An old lady leaning on a crutch overtook Cui Qijin for the third time along this stretch of road.
Before that, the old lady had paused once to catch her breath and carefully selected a box of strawberries from a roadside truck. During that time, an electric tricycle plastered with stickers of some brand’s pink alpacas pulled up slowly. An uncle in dark blue work clothes poked his head out from the narrow window, flashing a toothy grin as he asked where they were headed.
By then, Cui Qijin was already sitting in the wheelchair, with Chi Buyu pushing her. When the old lady made a sour face at the truck’s strawberries, and upon seeing the uncle trying to drum up business, Cui Qijin politely lifted her own leg to show she could stand. Chi Buyu chimed in from the side that they just wanted to take a stroll.
The uncle gave the wheelchair a strange look, then shook his head and drove off on his tricycle. When the old lady overtook her for the third time, a bag of strawberries was still dangling and swaying from her crutch.
Chi Buyu pushed the wheelchair along and remarked, “That old lady must really love strawberries.”
Cui Qijin said impatiently, “If you push any slower, we might not finish this road by the end of the day.”
Chi Buyu drawled out an “oh” and added slowly, “She must really love taking walks, too.”
…
It was like two people from different planets carrying on a conversation.
Cui Qijin rubbed her forehead.
To make matters worse, the old lady seemed to have overheard them. She even turned back, pursed her lips at Cui Qijin in the wheelchair, tapped her crutch on the ground, and said,
“You’re not doing too badly yourselves~”
Even drunk as she was, Chi Buyu somehow synced up with a random old lady she’d met on the road. She grinned and pointed at Cui Qijin.
“She’s out here to watch the rain. She likes the rain.”
Cui Qijin smiled politely, nodded at the old lady who was looking over, and resigned herself to leaning back in the wheelchair, letting the drunkard Chi Buyu have her way.
In truth, her waist was already mostly healed. After walking that earlier stretch, the only discomfort was a slight soreness—no major issues.
But halfway to dropping Chi Buyu off at home, Chi Buyu suddenly remembered her duty and stubbornly insisted on “seeing out her last shift properly.” Cui Qijin couldn’t win against a drunk, so she reluctantly got back in the wheelchair, though not without some worry.
Fortunately, Chi Buyu didn’t cause any new trouble.
Aside from pushing awfully slowly.
She didn’t give Cui Qijin another embarrassing memory she could never live down. In a way… this really was the last time Cui Qijin would ever be pushed around like this.
She truly had no desire to repeat the experience.
Yet tonight, on this final stretch of road—slow as it was—she didn’t feel the urge to jump out and hurry on.
Candy dangled from the wheelchair’s armrest. A faint whiff of alcohol lingered at her nose. Chi Buyu’s steps were unsteady, her breathing foggy, and suddenly Cui Qijin had the illusion that the weed-strewn asphalt ahead was like a melted wine-filled candy.
Perhaps it was just a hallucination brought on by the arrival of early spring.
It even sparked an absurd thought—if this road had no end, would they end up wandering south of the Tropic of Cancer? They said people in the tropics grew more open, too.
Maybe the heat didn’t just strip away coverings; it could make even the most idiotic secrets evaporate into thin air.
“We’re here.”
Chi Buyu’s voice came from above her head again, a bit dull and dreamily light.
Those two words floated down lightly, yanking Cui Qijin’s thoughts back. In that moment, she felt as if she’d woken from a dream—a short one, unfinished.
The sensation of an incomplete dream was deeply unsettling.
She stayed composed while Chi Buyu wobbled over to punch in the door code, rationally shoving the feeling aside. Whether it was an illusion or not, the door seemed to open slowly. Inside was pitch black. Chi Buyu stood there for a moment, not going in.
Cui Qijin stood up from the wheelchair.
She left the wheelchair outside the door, gathered the messy pile of half-eaten candies in her hand, stepped inside, turned on the light, and looked back.
“Can you see?”
Chi Buyu blinked, nodding a beat late.
Then she stepped in, her steps controlled by the alcohol, swaying as she collapsed onto the sofa like a butterfly folding its wings obediently upon landing. It seemed the aftereffects of those cocktails were finally spreading—her face and neck flushed red, her reactions sluggish, her gaze unfocused, as if looking at Cui Qijin but not really.
Cui Qijin wasn’t reassured.
She closed the door, glanced around, spotted the water dispenser, and saw the Loopy Cup she’d brought last time right there in plain sight—probably used often.
She filled a cup with water.
She fiddled with the temperature for a while. When she turned back, she found Chi Buyu still staring at her.
This woman loved staring at people when she was drunk.
Cui Qijin settled on that conclusion.
She brought the water over. Chi Buyu reached out shakily with one hand to take it. Cui Qijin pulled back and said sternly,
“Both hands.”
Chi Buyu nodded vigorously, took it with both hands, cradled it, sipped, puffed out her cheeks, and swallowed bit by bit. Then she stared again.
“Which one are you?”
Cui Qijin was glad she hadn’t touched any alcohol herself, and glad the neighborhood had no noisy neighbors blasting music in the middle of the night. So she wouldn’t join Chi Buyu in her nonsense.
“I’m Cui Qijin.”
“Which Cui Muhuo?”
“Do you know any others?”
“I do.”
Chi Buyu huddled on the sofa, blinking slowly, almost spitting out each word one by one.
“One Cui Muhuo seems to hate me, one Cui Muhuo seems to like me, and there’s another…”
“Then I’m the third.”
Cui Qijin feared she’d ramble more incoherently and just wanted her to drink the warm water, sober up a bit, so she could leave.
“The third?”
Chi Buyu narrowed her eyes and smiled like a sly black cat. “The third Cui Muhuo says…”
“Says what?”
Cui Qijin responded halfheartedly.
Chi Buyu fell silent, just staring at her.
Cui Qijin had no patience for dealing with a drunk and stood up again. She rummaged around the house and found the Strawberry Bear nestled on the other sofa.
When she came back—
Chi Buyu seemed to have passed out drunk, curled up on the edge of the sofa, hugging the water cup in a daze, her head drooping as if she might topple to the floor.
But as Cui Qijin approached, the woman cracked her eyelids open slightly.
Her gaze was especially hazy. When she saw the Strawberry Bear Cui Qijin brought, she snatched it without waiting for it to be offered, hugged it tight, rubbed her chin against it, narrowed her eyes in a smile, her voice airy as she softly called out to her,
“Third Cui Muhuo.”
She still hadn’t said what the third Cui Qijin was like—did she like her? Hate her? Or something in between? Cui Qijin herself wasn’t curious.
Then Chi Buyu suddenly reached out, her wrist emerging from her sleeve with a black hair tie faintly visible.
“Hi.”
Her expression was a bit serious, as if she wanted to take Cui Qijin’s hand and shake it to show her friendliness.
Cui Qijin found it amusing.
She felt too lazy to indulge the drunk’s antics.
But glancing at Chi Buyu’s hand hanging in the air, she felt a touch of pity and reached out anyway, giving it a light shake.
“Hi.”
In that instant, their palms touched—similar yet unfamiliar skin temperatures meeting. Handshakes were some culture’s idea of social etiquette.
Yet the lines of life and love intertwined, and after a minute, blood and pulse might sync up—a dangerous intimacy for Cui Qijin, right on the edge of too close.
Drunk people’s palms were probably always hot. Cui Qijin flinched her fingers the moment they met.
She’d meant to give it a quick shake and let go.
But Chi Buyu gripped tight and wouldn’t release, holding her like she held the Loopy Cup in her other hand. She said nothing, just stared with those hazy eyes.
As if straining to focus on something.
A scent not her own seized the chance, flooding wildly into the creases of her palm.
Cui Qijin exhaled.
The breath she let out didn’t even feel like her own; it seemed laced with deadly alcohol.
“What’s wrong?”
“Are you okay?”
They spoke in unison again, the words colliding. One voice dry and stiff, the other thick and soft.
Mingled together, like water and sand poured at once into a stagnant glass tank—leaving only a swirling murkiness.
When the words fell,
No one spoke. For a moment, only the water and sand flowed. Cui Qijin swallowed, feeling her palm slick as if trapped in quicksand. At the same time, she heard Chi Buyu giggle suddenly. The woman seemed to find this synchronicity amusing.
Chi Buyu shook their clasped hands up and down, laughing as she said worriedly, “Muhuo Classmate, starting tomorrow, you’ll be on your own, okay?”
Cui Qijin was swayed by the hand and by her tipsy gaze. “I know. I’ve already been a bother to you all for so many days. Not needing to trouble you anymore is a good thing.”
Chi Buyu stopped shaking abruptly. She just stared, her tone dissatisfied. “You said ‘bother’ or ‘trouble’ twice in one sentence. This little thing isn’t as troublesome as you make it sound.”
Tonight’s Chi Buyu was especially persistent.
Cui Qijin decided not to argue and said gently, “Maybe it’s just a habit.”
“Habit of what?”
Chi Buyu loved asking questions—maybe because she was drunk.
“The habit of handling my own affairs alone, of being by myself, living solo. Every day from morning to night, on schedule, in order, finishing all my plans. Categorizing everything, drawing clear lines, keeping my life fully under control, maintaining the steady state I want—the unchanging routine I’ve carefully built…”
The non-aggressive Chi Buyu, drunk and gazing with those bright black eyes, somehow made it easy to spill one’s heart without defenses.
Unknowingly, Cui Qijin had said a lot.
Afterward, she added lightly, “You’ll probably say I’m living a tiring life again.”
Chi Buyu stared at her for a long time, as if slowly digesting her words. She blinked sleepily, her voice drawling out very slowly as she asked,
“So… after that…”
She split the sentence in two. “Will you… get unaccustomed to it?”
Cui Qijin paused for a second, then understood what Chi Buyu meant.
It seemed Chi Buyu was truly an empathetic soul, already thinking ahead of her, putting herself in Cui Qijin’s shoes—wondering if, after this sudden journey ended, she might feel out of place.
“That’s the reason.”
“What reason?”
Chi Buyu looked confused, as if she didn’t quite get it. And truthfully, Cui Qijin didn’t fully understand Chi Buyu either.
There were moments when Cui Qijin felt like their lives ran in completely opposite directions.
“The reason I’ve always been used to being alone.”
Cui Qijin didn’t look into Chi Buyu’s eyes anymore.
Even she herself thought the words sounded like a tongue twister. Drunk as she was, Chi Buyu clearly hadn’t processed them yet. She blinked in bewilderment and shook Cui Qijin’s hand again. Her palm was still just as warm.
It enveloped her hand and refused to let go.
Cui Qijin stared at their joined hands.
After a good while, she suddenly smiled. She remembered tonight, when Chi Buyu had emerged from the women’s store and grabbed her wrist. In that instant, it had sparked so many thoughts—
In a movie, the next scene would surely be a mad dash through the night. In a novel, it would read like a secret springtime elopement. No matter the medium, this moment would be a highlight in any story.
But then their positions had swapped.
When she and Chi Buyu both noticed their accidentally tangled wrists and awkwardly pulled apart, Cui Qijin had sat there in her wheelchair, somewhat dazed. She thought of the spring rain she was trudging through now—that was reality. Who knew if this was truly the finale? Who knew when reality would draw to a close?
With that in mind,
Cui Qijin felt she was overthinking things. She still vividly remembered her birthday wish at twenty-six: that her perfect triangle would never collapse.
Lifting her eyes now, she saw Chi Buyu’s eyelids drooping, thick shadows under her lashes. She looked barely conscious, her grip on Cui Qijin’s hand slackening.
Cui Qijin slowly withdrew her hand from Chi Buyu’s palm.
They had held on so long that letting go created a strange sticky sensation—an uncomfortable touch, yet one she didn’t particularly dislike.
She took Chi Buyu’s Loopy Cup from her. Holding it, she felt the side of the cup; it was still warm. Then she reached out and waved it in front of Chi Buyu’s face to check if she was awake.
“I’m heading out, then?”
It was a questioning tone.
Chi Buyu’s hand suddenly felt empty. She squinted, the words sounding blurry.
Yet somehow, those blurry words pulled her into a hazy dream—or perhaps reality, layered over with dreamlike haze—
One was daytime in a Hong Kong apartment, with gray decor. The door stood slightly ajar, old dim light pushing dust inward. Cui Qijin wore those Chelsea Boots and stood at the boundary between sunlight and shadow at the doorway. She glanced back at Chi Buyu, a bit worried, and said, “I’m heading out, then.”
The other was nighttime in a Chengdu home, brightly colored decor under blazing lights. Cui Qijin wore slippers and held a Loopy Cup. She stood before Chi Buyu, waving her hand, still concerned as she said, “I’m heading out, then?”
Back then, Chi Buyu had gazed at her pleadingly and couldn’t help asking, “Cui Muhuo, how did you find me?”
Now, she gazed just as pleadingly and couldn’t help asking, “Cui Muhuo, how did you find me again today?”
The two Cui Qijins seemed to overlap, both looking at her, yet wavering and unfocused, impossible to pin down.
The one in Hong Kong had Chelsea Boots caked in black ash. Standing in the hazy light by the door, she summed it up succinctly: “Heard someone on the street reporting the news on their way to the hotel. It was crowded, but you stood out—you were easy to spot.”
The one in Chengdu had slippers streaked with dried mud from the rain. Standing under the fuzzy yellow glow of the chandelier, she spoke softly: “Saw Chen Wenran posting the news on the way. Walked around a bit and spotted you squatting by the roadside, next to that red sign—so obvious.”
The more Chi Buyu looked, the more confused she grew, unable to tell which was real and which was not. So she just murmured “oh” to both.
The Cui Qijin in Hong Kong responded with a “mm,” then pulled the door wider. Standing in the broad light, she hesitated for a long time before turning back, delivering what sounded like a movie line: “Chi Buyu, don’t be afraid. Just keep walking forward, and everything will be fine.”
The Cui Qijin in Chengdu slowly set down the cup, hesitating in the same way. But she stepped closer, one foot after another. She stood there for a moment, then touched Chi Buyu’s forehead. Her palm was warm against the skin that had sweated that night, and she said gently, “Chi Buyu, don’t be afraid. You’ll have a good dream tonight.”
In that moment, Chi Buyu inexplicably confused the two.
She didn’t know which Cui Qijin was real. Maybe both were. Or perhaps… there was even a third…
So she called out Cui Qijin’s name, over and over.
“Cui Muhuo?”
The one from Hong Kong answered, “Mm.”
“Cui Muhuo.”
The one from Chengdu answered, “Mm?”
“Cui Muhuo…”
A shadow stood before her.
Vague and indistinct, its outline blurred like it was edged in fuzz, or like sand that would scatter at a touch. Yet it still responded to her repeated calls,
“Chi Buyu?”
So which Cui Qijin was this? The one from Hong Kong? Chengdu? Or… had she always been right by her side?
Chi Buyu couldn’t tell anymore.
She squinted, her head lolling against the Strawberry Bear. Everything looked blurry; she couldn’t make out the face before her. Her mind refused to think straight.
She scrunched up her face. When the woman moved to pull away, she suddenly grabbed the woman’s wrist.
Skin met skin, her thumb lightly scraping the soft flesh on the inside of the woman’s wrist.
The woman paused, then tried to draw back again.
But her foot caught on something. She stumbled, and Chi Buyu yanked harder, pulling her closer.
After hesitating, the woman leaned in reluctantly. Her features were blurry as she calmly called out, “Chi Buyu? What’s wrong?”
In that instant,
Chi Buyu struggled to lift her eyelids, her voice hoarse and dry as she issued a solemn warning to the woman—
“Cui Muhuo, you need to be careful from now on.”
Hearing what she considered a grave warning,
The woman seemed to chuckle.
The laugh was especially muffled. It felt like teasing, like dismissing her warning—even provocatively testing by tugging her own wrist. But her tone was oddly gentle as she asked,
“Careful of what?”
Chi Buyu wasn’t pleased with the woman’s dismissal. She cracked one eye open and said earnestly,
“If you find me a third time, I might just…”
She thought it was a forceful warning, but she trailed off halfway, unable to continue.
The woman was patient with her, apparently. She tugged at her wrist again but didn’t use force. Instead, she waved her other hand in front of Chi Buyu’s face casually, smiling as she prompted,
“What might you do?”
“I might, I might, I might…”
Chi Buyu repeated “I might” several times, but her throat felt parched and itchy. She couldn’t get the second half out. Her eyes grew heavier, and the woman’s figure blurred further.
“What might you do? Why don’t you finish the sentence?”
She pressed her lips together.
For some reason, no matter how hard she tried, the words wouldn’t come. The effort turned into a tug on the woman’s hand instead. She shook it, wanting to pull the woman closer.
The woman probably thought she just hadn’t finished speaking.
At a loss for her stubbornness, she sighed, stepped even nearer, and squatted down by the sofa. She reached out again, brushing the back of her hand against Chi Buyu’s cheek, and said bluntly,
“Your face is burning up, and your hands are too.”
It sounded like reproach, like dissatisfaction—as if the next words would be “You’ve scorched me, Chi Buyu.”
But the next words weren’t what she expected.
The woman paused for a long moment, then lightly tucked a stray, ticklish strand of hair behind Chi Buyu’s ear. In a low voice, she added, “Looks like you’ll have a good dream tonight.”
The touch was about to withdraw, her voice dropping even lower,
“Goodnight, Chi Buyu.”
Chi Buyu drowsily closed her eyes. The unspoken warning lodged in her throat, chased away by the woman’s cool-warm hand against her skin, dissolving into the hazy double illusion,
“I might…”
Chi Buyu clung to the woman’s wrist, leaving the unfinished words suspended in her foggy consciousness—
“I might just…
fall in love with you all over again.”
