Chapter 44: The Strange Embrace Part 2

The night street buzzed with heat and noise. Mangoes sat neatly displayed out front. A blue truck idled at the curb, and several people—looking like a swarm of busy ants—scurried around hauling cardboard boxes, climbing up and down. One ant in a red polo shirt emblazoned with “I ♥ Moving” on the back, hands on its plump waist, said to another ant wearing apple-green canvas shoes, “Hey, girl, this ain’t on us. Moving stuff? Bumps and bruises happen.”

The ant in the apple-green canvas shoes wasn’t great at arguing, but she was smart enough in that moment to hold her ground. She put on a fierce tone. “That’s not what you said when we hired you!”

It looked like this ant had run into trouble.

Where were her older cousin, aunt, dad, and mom? How could no one be by her side at a time like this?

“Chi Buyu?”

Cui Qijin called out from under the streetlamp.

That was Chi Buyu back then—Chi Buyu newly arrived on Love Adrift Street. She turned around, and in that instant, the street’s crowd blurred like frames skipped in a movie. Chi Buyu’s eyes reddened quietly, brimming with grievance. She pursed her lips and called out, syllable by syllable,

“Cui~Mu~Huo~”

By the time Cui Qijin reached her, Chi Buyu had straightened up, hands on hips, snapping viciously at the movers. “You’ve jacked up the price halfway through already, and now you’ve dinged my stuff. Not only won’t you pay for it, you won’t even apologize? I’m lodging a complaint on the platform right now!”

It was like she’d found backup.

She clutched nervously at Cui Qijin’s sleeve, refusing to let go. Cui Qijin glanced at Chi Buyu’s grip on her hand, then at the movers, and said coolly,

“I’ve got a friend who’s a lawyer. Want her to come chat with you?”

With the two of them standing together, things always sorted themselves out smoothly.

After the move, they squatted by the door of the Truth or Dare Mango Store. To show her thanks, Chi Buyu bought her a mango. Cui Qijin wasn’t one to just casually eat fruit by the roadside, but she eyed her own now-grubby clothes after helping with the move—annoyed, yet she still crouched down with Chi Buyu on the curb. She held the ice cream cone Chi Buyu had insisted on buying her and counted the “ants” passing by.

Eyes blinking, Chi Buyu asked if she really had a lawyer friend.

Cui Qijin shot a disgusted look at Chi Buyu’s mango-smeared mouth, shifted her gaze to a flickering streetlamp, and—without turning her head—passed over a tissue. She replied halfheartedly, “Nah, fake. I don’t even have friends.”

Chi Buyu looked shocked. After a beat, as if it just hit her, she tossed the mango aside, viciously wiped her yellowed lips with the tissue, planted her hands on her hips, and huffed, “What am I, then? Or Chen Wenran? Or Ranran? Not your friends? Cui Muhuo, you’re so annoying!”

Chi Buyu was mad. Chi Buyu got mad in such a troublesome way. Chi Buyu was mad at her again. Chi Buyu stormed off, stomping furiously like a tipsy penguin. Too bad it wasn’t snowing yet. So Chi Buyu waddled on like a penguin that had lost its way from Antarctica to Chengdu.

Cui Qijin trailed behind, calling out impatiently for her to slow down or she’d trip, while explaining,

“Chi Buyu.”

“Chi Buyu, that’s not what I meant.”

“Chi Buyu, wait up.”

“Chi Buyu, your mouth’s all dirty!”

“Chi Buyu, you’re not pretty anymore!”

“Chi Buyu, you’ve got night blindness!”

“Chi Buyu, you’re gonna trip again!”

“Chi Buyu… Chi Buyu… Chi Buyu—”

…

Back then, Cui Qijin hadn’t learned how to apologize. Her version of it was probably just following Chi Buyu, repeating her name over and over like a broken record.

And Chi Buyu’s way of being mad was still hilariously the same—charging ahead in a huff like a volcano about to erupt, but when she hit a crosswalk and had to wait for the light, she’d deliberately pause so Cui Qijin wouldn’t lose her.

Later, they got lost on this street she’d only visited twice before. Somehow, they ended up at a roadside where a utility pole was plastered with rental ads. There was also a ground-floor shop for lease, its shutter half-up. Through the glass door, they could see a tiny room inside—like a little burrow.

Through the glass, they spotted two people standing outside, visible only from the waist down. One wore apple-green Converse, the other mango-yellow Vans.

The apple-green Converse scuffed the white roadside line, then kicked a pebble in a fit of anger. The pebble bounced off the mango-yellow Vans and stopped there. The mango-yellow Vans didn’t budge, hands in pockets, looking cool and detached.

The apple-green Converse nudged the pebble awkwardly. “Are you leaving tomorrow or what?”

The mango-yellow Vans stared at the half-open glass door, distracted. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Why ‘maybe’?”

“Because… I haven’t decided yet.”

The apple-green Converse tapped the ground. “That’s not like you. How can you still be hesitating? Tomorrow’s the departure date—talk about last-minute.”

The mango-yellow Vans stayed still. “Do you think I should go?”

“How should I know?”

“Yeah.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“Never mind, nothing.”

The apple-green Converse trailed off, mumbling unclearly as it ground its sole against the pavement, then hopped away along the white line like a fledgling bird.

The mango-yellow Vans paused for three or four seconds, not pressing. It just silently watched the back of that figure who insisted on walking the line—so childish, like a little kid.

It glanced at the half-open glass door again. Before Chi Buyu turned back, it quietly pulled out its phone camera and snapped the rental ad. Right before that photo in the gallery was a blurry one—

Taken there too, in front of that same half-open glass door. The shot was out of focus in the haste, but those two fuzzy figures…

Stood there perfectly, filling that little burrow to the brim.

She’d snapped the photo just moments ago, when Chi Buyu had been staring stubbornly at the ground.

It brought to mind two tropical fish once captured here in a frame. And just as she was gazing at that picture, two young people passed by, muttering, “So this is Love Adrift Street? Nothing special about it.”

So that was it. So that was it.

Cui Qijin locked her phone screen, eyed the pebble inexplicably lodged on her canvas shoe, and suddenly smiled. Then she stepped forward, inexplicably mimicking Chi Buyu ahead by walking heel-to-toe along the white line.

The shop window reflected their figures, one behind the other: a pair of apple-green Converse, a pair of mango-yellow Vans. Like two pigeons just learning to walk—utterly comical.

Love Adrift Street wasn’t anything special, either. Just that it was…

A perfect fit.

Two summers, and they’d both gotten lost here.

–

“Just that perfect fit.”

Cui Qijin held Chi Buyu close, her voice soft as she answered.

She couldn’t quite pin down why she hadn’t gone—or rather, she didn’t know what had held her back. She’d even thought, before applying, that a single word from Cui He or Yu Hongdong would’ve kept her here easily. But they hadn’t said it.

And yet she’d stayed.

Still, she was a little afraid Chi Buyu might run into that kind of trouble again. What if she hadn’t wandered to Love Adrift Street that night for no reason…?

What would Chi Buyu have done? Would Chi Buyu have hidden by the Truth or Dare Mango Store and cried?

But Cui Qijin hated trouble.

It probably wasn’t because of Chi Buyu.

Probably just… because it was a perfect fit.

That’s what Cui Qijin told herself.

Water still dripped from her clothes. She stared dazedly at the soggy paper flecks on her hands. Chi Buyu hugged her tight and suddenly patted her head. Her damp palm pressed against Cui Qijin’s hair. Her tone hovered between scolding and soothing.

“Cui Qijin, you’re such an idiot!”

Cui Qijin felt exhausted. She didn’t want to argue with Chi Buyu. It was like in that instant, she’d slipped back to Love Adrift Street in the summer of 2020, quarreling with that version of Chi Buyu—then somehow moving into that little burrow during a snowy winter, watching the whole street evolve into 2024.

Fine, call her an idiot then.

“Cui Qijin.” Chi Buyu called her again. Why was Chi Buyu calling her name so much all of a sudden?

“Yeah?”

Cui Qijin patted Chi Buyu’s head.

Chi Buyu patted hers back. Now it felt like comforting—like soothing a little kid.

“Still such a crybaby!”

Cui Qijin wouldn’t admit it. Chi Buyu’s words even carried a hint of a sniffle. Chi Buyu was the real crybaby.

But suddenly, Cui Qijin didn’t want to talk.

She didn’t want to fight with Chi Buyu anymore. She wanted to make up, like they had so many times before.

In the distance, Ran Yan and Chen Wenran looked like their legs had gone numb from standing. They finally approached, each dragging a camping chair. Their faces were indistinct, tinged with something like resentment. But to Cui Qijin, they just seemed to be enjoying the show.

Cui Qijin stopped looking at them. She held Chi Buyu close—her friend soaked to the skin—and suddenly spoke up.

“Chi Buyu.”

“Huh?” Chi Buyu replied.

“Is there only one thing you need to ask me?” Cui Qijin said.

“For now,” Chi Buyu murmured, lifting her chin against the crook of Cui Qijin’s neck. “Just this one, for now.”

Cui Qijin hummed in acknowledgment. “Then I have one more thing to say.”

“What is it?” Chi Buyu sounded a little puzzled.

“You should know…”

Cui Qijin hesitated, finding it hard to get the words out—especially after catching sight of Ran Yan and Chen Wenran. Reluctantly, she rested her chin awkwardly on Chi Buyu’s shoulder to avoid their gazes. She held the position for a moment before speaking again, her voice thick with frustration.

“I’m actually not much of a crier.”

It was all because of you, and nothing else.

Chi Buyu fell silent for a long time. It was as if she didn’t quite agree—or perhaps she simply hadn’t recovered from her own emotions yet.

Cui Qijin let out a slow breath and didn’t press the point. Repeating herself would only make her sound defensive.

“Mm, I know.”

After a while, she heard Chi Buyu’s voice, hazy and soft, laced with the salt of tears as it brushed against her ear. “Cui Muhuo’s a mermaid, isn’t she? Her tears are like pearls…”

It sounded like teasing, like a deliberate jab. Cui Qijin opened her mouth to retort, but then Chi Buyu whispered even more softly,

“Of course they’re precious.”