Chapter 35: True to Her Name Part 1

The rental shop owner drove a beat-up Huolala that rattled like it had bounced through a box of pop rocks, towing the two dead electric scooters back home. Along the way, he enthusiastically dropped the four of them off at a spot where they could call a ride.

On the trip back, everything felt perfectly normal among the four friends.

Chen Wenran didn’t press Cui Qijin about what had just happened. Instead, she huddled excitedly with Ran Yan under the dim car lights, editing the scattered phone photos they’d snapped that day for Moments posts.

Chi Buyu seemed fine with it too. Sitting in the front passenger seat, she beamed when Ran Yan and Chen Wenran gushed enviously about how “Shuishui looks good in every shot.” She raised her hand high, flashing a triumphant “Yay!” complete with imaginary sound effects.

She quickly dropped it after passing a traffic light, gripping the seatback and gnashing her teeth in mock threat.

“No posting the originals straight up!”

Cui Qijin sat right behind her.

If she didn’t turn around, all she could see was the back of Chi Buyu’s head. If she did, she caught a glimpse of her profile.

Chi Buyu’s demeanor was identical to earlier that day.

A compliment on her looks, and she lifted her chin proudly, grinning ear to ear as she scrolled through the camera roll.

An unflattering shot made her pout. The spread-eagled ghost poses at the end had her giggling.

When she hit one where she shone while everyone else looked off, she waved the camera triumphantly, twisting back to show them off. The moment Ran Yan reached to sneakily delete it, Chi Buyu suddenly got wise, yanking her hand away with a mischievous cackle.

“I’m definitely posting this one on my birthday for Moments!”

Nothing had changed.

Not even that stubborn triangle between them.

Cui Qijin wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved by the situation or inexplicably frustrated.

She stayed quiet the whole ride back.

Even when their old-school Didi driver, passing a night market, suddenly perked up and asked if you young folks all loved Jay Chou…

Then he cranked up the speakers and played “Mine Mine.”

Chen Wenran let out a sigh, wistfully lamenting that they could hardly call themselves young anymore.

Ran Yan rolled her eyes. “Quit acting weird. I’m in my prime!”

Chi Buyu in the passenger seat let out a snort of laughter, seemingly unbothered. She didn’t argue or object to the song at all. Maybe she’d already forgotten that phony liar, Mine.

She kept flipping through the photos on her camera.

While humming along to Jay Chou’s increasingly garbled lyrics on the car stereo, bobbing her head. “Oh, my eyelid just twitched…”

Cui Qijin lounged lazily against the car window, letting the wind rush in. Her gaze hid amid the shifting headlights, unable to latch onto anything solid.

Earlier on the way back, Chi Buyu had whined about the wind making her thirsty, so they’d bought a bottle of Emei Snow. She drank only a little before complaining it was too cloying, then dangled it from her hand, watching the bubbles swirl.

Now, the gusts tousling Cui Qijin’s hair carried the faint lychee scent of Chi Buyu’s Emei Snow.

Cui Qijin thought calmly to herself—

Was it that these three were all too dense to notice anything off… or too perceptive and already onto her suspicions?

Yet they all tacitly said nothing about it, exchanging knowing glances that spoke volumes, teaming up to soften the blow of this “love” issue for her.

Everything remained just as she’d hoped—unchanged.

But for some reason, her heart felt restless.

Like a pile of long-dead embers, raked by a rampaging gust. She’d clenched her teeth through it all, refusing to let them reignite. Now the wind had passed clean through with no disturbance, yet a faint, wriggling warmth stirred unbidden.

The car finally pulled up to the house.

Meng Yuhong was next door in the neighbors’ makeshift mahjong parlor, swapping tall tales over tiles. Spotting Chi Buyu, her face fell. She hastily chucked her A Little Bit cup at a nearby old lady. The old lady flinched but took the hit anyway.

Realizing how clumsy that looked, Meng Yuhong stood guiltily, mouth opening as if to explain.

But Chi Buyu just pressed her lips together.

She sighed with surprising maturity, mumbled a glum “Whatever,” and shuffled inside with the half-full bottle of Emei Snow dangling from her hand. Just like that, she let it slide.

Meng Yuhong froze in place for a moment.

She took a couple sips of milk green, muttering about how unusually forgiving she was today. Then she flashed a grin at the other three, traded a few jabs with the mahjong ladies, tossed her milk green aside, and hurried after her.

Chen Wenran and Ran Yan exchanged a glance, faces twisting through a dozen expressions, eyebrows nearly knotting. When Cui Qijin looked over, they schooled their features into perfect seriousness.

“So, how do you want to crash tonight?” Chen Wenran asked.

Cui Qijin took her time strolling up, one step onto the stoop. She glanced back coolly.

“What do you mean, how?”

“You know, rooms.”

Chen Wenran shrugged.

“There’s only two in the house. You bunk with me… or, ahem…”

Ran Yan smacked her arm.

She clamped her mouth shut, then muttered softer.

“With Shuishui?”

“Can’t I just sleep alone?” Cui Qijin frowned.

Ever since she could remember, she’d never shared a bed with anyone. Except that one time… the first snow in Chengdu.

Chen Wenran yelped dramatically. “You expect us three to cram together so you get a room solo?”

“No.”

Cui Qijin hadn’t meant that.

“I mean, I can book a hotel.”

“Not great,” Ran Yan said, shaking her head and politely objecting. “We’ve already come to Shuishui’s grandma’s place. The luggage is here, it’s late—going off alone might worry the elders…”

Fair point.

Cui Qijin still knit her brows. The thought of sharing a bed while fully awake felt awkward.

And as they headed upstairs, Chen Wenran kept whispering in her ear, fanning the flames.

“Yeah, yeah! And Shuishui might get upset. It’s her birthday—you don’t want that!”

That lingering warmth hadn’t fully died down. A fresh gust was already clenching its fists.

Cui Qijin had no choice.

She trudged up slowly, then spotted Chi Buyu perched on the sofa, surrounded by bottles and jars as she busied herself with makeup removal.

Meng Yuhong sat behind her, face slathered in a sheet mask Chi Buyu had brought. She gulped down the rest of Chi Buyu’s Emei Snow, savoring an old-school Taiwanese idol drama on TV. The leads gazed at each other with misty eyes, delivering the cheesy line: “To have is the beginning of loss.”

As Cui Qijin reached the top of the stairs,

Chi Buyu lifted her chin amid the TV racket and called out,

“Cui Muhuo!”

Back to calling her Cui Muhuo.

Cui Qijin eased her tense shoulders a bit and walked over. To avoid blocking Meng Yuhong’s view, she squatted in front of Chi Buyu.

“What?”

Chi Buyu hadn’t expected her to drop right down like that. She blinked her damp lashes in surprise before whispering,

“Just wondering—which room are you taking?”

By then, Chen Wenran and Ran Yan were rumbling the suitcases along. The TV hit a dramatic peak, and Meng Yuhong slurped her Emei Snow steadily.

Lychee fizz tickled the air. Cui Qijin lowered her voice awkwardly. “Either’s fine.”

“Either?”

Chi Buyu paused oddly at the answer, exhaling a soft, humid breath. Like the tangled leads onscreen, she drawled slowly, “I figured you’d want solo. I was thinking I’d crash with Grandma then…”

“Then—”

“Then bunk with me!”

Before Cui Qijin could finish, Chi Buyu cut her off.

Without waiting for a reply, she slapped a fresh sheet mask onto her own face. It turned ghostly white in the flickering TV glow, like a Halloween specter.

The specter batted her lashes, chin high.

She patted Cui Qijin’s cheek familiarly. Her palm was slick with essence from the mask.

“Go on, shoo! You lot, back to your rooms—don’t bug me! I’m turning another year older. Time for some grandma-granddaughter secrets you can’t hear.”

Only after the pats did it hit her.

Her hand froze midair, fingers curled like clutching an egg. It swiveled slowly.

She blinked at Cui Qijin.

Her gaze flicked briefly from the corner of her eye, then hesitated on the bottles before her.

A bit unsure, but she still asked,

“You okay?”

She meant the random red eyes in the wind earlier. She’d thoughtfully lined up an excuse… yet couldn’t resist checking.

Cui Qijin, distracted, wiped the sticky essence from her face without a hint of disgust. “I’m fine.”

She shifted her foot to stand.

But hesitated, glancing at Meng Yuhong lost in her drama, then at Chi Buyu’s masked profile. That warmth flickered again, pulling her into some uncanny force field. Unable to help it, she murmured,

“Don’t overthink it.”

Chi Buyu was tugging at the mask’s edge. Her motion froze for seconds.

The TV blared into the episode’s OST. Meng Yuhong on the sofa had apparently dozed off, snoring faintly.

Chi Buyu fake-coughed.

She tipped her chin up, huffed softly through her nose, then said sternly on purpose,

“Get going! Stop feeding me your nonsense!”

Two exclamations packed into one sentence.

Cui Qijin’s legs had gone numb from squatting, but she had no clue how to react. Maybe by tomorrow it’d be fine. Everyone would pretend they’d forgotten her teary eyes tonight.

That was the key lesson from her twenty-six years. For any adult—as long as you act like nothing happened, nothing had.

She was awakened by Meng Yuhong’s snoring. The Taiwanese idol drama’s ending theme was still playing, but Chi Buyu had stopped talking.

She hesitated for a moment before standing up and stepping over the sofa. Then she heard Chi Buyu suddenly call out to her. “Cui Muhuo.”

“Hm?”

She turned around and gazed at Chi Buyu’s back, illuminated by the flickering light from the television. She zoned out for a bit as Chi Buyu spoke in an extremely soft voice. “Everyone sang so many songs tonight… and got a little emotional.”

She trailed off halfway.

Chi Buyu cleared her throat awkwardly before continuing. “So…”

“So?”

“Yeah, so… It’s okay if your eyes get mysteriously red tonight, but not tomorrow, got it?”

Cui Qijin looked at her without saying a word.

She watched as this person kept her back turned to her the whole time, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck. She thought that Chi Buyu knew nothing, saw nothing. She didn’t know what kind of expression Cui Qijin wore while staring at her, or the mess, the clumsiness, and the chaos that defined her. And yet, Chi Buyu was still so selfless, so generous—deliberately steering clear of danger zones for her sake, carving out some wiggle room even after she’d sprung a trap.

She herself was always just a mindless gust of wind. While Chi Buyu was forever a heavy, selfish cloud.

It was probably because Cui Qijin hadn’t spoken in a long time.

Chi Buyu’s back stiffened. After a good while, she finally turned around and eyed her suspiciously for several seconds. She must have thought her eyes were red again; she inspected them closely. Once she saw they weren’t, she let out a “hmph.”

She had meant to sound gruff and menacing, but mindful of Meng Yuhong’s snoring, she huffed her threat extra petulantly instead.

“I’m the Birthday Star! What I say goes!”

Cui Qijin’s eyes weren’t red. Instead, she inexplicably cracked a smile, as if she’d been undone by that gust of wind.

At last, she nodded. “Okay. The Birthday Star has spoken.”

–

That night, the Birthday Star took forever to return to her room.

After washing up, Cui Qijin slipped into her neatest set of pajamas. She calmly folded her hands over her abdomen.

She lay awake, waiting for Chi Buyu to come back.

All alone, she kept strictly to her half of the bed, her eyes wide open for ages. Still, Chi Buyu never appeared.

She had no idea what time it was.

Forcing her eyes shut, she began counting fish in her mind. One yellow tropical fish swam by. Two red tropical fish swam by. Fish number 356—a grumpy Chi Buyu—swam by…

She opened her eyes in confusion.

She pursed her lips.

Her hands, clasped over her abdomen, grew restless. Her left hand covered her right, then her right covered her left. In the end, she set both at her sides…

Irritated, she threw off the covers and got out of bed.

She opened the door.

The television was still droning on endlessly in the living room, where two people were curled up on the sofa.

One was Chi Buyu, now dressed in a matching set of pink-striped pajamas. Her hair looked freshly washed, falling softly over her shoulders. Her eyelids were closed, her expression serene, as if she were fast asleep. She huddled obediently in Meng Yuhong’s arms—like a spring snow peach, cherished from the moment it first budded, never once plucked.

The other was Meng Yuhong.

The elderly woman who’d been nodding off during the drama earlier was no longer snoring. She held Chi Buyu in a loose embrace, patting her back now and then.

The television was playing a Sichuan opera face-changing performance. Meng Yuhong watched with a delighted grin. Glancing up, she spotted Cui Qijin hesitating in the doorway but kept patting without pause. She asked if Cui Qijin couldn’t sleep because the bed felt unfamiliar.

Cui Qijin shook her head.

She glanced at Chi Buyu, who was sleeping soundly in her grandmother’s arms, and inexplicably lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile.

Meng Yuhong noticed the smile and chuckled herself. “Our Shuishui’er is pretty delicate, huh? All grown up and still needing someone to pat her back to sleep.”

She made it sound like a complaint, but her tone suggested she saw nothing wrong with it.

Cui Qijin didn’t find anything wrong with Chi Buyu either.

She shook her head again. Her voice was hushed to a whisper as she smiled and said, “Only she deserves to be treated that way.”

Meng Yuhong yawned right then and didn’t quite catch it. “What was that?”

Cui Qijin said it was nothing and headed back to her room.