In 2014, SpongeBob Afraid of Water declared that people need four hugs a day just to survive.
In 2024, Chi Shuishui added to Cui Qijin that there were actually two more lines to the quote: eight hugs to maintain life, and twelve hugs to foster growth.
Wouldn’t anyone get sick of that many hugs in a single day?
In the past, Cui Qijin would have outright questioned the logic behind such a theory. But now, she had no choice but to obey Chi Buyu’s universal laws.
To her, love was all about two people wrecking each other’s principles while blindly following some bizarre new rules.
After running into Miss Liang that day, Chi Buyu had played that silly Point Soldier Point General game to pick their dinner spot, landing on an all-you-can-eat barbecue joint. But they barely touched the grilled meats—Cui Qijin filled up on just a bit of pasta and fried rice.
Chi Buyu wasn’t satisfied. “What’s up with my stomach today? It’s like I’ve only got one to work with. I barely touched the desserts or drinks.”
Cui Qijin trailed behind her, dressed in a sleek all-black outfit, her brown tote bag slung over her shoulder with that mango-yellow baseball cap dangling from it—the kind she’d probably been wearing since kindergarten. As she peeled an orange for Chi Buyu, she quipped, “Maybe you finally evolved from cow to human today.”
They stepped out of the barbecue place and passed a fruit stand. Cui Qijin couldn’t find any good mangoes, but as soon as Chi Buyu walked by, she bounced back with a grin, pointing excitedly. “The oranges here are so pretty! All shiny and golden.”
Cui Qijin had no idea why a summer shop had so many oranges on hand. Peeling them was a hassle in her book. She had to strip off all the rind first, stuff it into a separate pocket, then meticulously pluck away every last bit of white pith until she had pristine fruit segments. Every step had to be perfect, or it felt wrong—like she was a machine running on a tight schedule.
A machine peeling oranges for Chi Buyu.
Chi Buyu devoured one with a big “nom,” chewing as she said, “There’s this play called Rhinoceros in Love.” Then, out of nowhere, she fished an orange from the bag and started peeling it for Cui Qijin, tugging diligently at the pith.
She fed it over with hands that smelled of citrus.
Cui Qijin ate it reluctantly. As she bit into the juicy segment, she met Chi Buyu’s eyes and thought, so this is what love is like? You can’t even peel your own orange anymore. Somehow, one peeled by someone else tastes a hundred times sweeter.
Chi Buyu seemed to read her expression and grinned. “We’re just like those rhinos in love.”
Cui Qijin shot back, “What’s the logic connecting those two ideas?”
Chi Buyu walked ahead with her hands behind her back, swaying along the neon-lit street. Her hair tips danced in the hazy glow as she turned back with a smile—radiant and dreamy in that uniquely captivating way of hers. “Because when a rhino falls in love, its four stomachs merge into one. And oranges? Gotta have your girlfriend peel those.”
Three utterly illogical sentences. Cui Qijin was speechless.
Then this lovestruck rhino insisted on walking the other one home.
She called it fulfilling her girlfriendly duties.
Sometimes Cui Qijin felt like they were already head over heels in love. Other times, it seemed like they were just following some scripted routine, awkwardly shifting from “not ordinary friends” to “lovers.”
Every hug, every hand-holding moment came with a hesitant second-guess about whether it was okay yet. It all felt so forced. And yet Miss Liang had said they looked perfect for marriage.
Did they?
They reached Cui Qijin’s front door.
Before she could punch in the code, she turned—and Chi Buyu, following close behind, crashed into her arms like a hot-from-the-grill orange. Thump-thump, thump-thump, her firm chin poking at Cui Qijin’s chest.
Cui Qijin gently pushed Chi Buyu’s face back a little, half-exasperated. “Chi Buyu, you’re like a kangaroo.”
Chi Buyu’s poking softened, and her double chin squished out shamelessly. “Then you’re the kangaroo mom.”
Cui Qijin nearly laughed in frustration.
But her hand lightened on Chi Buyu’s cheek without her realizing it, palm pressing warmly against her jaw until it turned into cradling her face.
Chi Buyu nestled there in her arms, but suddenly Cui Qijin felt like she couldn’t quite see her clearly, as if a dreamy fog hung between their gazes.
She held Chi Buyu’s face, her palms growing hot. She wasn’t sure if it was Chi Buyu’s cheeks burning up or her own pulse quickening under her skin.
Chi Buyu’s arms wrapped around her waist, swaying and humming softly, not saying whether she wanted to come in or head home first. A bag with just two oranges left dangled between them, their breaths warm and mingling in the citrus-scented air, steaming up their faces.
Cui Qijin gave Chi Buyu’s cheek a light pinch. “Why’d you suddenly call me by my full name?”
“‘Cause I felt like it.”
Chi Buyu nuzzled into her palm, then huffed in dissatisfaction—a petty revenge for the kangaroo jab. “Cui Qijin, you’re done for. Your hands are covered in my foundation now.”
Cui Qijin glanced down. Sure enough, her palms were smeared with Chi Buyu’s makeup. But she didn’t even frown, shrugging it off. “No big deal. I’ll wash it off when I get home.”
“Yeah.” Chi Buyu lifted her chin, enunciating each word like she was bouncing them out. “Girlfriend foundation? You just gotta deal with it.”
Cui Qijin laughed. “Actually, I’ve put up with plenty from you before.”
Chi Buyu bristled. “As if you’re perfect! Always saying the opposite of what you mean. Please—if it weren’t for me, who’d stick around without getting scared off by your sarcasm?”
It felt like they were on the verge of a fight.
Cui Qijin racked her brain for a killer comeback to shut Chi Buyu down. But for some inexplicable reason, nothing came to mind, and the moment slipped away.
For half a minute, neither spoke.
The quiet air thickened in the pause.
Suddenly, Cui Qijin didn’t know if she should let go or keep holding Chi Buyu’s face. She froze, feeling the delicate pulse fluttering under her fingertips at Chi Buyu’s neck.
The overhead hallway light dimmed without any noise to keep it on, hovering on the edge of going out completely.
“Why aren’t you talking?”
Chi Buyu whispered the question, her voice suddenly soft—like a breathy whisper that wouldn’t disturb the light’s fade, a kitten’s paws padding lightly over the syllables.
“No reason.” Cui Qijin managed one word.
Chi Buyu nudged her chest bone lightly with her chin, as if trying to burrow in. After a long moment, she glanced up vaguely, then quickly looked away, mumbling a stuffy, “Oh.”
Cui Qijin stared at the fuzzy crown of Chi Buyu’s head, her own heartbeat pounding the air. Finally, she couldn’t hold back. “Chi Buyu, how long are we gonna stand here hugging like idiots?”
“Why!”
Chi Buyu’s tone was sharp, but not her usual bite. It was more like… an orangey kind of sharpness, sticky and soft. She bumped her chin gently again. “Getting tired of hugs already?”
And so the quiet hallway gained a little hammer, tapping softly, pounding the air into a mushy softness that swayed around them.
Chi Buyu huffed amid the mush. “I’m telling you, Cui Muhuo, I’ve got skin hunger syndrome. If you won’t let me hug you, I’ll find someone else who will—”
Her expressions and gestures were always so animated. Midway through, she turned her head by accident, her earlobe—fringed with soft strands of hair—brushing Cui Qijin’s damp, warm palm.
Both of them froze in an instant.
The air turned gluey, their gazes colliding accidentally before darting away, leaving them like tropical fish circling each other. Time blurred until the light finally went dark.
Cui Qijin’s back pressed against the wall, as if squeezed there. She shifted her hand to pull away—and in that dim moment, she could have sworn Chi Buyu tilted her chin up in response.
Her face lifting toward Cui Qijin’s.
Their eyes met. Then drifted hazily apart.
“Bzzz—”
Until Cui Qijin’s phone buzzed in the thick air. The hallway light blazed back on, revealing Chi Buyu’s flushed ear tips and the slightly dazed look in her eyes.
Cui Qijin parted her lips.
The next second, her arms were empty.
Chi Buyu bolted from the embrace like a baby kangaroo leaping from its pouch. She ducked her head, fussing with her hair, and blurted at top speed, “Your phone’s ringing—I’m heading home! Text you when I get there, see you tomorrow, bye!”
Then she dashed into the elevator that had just arrived on the floor and was gone.
Cui Qijin felt like a tape stuck mid-track.
She snapped out of it.
Bewildered, she glanced around, then wandered to the elevator with the two remaining oranges in hand.
It had already dropped to the next floor. Her phone kept vibrating noisily in her pocket. Calmly, she pulled it out, hit accept, held it to her ear, and said nothing.
Yu Chenxing huffed impatiently on the video call. “Hello? Hello?” But she could only see darkness, so she snapped, “Cui Qijin, did you vanish or what?”
Cui Qijin watched the elevator numbers descend. “Quit yelling.”
Yu Chenxing’s voice rolled her eyes. “Fine, what’s up with you?”
Cui Qijin sounded lost. “Turns out Chi Buyu’s universal laws aren’t wrong after all.”
Yu Chenxing was baffled. “What ‘Chi Buyu universal laws’? Are you actually Cui Qijin?”
The elevator hit the ground floor. Cui Qijin chuckled suddenly. “That was close. Just a little more…”
Yu Chenxing’s patience was fraying. “So what the hell are you rambling about? Were you kidnapped? Say one if yes, two if no.”
Cui Qijin said neither. She stated the facts coolly. “Chi Buyu was just here. We were hugging. And I almost kissed her.”
It probably took Yu Chenxing a full minute to process. Unlike Chen Wenran’s shriek, she just demanded impatiently, “So why didn’t you?”
Cui Qijin stood there by the elevator, pondering. No one else came by in that absurd moment of reflection. And the conclusion she reached was still just one thing.
She had no choice but to let out a sigh. “Because I want it so much… that’s why I don’t dare.”
Yu Chenxing let out a cold laugh on the other end. “Cui Qijin, you’re even more neurotic now that you’re in love.”
–
Chi Buyu clamped her mouth shut and burst out of the elevator like a high schooler who’d just delivered a love letter.
Then she darted around the complex downstairs like a headless chicken.
Her heart pounded as if she had a heart condition.
She’d originally planned to sprint straight down the entire length of Love Adrift Street, but she’d started second-guessing herself right at the starting line.
So she snuck around guiltily, dashing to the complex gate before faking another move. She trailed behind a kid in overalls back to Cui Qijin’s building block, pacing back and forth under the watchful eyes of the neighborhood aunties and uncles—and the cats and dogs—before dazedly finding the door to Cui Qijin’s unit.
The lights weren’t on yet. She wasn’t sure if she’d gotten the wrong place, but it seemed like Cui Qijin hadn’t turned them on.
Cui Qijin wouldn’t leave the lights off.
So where was Cui Qijin right now? Was she still standing at the door? Or had she chased after her?
Chi Buyu covered her burning-hot face, her thoughts a chaotic mess. She glanced toward the warmly lit stairwell of the building—no one seemed about to come running down.
Fine.
Cui Muhuo, you’ve blown your chance!
Chi Buyu thought grumpily. She peered into the unit entrance one more time, then again, before puffing out her cheeks and finally leaving the complex.
Love Adrift Street was lined with plenty of lampposts.
Chi Buyu walked past them one by one, her anger fading a little with each post.
Under the first one, she thought: Cui Muhuo, you big idiot.
Under the second, she fumed and pulled out her phone. Cui Muhuo still hadn’t sent her a WeChat message—who knew what she was thinking.
By the third, she figured: Whatever, Cui Muhuo’s a big idiot, but she could take the initiative too.
By the fourth, she was ready to message Cui Qijin.
Under the fifth, she rubbed her cheeks and spotted a couple hiding under a bay laurel tree to make out. Her mood soured, and she decided against messaging Cui Qijin first.
Under the sixth, after some deep contemplation, she resolved to message Ran Yan first instead.
She sent: 【Ranran wuwuwu】
Ran Yan replied: 【What’s up, Shuishui’er? Did Cui Qijin bully you?】
Chi Buyu had no intention of actually tattling: 【Nope 0.0】
Ran Yan said:
【Oh right, I forgot—you two are so madly in love the whole world’s about to burst into flames for you, and now you’re love-bullying everyone else.】
Chi Buyu looked up at the lamppost overhead, which flickered once, as if it really was about to burst.
She hurried past it with a sigh, touched her still-burning cheek, and asked: 【So back when you and Chen Wenran were together, how many days did it take before you kissed?】
Ran Yan: 【?】
Chi Buyu: 【Black cat carrying a quilt.gif】
Ran Yan seemed a bit speechless:
【We kissed before we were even official.】
【You and Cui Qijin did too, didn’t you? Last winter—wait, what was that line again?】
【Chengdu’s first snow fell, and two pure-hearted idiots kissed three times.】
Chi Buyu had known Ran Yan would bring that up.
By now, she’d walked the whole street and reached home. She unlocked the door feeling utterly defeated, hugged her strawberry bear, and rolled around on the sofa. With a twist of reluctance, she messaged Ran Yan:
【It’s different.】
【That time we were drunk, remember?】
Besides… last time in the photo booth, she’d already thrown caution to the wind and taken the initiative once.
But Cui Qijin…
Why hadn’t Cui Qijin made a single move to take the lead yet!
Ran Yan hit the nail on the head:
【So you’re saying alcohol makes you bold enough for anything, but now that you’re official girlfriends, suddenly you chicken out?】
【How pure are you two anyway? Like high schoolers at seventeen?】
Chi Buyu tugged at the strawberry bear’s ears and typed slowly:
【I’m not scared!】
【Hmph, come on—I’m turning twenty-seven this year by lunar age. How could I possibly still be that pure?!】
Ran Yan sent a “Pfft~,” then added: 【Then prove it—go kiss her to death right now.】
Chi Buyu pulled a long face.
Right after, Ran Yan sent a three-second voice message, and Chen Wenran’s laughter—almost bending her over double—came blasting through.
“You two just drink a little more, problem solved!”
!
Chen Wenran was there too!
Chi Buyu flung her phone aside. Her whole face buried itself in the strawberry bear’s plush mug as her phone buzzed like a bee beside her.
It took her ages to lift her head again, convinced she’d left a colorless imprint of the bear on her face. She sluggishly unlocked her phone. At the top was a brand-new three-person group chat with just her and those two love-bulliers from moments ago. The group was named 【Love Idiot Kissing Battle】.
Chen Wenran had posted the first message: 【Go for it, Shuishui!】
Ran Yan followed with the second: 【We’re waiting for you to kiss Cui Qijin to death!!】
It was like they were beating war drums.
Suddenly fired up, Chi Buyu lifted her chin. Egged on by the pair, she rolled around wildly, on the verge of grabbing her phone to message Cui Qijin—Hey gorgeous, come out so I can kiss you!
But she didn’t send it.
Her phone vibrated twice in her palm like a little beating heart.
She jumped.
That “kiss to death” phrase fled her mind instantly. Meanwhile, in the 【Love Idiot Kissing Battle】 group, Cui Qijin’s chat bubble popped up—
A little red dot: 【You home yet?】
Second red dot: 【Chi Buyu, I’ve got a question for you.】
Third: 【When’s our second date?】
Chi Buyu shot to her feet. Deadly serious, she rummaged through her closet, leaped onto the bed and pedaled her legs like a prairie dog screeching in frenzy, then collapsed panting. She caught her breath—though her heart was still racing like it wanted to devour her whole.
So she pulled out a little mirror and solemnly inspected her oral hygiene, swishing mouthwash with awkward gargles. Finally, chewing on her fingertip, she replied with utmost gravity:
【May 17th—tomorrow.】
