Chapter 24: “Little Turtle” Part 2

Chi Buyu declared with full confidence, “All good.”

Before heading to Hong Kong, she’d run into some issues. People said her designs from last year overlapped too much with her earlier ones—that she’d started out with a unique personal style, but after too long on the commercial path, she’d run dry. They claimed certain elements were now overused by all the trendy new Chinese-style brands, and she was still leaning on them.

At first, those comments had left her feeling so wronged. She’d hidden under the covers and quietly cried. She didn’t feel that way about her own work at all. You Ying and Ran Yan had taken turns consoling her, patting her head and saying—

Some shady competitors in the industry had hired trolls to tank her reputation and rattle her nerves, hoping she’d take the bait. Her classmate Chen Wenran had been furious about it. “Don’t even look! They’re just trying to mess with you!” Even Mom and Dad had secretly created dozens of burner accounts to clap back at the haters, only for all of them to get banned. Mom was so pissed she dumped three extra spoonfuls of salt into her stir-fry, and Dad, refusing to back down, borrowed his mahjong buddies’ phone numbers to make new ones.

Those days, she looked utterly drained.

She’d burrow under the covers and secretly scroll through social media, checking her notifications. Every time she saw those comments, her eyes would well up with tears. And when she couldn’t see them, she’d itch to look anyway.

Then one day, she didn’t know exactly when.

She came across an ad for a fashion design course run by a big name in the industry in Hong Kong. She mulled it over all night. The next morning, her eyes were still red, but she’d already signed up. Just like that, she dragged her suitcase off to Hong Kong.

It wasn’t because she actually believed what they were saying, to the point where she doubted her own talent and slunk away in shame.

No, it was because—

When you’re stuck overthinking, just go do it. Make something, and the thoughts will stop. That was what her little aunt had taught her back when she was in Taiwan.

She’d held onto those words ever since, applying them to most things in life. More often than not, they led to good outcomes. Sometimes not. But when push came to shove, the results somehow didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

So when she returned from Hong Kong, she was brimming with confidence, feeling like she could take on the world.

She even came back with her chin held high and fresh design sketches in hand. Before the new year, she’d locked in the spring-summer collection. After the holiday, she’d hit the markets to source fabrics, trims, and finalize patterns. But not today. Today was a holiday, and her main mission was…

“You can actually head home now,” Cui Qijin said.

She was reclining on the chaise lounge, with the wheelchair positioned nearby—just within reach if she needed to sit up and transfer. Her eyes were closed tight. “I’ll be right here all afternoon. Being alone won’t be an issue. Nothing bad will happen.”

“No need,” Chi Buyu replied.

She’d just bent down to adjust the chaise when she absentmindedly set her bag on the wheelchair. Straightening up, she glanced around and saw nothing left to do. Satisfied, she padded over to the sofa in the living room, curled up on it, rolled once for comfort, and let out a lazy yawn.

“I like it here. Besides, it’s only your second day like this, and the doctor said someone needs to keep a close eye on you. If anything else happens, it’ll be a real hassle.”

To Cui Qijin’s ears, it sounded more like: If you don’t trouble me now, you will later. Better think that over.

She resigned herself to it and glanced once more at Chi Buyu’s bag on the wheelchair.

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands, clearly unhappy with wherever she might put it. By the time Chi Buyu realized she’d been tossing her stuff around in front of Cui Qijin again… Cui Qijin had already hung the bag on the back of the wheelchair, facing away from her.

“Do whatever.”

Then she just lay there, neck held rigidly straight, utterly still. Like she was about to nap. Or maybe just purely sunning herself.

Chi Buyu blinked. “What do you usually do while sunbathing?”

Cui Qijin replied, “Sunbathe.”

Chi Buyu was shocked. “Just… basking?”

“Sometimes I read a book.”

“Oh.”

Chi Buyu nestled into the living room sofa, her gaze drifting to her dusky pink bag hanging off the back of Cui Qijin’s wheelchair. Cui Qijin always wore black and gray, and now she lay flat on the chaise amid the balcony greenery, lazily soaking up the sun. She clashed completely with the bag’s tone—like…

A no-nonsense lady owl in glasses, with a sprightly pink stub of a tail sprouting from her back while she sunned herself.

Chi Buyu thought the image was brilliant. Propping her chin on her hand, she grinned to herself, already plotting to bring the peacock-green one next time.

At that moment, Cui Qijin spoke up. “Are you hungry?”

Chi Buyu suddenly remembered she also had a Barbie pink bag at home. She burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. “A little.”

Cui Qijin turned her head to look. Chi Buyu immediately schooled her expression.

Their eyes met.

Cui Qijin cleared her throat. “There’s some food in the drawer of the little tea table right in front of you.”

Then she turned away again, adding firmly, “But you can’t order greasy takeout or anything soupy and messy here.”

Chi Buyu nodded. After a beat, she shot her hand high in the air. “What about takeout that’s neither soupy nor greasy!”

“…”

Cui Qijin’s back looked thoroughly conflicted, but after a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But show it to me first before you order, and I’ll decide. And you have to clean up after yourself.”

Chi Buyu agreed readily, but she wasn’t so bold as to order right away. Instead, she obediently rummaged in the tea table drawer and pulled out a pack of coconut crisp cookies, a box of green plum Oreos, a box of butter cookies…

“I had no idea you kept so many snacks at home.” Chi Buyu bit into an Oreo with a satisfying crunch.

“Sometimes my blood sugar drops and I need to replenish with these. Plus, Chen Wenran drops by occasionally and brings a ton. She’s worried I’ll pass out from low blood sugar with no one around to help.”

Cui Qijin explained. She shifted her neck slightly, her voice softening. “Go ahead and eat. You can order takeout if you want, as long as you clean up properly.”

She seemed to settle fully into her serene sunbathing pose.

Chi Buyu crunched away in silence.

She munched obediently on the coconut crisps, but crumbs were inevitable with cookies like these. After just a few bites, she eyed the sofa and carpet in dismay, already dotted with bits.

So she crunched and tried to tidy as she went, only to give up and decide she’d clean everything in one go once she finished. That’s when her phone pinged. It was Yu Chenxing, whom she’d just hung up with after talking to Cui Qijin:

【Shuishui sis】

【What’s the deal with Cui Qijin? Did she fall or get in a car accident? Why’s she suddenly in a wheelchair?】

【Nah, just tweaked her waist. Doc says no bone damage, rest for two weeks and use the wheelchair when going out.】

Chi Buyu typed back, then tilted her head for a glance at Cui Qijin. With a sneaky crunch, she snapped a photo of her friend’s serious sunbathing silhouette on the chaise and sent it over.

She quickly pocketed her phone and buried her face in her collar, pretending she hadn’t glanced that way at all. But Cui Qijin seemed deaf to the world while sunbathing—no reaction to the stealth shot, no turning her head. Maybe she was asleep.

Clutching her Oreos, coconut crisps, and butter cookies, Chi Buyu let out a relieved breath. Then Yu Chenxing replied with a question mark, followed by a barrage:

【This person is way too intense lol /eyeroll】

【Sixth day of the new year, waist so messed up she’s wheelchair-bound, and she’s still insisting on lounging outside to sunbathe???】

Sichuan folks loved tossing dialect into their chats. Yu Chenxing and Cui Qijin rarely spoke it with each other—Cui Qijin hardly used Sichuanese with anyone.

But she chatted with Chi Buyu in it, even slipping dialect words into texts.

They’d clicked from the first meeting, speaking Sichuanese right off the bat. Chi Buyu had been sixteen then, and Yu Chenxing was this tiny kid, braces and all, shuffling awkwardly to their high school gate. She’d crane her neck to peer inside, duck when the guard appeared, then clutch her backpack strap tensely whenever someone emerged.

Chi Buyu, at loose ends, had been waiting for her older cousin to get off work and pick her up for Dairy Queen. Sucking on a lollipop, she’d watched the girl for ages. Finally, she strolled over, grabbed Yu Chenxing’s backpack strap with a grin, and said,

“You’re looking for Cui Muhuo, right?”

The girl jumped. “How’d you know?”

Then she caught on, puzzled. “Cui… Muhuo?”

“Yeah! You two look so much alike!”

Chi Buyu ruffled her hair. To her, this was a mini Cui Qijin—same single eyelid, same fake-cool vibe that wasn’t cool at all.

Total kid stuff.

But Yu Chenxing really was just a little kid. She pursed her lips shyly at the words. “She’s my sister. Who are you?”

“Me?”

Chi Buyu paused, then patted her school uniform. “I’m your sister’s good friend.”

Yu Chenxing drawled an “oh” and said, “I don’t buy it.” Chi Buyu’s eyes went wide. “Why not?”

The girl didn’t answer, just tilted her head to scan the people exiting the school gate again.

Chi Buyu found it odd. “You don’t live together?”

Yu Chenxing shook her head. “We do.”

Chi Buyu was baffled. “Then why the awkwardness? I thought you were a runaway coming to find her.”

Yu Chenxing ducked her head lower, clamming up.

Chi Buyu sensed something serious brewing. She fiddled with her hair tied in little braids, mind racing but drawing a blank. Either way, she didn’t leave. Instead, she waited till Cui Qijin appeared, then waved enthusiastically.