Chapter 49: “Luckily, Luckily” Part 2

Chi Buyu pressed a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture and mumbled, “Anyway, sis, you just make a wish that the weather stays nice today, okay?”

You Ying nodded readily. “Deal.”

The fabric market was out in west Chengdu. They were negotiating price adjustments for mid-production design and material changes on a bulk order, hoping to recoup some of the manufacturing losses.

By the end of the day, Chi Buyu didn’t leave everything to You Ying like before. Instead, she followed her cousin’s lead, chiming in at the right moments. It helped her learn the ropes of the business and showed some good faith on her part.

By the time they wrapped up and headed back toward the city, the sun had already set.

Their appointment was for eight in the evening—plenty of time. The location, though…

Chi Buyu bit her lip as she rode along in her cousin’s car toward the agreed-upon mall. The car’s AC blasted cold air, making her sneeze. For some reason, a bad feeling crept over her.

She shook her head, telling herself not to overthink it.

Then she hurriedly pulled out her compact mirror and started touching up her makeup under the tricky conditions inside the car.

She’d barely patted on a few layers of powder when she noticed the car slowing down. The scenery outside crawled to a halt.

It was like they were moving at a snail’s pace.

You Ying let out an irritated tsk. “Looks like traffic’s jammed up ahead.”

Chi Buyu checked the map. Seventeen kilometers to go.

She scrunched up her face.

Public transit options popped up—multiple subway transfers plus a bus, plus walking. Two and a half hours total.

That meant arriving half an hour late.

Half an hour?

Not terrible.

Chi Buyu pocketed her phone, fretted over her makeup while glancing at the elephantine traffic jam outside. After one final step—lipstick—she made up her mind. She grabbed her bag in a flurry and tossed over her shoulder to her cousin, “I’ll take the subway!”

Then she hopped out with eager energy.

The roads were choked with cars in the evening rush, night falling fast. She hurried along the edge of the sidewalk, bag in hand, as You Ying called after her, “Shuishui! You forgot your charger!”

Chi Buyu turned in the rush of wind, nearly chomping her own hair, but she raised her hand high and shouted back cheerfully, “I can grab it tomorrow!”

The charger could wait until tomorrow.

But Cui Qijin… she couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Chi Buyu wove through the unfamiliar evening crowd in this strange part of town. She relied on her phone’s navigation to find the nearest subway station.

At the station, she squeezed onto a peak-hour train with the after-work throng. She rarely rode during rush hour—the onslaught of smells and the sheer overwhelming noise made her feel queasy.

She pressed her lips together.

She found a small gap and fished two coconut candies from her pocket, popping them into her mouth and sucking gently.

Then she lit up her phone screen again.

With two people’s backs pressed against her, she had to hold her arm up over the head of a seated passenger, typing out a message to Cui Qijin one painstaking character at a time.

【Might be half an hour late~】

No reply from Cui Qijin.

That was fine.

Not everyone stared at their phone nonstop.

Chi Buyu told herself that.

She kept holding up the phone anyway, her arm aching as the battery dropped from twenty percent to ten. She had to lock the screen to conserve power—she still needed Tianfu Tong for the subway fare.

Cui Qijin never replied.

Chi Buyu transferred to the slightly less crowded Line 6. The AC was cranked high, leaving her inexplicably chilled.

She hugged herself.

Her phone stayed dark, battery at five percent. She pocketed it instead of staring anymore and gazed blankly as the train rumbled past the pitch-black tracks. She stared at her reflection in the window—

Eyes full of eager hope.

Just like her 2014 self.

The subway thundered toward 2014, carrying her to Cui Qijin.

What was Cui Qijin doing, anyway? Had she arrived? Or not? Why no WeChat reply after so long? Or had something happened again?

Chi Buyu gnawed on her fingertip.

She resolved not to let her mind spiral.

Out of the station, one bus stop to go. Chi Buyu stood under the shelter as heavy clouds rolled in, threatening a downpour that would swallow her anticipation and the day’s beautiful blue skies.

The weather had turned. The plans were off.

Feeling glum, she realized she had no umbrella—and as her phone’s last one percent ticked away, Chen Wenran posted in the “Save Cui Muhuo” WeChat group:

【Looks like Chenxing’s in trouble…】

She didn’t even finish reading before the screen went black and started spinning.

Chi Buyu stared blankly at her reflection in the dead phone for a long moment. So Chenxing was the one in trouble.

Cui Qijin must be dealing with that too, right?

It made sense she wouldn’t check her phone.

A whoosh—the bus pulled up in front of her, doors hissing open. The driver in his blue uniform called out, “Hey girl, you getting on or what?”

No point going anymore.

Chi Buyu’s throat felt parched from the rush; she hadn’t had a chance to drink anything.

She glanced around.

Phone dead.

Even if she wanted to ride, she couldn’t.

The doors shut, and the bus pulled away. Chi Buyu surveyed the empty street, her powerless phone, the brooding storm clouds, the bus she’d missed…

A wave of grievance washed over her.

She swore she’d never eat coconut candy again, but her hand automatically reached into her bag for more—only to close around a handful of loose coins.

Yesterday.

Cui Qijin had treated her to egg waffle cake. She’d misheard the old lady’s price and overpaid by a few bucks. The vendor, eager to close up, had meant to transfer the change back right away. But Cui Qijin had casually plucked a few coins from the cash tray.

The old lady was surprised anyone still used cash in this day and age.

Cui Qijin had smiled politely and said she often ran out of phone battery and found cash handy sometimes—for buses if she got lost, or a bottle of water to avoid dying of thirst like in the desert.

It sounded like Cui Qijin’s signature dry humor.

Chi Buyu smiled.

She realized Cui Qijin had smoothly dropped the handful of coins into her little bag. Probably catching her bewildered look, Cui Qijin had stiffened her jaw and flicked her forehead. “Hold onto them for me, got it?”

Who was the one always forgetting to charge her phone, heading out without a full battery?

Who was the one who got lost all the time, froze up when things went wrong, and had to be found standing in the same spot?

Who was the one who never carried spare cash, left helpless without her phone—like after the Hong Kong fire, without even enough for a cup of water?

Chi Buyu knew the answer without a doubt.

The next bus on the route pulled up. Chi Buyu boarded.

She had no idea if this one would actually get her to Cui Qijin. The odds were slim to none. With Chenxing in trouble—probably another asthma attack—why would Cui Qijin ditch her sister for an unconfirmed meetup, one that only hinged on “nice weather” anyway?

But still…

Chi Buyu found a seat by the window and sat down. She watched the dark clouds press down fully and the rain begin to speckle the glass bit by bit. She mustered her resolve once more—

Maybe doing something a little foolish wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The bus, forging through the misty rain, felt like it had traveled from 2014 to 2024—or perhaps the other way around.

Chi Buyu couldn’t tell anymore.

In any case, the two rainstorms seemed to merge into one. When she got off the bus, Chi Buyu realized she hadn’t brought an umbrella. She raised a hand to shield her carefully applied makeup, trying desperately to keep her eyelashes and face from getting drenched.

She knew Cui Qijin wouldn’t be here.

But she wanted to do it anyway.

Just like on a solo date, she still wanted to look her best.

Chi Buyu kept her face set in a sullen expression as she splashed through puddles everywhere, wandering aimlessly until she reached the old mall—now completely dark.

Ten years had truly changed so much.

The bustling, crowded mall of a decade ago had, by 2024 and after all those upheavals, been shut down. Its interior lay empty, bathed in a bluish glow reminiscent of those millennial nostalgia photos circulating online. A yellow sign hung on the door: “No Entry.” Unwilling to accept defeat, Chi Buyu stepped forward and rattled the handle. It was locked tight.

Her shoulders slumped in dejection.

She wiped her sticky face, unsure whether it was sweat mingled with rain or her makeup completely ruined.

No one else lingered outside the mall like her. Only the streetlamps stood sentinel, solitary pillars casting their glow on every hurried passerby in the rainy night.

Moments ago, she had been thrilled at the idea of keeping her one-person appointment.

Now she realized that even an old mall wouldn’t wait for her this long.

It was time to go home.

An inexpressible disappointment settled over Chi Buyu.

She thought that if the mall hadn’t closed, maybe she wouldn’t feel quite so let down.

She no longer bothered shielding her ruined makeup.

With a sigh, she trudged onward, head down, stepping past a streetlamp. Her shadow stretched long behind her, thin and gaunt like some scrawny creature.

She raised her hand slightly, and the shadow mimicked her.

She hugged herself, and the shadow timidly curled in on itself too.

She sniffed, wiping at her streaked face, and suddenly felt deeply aggrieved. The rain pattered relentlessly on the ground, blurring her shadow bit by bit.

She skirted the cinema exit at the side of the mall and sat down on the steps to escape the downpour. In that moment, overwhelming sadness washed over her.

Through the haze, she caught a faint voice calling out.

“Chi Buyu?”

It was as if the misty rain itself had frozen in place. Chi Buyu looked up blearily and first caught the sweet scent of coconut candy.

Then she saw Cui Qijin—

Standing by the flower bed in front of the cinema entrance. To make herself more visible, perhaps, Cui Qijin held a mango-colored umbrella aloft while cradling a large, vibrant pot of colorful leaf taro.

Rain poured down outside.

Cui Qijin stood perfectly straight and still, the umbrella tilted so that most of its shelter went to the plant in her arms. Her right shoulder was thoroughly soaked.

She looked like a slender, fragile deer that had lost its way—standing alone and gray in the heart of the city.

Yet Cui Qijin herself seemed oblivious. She simply stared, stunned, through her fogged-up glasses.

“Cui Qijin?”

Chi Buyu could scarcely believe it. She called out, still dazed.

Cui Qijin appeared to recognize her from the voice alone.

Laboriously, she wiped her blurred lenses with her sleeve. Once she could see clearly, she stared for a long moment more. Then, as if finally processing it all, she let out a slow, soft laugh—only to choke on it.

A fit of uncontrollable coughing seized her. Her eyes grew wet with some mysterious liquid, and her back felt light and unsteady, as if the rain had torn a hole through a sheet of paper.

Chi Buyu dropped her hands from her knees and wiped the mess of color from her face. Without a word, she darted under Cui Qijin’s umbrella.

She hugged Cui Qijin’s half-soaked shoulder, embracing her bewilderment and her restless anxiety.

She couldn’t speak. Neither could she.

They simply held each other like that for a long time, until Cui Qijin’s coughing finally eased.

Cui Qijin drew a gentle breath. She stopped smiling and wearily rested her chin on Chi Buyu’s shoulder—like a child who had done something wrong, finally exhaling in relief now that she had a chance to make amends.

“Thank goodness, thank goodness…”

She murmured weakly, laced with lingering fear, tightening her embrace around Chi Buyu before finishing,

“Thank goodness I didn’t leave.”