.” “You still remember who your sister is?”
Yu Chenxing calmly blew another bubble, then turned to Chi Buyu. “What’s her deal?”
Chi Buyu whispered a complaint. “She won’t let me tell you about her thing.”
Cui Qijin cut in flatly. “What do you want?”
Yu Chenxing blew another bubble, her voice lazy in the wind.
“Just checking if your package arrived.”
Cui Qijin recalled the anonymous princess’s delivery. “Oh. It did. Haven’t picked it up yet.”
Yu Chenxing tilted her head, her brow piercing glinting in the sun—as if only now noticing the wheelchair.
“What happened to you?”
Cui Qijin saw no point in hiding it any longer. She said lazily, “I twisted my waist.”
Yu Chenxing let out an “oh.” “Is it serious?”
Cui Qijin frowned. “When are you coming back?”
“Did you go to the hospital?” Yu Chenxing asked.
“Are you still in Hong Kong?” Cui Qijin replied.
“What did the doctor say?” Yu Chenxing pressed.
“How’s the air over there in Hong Kong?” Cui Qijin countered. “Does the wind bother you?”
“Can you even take care of yourself?” Yu Chenxing shot back.
…
No one was actually answering any questions.
Finally, Cui Qijin’s patience wore thin, and she ended the conversation. “If that’s all, hang up. I’ve got things to do and no time for idle chat.”
Yu Chenxing gave a light “ha.” “Then pass the phone to Sister Shuishui. I want to talk to her for a bit.”
Cui Qijin frowned. She never handed her phone over to anyone but herself. “Don’t you two have each other on WeChat?”
Yu Chenxing rolled her eyes and hung up.
Cui Qijin slipped her phone into her pocket. She glanced at Chi Buyu, who sat nearby with a wrinkled brow, her face a picture of confusion. Even after all these years, it seemed, deciphering the peculiar rhythm of their conversations still demanded a Herculean effort.
Cui Qijin cleared her throat. “She’ll probably come asking you about me later. Don’t mention the schedule.”
Don’t mention the schedule?
That meant she had agreed? Chi Buyu caught on a beat late. She was stunned—Cui Qijin had been persuaded so quickly. Before coming here, Chi Buyu had braced herself for a lengthy argument, even contemplated forcing the issue. She hadn’t expected this at all…
The thought made her want to double-check, but by then Cui Qijin had already maneuvered her wheelchair leisurely toward the glass tank housing the Brazilian turtle. She tilted her head up to eye the spot where the turtle food was kept. Her fair chin tensed ever so slightly.
She lingered there for a long moment, like a child who had committed some terrible offense. With her back turned to Chi Buyu, she hesitated before calling out,
“Chi Buyu.”
Chi Buyu stared at Cui Qijin’s back in the wheelchair. Suddenly, she recalled the night before—
Cui Qijin had lain prone on the hospital bed, her face deathly pale, her long black hair damp and plastered to one cheek in disheveled strands. Her framed glasses had slipped down to the bridge of her nose, her brows knitted tight as she jolted awake, as if from a nightmare. The look in her eyes held something indescribable—a raw ache, perhaps, or a proud helplessness that bordered on arid despair.
Yet in the time that followed, she had stayed utterly silent. She processed the dream’s lingering dread in silence, dry-heaved without a word, and eyed the IV bag dangling overhead without comment…
And then there was that moment just earlier, when she had fallen alone onto the carpet and Chi Buyu had walked in on her. Her head had been tilted to one side, pressed against the rug, her gaze toward Chi Buyu dazed and at a loss… Yet she had kept her eyes open, willingly enduring it all in stubborn silence.
Time and again, Cui Qijin handled these moments the same way.
As if…
As if she could have asked for help once, but had been rebuffed so often that she had lost the knack for it entirely.
Just like now.
“Chi Buyu?”
The call snapped Chi Buyu out of her daze. She didn’t respond right away.
“Huh?”
Cui Qijin tucked her chin in again, her palms gripping the wheelchair’s armrests so tightly that the blue veins stood out on the backs of her hands. She turned to look at Chi Buyu, her eyes behind the lenses hazy with bewilderment. With a note of real frustration, she added,
“Could you help me out? Please?”
