Q: Are you dodging Cui Muhuo?
A: No… I just woke up and my face gets all puffy, plus I hadn’t washed it yet. (worried)
–
“Do you think she had washed her face?” Chen Wenran asked.
“You still care about that?” Cui Qijin paused in the middle of feeding, her movements halting for a moment.
“So, did you think she looked pretty?”
Chen Wenran looked utterly dejected as she peered at Cui Qijin through the glass fish tank—one of the boundaries that defined their host-guest divide in the space.
Cui Qijin glanced at her, puzzled by the fixation. “She was okay, I guess.”
Chen Wenran blurted out, “She’s damn gorgeous!”
Cui Qijin’s eyelid twitched.
Chen Wenran gritted her teeth.
“If she looked that pretty without washing her face, doesn’t that mean I’m totally sunk?”
Cui Qijin’s expression turned odd as she finally realized Chen Wenran was talking about Ran Yan.
She didn’t reply, just stayed half-bent over, her waist starting to ache.
Her gaze lingered on the Brazilian turtle swimming lazily in the deep water inside the glass tank.
Suddenly, Chi Buyu came to mind—
In the Tencent Meeting titled “Sixth Breakup Recap,” Chi Buyu had buried her entire face in her hoodie hood, yanking the drawstrings tight until only her mouth poked out. With a sullen voice, she muttered, “So this female ghost bites with uncanny accuracy—”
Right after those words, the two laptops—linked wirelessly and not even theirs to begin with—seemed to glitch. They froze for a generous two seconds.
In those ten seconds, the computers fully synced them up, connecting the two women inescapably.
Neither could escape.
Two seconds later, Cui Qijin snapped to first. She happened to glimpse the pixelated, low-res snapshot on her screen: Chi Buyu, with only her mouth visible.
That mouth—the one belonging to the ghost who bit people—had a nice shape. Full, standard Cupid’s bow, and with her good circulation, her natural lip color shone even without lipstick.
It only got better after a casual drink.
Or some juicy fruit, leaving a glossy sheen that looked downright intoxicating.
Like last night, after that glass of Irish Mist.
—What kind of ridiculous description was that?
Cui Qijin pressed her lips together against the lingering ache, flipping through the magazine in her hands with a loud rustle. She felt irritated by the sudden flood of memories. It was probably the hangover still dragging on, the high alcohol content still messing with her head.
Today, she’d learned that Irish Mist was one hell of a potent cocktail. After a few sips, it left you feeling like you were stumbling through fog—that must’ve been where the name came from.
So she was probably still lost in that fog, seeing ghosts as people and people as ghosts.
Casually, she turned a page in the upside-down Botany Magazine she held. It discussed how the smoke tree had sharply defined boundaries.
Then Chen Wenran hammered at her keyboard with a few sharp taps, muttering, “Why’d it lag out like that?”
Finally, the doubled image of Chi Buyu sharpened as the connection stabilized. She clutched a banana-yellow teddy bear and scooted across the beanbag chair, moving like a sluggish turtle escaping its tank.
She bit her lip lightly. A slender white finger emerged from her hoodie cuff, inching the laptop screen—and its camera—away from her face bit by bit.
Until the camera swiveled completely, revealing Ran Yan’s oddly amused expression.
Ran Yan coughed a few times, then picked up where she’d left off in the sixth breakup recap with Chen Wenran.
They debated whether Chen Wenran really should’ve gotten up at 4 a.m. to sneak some snail noodles, replayed how a simple argument escalated to “breakup” back-and-forth, and retraced the fight steps to figure out who’d shouted “it’s over” first.
Chen Wenran’s stance: I’d been dieting for a week, my brain was shrinking from hunger— what’s wrong with wanting a bowl of snail noodles? If you won’t let me eat, does that mean you don’t love me or care?
Ran Yan’s counter: You’d just whine and groan all night after, then blame me later for not stopping you. And now I’m wrong for trying to talk you out of it?
Chi Buyu and Cui Qijin stayed wisely silent through it all.
This “breakup recap meeting” wasn’t unusual. It captured the playful, theatrical vibe of their social circle.
Cui Qijin had always thought she and Chi Buyu didn’t get along. After high school graduation, she’d figured they’d finally cut ties.
Until college in Chongqing, when her roommate Chen Wenran came out to her on day one. By the start of term, she’d hooked up with Ran Yan from the dance club.
Cui Qijin spent her university years in a hazy fog, not mingling much.
Only Chen Wenran went nuts in the dorm, screeching on the day she added Ran Yan on WeChat, her hands shaking as she wailed, “What do I even say first? Aaaah!”
No one else was around. Annoyed by the noise and baffled by Chen Wenran’s sudden shyness, Cui Qijin snatched the nearly dropped phone from her trembling hands and sent the first message—
【Hi, this is Chen Wenran.】
No “typing…” indicator back then—just a cold, unresponsive chat screen. They waited over a minute before the reply came:
【Hi Chen Wenran, I’m Ran Yan.】
A few seconds later, two more popped up:
【What a coincidence—both our names have ‘fire’ in them! ~ I’m earth-fire, you’re ear-fire lol 0.0】
【Do you like mangoes hahaha】
Later, Cui Qijin learned those three messages came courtesy of Ran Yan’s overly enthusiastic roommate. She’d craned her head from the top bunk, chin propped awkwardly on the hard crossbar, arm outstretched as she held the phone, biting her lip while racking her brain.
That roommate had even bruised her own chin that day but forged a deep friendship with Ran Yan because of it. They hit it off: one dreamed of launching her own clothing line, the other eagerly volunteered as her model.
Even later, she found out that roommate was Chi Buyu.
—Two waters in her name amid metal, wood, fire, earth. So they all called her Shuishui.
Shuishui, like a rushing stream.
Splash—
The sound of running water trickled from the still-open Tencent Meeting.
Cui Qijin pulled her thoughts from those sealed-away memories and kept flipping through her magazine.
Ran Yan, apparently bored with the recap, called on Chi Buyu as judge. A sly voice piped up:
“You know me—I’ve stuck to celibacy forever. I always say break up, never stay together.”
It was easy to picture: fresh from washing her face, water droplets trailing down, a fluffy head peeking from the bathroom, slippers slapping as she padded out to deliver the line.
Twin ponytails tied back behind her ears, limp and swinging damply, a lazy yawn half-opening bloodshot hangover eyes.
Cui Qijin burst out laughing.
Chen Wenran whipped around suspiciously. “What’re you laughing at now?”
Cui Qijin glanced at the unhidden corner of the flamingo-pink hoodie on her screen. It jerked back suddenly. She lifted the corner of her mouth.
“What a coincidence.”
She snapped the magazine shut. Lightly, she added,
“I’m a celibate too.”
–
“You celibates all play like this?” Chen Wenran pointed at the Brazilian turtle in the tank. “Hanging with a millennia-old tortoise?”
Cui Qijin shifted her gaze from the vibrant turtle to Chen Wenran’s face—pancake makeup on, then off, ringed with dark circles.
“First off, Brazilian turtles don’t live a millennium. Even the longest-lived only make it thirty-five years.”
“Then why keep one? It’s not cute, doesn’t bond, super aggressive.”
Cui Qijin’s face stayed blank.
Chen Wenran had a lightbulb moment. “Got it—it’s kinda like you. Perfect match.”
Cui Qijin shot her a look but let the dumb joke slide, picking up where she’d left off.
“Secondly, if I’m celibate, why do I need to play with people?”
Chen Wenran eyed her breezily. “So you were really messing around with that female ghost last night, huh?”
By now, Cui Qijin had finished feeding the turtle.
She straightened up, turned away, and reclined on the balcony lounger to soak in the sun. Eyes half-closed, she drawled lazily,
“And now you know it’s a female ghost?”
Chen Wenran yelled across the living room, analyzing at top volume.
“Obviously! You don’t remember stumbling home this morning all dazed, with your white shirt covered in mystery lipstick marks?”
“Not a girl—who else could it be?”
It was definitely a girl. Cui Qijin didn’t argue, clasping her hands at her waist.
Chen Wenran kept going. “Lemme guess more?”
Cui Qijin tried to cut her off. “When are you heading home?”
“Hold up—let me finish thinking—” Chen Wenran paced her half of the living room, spilling her theories.
“Yesterday, Chen Xing had an asthma attack, right? So you went to the hospital by Jiaoda University to look after her.
“You told me she had class last night and went back, so you two split around then. And those lipstick shades on your shirt… if I squint, they kinda match Givenchy Snow Persimmon Peach. Feels like someone’s fave…”
Cui Qijin’s lashes fluttered. “I think you should stop guessing.”
Chen Wenran stood firm. “Nope—this is about your love life. I gotta give solid advice.”
“You really gotta know?” Cui Qijin stared into her eyes.
“I do.” Chen Wenran said earnestly.
“Fine.” Cui Qijin sighed. “I was with Chi Buyu last night.”
Chen Wenran’s mouth snapped shut, like a crow silently exploding inside.
Cui Qijin closed her eyes. Sunlight slipped under her lids, dazzling. Fragmented memories rolled together like beads tumbling down stairs. She frowned faintly, cracking her eyes open to the thin snow blanketing the mild city—white, translucent, fresh and dewy. For some reason, it reminded her of the white camisole draped over her face.
Her fingers twitched in her pocket. With conviction, she murmured,
“But I don’t think we did anything.”
–
“I might’ve ended up topping for once,” Chi Buyu said, propping her chin, a touch wistful.
“Hold on—”
Ran Yan looked perfectly calm. She finished drawing her eyeliner with a precise flick before slowly turning to Chi Buyu.
“Who’s 1 are you talking about?”
Chi Buyu puckered her lips, rubbing her chin messily against the Banana Bear. She buried her nose in its plush fur and took a deep sniff before mumbling in a muffled voice,
“Probably… Cui Muhuo’s.”
“Just wait a moment more—”
Ran Yan closed her eyes for a beat, as if digesting the revelation. A second later, she opened them again and picked up her eyeliner pencil, aiming it at her other eye. But the pencil never made contact.
It was as if she’d suddenly remembered something. Incredulously, she stared at Chi Buyu’s freshly done Hawaiian transparent-base short nails.
“Say that again while looking right at these?”
Chi Buyu froze.
Obediently, she slipped her hand out from her sleeve. She wasn’t one for flashy nail designs—just rounded tips on a clear base, accented with some casual graffiti lines.
She wrinkled her nose with a soft “Eh?” “Oh, right. So does that mean we spent the entire night… “
She blinked in confusion. “…just kissing three times?”
“Whoa~” Ran Yan tossed the now-useless eyeliner pencil into her disorganized makeup bag. “Don’t put it like that—”
She grinned warmly. “Because three kisses with Cui Qijin in one night is pretty terrifying in its own way.”
Chi Buyu pressed her lips together.
Propping her chin on one hand, she shook her head, then buried her face in her palms with a sigh. “Even you find it scary, huh.”
“You came staggering back this morning reeking of booze, looking utterly deflated. And just now, during the meeting with Chen Wenran, you and Cui Qijin were acting so weird.”
Ran Yan snatched up her phone and swiped through it a couple times. “I figured something was up with you ages ago, but I never imagined it’d be Cui Qijin. Sneaking three kisses behind our backs at night?”
Chi Buyu tugged slowly at the drawstrings of her hoodie, pulling them twice by way of response. She paused for two seconds, tugged once more, her whole face scrunching up as she spoke in an uncertain tone.
“Maybe even more than three?”
Ran Yan smiled. “Well, aren’t you the celibacy poster child.”
Chi Buyu fell silent.
Seeing her pitiful expression, Ran Yan added, “It’s not like it’s a big deal—just a few kisses, right?”
“Besides, these things take two to tango. Want me to ask Chen Wenran to feel out how things are on Cui Qijin’s end?”
“You two have made up already?”
“…Not yet. But we’ve known each other so long. She’d have to help out with something this small, right?”
“Fine…”
At last, Chi Buyu lifted her head. Peering out from the hood of her sweatshirt, she gazed at Ran Yan. Her light-colored eyes, beautiful and translucent in the sunlight, resembled glass beads.
In a wheedling tone, she lifted her chin. “Then help me out, Ranran.”
“You got it.” Ran Yan’s agreement came quick.
Her fingers flew across her phone screen as she added casually, “Speaking of which, there’s something that’s always bugged me, and I’ve never quite figured it out. You and Cui Qijin don’t have any real grudge, and you’ve known each other for years. Call you mortal enemies? Nah, doesn’t fit. Sometimes your relationship doesn’t even seem that bad. But… whenever you’re stuck in a room together, there’s this inexplicable awkwardness…”
She trailed off mid-sentence, glancing up to meet Chi Buyu’s slightly stunned gaze. Bluntly, she asked,
“So why exactly do you two not get along?”
