Cui Qijin watched those riotously colorful icy glasses, noticing how the tips of Chi Buyu’s ears had already begun to flush pink. A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she thought—
This night was going to be a long one.
In the end, though, she didn’t try to stop her.
She gazed at Chi Buyu’s profile, so earnest and lost in the moment that she’d forgotten her pain, her peripheral vision catching her own reflection in the glass window. She looked like she was smiling.
At the time, Cui Qijin had no idea that in just half an hour, she would regret that moment of inaction with every fiber of her being.
By then, it was deep into the night.
The rain had fully stopped, but the streets were still slick and wet. The wheelchair’s wheels stuck to the pavement like glue rather than water.
Halfway through their drinks, Chi Buyu burst excitedly out of the 7-Eleven, rallying her spirits like a soldier charging back into battle. On the soggy road, she abruptly flung her arms wide to embrace the breeze, deliberately stomping through every puddle she saw.
When she turned back, her hair was a wild tangle from the wind. She squinted through her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, tilted her chin up, and grinned at Cui Qijin before suddenly shouting into the empty street,
“Spring really seems to have arrived.”
Cui Qijin trailed behind her, her steps light on the rain-soaked asphalt as she answered a call from Ran Yan. At those words, she held her phone out to capture the sound.
Then she brought it back to her ear. Noisy chaos erupted from the other end. Ran Yan, who had been filming nonstop, let out a relieved breath before teasing, “If you’d called even a minute later, Chen Wenran and I would’ve already driven out to Chenghua.”
Chen Wenran’s voice shoved in, loud and indignant. “Exactly! Why didn’t you call sooner to let us know you’re safe?”
Cui Qijin kept it brief. “Forgot.”
“Forgot?”
Chen Wenran sounded incredulous. “What kind of memory do you have, Cui Qijin!!”
A sharp smack echoed through the line.
It sounded like Ran Yan had unceremoniously shoved Chen Wenran’s face away. Rustling followed, as if a pair of mice were whispering conspiratorially.
Moments later, Ran Yan’s voice came through clear again. “Since Shuishui’s okay, we won’t come over, then? You sure you can handle it alone?”
Cui Qijin glanced ahead at Chi Buyu.
She had paused at the doorway of some shop, cradling the sweetest of the seven drinks in her hands and pretending to study its label with exaggerated focus.
“Should be fine,” Cui Qijin replied. She hung up and headed toward Chi Buyu.
That night, she suddenly realized she could walk normally again. It was as if, just before Chi Buyu’s exuberant shout, she’d been barely mobile, dependent on the wheelchair with its dead battery just to search for her. But afterward… she was following on foot now, the wheelchair switched to being pushed.
Candy piled high on the seat, and Chengdu’s breeze began carrying the faint, fresh scent of budding trees.
In those few short steps, Cui Qijin reflected that Chi Buyu really did cry easily. She panicked and fretted at the drop of a hat. But Chi Buyu also bounced back fast from bad moods.
In a way, this drunkard possessed an astonishing power of recovery. It was almost enviable.
“What are you doing here?”
Cui Qijin drew closer. Chi Buyu’s lips glistened wetly as she chewed on her straw, her cheeks rosy and flushed. She waited until a nearby passerby had moved on, leaving just the two of them within five meters, then leaned in mischievously to whisper in her ear,
“Have you ever been to a place like this?”
What kind of place?
Cui Qijin’s ear tingled with an itch, like a feather soaked in liquor brushing against it.
Uncomfortable with the proximity, she curled her fingers reflexively and looked up without thinking. Before she could make out the shop’s sign, Chi Buyu murmured, “I’m a drunkard. Should be fine if I just poke my head in, right?”
Did a drunkard even realize she was drunk?
Cui Qijin found it amusing.
The next instant, Chi Buyu let out a decisive breath, as if steeling herself for something grave. She pressed the frosty cup to her cheek to cool it, then dashed inside with a thump-thump-thump of footsteps.
Only then did Cui Qijin finally focus her gaze. She made out the neon-lit sign above the door, and her mind raced to a single conclusion—this was a lesbian adult toy shop.
?
“Chi Buyu.”
No answer.
“Chi Buyu?”
Cui Qijin squeezed her eyes shut, half-wishing she wasn’t wearing her glasses.
“Chi Buyu!”
A girl in a baseball cap walked past, shooting them an ambiguous glance. Cui Qijin’s patience frayed. She took a hesitant step forward, then retreated…
“Chi Buyu…”
The next moment, Chi Buyu came thump-thump-thumping back out. Her face was now more than twice as red as before—like a freshly boiled crab fleeing the pot at the last second.
Her hair flew in disarray, her palms burned hot as she seized Cui Qijin’s wrist. It was straight out of a movie: dragging her accomplice along for a mortifying getaway, no looking back.
But then she remembered Cui Qijin’s bad waist and couldn’t run. In a panic, she stomped her foot, gritted her teeth, and plopped straight into the wheelchair. She yanked the 7-Eleven plastic bag—the one stuffed with candy—over her head.
She froze solid, curling up motionless in the chair like a timid snail. Only the hand clutching Cui Qijin’s wrist kept tugging insistently, like yanking the chain on an old-fashioned pull-cord lamp.
“Hurry, go! Let’s get out of here!”
Her voice held the frantic urgency of ghosts about to give chase.
Cui Qijin still had no clue what was happening. Just then, a young woman from inside the shop—permed curls, bold lipstick, lip piercing—pushed aside the curtain and peered out at them.
Chi Buyu went utterly still. Her entire head was buried in the plastic bag, shriveled up in the wheelchair like that scared snail.
“Come on in and take a look, you two cuties!”
? Why rope her into this?
Cui Qijin frowned at the quivering plastic bag atop Chi Buyu’s head. With a sigh, she turned to the woman—who seemed to be the shopkeeper—and replied with cool composure,
“No, thanks.”
She adjusted her glasses matter-of-factly, gripped the wheelchair handles, and wheeled away through the puddles lingering at their feet, slipping out of the young woman’s line of sight.
From behind came one last fiery burst of enthusiasm:
“Come back next time!”
They rolled on in silence for a good long stretch. The only sounds were the wheelchair’s rhythmic rumble and the sporadic plink-plink of leftover rain dripping from the leaves overhead.
Their positions had flipped in the most surreal way.
Now Cui Qijin was pushing, able to see only the crown of Chi Buyu’s head, encased in that white plastic bag—like a guilty thief afraid to make a peep.
They paused under a magnolia tree, waiting for the light.
A cool gust swept through, making the bag atop Chi Buyu’s head flap and flutter.
Cui Qijin stared for a beat and couldn’t hold back—she burst out laughing.
“What are you laughing at!”
Chi Buyu’s voice came muffled from inside the bag, feigning fierceness but coming out comically stuffy.
“Nothing,” Cui Qijin drawled lazily.
Unconvinced, Chi Buyu yanked off the bag. Her hair stuck out like a lion’s mane, the tips of her ears still beet-red and fit to burst. She explained in a nasally grumble,
“I just… I thought the place was empty! Don’t all these shops go unmanned these days…?”
Cui Qijin shot her a sidelong glance. “Oh? And you knew that unmanned trend was the latest thing?”
Chi Buyu choked, at a loss for words.
Her cheeks puffed out as she groped for a retort but came up empty. Instead, she jammed the bag back over her head, pressed the icy cup to her face again, and resorted to wheedling,
“I’m drunk. Drunks get a pass for anything.”
Cui Qijin chuckled. “Mm-hmm. You’re drunk. Drunks can do whatever.”
Her easy agreement only irked Chi Buyu further. She clutched at the bag, words tumbling out in a rush,
“Who knew the second I stepped in, this girl comes running up all bubbly, pitching products left and right—how great this is, that is, what do I like, blah blah blah. And she even said, she even said…”
Her explanation devolved into nonsense midway through.
She clamped her mouth shut, trailing off awkwardly.
Cui Qijin laughed until her stomach ached.
Then she noticed the light had changed—another green slipping by. The pedestrians who’d been waiting with them earlier were already halfway down the block. Clutching her side, she fought not to split her seams from laughter.
Evidently, her guffaws pushed Chi Buyu over the edge.
Infuriated, she snapped, “Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!” It wasn’t enough. Through gritted teeth—like an enraged fluffy white Pomeranian stretching her neck—she threw caution to the winds with,
“And she asked if I was gonna use it with you!”
A crow seemed to flap lazily across Cui Qijin’s mind. She choked on thin air, doubled over her waist with a fit of coughing.
Chi Buyu lifted her chin defiantly, huffed through her nose, and thrust her cup-holding hand high in a brash V-sign.
Snap-snap—
Cui Qijin swatted the gesture down in annoyance. Her own hand came away damp and chilled from the cup’s condensation.
She rubbed her fingers together, the coolness fading into the breeze. Drawling a nonchalant “Oh,” she prodded provocatively,
“So, what’d you tell her?”
Chi Buyu’s V-sign wilted.
She fell silent. Her head shrank deeper into the bag, fidgeting awkwardly in the chair with limbs askew. Finally, she mumbled,
“Well… I just ran out, didn’t I?”
Cui Qijin dissolved into laughter again.
Chi Buyu went full defeatist. “Go on, laugh it up! Laugh till your waist snaps right off!”
As if mocking the gods of retribution, Cui Qijin’s laughter did twist her waist into agony. She hissed through her teeth.
Chi Buyu whipped off the bag in a flash, her flushed face creased with worry. “Want me to take over pushing?”
“No need.”
The light turned green. Without waiting for Chi Buyu to react, Cui Qijin wheeled the grumbling drunk across the street. They’d been stuck at that intersection for several long minutes, for some reason.
Chi Buyu was being especially contrary.
Perched in the chair, she kept craning her neck back to check, her posture all crooked, eyes wide with concern. “Does your waist hurt?”
Cui Qijin felt pinned by that hazy, drunken stare—thoroughly off-put. In mock threat, she shoved Chi Buyu’s face forward again.
“Keep twisting like that, and you might smash your pretty face right off.”
