Chapter 59

What is love’s ultimate ending?

Ever since we started dating, I’ve found myself plagued by all sorts of abstract, bizarre questions.

Ranran was getting fed up with my antics. When I asked her this one, she bit into half a banana she’d snatched from Chen Wenran and told me—most people end up getting a cat, gazing at the sea, and then…

Shacking up together.

Shacking up?

The day we flew back from Samui Island to Chengdu, I nearly wanted to cram myself into Cui Muhuo’s suitcase. Then, once Cui Qijin got home, I could burst out like Shu Huan popping from that gift box in the drama, yelling “Surprise!” At first, I thought the plan was totally feasible.

Because Cui Muhuo’s suitcase really was big enough to fit me inside.

While she was out buying me some iced pineapple soda—the kind I’d tried here and loved—she’d said she could grab a few cans for the ride to the airport, but warned me not to drink too much. She claimed too much sweetness would make bugs grow in a kid like me’s tummy.

I unzipped the suitcase she’d so neatly packed.

And by the time she got back, I still hadn’t closed it. Or hidden inside.

Because it was already stuffed full.

There were all these organizer bags, neatly stacked. I picked one up; it held electronics—an iPad, adapters, chargers, power banks, that sort of thing. A little label was stuck on it with a to-do list: Charge the power bank once a day. Download the full SpongeBob SquarePants collection. Chi Shuishui’s phone charger is Type-…

I set the bag down in a daze.

Picked up another one full of medicines. The label read: Chi Shuishui’s scared of mosquito bites. Chi Shuishui’s scared of getting sunburned. Chi Shuishui might catch a cold from playing in the water. Chi Shuishui’s sure to feel hot. Chi Shuishui might get bumps and bruises if she gets too carried away. Chi Shuishui could get an upset stomach from eating junk…

She must have thought of all this while planning the trip ahead of time. So she’d jotted notes on labels, stuck them to the bags, packed everything in one by one, and checked them off.

Another bag held Thai baht and RMB, passports, IDs, a card listing the embassy phone number, hotel details, and address, plus a fully charged offline translator… The label said: Chi Shuishui, if you see this, even if you lose yourself, don’t lose the stuff in here.

I didn’t see that line.

Because I hadn’t been away from Cui Muhuo once this whole trip. I figured if we ever split up, she’d slip this bag into my luggage without me noticing.

Silly Cui Muhuo.

The entire suitcase was full of these organizer bags, each one packed with a piece of “Chi Shuishui.” No room left for the real me.

I sat by the open suitcase, hugging my knees, my eyes turning red-rimmed as I thought it over.

That’s when Cui Muhuo came back.

She had two cans of iced pineapple soda. She plopped down beside me, legs crossed in that same relaxed pose, eyed the mess I’d made of her suitcase, and sighed. She pulled the tab on one—the cold one—and handed it over.

“What are you doing, Chi Shuishui?”

I lunged at her in a hug, nearly knocking the freshly opened can to the floor.

But she steadied it. Her back hit the ground, and she blinked up at me in total bewilderment, caught completely off guard.

Even after the scare, she held onto me, calmly set the soda aside first, and patted my back gently with her soda-splashed hand.

“It’s okay.”

She seemed to know I felt guilty for messing up her suitcase. I hadn’t even apologized, and she’d already brushed it off. Since when was Cui Muhuo this good-tempered? Or maybe she was always this good-tempered?

“Sorry, Cui Muhuo,” I said. “I messed up your suitcase.”

She replied, “Can we get off the floor first?”

I shook my head, my hair tangling around her face like some ghost’s, arms tight around her neck. “But I might accidentally do it again later.”

I always get these impulsive ideas, dive right in without thinking, and leave her to clean up the mess. Dating someone like me must be such a hassle.

I swore to myself I’d hold back from now on, never let her get annoyed on my account.

She laughed.

It was a soft laugh, her lashes lowered as she looked at me, like she was genuinely delighted. In that familiar tone, she said,

“You’re such a handful, Chi Buyu.”

I clung to her without a word. It hit me then—her voice never carried any blame or complaint when she said stuff like that. It was just overflowing with…

Love?

Was it?

Had it been like that from way back?

I didn’t know.

“But I don’t like you reflecting on it…” She patted my head and murmured softly,

“I like fixing your messes for you.”

I caught the end of that sentence with a kiss.

Couldn’t help it.

No one knew just how irresistible Cui Muhuo became when she was helpless against me.

No one knew what “I like fixing your messes for you” really meant coming from her.

That’s why I always wanted to kiss her hard at the most inconvenient times.

She tried to push my face away a couple times midway, aiming to tidy the scattered luggage.

I nearly got mad again. I pinned her waist so she couldn’t move and grumbled that she was like some AI with every program locked in sequence—one task had to finish before the next.

Cui Muhuo cracked up.

Laughing, she murmured, “Sorry.”

Then she brushed my hair back, gathered it in her hand, tilted her face up, and started kissing me back.

The iced pineapple soda still ended up spilled by accident.

Back in Chengdu.

I scooped a spoonful of iced watermelon into my mouth and asked Ranran glumly, “Do you think Cui Muhuo’s the type who’d want to live with someone?”

Ranran shook her head firmly. “Nope.”

I sighed.

She rolled her eyes and added, “But are you just ‘someone’? You’re her Chi Shuishui.”

Ranran wasn’t wrong.

Still, when it came to this kind of “life invasion,” it felt different.

I rubbed my chin, set the watermelon aside, and pulled out my phone. Tucked in the clear case was that photo of Cui Muhuo and me in sunglasses on Samui Island—

A few days back and I was still thrilled by it. Every time I unlocked my phone, I’d stare at the case for three or four minutes, grinning like an idiot without realizing.

Ranran snapped a pic of me one day. There I was, eyes squinted shut from smiling at a phone case. People probably thought I was dating the case.

I searched social media: Do INTJs want to live with someone?

The results said INTJs had super strong boundaries.

Propping my cheek on my hand, I mused, Yeah, that’s Cui Muhuo for you. The same Cui Muhuo who, when Chen Wenran was homeless and crashing with her, still divided up guest and host spaces?

If I invaded her boundaries too much, she’d probably feel uncomfortable. And clashing habits could lead to fights…

I nibbled my finger, pondered a bit like before, then scrubbed my scrunched-up face, gave myself a pat, slipped on this summer’s new little dress, flopped on the sofa to try a few makeup looks, and finally settled on one I loved.

I shooed Ranran out. She demanded to know what all the fuss was for—where was I off to on a date?

I grabbed the bag I’d bought to match this outfit, touched up my lipstick, hopped down a step in my white sneakers, and announced—

Picking up Cui Muhuo from work!

As the saying goes, to keep love fresh, bring novelty. Cui Muhuo and I had known each other so long, novelty was in short supply, so I bought tons of cute outfits to surprise her in.

Different style every time.

But Cui Muhuo never really seemed to notice. She didn’t comment on the outfit changes, didn’t say at home, “You look pretty today”…

One time, I went full punk—black skirt, black boots, long golden wig, bold red lipstick. I even swung by my cousin first; she and her daughter walked right past without a clue who I was.

I felt safe rocking that look to find Cui Muhuo.

Pretended to be a random passerby, sauntering past all casual. She followed me for a stretch, then finally cracked under the blazing sun, calling out in exasperation, “Chi Buyu, where are you even going before you’ll stop and take a break?”

So much for my elaborate setup.

I sulked over to her side, yanked off the wig, and demanded how she’d spotted me.

She wiped sweat from my brow, laughing hard. Under interrogation, she drawled,

“Come on, who else is that sneaky besides you?”

She called me sneaky. I wanted to get mad.

But then she mimicked my “Come on,” and they say lovers pick up each other’s speech quirks. Made me happy.

By some mathematical law of love I invented, they canceled out.

I still adored her.

Lately, I’d been picking her up from work every day. We’d grab dinner together—or skip it—then stroll arm in arm around all of Love Adrift Street. The film crew had wrapped and left ages ago. Who knew if the movie would get a sequel in seventy, eighty, ninety years, and if Cui Muhuo and I would be grizzled middle-aged folks by then, still bickering like kids with fish props.

Cui Muhuo grumbled that it was her black history—she’d never film it again.

But I knew she’d secretly rewatch that “love keepsake,” even bug the director for the raw footage.

She really did love me to pieces.

She just wouldn’t admit it.

Fine, I’d play along with this little doll, acting out the cliché where she didn’t love me that much and could leave anytime.

Summer had arrived, thick with the racket of cicadas.

After dinner.

She got me a cup of mango orange Siro Ice from the 7-Eleven. She sipped Oriental Leaf herself.

I tried her Qing Gan Pu’er-flavored Oriental Leaf and spat, “Blech! Tastes awful!”

She sampled my hard-to-find summer mango orange Siro Ice and grimaced. “Yep, all mango drinks taste bad.”

We went back and forth, marveling at how our tastes clashed.

We stood again in front of that fish shop, behind the bay laurel tree, stealing kisses like high schoolers fresh out of evening study hall, hidden in the shadows where no one passed.

Qing Gan Pu’er tangled with mango orange.

My ears tingled from the kiss, turning my face a little red. I had to admit, “Okay, actually Qing Gan Pu’er isn’t that bad. It’s still kinda sweet once it’s in your mouth.”

Cui Muhuo’s neck flushed easily, but she put on a calm front and said, “Your Mango Orange is still meh.”

I wasn’t having it.

I yanked her head down again, pinning her against the bay laurel tree for a fierce kiss.

When we finally broke apart, I lifted my chin, my lips messy from the kiss, and declared, “How’s that? Still think it’s meh?”

Cui Muhuo burst out laughing.

She doubled over, her waist nearly folding in half. After a moment, she reached out to wipe my mouth. Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, she rubbed the lipstick off her fingertip and gazed at me, her voice soft and light. “You’re mango-flavored.”

Then I kissed her hard again.

Hmph, she just stood there, tempting me to keep stealing kisses.

After that kiss, it was like some dam inside me had burst, and I blurted out, “I want to move in with you.”

Cui Muhuo looked stunned. “Where’d that come from all of a sudden?”

Just as I figured.

I let out a sigh. “I just want to be with you every single day.”

She thought it over for a bit, then asked cautiously, “Chi Buyu, you know we’ve only been together for less than two months, right?”

I nodded. “I know.”

It looked like Cui Muhuo was gearing up to turn me down.

I braced myself to play it cool, like I’d planned—just casually mentioning it, showing what a thoughtful girlfriend I was. If she didn’t want to, I’d respect that…

Tears pricked at my eyes.

I’d been rejected.

Come on, it took all my courage to even bring it up, and I’d rehearsed it in my head a million times!

I wasn’t exactly the bold type.

All the straight shots I’d taken in this life had been aimed at Cui Muhuo—and she’d lobbed them right back. Talk about embarrassing.

But I couldn’t let it show.

Being too dramatic would just scare her off.

I sighed dramatically.

Cui Muhuo chuckled beside me. Why had she turned into such a giggler since we got together? And why did she always laugh at times like this? I’d never noticed before how her laugh made her look like a fluffy white cat. God, it made me want to kiss her again.

I swore that if she laughed once more, I’d really let her have it.

But she kept going, pinching my cheeks while she laughed. “You know your pout is so long you could hang a spoon from it?”

I nipped at her finger.

She dodged, then grabbed my hand tight, like she was afraid I’d storm off in a huff. She led me to sit on the curb, setting the Oriental Leaf and Siro Ice beside us. Her right hand gripped mine firmly while her left fumbled with her phone, typing awkwardly into a notes app.

I watched her beautiful profile, the soft ears that turned tender when I kissed them, the slender fingers clutching mine so tightly. All my anger melted away.

“You can let go and type. I won’t run off mad.”

“No way.”

Her face glowed in the phone’s light, her skin so smooth it looked poreless. She shrugged it off. “I can type one-handed just fine. It’s just a little slower.”

Meaning, without holding on to me, it wasn’t fine.

God, she was irresistible like this. I wanted to kiss her to death. But if I said that, she’d definitely dig in her heels about moving in.

So I propped my chin on one hand and zoned out, staring at her.

By the time I snapped out of it, she’d filled a whole page in her notes and handed me the phone, waving it in front of my dazed eyes.

“Chi Buyu?”

I came back to earth.

I leaned in for another kiss—now mostly faded Qing Gan Pu’er flavor. She glanced shyly at a kid nearby playing with a toy BMW car, her neck turning pink again. Then she turned back, whispering urgently, “Hurry up and look.”

I beamed, utterly content.

I read the notes she’d just typed: a dense list titled “Pros and Cons of Cui Qijin and Chi Buyu Living Together.”

I’d almost forgotten—she was the type to write a full thesis on something like this.

I grinned slyly at the pros: More time together; cooking meals side by side, bingeing SpongeBob SquarePants; stronger daily connection, maybe I’d even start liking your Mango Orange Siro Ice; studies say cuddling in bed improves sleep; we’d discover each other’s hidden quirks; and best of all, we’d hold hands coming home to the same “home”…

Puffing out my cheeks, I scanned the cons: An extra person in your space might feel weird at first; clashing habits could spark fights; we might slack on work and workouts, both piling on pounds; the novelty could wear off fast; and after a fight, we might end up homeless like Chen Wenran and Ran Yan…

The cons seemed a tad longer at first glance. I counted discreetly—nah, pretty even.

I glanced at Cui Muhuo.

She didn’t rush to speak.

She picked up her half-finished Oriental Leaf for a sip. Then, like a kid, she eyed my Siro Ice for a moment. When I wasn’t looking, she sneaked a gulp, set it down casually, and wrinkled her nose.

She still couldn’t stand it.

But for me, she was trying.

I couldn’t help blurting, “If you don’t like Siro Ice, don’t force it. Why torture yourself for me?”

She turned, looking puzzled. “I’m not. I’ve just never tried it much before. Now I want to see what you like.”

“So, do you want to move in or not?”

I was terrified she’d cave just to please me, sacrificing her own space. I didn’t want that—I didn’t want her compromising in love.

She pondered seriously, then said, “Never tried it, so I don’t know.”

“That’s why you listed the pros and cons?”

“Yeah. You should add some too. It takes both perspectives to get the full picture.”

“And then what?”

“Then what what?”

“After I add mine, how do we handle the cons?”

At my question, Cui Muhuo took back the phone, still gripping my hand tight with her other one, and started typing again.

I watched her intently.

Suddenly, I felt infinitely patient.

Solving problems with Cui Muhuo felt… right. Maybe this was what real relationships were about? I thought smugly. Looks like we’d be in love for a hundred lifetimes.

She passed the phone back.

I blinked back to focus. She’d added a third section: “Countermeasures.”

—Cui Qijin’s life will include Chi Buyu eventually; it’s just a matter of getting used to it.

—Cui Qijin thrives on schedules, while Chi Buyu follows whims. Chi Buyu can pull Cui Qijin into new adventures, and Cui Qijin can sort out Chi Buyu’s messes. Our Samui Island trip proved it works.

—We might skip work or exercise. But if Cui Qijin gets sick, Chi Buyu will notice right away—no more collapsing alone on the carpet like an idiot. Even if Chi Buyu gains weight, Cui Qijin will still love her. If not, Cui Qijin will crack down ruthlessly.

—Novelty fades no matter what. But love is supposed to settle into comfortable routine. Chi Buyu’s already changing outfits daily to pick up Cui Qijin; Cui Qijin can introduce endless fresh meals.

—No place to crash after a fight. Cui Qijin can always stay with Chen Wenran—that’s what friends are for.

…

I read each point, grinning like a fool. Imagining Cui Muhuo typing “Cui Qijin and Chi Buyu” over and over, laying out solutions like a debate paper—it was adorable.

She didn’t seem to think so.

She watched me dissolve into laughter, then said lightly, almost helplessly, “So? Do you accept these solutions?”

Of course I did.

But I played it coy for a second.

I rubbed my aching cheeks and let out a casual “Hmm~.”

Cui Muhuo saw right through me.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I laughed like an idiot on Love Adrift Street—probably a hundred times sillier than when I fixated on phone cases. I reached out like I was proposing and asked, “So when do we start living together?”

I stared at her eagerly. Unable to resist, I cupped her face and planted another kiss, giggling nonstop.

She laughed under my lips, her shoulders shaking, my lipstick smeared across her mouth and cheeks.

I figured she’d sigh and say, whenever I wanted.

Instead, she finished her Oriental Leaf, took a sip of my now-melted Siro Ice, and said thoughtfully, “In about a week.”

God.

Shouldn’t she just stuff me in her pocket and take me home right now?