Cui Qijin rarely had any experience with group outings.
She had always believed—and continued to believe from childhood onward—that the essence of humanity was to live alone.
Elementary school excursions, middle school field trips, high school hikes, university outings… even the still-popular “graduation trips”… she skipped them all whenever she could.
After university graduation, Chen Wenran and Ran Yan had wanted to take a four-person trip—Xiamen, Taiwan, Dali, Tibet. That had been their original plan.
It ended with Cui Qijin signing up for an environmental project in South America. She hadn’t really wanted to go, but Chen Wenran and Ran Yan had insisted: no trio, all four or none.
Cui Qijin found it baffling. She had never understood what made her so indispensable in their little group of four.
In the end, she hadn’t gone to South America. But once that period passed, those returning to Chengdu went back, those staying in Chongqing stayed, and everyone settled into their work routines.
The ties between people were truly wondrous. Some bonds snapped without warning, and you never even knew your last words to each other were the final ones. Others twisted and turned, frayed through distance and arguments, only to end up with the same few faces by your side.
To this day, aside from these three friends and the unavoidable bonds of blood, Cui Qijin hadn’t maintained any relationship lasting more than a year. She had always held a pessimistic view of “close relationships.”
Chen Wenran had expressed her worry more than once: “I’m afraid if I don’t hold onto Cui Qijin tight, one day she’ll run off to a nunnery and vanish from the world.”
But Chi Buyu’s philosophy on life ran completely counter to Cui Qijin’s. She thrived on group activities, possessing a charm that kept intimate bonds unbreakable through thick and thin. Chen Wenran had even been jealous of Chi Buyu at first, but after meeting her, she sighed, “No one can take a sip of water without falling for Chi Shuishui.”
Cui Qijin guessed Chi Buyu’s life philosophy was something like: the essence of humanity is to bounce around full of life alongside other humans.
Ran Yan had voiced her own worry once: “I’m afraid if I don’t hold onto Shuishui tight, one day some bad woman will whisk her away.”
In summary.
This group outing lasted two days and two nights, with their destination just three high-speed rail stops away in Leshan.
Cui Qijin traveled frequently for work but rarely for leisure. So she packed according to her business trip standards, ending up with a twenty-four-inch black suitcase, a neck pillow, and a baseball cap for sun protection.
On the subway to Chengdu East Station.
Cui Qijin thought Chi Buyu was probably the type to pack two bulging suitcases even for a nearby city.
Sure enough, as soon as she emerged from the subway gates and looked up, there was Chi Buyu perched on one suitcase, hugging the pull handle of another, propping her chin on it with a bored expression.
The high-speed rail transfer area teemed with crowds, most people wheeling suitcases along in a hurry. The cold-toned lights made everyone’s faces look weary and pallid.
Only Chi Buyu stood out among them.
She wore a springtime ginger-yellow boat-neck blouse, a matching brown vest and short skirt, topped with a straw hat and twin braids. Her hair looked freshly dyed, a shade deeper than before—almost black, but not quite. A touch lighter than her eye color, perhaps.
The moment Cui Qijin spotted her.
Chi Buyu leaped down from the suitcase.
She adjusted her hat with a pretentious flick, smoothed the hem of her blouse, then dropped the act. Raising her hand high, she bellowed at the top of her lungs.
“Over here!”
She looked like a majestic ginger-yellow biscuit of a person.
Cui Qijin walked over.
She noticed the ginger-yellow biscuit also carried an extra small leather suitcase. Her first words were.
“You’re bringing all this luggage?”
Chi Buyu tugged at her hair. “It’s my birthday. Gotta take tons of pretty photos, right?”
Only then did Cui Qijin notice the small square camera slung over her shoulder, encased in a brown cover.
“You brought a camera too?”
Chi Buyu twirled her twin braids, her straw hat bobbing coyly on her head. “It’s my birthday. Ranran gave it to me early as a birthday gift.”
Oh. A birthday gift.
Cui Qijin murmured an “Mm,” gripping her suitcase handle tighter. She wondered where Chen Wenran and Ran Yan were—they were supposed to meet at four-thirty.
The next second, as she glanced up.
She caught what seemed like a fleeting look from Chi Buyu.
But when she looked back, it was gone. Chi Buyu tilted her chin up slightly, as if she weren’t looking at all.
She was still fiddling with her hair.
The station buzzed with noise. The two of them stood quiet. They had never been this quiet upon meeting before. What did they usually say to each other right away?
For a moment, Cui Qijin couldn’t remember.
Perhaps because winter had yielded to spring, the cells within them tied to each other had quietly renewed themselves. Standing before one another now, they were like two near-perfect strangers. Who knew what unexpected forms they might take in a few more days.
After a long pause.
Amid the jostling, irritable crowd, Cui Qijin cleared her throat and finally spoke, searching for a new topic. After racking her brain, all she managed was.
“You dyed your hair?”
The question felt strangely pivotal.
Chi Buyu finally released her braids, now twisted nearly into double knots, and huffed through her nose.
She turned her face away. Not looking at Cui Qijin.
But her chin lifted a fraction. “Yeah~” she drawled, like bubbles gurgling up, adding, “You only just noticed!”
Cui Qijin couldn’t see her face, but the entire back of her head screamed: I’m not happy.
Cui Qijin parted her lips, about to say, “I noticed the second I saw you.”
But before she could, Chi Buyu raised her hand high again, shouting “Over here!”
Cui Qijin turned.
She saw Ran Yan in a floral dress, wheeling a suitcase, and Chen Wenran—still wearing sunglasses indoors like a poser—barreling toward them. They high-fived Chi Buyu one after the other, full of energy.
The Drunk Ghost Couple had brought just one suitcase between them.
Chi Buyu and Cui Qijin together had three suitcases plus a small leather one.
No.
Why was she lumping herself in with Chi Buyu? Cui Qijin mentally shoved the thought away with mild annoyance.
They boarded the high-speed train.
Their seats formed two adjacent rows. Chen Wenran eagerly asked the attendant if they could rotate them to make a four-person table, but got a polite no—since they were only going three stops.
So Chen Wenran behaved herself.
She plopped down in 15D with Ran Yan in 15F, twisting back to grumble quietly, “I remember a few years ago on high-speed trains, we could flip seats whenever. If we’d gone on that graduation trip right after uni, we could’ve played a full table of UNO on board!”
Ran Yan and Chi Buyu returned after stowing their luggage. Hearing that, Ran Yan rolled her eyes. “You’ve been obsessed with UNO since freshman year. Aren’t you sick of it yet?”
The Drunk Ghost Couple had actually met over UNO. Legend had it Chen Wenran had lost so badly to Ran Yan that she’d snuck off to the bathroom to cry. Nowadays, Chen Wenran denied ever being that foolish.
She twisted back, squinting at Cui Qijin, stroking her chin dramatically like a villain and cackling. “Reborn and back for revenge. One game of UNO, and I’ll pry every secret out of Cui Qijin’s romantic history.”
Chi Buyu sat in the D seat beside Cui Qijin. She tugged at her skirt, adjusted her hat, then pulled out a small mirror from her bag. She slowly reapplied her lipstick before tucking the mirror away and sitting primly.
She didn’t chime in at Chen Wenran’s words, nor did she shout her allegiance.
Cui Qijin lifted her eyelids halfway.
She unhooked the neck pillow from around her neck and handed it naturally to Chi Buyu. Only then did she look straight at Chen Wenran and say, “Boring.”
Chi Buyu seemed to tilt her head slightly.
After a long moment, she took the neck pillow and draped it over her bare legs from the short skirt, murmuring softly, “Thanks.”
The train started moving.
Chen Wenran and Ran Yan turned back around, whispering about something.
Outside the high-speed train windows, the scenery began to flow. Trees and blue sky swallowed the platforms; the restless, polluted urban air faded. A new perfume scent wafted through—plum candy mixed with coffee, sharp and aggressive at first, then softening into something incredibly tender at the base notes.
In a daze, Cui Qijin blurted out.
“You changed perfumes?”
Chi Buyu had no part of her touching Cui Qijin, yet she felt so close. She replied very near, as if intimate.
“Black Opium. Smells good, right? Big Sis gave it to me.”
Another birthday gift.
Chi Shuishui never lacked for presents from others. Anything imaginable, someone would give her. Not just on birthdays. Chi Shuishui never lacked for people who loved her.
“Black Opium…”
Cui Qijin softly repeated the words. The train window gulped down mountains and houses one by one. She felt her own scent being devoured bite by bite by the Black Opium on Chi Buyu.
Finally, she said.
“It suits you.”
I wonder if the birthday gift I prepared will suit you just as well.
The fifty-two-minute train ride felt longer than expected. It was the drowsy afternoon hour besides. Soon, Ran Yan and Chen Wenran up front fell silent—they must have dozed off.
Even the ever-energetic Chi Buyu nodded off, her head dipping repeatedly. The whole carriage seemed to leave only Cui Qijin wide awake.
The train sped past another hillside. Chi Buyu’s head nearly toppled onto Cui Qijin’s shoulder again.
But each time, the woman snapped awake just in time, letting out a puzzled “Mm?” Her head jerked, twin braids flying, before lolling back against her own seat.
She feinted once.
Twice.
Many times.
Cui Qijin, wearing earphones and reading Oscar Wilde, finally lost patience after the repeated feints. She pressed Chi Buyu’s head firmly onto her shoulder and spat out a single cold word.
“Sleep.”
The word dropped. Chi Buyu stopped swaying. At first, she didn’t dare move on Cui Qijin’s shoulder, her head leaning at an awkward angle.
Later, when Cui Qijin turned a page, Chi Buyu finally tested the waters and moved her head a little. She thought Cui Qijin hadn’t noticed—like fighting a guerrilla war, waiting until she turned the page before furtively twisting here and smoothing there, even secretly pulling out a little mirror to check if her makeup had smudged.
When Cui Qijin looked over.
She pretended nothing had happened, instantly sealing her mouth and eyelids shut, like burying her head in the sand.
This woman was really good at faking sleep.
Cui Qijin thought.
