Chapter 43: “Sorry” Part 2

The two of them bolted out from under the parasol in an instant, trading barbs back and forth as they dashed across the sunlit grass.

After a few steps, they probably got tired and ended up tussling, grabbing at each other. Chen Wenran pointed at something—who knew what—and Ran Yan plopped the sun hat right on her head before following her off.

That left just the two of them under the umbrella.

Cui Qijin glanced at Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu glanced back at her, the pearl earrings on her ears catching the light like seashells scattered across the lawn.

The tips of her ears were a little red, probably from the sun.

“Today—”

“You—”

Their words collided once again.

Cui Qijin eyed Chi Buyu’s puffed-up cheeks. “The weather’s nice today.”

“Mm-hmm~” Chi Buyu replied.

Then she looked left and right, spotting a group camping not far off, a few people sprawled out on the grass soaking up the sun.

She glanced around and plopped right down on the grass, skipping the camp chairs set up nearby.

Her cheongsam wasn’t form-fitting at all—more loose and casual. Dark teal, with short sleeves up top and a matching long skirt that brushed her ankles below, finished off with a pair of plain black canvas shoes.

It was a little cool, a little sexy, and a touch cute.

Sitting like that didn’t look awkward at all.

Cui Qijin watched her silky long hair draped behind her, her slender back, and the fluffy grass for a good while. In the end, she surrendered and sat down beside her.

The fresh grass felt surprisingly soft underfoot, with a few kids running around nearby.

The air carried the crisp scent of grass, the warm glow of sunlight, and Chi Buyu’s faint fragrance woven in among it all. To Cui Qijin, she smelled just like a sweet grass cake right now.

A sweet grass cake that wasn’t talking, and she wasn’t sure if it was still sulking.

Unfortunately, this grass cake wasn’t one to stay put. The moment Cui Qijin sat down, Chi Buyu nudged her shoe lightly against Cui Qijin’s.

Cui Qijin shifted away.

Chi Buyu shot her a dissatisfied look.

Cui Qijin scooted back.

Chi Buyu didn’t nudge her again. Instead, she inched closer, pressing the side of her black canvas shoe gently against Cui Qijin’s.

And stayed there.

After a long moment, she drawled slowly, “I’ve seen these shoes of yours before.”

“Really?”

Cui Qijin glanced down at her own Chelsea boots, pinned lightly by Chi Buyu’s canvas shoe—like something only a grown-up would wear.

Chi Buyu added, “In Hong Kong.”

It had been ages since Hong Kong came up. Cui Qijin felt a flicker of disorientation and found herself asking without thinking, “Did you end up okay afterward? In Hong Kong, all by yourself.”

Truth be told, she’d never quite let go of her worry. She still didn’t fully understand how Chi Buyu could just up and go to Hong Kong because of some offhand words. To her, it remained utterly baffling.

But still.

She worried about Chi Buyu.

Unlike her university days in Chongqing, where there was at least the structure of school—good friends like Ran Yan in the dorm, counselors for emergencies, and if all else failed… her.

But Hong Kong was so far away. No classmates, no counselors, no family… Chi Buyu had been completely on her own. Would she manage okay?

She’d thought that more than once since Chi Buyu’s return. More than once, she’d tossed and turned at night, mindlessly picking up her phone only to find herself staring at flight bookings before forcing herself to set it down and keep tossing.

“Not great.”

Chi Buyu stared at their shoes pressed together, her voice muffled as she said, “I always felt like I hadn’t grown up yet, like a kid. So immature about a lot of things.”

“So these past few days, you’ve been learning from your cousin how to run your own brand?”

“How did you know?” Chi Buyu sounded genuinely surprised that she’d seen right through her so easily.

“Your thoughts are pretty easy to read sometimes.” Cui Qijin’s voice came out lazy, probably thanks to the migraine. “What’s so bad about being loved by so many people?”

“It’s not bad.” Chi Buyu sighed.

After that, she seemed a touch more relaxed than before. She leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the sky with a lost expression. She pondered for a good while before saying, “Sometimes I feel really sorry.”

“To your family?”

Chi Buyu hummed in agreement, then glanced at her again, mumbling vaguely, “I feel like I’m pretty willful sometimes. Unreliable a lot of the time. The people who love me end up worrying constantly, and sometimes they even feel bad because of my stubbornness.”

“You always overthink things,” Cui Qijin said, watching her.

“But every time I reflect, it doesn’t make me any more grown-up.” Chi Buyu shot back. “Don’t you always call me an idiot?”

That was true enough.

Cui Qijin had never quite followed Chi Buyu’s thought processes, always caught off guard by the surprises she sprang.

But in that instant, she realized that changing yourself, smoothing out your edges—those things usually came from pain. Compared to being a smart adult…

She’d rather Chi Buyu just stayed the beloved idiot she was.

“Chi Buyu.” She called her name.

“Hm?” Chi Buyu looked over. “Are you about to tell me not to stir up trouble for no reason?”

Cui Qijin smiled.

Then, propping herself lazily on one hand against the grass behind her, she reached out with the other and lightly flicked Chi Buyu’s forehead.

“If you want to try it, then go for it.”

It had been a long time since she’d done something so natural.

After pulling her hand back, Cui Qijin instinctively looked away. She wasn’t sure if Chi Buyu saw her as Mine right now… or as herself.

Her heart clenched.

She waited for Chi Buyu’s verdict.

After a long pause, Chi Buyu finally ventured hesitantly, “What if I fail?”

Cui Qijin thought about it seriously.

She looked up at the vast blue sky, as if exhaling a long-held breath. “If you fail, then cry about it. Just like you used to. Be an idiot for a bit, then go back to being an adult. You won’t die.”

She was surprised at her own gentle words. So she didn’t look at Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu’s surprise was probably even greater.

A long silence stretched out. Until the faint strains of an accordion drifted over from nearby. Chi Buyu began to sway gently to the melody. After a while, she nudged Cui Qijin’s shoe sole again with hers, then pressed it there and muttered, “Come here.”

It sounded like a command, but also like a whine.

Cui Qijin looked at her, puzzled. “Come where?”

Chi Buyu lifted her chin.

She patted the cloth she’d just spread out on the grass. “Lie down here first.”

“Lay my head on it?” Cui Qijin asked incredulously.

“Mm-hmm~” Chi Buyu said. “It’s clean. You first.”

“Why should I—”

Cui Qijin wasn’t keen.

But seeing Chi Buyu’s puffed cheeks, her pursed lips, and the scattered people lounging on the grass around them—it probably wasn’t as improper as she thought.

She pulled her gaze back.

Under Chi Buyu’s stare, she surrendered once more and lay down on it with resignation. Two layers of soft cloth kept the grass from poking too much. Still, just lying out in the open like this felt odd to Cui Qijin.

She shifted her legs a bit awkwardly.

The next second, a soft weight settled on her head. The grassy scent at her nose mingled with the damp mist from the lake nearby, turning sweeter and more humid.

It was Chi Buyu, giving her a head massage.

First, she removed Cui Qijin’s glasses. Then her fingers circled her temples, forehead, and scalp, pressing gently in soothing motions.

That incident still hadn’t fully passed.

Cui Qijin swallowed. From this angle, she could see the endless blue sky and Chi Buyu’s pale, elegant jawline.

She suddenly wanted to say something.

“Chi Buyu.”

She hesitated as she said the name, her words slow. Chi Buyu’s massaging slowed to match.

“I’m sorry.”

She rarely spoke with such uncertainty, her voice tight and strained. She remembered saying those words to Professor Cui and Professor Yu before.

It always felt awful. Because afterward, they’d reply with something standard like, “I didn’t say you were wrong.” But wasn’t she? If she didn’t say it, they’d just stare at her silently, waiting for her to speak… Why did their kindness never feel like forgiveness?

She’d come to hate saying it.

“I’m sorry.”

She said it again, her voice unsteady.

Chi Buyu heard her—she must have. Her fingers twitched back slightly, as if unused to it.

A beat passed.

Then, with exaggerated fierceness, she straightened Cui Qijin’s chin and clapped a hand over her eyes, blocking her gaze.

Her palm was soft and warm. In a muffled voice, she said, “Pay attention. Next time your migraine hits, do it like this—it’ll feel better.”

Cui Qijin’s vision went dark. She stayed silent for a long moment.

Finally, Chi Buyu hesitated and brushed her palm against Cui Qijin’s eyelashes, freezing like a shellfish caught on a rock, not daring to move.

“You…”

Her tone was incredulous, lost, and utterly flustered.

“Are you crying?”

Cui Qijin shook her head under the warmth of her palm but said nothing.

Her lashes grazed the soft skin.

Chi Buyu trembled visibly. Then she lifted her hand, as if to check.

Cui Qijin shot her hand up.

Her whole forearm blocked most of her face, chin tight, utterly silent.

Chi Buyu tugged at her sleeve. “Let me see?”

Cui Qijin uttered a single word: “No.”

Chi Buyu was floored. “You really cried?”

Cui Qijin stubbornly held firm, saying only, “No.”

Chi Buyu scratched at her hair in frustration. “I haven’t even cried yet! How can you beat me to it? I’m warning you—that’s cheating! Points deducted!”

Her fierce tone was all for show, like they were competing. Deep down, Cui Qijin knew Chi Buyu was just sparing her the embarrassment of comfort by playing it this way.

So while her words were tough, her hand only tugged lightly at the sleeve, careful not to push further.

“My head hurts too much.”

A few minutes later, Cui Qijin spoke in a strained voice.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Chi Buyu seemed to let out a sigh of relief as she scraped lightly at the palm of Cui Qijin’s wrist.

“Then let me give you a little massage.”

Cui Qijin felt deeply embarrassed.