Chapter 28: “Pineapple Ice” Part 3

Her back injury had improved so much by now that she could stand on her own and even walk short distances independently. She no longer needed to lie prone constantly for rest, though she still required a wheelchair for occasional outings. It wasn’t as if she needed someone to watch over her every moment. Yet Chi Buyu insisted on waiting until she was completely better, and somehow Chen Wenran and Ran Yan had sided with her too. The vote in the four-person 【Save Cui Muhuo】 group chat had once again ended in a dismal 1-3 defeat.

Cui Qijin threw in the towel, too disheartened to start another poll.

Finally, the day arrived that Chi Buyu had scheduled as her last shift. In theory, even if no one showed up on the final day, Cui Qijin could handle everything on her own.

But this was Chi Buyu.

And Chi Buyu had said she would come.

Was Chi Buyu the type to go back on her word? Cui Qijin didn’t think so.

Maybe something had held her up.

With that thought, she set her phone aside. Just then, Chen Wenran forwarded a news link in the group—

【Man in Chengdu Deliberately Crashes into Tram After Breakup, Sparking Massive Pileup】

Cui Qijin frowned.

She wasn’t one to draw baseless connections from such news, but perhaps the sky had darkened too quickly today, or maybe her recent string of sleepless nights was to blame. Either way, an inexplicable unease gripped her heart.

She tapped the link and skimmed the article, but it offered only sensational headlines with no details on the victims, so she closed it. Chen Wenran typed 【So scary】 in the WeChat group, and Ran Yan asked, 【Has Shuishui gotten to your place yet? @Cui Qijin】.

Cui Qijin replied 【Not yet】, then sent Chi Buyu a private message: 【Where are you?】

A minute passed with no response.

Ran Yan chimed in: 【I’ll give her a call】

Before Ran Yan could report back, Cui Qijin instinctively rose and headed for the door. She took a step too fast, caught her foot on something, and yanked her ribs in the process. It felt like her strength had been ripped right out of her body. Cold sweat and pain exploded all at once.

She clutched her waist and sank back into the wheelchair, not even catching her breath before clumsily steering it out the door.

She hadn’t gone out much these past few days and had grown accustomed to lounging at home without an outer layer. It wasn’t until the elevator doors opened that she realized she hadn’t grabbed a jacket—something she hadn’t prepared for herself in ages. Whenever Chi Buyu came over, she always checked the weather forecast in advance and reminded her what thickness of clothing to wear for the next few days. One day, she’d even taken her out and picked out the perfect outer layer colors on her own, complete with that berry red scarf.

A chilly gust swept in.

Cui Qijin’s neck felt the cold; she wasn’t wearing a scarf. She maneuvered the wheelchair awkwardly, bumping and jolting over the sloped ramp at the building’s entrance, nearly toppling over. But she steadied it at the last second, no spill. Thin sweat beaded on her nose tip. In her disheveled state, she recalled how Chi Buyu always shouted, “Huohuo, downhill coming up!” whenever pushing her past this very ramp.

She called her Huohuo only in these moments—like some special ritual.

Cui Qijin decided she didn’t like this ritual.

Amid the chaos, she coughed twice and glanced back at the ramp, her brows furrowing slightly.

Stepping out of the complex, she felt strangely unfamiliar with the streets she’d walked countless times over the years, even though it had only been a few days.

Streetlights tore ragged holes in the gloomy sky. She pulled out her ever-present handkerchief, unfolded it, and wiped the sweat from her nose, hesitating over which way to go. In the end, she wheeled toward the subway station.

The path took her past Love Adrift Street.

She wondered if she might spot Chi Buyu’s trail at her studio.

Love Adrift Street buzzed with its usual evening energy: community buses rumbling by on the wind, bicycles flashing taillights, night markets noisy and fragrant, streetlamps swaying gently…

All of it rolled past Cui Qijin’s wheelchair. The road was slick with recent rain, and her wheels picked up water stains, leaving tracks of her search for someone.

Passing the street market, she imagined Chi Buyu hiding inside, sneaking two skewers of grilled giant squid before popping out with her mangled Cantonese: “So good!” Early that year, a TVB drama had blown up, and Chi Buyu had fallen hard for it, dredging up memories from her six months in Hong Kong. She’d started tossing Cantonese phrases at her nonstop, though “so good” was the only one she pronounced right.

Passing True Heart Mango, she pictured Chi Buyu darting around in that horn-button coat, pretending to be all grown-up while picking fruit. In reality, she had no clue about prices per jin from the boss and might end up with the worst mango in the bunch.

Passing the record store, she envisioned Chi Buyu leaning on the counter, swaying as she asked the record store boss, “What album’s best for an INTJ?”

Last time, on a whim, Chi Buyu had pried into her MBTI type. She’d never taken the test but gave in to the nagging and answered the endless questions. The site pegged her as INTJ—a haughty purple little figure who hated stupidity. Cui Qijin thought it rang true enough. Some called INTJs arrogant lunatics; others, dull porcupines. Chi Buyu, though, said she was a lonely little doll. Cui Qijin didn’t agree.

…

But Chi Buyu wasn’t at any of those spots.

The studio lights were off, pitch black—she must have clocked out already. After some distance, Cui Qijin’s wheelchair battery died. She belatedly remembered Chi Buyu had always handled the charging, and she’d overlooked that detail. Switching to manual mode, something she’d never used before, left her exhausted enough to want to stand up, ditch the chair, or just call the cops to find her.

But she didn’t want to escalate to police involvement. She’d rather row until her arms gave out. Sweat trickled from her forehead, soaking the strands hanging by her ears. She was running out of strength, pausing every stretch to rest a minute or two before pushing on. Crossing two-thirds of Love Adrift Street, she finally spotted Chi Buyu—

At a bus stop sign glowing under the lights, with sparse headlights passing. Chi Buyu hunched over, arms wrapped around herself, hair tousled by the wind, hem fluttering.

Her face looked blurry, shoes dirty with splatters of something.

The wet road made her seem drenched overall. Even if her hair and clothes were clean, Cui Qijin couldn’t help thinking of the Loopy Snowman, melted for ages just a bit farther ahead.

“Chi—”

Cui Qijin uttered a syllable.

Chi Buyu shuffled forward, still head down, hands clutching her elbows. The wind swallowed Cui Qijin’s voice. She didn’t know why she didn’t call out louder… afraid, maybe…

Of startling Chi Buyu.

She didn’t want to scare her. After all this mess, she wasn’t sure if showing up would make her look like the arrogant lunatic or the dull porcupine.

She struggled to wheel forward again. Fortunately, Chi Buyu’s pace was slow; she could keep up.

Chi Buyu led the way, lower face buried in her hoodie collar, lost in a daze as she wandered the damp, colorful streets. Cui Qijin trailed silently behind, wondering what on earth had happened to her.

Chi Buyu stepped through a neon-reflecting puddle, splashing her hem, oblivious as she plodded on. Cui Qijin carefully skirted it, but by the next puddle, impatience won; she rolled straight through. Water splashed her hem, and she knit her brows, the tension never easing.

Rain began to fall unnoticed—fine mist turning the air humid, enveloping Chi Buyu’s silhouette. She looked so thin and fragile, like a paper cutout, edges blurring.

Cui Qijin truly hated the rain. She’d twisted her back in a downpour just like this last time.

She felt she should warn Chi Buyu it was raining—stop wandering, get out of it before getting sick or into an accident. The news had just mentioned a pileup, especially since Chi Buyu had night blindness.

That’s when Chi Buyu reached a corner sign—red letters reading EXIT/NO ENTRY—and suddenly squatted down. A stray cat meowed from the bushes, and Chi Buyu’s knee-hugging hands clamped over her ears.

The streetlights seemed to dim.

In the gathering dark, Cui Qijin watched her: hair whipping wildly across her shoulders and back, grimy shoes tucked under the sign, panicked glances away from ants at her feet, cheeks puffed like she was hiding something, curled into a tiny ball beneath the lamppost.

After a while, the rain picked up, fat drops like green beans pelting Cui Qijin’s face. Logically, they must be hitting Chi Buyu too—would it hurt her? Make her sadder?

Cui Qijin wheeled closer slowly.

Amid the thickening rain scent, a strong toffee aroma hit first. Was Chi Buyu eating candy? Did that mean nothing too serious had happened?

Cui Qijin eased her tense back a fraction and approached hesitantly.

She stopped the wheelchair right in front of Chi Buyu, rain pounding down. Keeping her calm, she resolved to call her to shelter first, warn her gently—no scolding, no startling. She’d use her name: You’ve got night blindness, so don’t wander in the rain at night. Or… at least call someone to keep you company.

The rain pattered softly. Cui Qijin called out Chi Buyu’s name with unusual calm, the first to shatter the long-held silence. But in the next instant, Chi Buyu shuddered violently, as if in utter disbelief. With a dazed expression, she lifted her head to gaze at her—

Her face was deathly pale, the rims of her eyes tinged with damp redness. Then she released the lip she had been biting so fiercely, and tears slid uncontrollably down her plump cheeks.

The situation now was nearly identical to so many similar moments from the past… Sobbing, she cried out to her once.

“Cui Muhuo.”

She suddenly felt the raindrops hitting her lips sting bitterly, and she was nowhere near as composed as she had imagined.