Chapter 8: “0:3:39”

Q: So why did Cui Muhuo end up disliking you first?

A: One dark and stormy night, she and I were decked out in those hideous summer school uniforms, dancing to the super popular “Trouble Maker” at the freshman orientation party. That’s probably where it all started—at the one-minute-fifty-nine-second mark of that song.

—

“She made me dance in front of the entire school. For a full three minutes and thirty-nine seconds.”

Cui Qijin said it without a flicker of emotion.

At that moment, she and Chen Wenran were standing midway down Love Adrift Street.

A thin layer of snow had fallen the night before, and now it teetered on the edge of melting away. She clutched a bag of fresh mangoes she’d just bought from Truth or Dare Mango, and her foot landed in a puddle of half-melted slush, instantly coating the sole of her shoe in filthy, muddy snow.

Her brows furrowed as she glanced at her brown snow boots, now splattered with slush.

The next second, she heard Chen Wenran, who was tearing open a pudding package beside her, burst out laughing so hard she doubled over, clutching her stomach.

“This story’s a riot. Even after hearing it a hundred times, I still end up rolling on the floor laughing.”

Once she’d caught her breath, Chen Wenran took another bite of her fresh pudding and huffed out a cloud of white breath as she asked, “Got a video?”

Cui Qijin shot her a calm, unruffled look. “Do you think I’d let something like that exist?”

“Fair enough. I was hoping to catch another glimpse of you two and your awkward youthful dance moves.” Chen Wenran looked genuinely disappointed as she popped the rest of the pudding into her mouth and chewed.

After a half-second of thought, she asked with a hint of suspicion, “So that’s how it started between you and Chi Buyu? You two fell out just because she made you dance to ‘Trouble Maker’?”

Cui Qijin swung the bag of mangoes lightly. “Isn’t that enough?”

Chen Wenran blinked shrewdly. “Is there some hidden backstory you haven’t told me and Ran Yan?”

Hidden backstory?

The word tugged Cui Qijin’s thoughts adrift for a second, right as a road bike sped past. Its heart-shaped tail light flashed, whipping up a gust of wind that sent the tropical fruit scent from the roadside stand wafting through the air.

Cui Qijin stood on Love Adrift Street, snow underfoot, staring down at the heavy mangoes in her hand. Suddenly, she caught a whiff of something intensely sweet.

For a moment, it felt like she’d stumbled into an isolated summer.

—The summer of 2013.

For most of the boarding high school students, it was just that kind of summer. Summer wasn’t over yet, so military training wasn’t over either, and they’d reached the part where they nominated class officers.

Chi Buyu had stood out during the earthquake scare and Cui Qijin’s fainting spell—running faster than anyone, cool under pressure—and got nominated first for physical education commissioner.

Cui Qijin couldn’t have cared less about class officers or who got picked. She was still recovering from a nasty cold and just glanced idly up at the skinny-limbed Chi Buyu on the stage.

No one else wanted the jobs, so there weren’t many volunteers. Cheers and shouts propelled Chi Buyu up there. They were all teenagers, barely knew each other—couldn’t even remember most names—so whenever someone yelled one out, the crowd clapped and whooped along.

Chi Buyu didn’t get mad or shy away. She just grinned up there. No buns in her hair this time—instead, twin tails dangled softly over her military training uniform.

And for some reason, Cui Qijin flashed back to the day she’d fainted, to Chi Buyu’s apple-green Converse shoes nearly kicking her in the face—

She wasn’t wearing them today…

Cui Qijin’s gaze drifted downward, then back up, locking eyes unexpectedly with Chi Buyu’s mildly puzzled stare.

That one glance. It made Chi Buyu notice her. Her eyes lit up, and she raised her hand right there in front of everyone.

In that instant, Cui Qijin sensed something off, but the feeling hit too late.

By the time she processed it—

Too slow. Chi Buyu had already called out in her bright, crisp voice, “Teacher!”

Then, with a straightforward gaze fixed on her, nose scrunched in a grin—

“I think Cui Muhuo would make a great arts and entertainment commissioner for our class!”

Looking back now, Chi Buyu had been the one wrecking all her plans from the very start.

The one and only culprit.

Cui Qijin hated to admit it, but she hadn’t realized it at first—

Sure, that shout got the whole class cheering her name, landing her the arts and entertainment commissioner spot.

But because of it, her hard-to-pronounce name stuck in everyone’s head right away.

High school didn’t have many arts events—way fewer than sports. Logically, it should’ve been a cushy job.

Cui Qijin wasn’t thrilled about it.

But she didn’t hate it either, and it sure didn’t make her dislike Chi Buyu.

Not until the homeroom teacher announced a freshman orientation party after military training, with every class needing three acts.

The job naturally fell to Cui Qijin.

Before high school, she’d been a background player—never a class officer, never close with anyone.

Now, not even a week into freshman year, thanks to Chi Buyu’s shout, she was infamous: the girl from Year 1 Class 3 whose brain got fried from fever.

Then she landed a class officer gig, with the teacher clapping her shoulder all earnest, tasking her with three acts for the orientation party in a month.

She stepped out of the office and spotted Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu knew she’d messed up. Eyes down under that green cap brim, avoiding Cui Qijin’s gaze, she muttered, “I’ll help you out.”

And she did help—pulled together all three acts. Including the one where Cui Qijin, as arts and entertainment commissioner, had to perform “Trouble Maker.”

Cui Qijin always thought that if Chi Buyu hadn’t been so gung-ho about doing things right—insisting on the hottest song to win first place for the class and impress the teacher with her commissioner’s skills—if she hadn’t drawn “Trouble Maker” together with Chi Buyu in the performer lottery after scraping together participants…

Maybe she’d have just done a straight-faced radio calisthenics routine at that party. And skipped those unforgettable three minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

Later, when she confronted the culprit, Chi Buyu about why she’d nominated her, the girl hemmed and hawed, twisting her fingers, Converse soles worn to tatters… before finally explaining—

Because of metal, wood, water, fire, earth. They had to share joy and sorrow.

What kind of logic was that?

Even now, Cui Qijin cringed at the silly rhyme. Maybe she should’ve told Chi Buyu the key fact right then.

The right order for the five elements was wood, fire, earth, metal, water. It didn’t rhyme with sharing joy and sorrow at all.

—

The wind seemed to die down. The tropical fruit sweetness faded from the street, and the road bike’s red tail light blurred into the distance.

Like a soft-focus fade-out in an old movie, dissolving the illusion she’d mistaken for summer—

Now it was winter. Chengdu’s rare first snow.

Cui Qijin gripped her bag of mangoes tighter, pulling her hazy thoughts back together. She said lightly, “No hidden backstory.”

Real life wasn’t a movie. Ordinary stories didn’t have all those twists and epic turns. And most plot shifts weren’t divine inspiration anyway.

Like “Love Adrift,” filmed right here on this street. The director swung for the fences, but too many plot zigzags made it feel muddled and mocking.

“That’s it?” Chen Wenran eyed her half-eaten pudding suspiciously. “Really just one ‘Trouble Maker’?”

Cui Qijin stuck to her line. “Isn’t that enough?”

Chen Wenran pulled the spoon from her mouth and waved it in the air. “Back when I was in college, I annoyed you all the time too—always venting to you about me and Ran Yan, scarfing snail noodles in the dorm. One time I even dumped the whole bowl on your desk. How come you don’t hate me?”

Cui Qijin lifted her eyelids slightly, eyeing the cream smeared on Chen Wenran’s lip. “How do you know I don’t?”

Chen Wenran choked.

Cui Qijin fished a tissue from her pocket and handed it over. As Chen Wenran wiped her mouth, Cui Qijin sighed. “Does hating someone need a reason?”

“Of course—” Chen Wenran said firmly.

She waved her pudding spoon again. “Liking someone is what doesn’t need a reason, right?”

The words landed with a splash.

Cui Qijin stepped into a puddle, sending up a wild spray of water.

The fortune teller had nailed it, after all.

She and anything watery were a match made in hell. Like booze. Like snow. Like Chi Buyu.

Cui Qijin thought, squinting her eyes.

Then she heard Chen Wenran press on. “What about now? Still hate her?”

The light question hung in the air.

Melting snow filled the night with damp mist. Cui Qijin had been staring down at her slush-stained snow boots.

She paused for two seconds at the question, then breathed out a white cloud.

She looked up, and a biting wind hit her cheek—the road bike from earlier, circling back.

Store lights blazed bright now, softening every young face on the street with fuzzy halos.

Through the blur, she heard the lamp shop owner holler to someone, “Forty watts means forty watts—dealer’s choice, no fuss!”

She noticed the nighttime road biker looping Love Adrift Street like it was lost, passing her again.

Tires hissed against pavement, the red tail light blinking as it traced a neon heart. Cui Qijin’s gaze sharpened instinctively, shifting to dodge the bike—

The rider in the helmet, puffing white breath, streaked through her vision. Across the street, under the record store, stood a figure.

The blurry outline sharpened—

A woman in a pink pineapple-colored deerskin coat, lower face buried in a scarf, nose red from the cold.

She leaned on the counter with her elbows, chatting quietly with the record store boss. After a few murmured words, she slowly reached into her pocket with a hand clad in Loopy five-fingered gloves…

In her palm gleamed a bright yellow fresh mango.

That idiot. She’d really gone out in the dead of night to borrow one from someone. All because of Cui Qijin’s drunken ramble.

Just like back in 2013, when she’d blathered in her fever, “You carry a mango during military training?” Next day, Chi Buyu handed her one.

Now, before Cui Qijin could pay it back, she’d cleared the debt for her.

At that moment, Chen Wenran seemed not to have noticed Chi Buyu at all. She kept muttering a jumble of nonsense under her breath.

Cui Qijin gripped the plastic bag emblazoned with the Truth or Dare Mango logo. Suddenly, a million reasons why she and Chi Buyu were total mismatches flooded her mind—

Chi Buyu always scooped a big lump from the center when eating her boxed rice. Chi Buyu couldn’t even tie her hair into a bun without skewing it off-center. The “Chi” in Chi Buyu actually meant “late,” as in always tardy. Chi Buyu loved to cry. Chi Buyu was so dumb. Chi Buyu constantly dragged her into pointless trouble. Chi Buyu got duped by people all the time and never learned her lesson. Chi Buyu was nearsighted with three diopters of myopia but hated wearing her glasses out. Chi Buyu was a total lightweight when it came to alcohol. Chi Buyu had accidentally stomped on her foot countless times while practicing “Trouble Maker.” And at the Freshman Orientation Party, in that one second when the entire venue went pitch black, Chi Buyu had twisted her ankle—yet she still powered through the whole dance on that ghostly pale face drenched in cold sweat…

In the end, Chi Buyu had collapsed into a wheelchair, her eyes brimming with tears. When she spotted Cui Qijin’s pursed lips, she tried to force a smile through the pain. One moment she was crying, the next laughing—making a chaotic fuss and insisting that Cui Qijin couldn’t leave her alone on stage. When Cui Qijin asked why, she whimpered her answer—

“Because of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth—we have to share joy and suffering.”

Now, seeing the mango clutched in Chi Buyu’s hand once more, seeing her bounce out of the record store like a fluffy pink lop-eared rabbit, tilting her head up into the night breeze, rubbing her eyes, and staring fixedly at her without moving…

Through the hazy silhouettes of passersby drifting along the red-tinged streets, Cui Qijin met her gaze and thought:

These million reasons varied in size and weight. If one could fuel a year’s worth of dislike, they could stretch across a hundred centuries. But not a single one…

Was a real reason for her to hate Chi Buyu.