Chapter 25: “Ambiguous Messages”

【She’s always saying one thing but meaning another, which tires everyone else out.】

Yu Chenxing sent that reply very late at night. By then, Chi Buyu had already left Cui Qijin’s place. She’d finished her shift for the day, safely escorted Cui Qijin to her bedroom and onto the bed, and right before Cui Qijin drifted off to sleep, Chi Buyu had vividly recounted the terrifying SpongeBob episode where he buries a body.

In response, Cui Qijin merely lifted an eyelid indifferently and offered a two-word verdict.

“Boring.”

Chi Buyu jumped in surprise. “How could it be boring? This was the scariest episode from my childhood—I couldn’t even watch it before bed!”

Cui Qijin let out a soft “heh.” “You’ve got quite the small imagination then.”

Chi Buyu felt a bit unconvinced.

But she didn’t argue with her patient. Before leaving, she patted Cui Qijin’s forehead.

“Sleep tight then. Don’t be scared.”

Cui Qijin frowned, clearly displeased with this head-patting habit Chi Buyu had recently developed. Before she departed, Cui Qijin issued a warning. “You’d better not actually treat me like a child you’re soothing.”

So tsundere.

Chi Buyu showed no remorse whatsoever. Propping up her face with a grin, she said cheerfully, “Got it, Little Kid Cui Muhuo.”

Cui Qijin knew she was ignoring her on purpose. She calmly lowered her eyelids, then lifted them again to meet Chi Buyu’s gaze, letting out another light “heh.”

“Do you even realize I’m older than you?”

“I know～” Chi Buyu replied. “You’re Aquarius, I’m Aries. Same year, so you can’t be more than a few days older.”

Cui Qijin huffed softly again.

“Even if it’s just an hour older, a minute, a second…”

“La la la, not listening!” Chi Buyu plugged her ears, still not fully convinced.

Cui Qijin was amused by the gesture. Once her laughter faded, she tilted her chin up slightly to look at her. Her expression remained as calm as ever, even a touch stubborn.

But perhaps because she’d removed her glasses before bed, her eyebrows looked soft and fuzzy under the lamplight, giving her an unexpectedly docile air. Then, with a light flick, she tapped Chi Buyu’s forehead.

“Still makes me older than you.”

【Just like a little kid.】

That was Yu Chenxing’s second reply, coming after Chi Buyu had sent her that question.

Chi Buyu was already preparing for bed by then, groggily fishing out her phone as it vibrated twice.

She half-pulled off her Strawberry Bear eye mask, blinked her eyes open, and saw those two messages. She bolted upright in bed, shoving the eye mask further up onto her hair like her eyebrows were on fire. Pursing her lips, she typed rapidly.

【You actually know about that?】

Yu Chenxing seemed to finally have time to chat now, replying almost instantly.

【Sister Shuishui, you’re still up?】

【Yeah, I know.】

Chi Buyu sat there, responding: 【It’s still early. Can’t sleep yet.】

Yu Chenxing wrote back: 【Ohh, me too. Just got back to the hotel and lay down.】

Ignoring the yawns she’d let slip, Chi Buyu solemnly grabbed the massive Strawberry Bear from her bed and hugged it tight, resting her chin on its head. She tapped away at the chat box for a good thirty seconds before sending.

【So, do you know your sister’s first love?】

Yu Chenxing: 【Nope.】

As expected. Cui Qijin’s first love was shrouded in mystery—no one seemed to know the person’s true identity. Chi Buyu sighed, tugging at the Strawberry Bear’s cheek. Then Yu Chenxing’s next message popped up.

【But I have a pretty good idea.】

Chi Buyu’s eyes widened as she stared at the white speech bubble on the screen. A good idea about what?

Yu Chenxing had a habit of breaking up her sentences: 【I can pretty much guess how they broke up.】

The words “broke up” made Chi Buyu freeze for a moment, as if only now did it feel truly real—

Cui Qijin, the Cui Qijin she knew, had indeed been in a relationship with someone. Maybe ordinary, maybe passionate, but there had been sweetness, love, all the joys and heartaches of normal people. All because of that one person, who’d shared the closest bond with Cui Qijin—perhaps changing her, perhaps not. And in the end, Cui Qijin had said she’d loved too little in that romance. Was that really true? They’d even parted ways for some reason…

For some reason, the longer Chi Buyu stared at that line, the heavier her heart felt.

Like a sponge soaked full of water—twist it, and a flood pours out. She couldn’t tell what flavor those drops held, but she felt drenched all over.

She tugged at the Strawberry Bear’s ears, one after another, lacking any energy. Yu Chenxing’s messages kept bouncing in one by one.

【Hard to imagine her dating someone, right?】

【I can’t imagine it either.】

【That’s why I only found out after they broke up.】

【You probably know what my sister’s like too—saying the opposite of what she means is second nature to her. Always claiming she hates this, dislikes that, can’t do whatever… but never admitting what she likes, what she loves…】

【Even if she likes something a hundred percent in her heart, she’d only ever admit zero point zero zero one percent out loud.】

【Take mangos, for example. We all know she loves them. But as a kid, she stubbornly denied mangos were special to her. She even forced herself to eat strawberries for a while, trying to shake off her ‘persistent liking’ for something. She probably hates the feeling of ‘liking’ anything—it’s like being controlled by something dangerous.】

Talking about Cui Qijin seemed to give Yu Chenxing endless material to vent.

Chi Buyu bit her lip.

She typed “But” into the chat box but hadn’t sent it when Yu Chenxing beat her to it with her own 【But】.

【But on the flip side, it also means that if she really dates someone, she must truly like them. After all, I’ve always thought she only likes herself in the whole universe—no, wait, even whether she likes herself is up for debate.】

Exactly. Chi Buyu silently gripped the Strawberry Bear’s ears tighter, left stunned by Yu Chenxing’s words. She could only manage curt replies, a few words at a time.

【Yeah.】

【No idea how much she liked them.】

It was like she hadn’t said anything at all. But Yu Chenxing had plenty more to say and didn’t notice her distraction.

【In summary, my sister clearly isn’t great at romance. Though maybe she was young and clueless back then, impulsively falling in love.】

Chi Buyu buried her chin in the Strawberry Bear’s plush face: 【Young and clueless?】

【Yeah, I think it was… around eighteen?】

【High school, probably. Can’t remember exactly, but after it ended, she was noticeably restless for a while. Couldn’t focus on anything.】

Chi Buyu froze: 【High school?】

No way it was… someone from their school? The thought had just surfaced when Yu Chenxing sent another message: 【Probably not from your school.】

Oh. Not after all.

Chi Buyu wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or not. She clenched her fingers.

【So how did she meet them then?】

Yu Chenxing replied:

【Come to think of it, I wanna know who this mystery person is too. All these years, she’s never mentioned a word—not the name, age, school, city, features, or even how they met. No one around her knows those details except her.】

【Logically, my sister shouldn’t fall for just anyone. And even if she did, from what I know, she’d keep it bottled up forever—probably take it to the grave—rather than confess. /eye roll (Worst type ever)】

【But Sister Shuishui, why are you suddenly asking about this?】

It was like Yu Chenxing had only just realized.

Chi Buyu twisted her twin tails together like a braid, rolled across the bed hugging the Strawberry Bear, and finally replied shyly.

【I heard about it on her birthday that day. Got curious.】

After sending that explanation, Yu Chenxing didn’t reply right away—probably not near her phone.

Chi Buyu dejectedly tossed her phone aside. It bounced once, the mattress thudding like a little hammer pounding her heart over and over.

The blows left her flustered, her mind racing in circles, yanked every which way until it was a tangled ball of yarn.

Then came several more vibrations in a row.

She obediently picked up the phone again. The screen showed four WeChat notifications.

Three from Yu Chenxing:

【I see.】

【But I bet it was the other person who made the first move.】

【She’s totally passive—would never even think of dating another human, and she’d never let on any hint of it.】

Spoken with utter certainty—

【No matter how much she likes someone, she won’t make the first move.】

And one glaringly from Cui Muhuo—

【Are you free tomorrow? I’d like to treat you to dinner.】

–

Cui Qijin abruptly opened her eyes in the darkness.

She fumbled for her glasses on the nightstand, slipped them on, and carefully checked that she’d reimbursed all the expenses to Chen Wenran and Chi Buyu. Once confirmed, she relaxed. But SpongeBob’s deflated voice still whispered devilishly in her ear—

“Sleep tight. Don’t be scared～”

Even mimicking Chi Buyu’s tone.

She couldn’t toss and turn in bed. Instead, she lay rigidly, eyes fixed on the pitch-black room devoid of any light. After a while, her phone buzzed once.

She raised both hands straight up and saw a WeChat from Chen Wenran.

【On this matter, you really ought to thank Shuishui properly.】

Chen Wenran was right. But Cui Qijin wasn’t good at thanking Chi Buyu. Seemed like around her, she kept discovering new things she wasn’t good at.

She furrowed her brow, pondering.

Before she could reply, Chen Wenran sent another: 【I have a plan.】

Cui Qijin: 【Save it. I didn’t use your plan last time.】

Chen Wenran, shocked: 【You passed up such a golden opportunity last time? You’re really hopeless.】

Clearly missing the point.

Cui Qijin’s arms were stretched out straight, making it a bit tricky to type: 【Hurry up and spill your plan this time. I’ll think it over.】

Chen Wenran stopped teasing her and got down to business: 【You should at least take the initiative and invite her out for a meal. She’s got thin skin—do you really think Shuishui would come right out and ask you for thanks?】

Cui Qijin mulled it over for a moment.

Chen Wenran’s words were rough around the edges, but they weren’t wrong. Though she didn’t buy that Chi Buyu was all that shy. Wrapping up her chat with Chen Wenran, she glanced at the time. In her mind, she ran through her schedule for the coming days. Staying cooped up in bed meant she couldn’t head to the studio anyway. She might as well do what Chen Wenran suggested…

If Chi Buyu was free, it would be best to get that meal out of the way sooner rather than later. Or if Chi Buyu had other requests, she needed to make them happen quickly.

She really hated the feeling of owing someone a favor.

After agonizing over her words for a full minute, she messaged Chi Buyu to ask if she had time.

But Chi Buyu didn’t reply right away.

The room was pitch black. Cui Qijin kept her arms rigidly outstretched, watching the 【typing…】 indicator on the other end. She didn’t lower her phone.

And so she held it there, waiting for Chi Buyu’s response. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty… Impatience got the better of her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The next instant, her phone buzzed.

Chi Buyu took forever to type before sending over an emoji: 【Stomping Feet.gif】

Then she typed for another eternity and followed up with: 【Why the sudden invite to dinner?】

Cui Qijin replied matter-of-factly: 【For what happened this time. I have to thank you properly.】

After sending it, she figured Chi Buyu would take ages to respond again—clearly, this woman typed at a snail’s pace. Cui Qijin closed her eyes and lowered her phone.

But not even a second later, the replies came flooding in:

【Oh.】

【Sure.】

【Got it.】

They arrived so fast her phone was buzzing nonstop. And three messages in a row without a single emoji?

It must be because it was so late.

Maybe Chi Buyu’s sleep schedule was as sluggish as a lazy turtle’s. She might even wake up cranky.

That was Cui Qijin’s guess as she typed out her follow-up, planning to wrap things up once she’d asked: 【How about tomorrow?】

Chi Buyu finally returned to her normal pace:

【Lemme think.】

【Pretty Girl Shooting.gif】

【No can do tomorrow. Got a pimple on my chin, hurts like hell. Not in the mood to eat out.】

【Drenched Cat.gif】

Cui Qijin asked: 【What about the day after?】

Chi Buyu shot back:

【Doubt the pimple’ll be gone by then.】

【Pretty Girl Shooting.gif】

Cui Qijin hammered out a decisive string: 【Day after that? The one after? Next Tuesday? Wednesday?】

Chi Buyu fired off her own barrage: 【Day after that, I’m hitting the fabric market with my cousin. The one after, family dinner with Mom. Tuesday, food scouting with Ranran. Wednesday, meetup with Xingxing—she’s back from Hong Kong, says she got me a gift. Wanna join us?】

She seemed insanely busy, her time doled out to everyone else. She even had to squeeze in a meetup with Yu Chenxing.

Cui Qijin felt drained: 【Nah. Just pick any date that works for you.】

Chi Buyu replied:

【Pretty Girl Shooting.gif】

【Pretty Girl Shooting.gif】

【Pretty Girl Shooting.gif】

【Since you went all the way to Wednesday, why not push it one more day?】

Cui Qijin hesitated: 【Thursday?】

Chi Buyu:

【Silly Dog Pointing.jpg】

【Thursday it is.】

Cui Qijin was speechless: 【Then why didn’t you just say Thursday works?】

Chi Buyu:

【Silly Dog Pointing.jpg】

【You’re the one asking me out to eat. Gotta play it a little coy. Can’t look too eager, y’know.】

Too eager about what? Was this her idea of playing coy? And why bother being coy with her out of nowhere?

Cui Qijin adjusted her glasses, suddenly realizing the room was lit only by her phone screen. She started to reach for the light switch.

But Chi Buyu, fresh off her bout of coyness, messaged again the very next second: 【So what are we eating!!】

Cui Qijin slowly withdrew her hand from the switch.

Her arms ached, but she kept holding the phone. Learning her lesson, she rattled off a list of options:

【Thai? Grilled fish? Claypot? BBQ? Hotpot? Or anything you’ve been craving lately?】

But after sending it, she second-guessed herself. How were people supposed to phrase dinner invites anyway? Just throwing out dry options like that felt off.

She pulled up Meituan and quickly scanned nearby spots: frog fish head claypot with thousand-layer tripe, hotpot with douhua, a few private kitchens and Thai/Southeast Asian places she took clients to and liked…

She sent them one by one, then double-checked. No way did she want to seem stingy, so she added:

【Whatever you want is fine.】

【We could even do all of them.】

That last one landed wrong—loaded with unintended implications, like she was suggesting multiple dates. Texting had its pitfalls; meanings got twisted, breeding misunderstandings out of thin air.

Cui Qijin froze as the 【typing…】 appeared. In a panic, she retracted her message, furrowed her brow, and fired off a frantic clarification:

【What I meant was, you don’t have to go with me. Eat with whoever—I’ll cover it. For all your help this time.】

That should clear it up, show her sincerity without any weird vibes. Cui Qijin let out a breath.

The phone’s dim glow reflected off her glasses. Thinking back over the past couple days, she figured she really ought to buy Chi Buyu a ton of meals to square things.

Or… Chi Buyu could make some other reasonable requests.

As these thoughts swirled, Chi Buyu’s reply popped up: first 【Okay then】, then 【Black Dog Slap.gif】. Finally, Cui Qijin’s palm tingled with a buzz as a bold new message leaped onto the screen—

【Nope. Gotta be with you.】

Utterly straightforward, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—or some other inscrutable tone.

That was exactly why Cui Qijin hated texting.

Words were always ambiguous, their meanings fuzzy. People layered on their own assumptions, stirring up needless tension, wild guesses, and dopamine rushes from nowhere.

A single vague phrase could set every nerve on edge, sparking misinterpretations—positive, negative, or both.

In reality, texts could be edited endlessly, disguised at will. The same line might drip with indifference, subtle probing, playful sulkiness. Was it crisp mango or sour strawberry on the other end? No telling.

Cui Qijin always struggled to parse the true intent behind them. Maybe she just sucked at reading between the lines.

She muddled through in a fog, botching everything.

Right then, the chat hung on Chi Buyu’s message. After who-knows-how-long, Cui Qijin watched it vanish—【Chi Buyu retracted a message】—leaving a faint gray trace.

Her phone screen went dark the next instant.

The room plunged back into utter blackness, dim and pixelated like a low-res image, shadows fractured into blocks.

Cui Qijin’s arms throbbed with fatigue, yet she kept them stiffly extended, phone still in hand.

No urge to turn on the light. No clue what to reply.

Then, in the dark, her phone lit up again. A flurry of WeChat notifications buzzed against her palm, tickling her throat into a few involuntary coughs. She tapped it open—Chi Buyu’s replies:

【That claypot place has insane lines. Pass. Grilled fish and frogs mean picking bones nonstop—frogs especially, all grimacing and lip-pursing. I’d look ridiculous eating. No thanks. Hotpot we did last time. BBQ? Did that with Mom and Dad back in ninth grade…】

【Southeast Asian it is.】

【Cool, nighty night.】

【Penguin Beating Penguin.gif】

Four messages in rapid succession. Turns out Chi Buyu could type plenty fast when she wanted. The tone was casual as ever, capped with her signature emoji.

In the darkness, Cui Qijin stared at the screen, lips pressed thin, before replying to bump that retracted notice up top.

【Sounds good. Goodnight. Get some rest.】

She figured, at least tonight, two goodnights were sincere.