Chapter 48: “Throwing Stones” Part 1

Chen Wenran asked, “What exactly does this mean?”

Cui Qijin replied, “What do you mean by ‘what’?”

Chen Wenran whipped her head around suspiciously, fixing her gaze on Cui Qijin, who had been fiddling with that old Samsung phone in her hand ever since earlier.

“Your tone sounds off.”

She narrowed her eyes again and added, “Your new glasses look off too.”

Cui Qijin lifted her eyelids lazily. First, she leisurely set the old Samsung aside.

Then, with remarkable composure, she adjusted the new glasses she had picked up from the optician that very morning. In a flat voice, she said, “My prescription went up a bit.”

It wasn’t a lie. Her eyesight check that day had confirmed the slight increase.

“Really?” Chen Wenran rubbed her chin, looking skeptical. “You’re not hiding something that happened with Shuishui from me and Ran Yan, are you?”

“No.”

It truly had nothing to do with Chi Buyu. It was all because of that bay laurel tree.

But admitting she had been walking with her arms and legs swinging in sync, slammed right into a tree, and shattered her lenses? Cui Qijin would never volunteer such an idiotic blunder.

“Fine, whatever.” Chen Wenran accepted it reluctantly—only to follow up with, “So, how are things progressing with Shuishui lately?”

Cui Qijin hated discussing personal matters like this. Growing a touch impatient, she deflected. “It’s office hours right now.”

That only set Chen Wenran off. “What kind of stupid office hours rule is that? When Shuishui got sick, you came scampering over like an eager puppy. How come ‘office hours’ didn’t matter then?”

“I’d rush over if you got sick too.” Cui Qijin glanced at her computer screen.

“Really?”

Chen Wenran crossed her arms and muttered, “Now that’s more like it.”

“Of course it’s fake.”

Expressionless, Cui Qijin dragged her mouse around, clicking aimlessly through the project document Chen Wenran had just sent over.

Chen Wenran nearly lunged across the desk to throttle her.

But before she could act on it…

Cui Qijin stared absently at the dense wall of text on her screen, her face illuminated by the computer’s blue glow. Out of nowhere, she murmured to herself, “So what exactly does that mean?”

“What do you mean by ‘what’?”

Chen Wenran yanked over a chair and plopped down beside her. Jabbing a finger at the mouse cursor frozen on the screen, she gasped in exaggerated horror. “Cui Qijin, just be straight with me—are your glasses the wrong prescription? Have you gone blind or something? How do you not get that line?”

Cui Qijin’s eyes fixed on the “Project Summary” field. After a long moment, she shifted her gaze to Chen Wenran’s baffled face and drawled, “Back then… how did you and Ran Yan actually get together?”

“How did we get together?” Chen Wenran shrugged carelessly. “She chased me, obviously.”

Cui Qijin shot back without missing a beat. “I know you chased her.”

Chen Wenran said with utter confidence, “Then you’ve got it wrong.”

Cui Qijin let out a cold “heh.” “But that’s not what I’m asking.”

Chen Wenran finally gave her her full attention. “Then what is it?”

“It’s just…”

Truth be told, confronting Chen Wenran—who had a knack for turning molehills into mountains—Cui Qijin found the words hard to spit out. After an eternity, she sighed and forced out two words: “Forget it.”

“Damn it!” Chen Wenran gnashed her teeth. “You know, talking in half-sentences is a capital offense, right?”

Cui Qijin stayed silent.

Chen Wenran looked ready to lose her mind. “Please, just tell me!”

Cui Qijin kept her eyes glued to the screen.

In a fit of frustration, Chen Wenran snatched the mouse from her hand. “Fine! If you’re so tough, don’t ever say it!”

Cui Qijin’s jaw tightened. In a tone as icy and factual as a news report, she said, “I just wanted to ask… how exactly did you and Ran Yan confirm your relationship back then?”

“Damn! You and Shuishui made it official?” Chen Wenran bellowed. She flung the mouse away and added, “Damn! Didn’t you just say it’s office hours?”

Cui Qijin shot her a sidelong glance and reclaimed her beleaguered mouse—which had been through hell all morning.

First, she said, “No.”

Then, “Actually, yes.”

The entire day, Chen Wenran bounced around the studio like a pinball. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that Cui Qijin’s answers hid something. “No” didn’t mean they hadn’t gone official at all. And “yes” sure as hell didn’t mean office hours were sacred.

Before heading out, she laid it on Cui Qijin straight: Normal people confirm relationships with a handshake. “Hey, I’m your girlfriend now.” Done.

Cui Qijin didn’t buy it for a second.

So Chen Wenran sighed dramatically, propped her chin in a show of profundity, and revised her take: Adult romance isn’t like you kids playing house. We kiss, we hug, we sleep together, we bicker and drag it out—whoever caves first and admits it, that’s when we’re official.

Cui Qijin wasn’t convinced by that version either.

And so, after hours, she lingered in the studio with that old Samsung in hand. She wore her new glasses—which still felt awkward—gazing at the screen with the grim seriousness of someone who hadn’t slept a wink the night before, poring over and dissecting a single question:

What the hell did Chi Buyu mean by that?

And how was she supposed to reply?

“You’re late”—dry humor? Or just awkward?

“What do you mean”—too blunt? Would it spook Chi Buyu? What if Chi Buyu brushed it off with “nothing,” and they talked in circles?

“Why’d you say that just now”—petty much? Relentless?

“Where’d you go”—obvious. Home. Or model business.

…

Oh, right.

Wasn’t Chi Buyu swamped right now? Critical phase and all.

Maybe she shouldn’t bother her.

Cui Qijin set the phone down once more, sighing in vexation. She removed her glasses; the new lenses gleamed crystal clear. A sudden wave of irritation hit her, and she huffed onto them.

White fog bloomed across the glass.

She stared at it calmly for a moment, then slid them back on. The hazy, milky world that enveloped her brought an odd comfort. The very next second, a faint “pat” sounded from beyond the glass door.

Subtle, but enough to put her on alert.

She turned. The fog on her lenses gradually cleared under the ruddy sunset light. There stood Chi Buyu, paused by an egg waffle cart emblazoned with a “Chengdu Famous Snacks” sign. She wore a modern cheongsam-style outfit, clutching two glossy dark-green banana leaves from the roadside planting to shield her face. The white hem of her garment fluttered upward, billowing in the breeze like a butterfly alighted in a verdant meadow.

Yet she furtively parted the leaves, peeked out, and craned her chin to peer at Cui Qijin.

The moment Cui Qijin looked her way…

Chi Buyu stomped a foot, feigned indifference, and struck up a chat with the egg waffle vendor auntie.

Cui Qijin spotted the pebble that had rolled right up to the door.

She burst out laughing.

With a quick glance downward, she started gathering her things to head out. She had just grabbed her bag when another “pat” hit the door—this one sharper, almost accusatory.

Cui Qijin slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried over in a few strides. She nearly tripped on the threshold, staggering as she instinctively looked up—and saw no one watching.

She shoved open the glass door, straightened her posture in an instant, and marched forward with purposeful steps.

A few paces later, she came upon Chi Buyu—hands on hips, striking a dramatic pose in pointed silence. Cui Qijin kept her cool and said evenly, “We’re not on the second floor. Why throw stones?”

Chi Buyu was acting like a kid who showed up unannounced without calling a name—instead chucking pebbles at a glass door. As if she were starring in some millennial Taiwanese teen rom-com.

“Yeah, so what!” As if reading her mind, Chi Buyu launched into a playful Taiwanese lilt. “Just wanted to play out that TV drama bit—throwing stones at someone’s door. Not allowed, oh?”

“It’s not that it’s not allowed.” Cui Qijin replied patiently.

“That’s more like it.” Chi Buyu’s mood visibly brightened as she tilted her chin up and patted the banana leaves she’d released.

But she didn’t offer any new opening for conversation.

What do you want from me?—The words nearly tumbled from Cui Qijin’s lips, but she swallowed them with practiced poise.

Too standoffish. Not right.

So thinking, she casually eyed the egg waffle cart, flicked another “casual” glance at Chi Buyu, pulled out her ever-present handkerchief, and dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead.

In the most offhand tone imaginable, she said, “Want some egg waffle cake?”

“Yes!”

Chi Buyu whipped her head around, beaming.

Cui Qijin calmly turned back to the cart, staring fixedly at the “Chengdu Famous Snacks” sign.

“What flavor?”

“Let me think, oh.”

“You can pick a few.”

“But make ’em plump—I already ate dinner.”

So she’d already had dinner.

Cui Qijin held back from asking.

But Chi Buyu piped up with an unprompted explanation. “Had it with some folks from the factory. Business schmoozing—you get it, right?”

“Got it.”

The words slipped out before Cui Qijin could catch them. A beat later, she registered the surprise—and wind caught in her throat. Clutching her handkerchief, she coughed twice.

“But why should I get it?”

Chi Buyu let out a couple of smug “hmphs” and ignored the question. Whether deliberate or not, she veered off-topic. “I want pork floss red bean… ooh, and cream Oreo. Oh, and seaweed crispy floss too.”

Cui Qijin finished coughing and tugged at her collar. She glanced at Chi Buyu, who pointedly looked away. After a moment’s thought, she told the vendor auntie, “We’ll take all of those, then.”

An egg waffle cake ran just five bucks apiece.

The project she’d landed earlier could buy Chi Buyu something like a thousand three hundred fifty-six of them.

“You’re the best, Cui Muhuo.”

“…”

“You bought me egg waffle cakes—and three flavors at once, even.”

Cui Qijin shifted uncomfortably at Chi Buyu’s syrupy tone and pivoted. “You mentioned schmoozing with factory people today?”

Switching to work talk sobered Chi Buyu right up. She nodded vigorously. “Mm-hmm!”

“Did you eat well, at least?”

“What?” Clearly caught off guard that this was Cui Qijin’s first concern, Chi Buyu blinked in surprise.

“It’s rare to have a proper meal at an adult’s table,” Cui Qijin said casually.

“Yeah.” Chi Buyu sniffed, suddenly feeling like crying for no reason. “But I managed okay.”

Cui Qijin laughed.

When her laughter faded, she lightly flicked Chi Buyu’s forehead. “Congratulations on growing up, Chi Buyu.”

The offhand remark carried a hint of sincerity.

Chi Buyu glanced at Cui Qijin, then at the egg waffle cake the vendor was still making for the previous customer. “Aren’t you curious how I picked?”

“I could ask,” Cui Qijin replied succinctly. “But it’s not as important as the fact that you haven’t had dinner.”

Chi Buyu fell silent.

Cui Qijin looked over and saw her staring at the egg waffle cake, her face already scrunched up like she was about to burst into tears.

“Want to try another flavor?”

“No.”

“Regretting your choice now? Thinking it wasn’t the best?”

“Nope.”

“So you feel like you picked perfectly?”

“Wow! It’s you, alright, Grandmaster Cui! Reading comprehension: full marks!”

“It’s just basic logic.”

“Then you should do fewer logic puzzles.” Chi Buyu looked genuinely concerned. “Or you’ll wear yourself out.”

Cui Qijin eyed her. “You aren’t going to tell me what you picked?”

Chi Buyu fidgeted. “You’ll see it soon enough! You know how it goes—keep quiet before it’s done, then surprise when it’s ready!”