Q: Who kissed first?
A: Of course it was Cui Qijin who kissed first. Why suddenly call her by her full name? Naturally, it’s to show that I’m deadly serious about this matter—Chi Buyu.
–
Cui Qijin had always firmly believed that drunken hookups were utterly impossible.
Yet she couldn’t explain her current situation.
The moment a hazy beam of light seeped through her eyelids, she jolted awake from the glare. Lifting her lashes, she found a soft layer of fabric draped over her face.
It tickled the tip of her nose.
She pressed a hand to her pounding forehead, which felt ready to split open, and touched the soft material. In that instant, fragments of a nightmare surged over her, flooding her retinas so forcefully she couldn’t look away—
“The magic trick’s over. Can we kiss now?”
Her expression shifted subtly. She yanked the fabric off her face.
The light was a few shades brighter now, plunging the world into a chaotic blur of black and white. Squinting, she took in the cluttered, cramped space and frowned.
A wardrobe stood against one wall, stuffed with stacks of colorful fabrics. Berry-red curtains were drawn tightly shut beside a creamy white sewing machine, next to a massive coffee-colored worktable holding an unopened iron.
In the corner loomed two headless white plastic dress forms from the neck down.
A jumble of winter clothes hung haphazardly on the headless mannequins. Some she recognized as her own; others were…
She glanced down at the small wad of fabric clutched in her hand.
What was this? Why had it been covering her face?
Frowning, she pinched a corner with her index finger and let gravity unfurl it. A delicate white camisole, crudely made.
Clearly not hers.
Her alcohol-dulled brain managed that much, but it offered no guidance for the turbulent reality before her.
As expected, the booze had seeped into her respiratory system, leaving her throat raw and scratchy.
Her memories were foggy; trying to recall them only made her head throb.
Her muscles ached, and even turning her head sent a sharp pain through her back, as if it might snap.
Classic hangover symptoms.
Then she looked down further and saw a fluffy head of brown hair nestled under her neck—
It was Chi Buyu. Wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt, her arms wrapped around Cui Qijin’s waist, forehead pressed to her chin, the back of her head pillowed on Cui Qijin’s arm, legs sprawled every which way across hers.
Her slightly curly long hair was a tangled mess.
Strands poked fluffily into Cui Qijin’s neck and chest, everywhere, as if burrowing into every inch of her skin.
Right now, it really did itch.
But…
She squeezed her eyes shut in irritation. Truth be told, from the moment she’d opened them, she’d held this awkward position for over ten minutes without brushing away the strand of Chi Buyu’s hair jabbing at her ear.
The single bed was narrow, barely four feet wide.
Yet somehow it held both of them, forcing Cui Qijin into this rigid pose—even though one glance down would bring her lips to Chi Buyu’s forehead.
Any slight movement might wake her.
Then she’d be staring right into Chi Buyu’s wide-awake eyes.
And Cui Qijin wasn’t ready to face her like that. Not in such an intimately tangled embrace.
So in those ten minutes, her only “big” motion had been yanking off the fabric from her face and blinking to ease the strain in her eyes.
Her chin rested on Chi Buyu’s forehead, the camisole still clutched uselessly in her hand.
She blinked every five seconds.
Like a diligent, emotionless pendulum. Numbly, she wondered how anyone else would handle this.
Locked in an unwilling embrace with someone she clashed with, her mind haunted by disjointed memories of last night’s kiss.
Chi Buyu, for whatever reason, slept like the dead, unmoving against her shoulder. Cui Qijin knew her friend had always been lucky, but she hadn’t expected it to extend to this.
Waking up later than her, dodging the embarrassment of facing the mess first.
Cui Qijin let out a sigh.
Perhaps it was too heavy, stirring a faint ripple in the air.
The head against her chin shifted slightly, and Chi Buyu mumbled something indistinct.
Cui Qijin didn’t catch it—and didn’t want to. The hair poking her ear itched worse than ever.
She froze for several seconds.
Chi Buyu went still again.
Relieved, Cui Qijin assumed it was sleep-talk. She lifted her hand just a bit, aiming to tame that unruly strand by her ear.
But as her hand rose, Chi Buyu rolled her face against her.
Cui Qijin’s hand froze midair in the most awkward, straining position.
Chi Buyu, seemingly seeking ultimate comfort, nuzzled in deeper, utterly content.
This drunkard slept like a baby, even adjusting for the perfect spot.
Cui Qijin thought.
Still, she moved with agonizing slowness.
Trying to lower her hand without waking her.
When she finally nudged that pesky strand aside, she exhaled, a thin sheen of sweat beading on her nose.
Before she could relax, she noticed a few of her own dark strands draped messily behind Chi Buyu’s ear.
She pressed her lips together.
Her gaze drifted to the pale skin exposed at the open neckline of Chi Buyu’s T-shirt, and she narrowed her eyes, reaching to tug free the lock of her hair snagged near Chi Buyu’s delicate butterfly bone. The woman’s frame was slender, her shoulders slightly hunched inside the shirt, like the fragile, soft bones of some deep-sea fish.
Her half-lidded vision blurred like a hazy dream shot. Her fingers extended toward the dark hair on that bare back.
Then she felt Chi Buyu’s breath against her neck lighten, like the lazy bubbles from a kissing fish drifting in soft currents.
Her fingertip brushed the slim, cool back muscle—skin so thin and chilled, like sparkling mineral water.
She yanked her hand back, fingers curling slowly, nowhere to settle.
In her sleepy haze, Chi Buyu nuzzled closer, her voice muffled and drowsy with a hangover softness.
“You said you’d love me for a hundred centuries. You can’t lie to me…”
Cui Qijin choked on air, then felt her hand cramp.
–
Chi Buyu didn’t wake.
In a flurry of panic, Cui Qijin coughed a few times, straightened her hand, clenched and unclenched her fist rapidly.
The itch in her chest faded, the cramp eased.
Despite the commotion, Chi Buyu remained dead to the world against her shoulder.
Cui Qijin sighed again.
Was she supposed to just shake her awake? Force Chi Buyu to realize they were wrapped in this bizarre embrace and piece together last night’s blackout memories together?
Even replaying the crystal-clear parts from before the blackout…
Cui Qijin clutched her throbbing forehead.
At an impasse, a faint “buzz” vibrated from somewhere. She glanced at the peacefully sleeping Chi Buyu, then groped carefully around.
After a moment, she fished her phone from under the pillow.
With only one hand free, she stretched it out awkwardly, chin tilted up against Chi Buyu’s forehead, arm arched behind her, craning to see the screen.
The glow stung her eyes. She squinted through unlocking it, waiting for the discomfort to pass before reading Chen Wenran’s WeChat messages:
【??】
【Where’d you go?? You went camping at Azure City Mountain yesterday and still aren’t back?】
【Or did your sister’s asthma flare up again and you went to Pixian County? Let me know if you need help】
The messages didn’t connect logically.
Sent at 10:08 a.m.
Scrolling up, Chen Wenran had messaged at 8:44 a.m.:
【Ran Yan and I broke up for the sixth time at 6 a.m. on January 24, 2024. Homeless now. Begging for shelter.】
…
Cui Qijin scrolled out of the chat impassively, only for two more messages to pop up:
【Where are you? Cui Qijin, you’re not ignoring me again just because I sent so many, are you?】
【Reply or I’ll call!】
She paused.
Before Chen Wenran could dial, Cui Qijin held up her phone in that excruciating pose and typed one-handed:
【On my way】
Ignoring the continued buzzes, she irritably tossed the phone onto the carpet.
She glanced down at the sleeping Chi Buyu.
Silence stretched for seconds.
With utmost care, she lifted Chi Buyu’s head from her arm, slid her hand free, and gently settled her onto the pillow.
Chi Buyu didn’t stir.
She even cooperated in her sleep, rolling to the far side, face toward the racks of hanging clothes, expression hidden.
Cui Qijin’s embrace suddenly felt empty.
Her compressed shoulder and arm prickled uncomfortably, the numbness creeping into her bones.
Wincing, she clutched her arm and eyed the fluffy back of Chi Buyu’s head.
Chi Buyu had bunched the blanket into a ball, facing the wall. Her honey-brown hair was even messier now, spilling over the slate-gray sheets like a beautiful tangle of yarn.
She seemed deep in pleasant slumber.
How could anyone sleep this soundly? Hadn’t she gotten any rest during those six months studying fashion design in Hong Kong?
Cui Qijin stared for a moment, then slipped quietly out of bed. Her legs buckled suddenly. Without her glasses, and with the curtains drawn tight, her vision blurred into chaos. She tumbled awkwardly onto the carpet below.
Her knee hit with a dull thud of pain. She winced.
Something else rolled off the bed. She groped and found her glasses, who knew where they’d gone.
Relieved, she slipped them on calmly. Her vision sharpened.
She raked back her disheveled hair, picked her clothes off the carpet, and glanced at Chi Buyu—still back-turned, still asleep.
The studio’s curtains blocked out the light, leaving the room dim as predawn.
Clutching her haphazard bundle of clothes, she sat on the carpet, waist numb and legs aching. Her mind was a blank after the strains of “Hold Your Breath for How Many Seconds” from downstairs last night.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
So this wasn’t a nightmare, hallucination, or Chi Buyu’s magic trick.
Sticking around to wait for the reveal wasn’t smart either.
Whatever that blank spot held, she needed to sort out her own mess first. As for the rest…
She glanced at Chi Buyu, who looked like she might sleep through the whole day.
Unable to help it, she sighed once more.
She’d sighed enough today. The rest could wait.
Her brain, operating at quarter speed, reached the conclusion to leave first. She bundled her phone into a mess of clothes, threw on her coat haphazardly, and opened the door with careful lightness.
In that instant, sunlight flooded in from outside. It created a hazy Tyndall effect in the narrow crack of the door, brightening the otherwise dim studio by a few degrees.
She paused for a second but then hesitated for some reason and glanced back. Through the hanging clothes, she caught a shadowy glimpse of Chi Buyu, whose soft strands of hair seemed to twitch slightly.
Or maybe not.
She turned her head instinctively. The blinding light from the doorway made her eyes ache even more.
Her hand, twisted on the doorknob, paused for one second, two seconds, three…
Finally, she wrenched it open and stepped out.
–
Her vision dimmed once more.
Chi Buyu held her position without moving, carefully cracking open one eye before immediately shutting it again.
No sound came from behind her.
She let out a breath of relief. With great caution, she pretended to be sleepy and rolled over, draping half of her leg—still clad in a long sock—over the edge of the bed. Tentatively, she swished it through the air.
From the head of the bed to the foot, her leg nearly stretched down to the carpet. She poked around randomly in the surrounding space.
Still no other sounds.
Her heart settled. She half-opened her eyes and swept her highly nearsighted gaze—over three hundred degrees—of blurry darkness around the room. She couldn’t make out details, but it felt like no one else was there for now.
Safe. Even if it was pitch black and fuzzy.
Chi Buyu dropped all her defenses and rolled straight into the middle of the bed.
She buried her hot face in the pillow.
She curled her whole body under the covers like a gray-blue caterpillar, wriggling slowly this way and that.
She kicked her legs and rolled her face.
Finally, with her head buried in the pillow, she twisted around and let out a long, drawn-out “Ah————”
What the hell kind of situation was this!
–
Cui Qijin patted the dust off her hands. She looked down to see her white shirt covered in a chaotic mess of lipstick marks.
She pressed her lips together, pulled her coat tighter around herself, and supported her waist as she headed downstairs.
Her waist injury must have flared up; even taking a few steps down the stairs felt like being pierced by needles.
The snow had probably stopped sometime last night, blanketing the city in a thin layer of white.
The mid-morning bustle on Love Adrift Street felt fresh and vibrant. People drifted along the sidewalks, their voices rich and full, their colors vivid and intense, all of it overwhelming her own insignificant exhaustion and frustration.
She stepped lightly through the thin snow on the street. A girl on a skateboard suddenly zipped past her side. The lamp store owner across the street grinned at her.
The record store boss next door, wrapped in a thin blanket, stretched out her legs lazily to sunbathe. As Cui Qijin passed, she said, “Morning!”
That song by Xue Kaiqi suddenly came to mind.
Her footsteps halted. The clamor of Love Adrift Street faded away in an instant, as if that red scarf from last night had draped over her again. A vivid image flashed through her mind—
The cramped studio space, red tones from car headlights seeping through the glass window and slowly sliding across the red scarf at her neck.
Downstairs, the song had changed by then.
A soft female voice sang faintly in the distance: “I’ll love you very much for a hundred centuries.”
Chi Buyu cradled her face, gazing at her with those pretty, hazy eyes. In a very dazed tone, she asked,
“Cui Muhuo, tell me—do you think anyone would love me for a hundred centuries?”
What a bizarre question.
Chi Buyu was always asking these kinds of strange things. Like how many episodes SpongeBob SquarePants had, or whether the song she heard was about kissing. Or, upon hearing this one, whether it was possible to be loved for a hundred centuries.
The sober Cui Qijin stood stock-still in the middle of Love Adrift Street, rooted in place by the sudden rush of memories.
She figured her drunken self from last night must have wanted to answer something like—
Idiot, no one in this world lives for a hundred centuries.
Or maybe: Idiot, “love” is the biggest scam of the twenty-first century. Every love song you’ve ever liked is part of the most infuriating fraud syndicate out there.
But in that moment, drunk and woozy, she had lowered her head, pressing her lips to the red birthmark on Chi Buyu’s ribs.
The touch was warm and soft, like some kind of melted candy. It glued her entire respiratory system shut for a full second, nearly killing her.
She couldn’t even open her eyes. Smiling in a total haze, she had said,
“Of course there would be.”
Chi Buyu never said another word after that. She wasn’t sure if she’d even heard it.
Cui Qijin’s head felt impossibly heavy. She sank down dizzily and lifted her hand, trying to pat Chi Buyu’s cheek.
“Maybe someone already has loved you for a hundred centuries…”
She missed, swinging her hand through empty air and catching nothing. As she tried to pull it back, a soft palm suddenly caught hers.
She peeled her eyelids open halfway and saw Chi Buyu’s stunned eyes. With a gentle laugh, she added,
“SpongeBob.”
The next second, Chi Buyu hooked the scarf around her neck and kissed her again.
Her breathing system roared back to life.
In that moment, as she hazily opened her eyes, she saw Chi Buyu’s eyelashes trembling faintly. In a state like her soul had left her body, she recalled some dubious webpage article claiming that as a multicellular organism, a “sea sponge” could live for exactly ten thousand years.
If anyone in this world could both love and be loved for a hundred centuries, it had to be SpongeBob SquarePants.
Her drunken self had thought that probably didn’t count as lying.
Her sober self stood expressionless in the elevator, thinking that alcohol really did a number on the brain.
Ding. The doors slid open.
She shoved her hands into her pockets and looked up to see Chen Wenran, clad in a StellaLou nightgown with a bird’s nest of bedhead, idly spinning in circles on a twenty-eight-inch suitcase.
She stepped out of the elevator but suddenly felt a warm-cool object in her pocket. The winter chill made her fingers curl involuntarily at the touch.
She hesitated before grasping it. It was small but surprisingly heavy. Ding—the elevator doors closed slowly behind her, the motion-sensor lights flickering dimly in the background.
She pulled the object from her pocket. Her eyes took a half-second longer than her hand to focus, and she stared at it for a long moment…
Then she heard Chen Wenran gasp in horror:
“Cui Qijin, did a ghost bite your mouth?”
She instinctively shoved it back into her pocket, keeping her expression calm on the surface while her mind reeled in confusion—
Where the hell had this mango come from?
