Chapter 7: We’re Not Close Part 1

Today’s filming had three parts: teachers at work, student activities, and classroom instruction.

The classroom session came last. The head of year arranged a physics class from the top-tier section for Mu Qinglin and her team to film.

When they arrived, the teacher was going over the final question from past college entrance exams in physics.

Reportedly the hardest one in recent years.

Mu Qinglin explained their filming focus to the teacher, repeatedly stressing that they wouldn’t linger on his blackboard writing and telling him not to be nervous. But the moment the camera came up, the teacher couldn’t help tripping over his own tongue.

Mu Qinglin had Little Liu try several close-ups. None were satisfactory. She discussed moving to the back door to capture some wide shots of the class, with corresponding adjustments in post. It wouldn’t have much impact.

“This teacher’s lecture is so boring. Not a shred of passion,” Zhou Yi murmured quietly from the side.

Mu Qinglin turned her head and found that Zhou Yi had somehow squeezed in right beside her.

To see the blackboard, most of Zhou Yi’s body was pressed against hers, leaning inward at an angle. She was using Mu Qinglin as a support with zero reservations, apparently not worried that Mu Qinglin might dodge and leave her to face-plant spectacularly at the back of the classroom.

“Can you even follow this?” Mu Qinglin raised her shoulder slightly and whispered.

Zhou Yi looked up, expression numb. “Just because I can’t follow it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the show.”

“By all means. Continue.” Mu Qinglin made a grand gesture. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of black pattern along Zhou Yi’s neck.

Her hand moved before her brain did. She flicked it with a finger. “Tattoo sticker again?”

Zhou Yi jolted and slapped her hand away hard, keeping her voice low. “How grabby can your hands get?!”

“Not as bad as your mouth,” Mu Qinglin shot back smoothly. Seeing Zhou Yi about to detonate, she quickly pressed a finger to her lips and shushed her. “We’re filming.”

Zhou Yi was tough but reasonable. She had too much dignity to bicker with someone so unseemly. She zipped up her jacket carefully, pulled it tight, and leaned back against Mu Qinglin’s side.

“…” Mu Qinglin was feeling a little idle. She tilted her head toward Zhou Yi and whispered, “Why do you love tattoo stickers so much?”

Zhou Yi squeezed a “hmph” through her nostrils with haughty detachment. “Stop guessing. I’m simply bending to the realities of life.”

Mu Qinglin: “Bending how?”

Zhou Yi was quiet for a few seconds, her voice dropping lower. “Red Gate Alley is full of thugs. Being a good person doesn’t pay.”

That was true.

Just two months ago, someone had died in Red Gate Alley.

A boy in his early twenties. To survive, he’d secretly sold things he shouldn’t have, stepping on the interests of certain people. In broad daylight, he’d been stabbed to death under the Great Red Gate.

One more step forward and he would have made it to the wide, open street.

Without that step, he had no choice but to accept the “sanction” of Red Gate Alley’s unwritten rules.

Living in Red Gate Alley was free and easy, yes. But you had to be cautious.

Zhou Yi’s tattoo stickers were probably just a form of protection. A way to make people think she wasn’t someone good, wasn’t easy to push around.

A young girl’s survival scheme.

She wasn’t even nineteen yet.

…

“Your phone…” Zhou Yi reminded Mu Qinglin that her phone was buzzing, then stepped aside to let her through.

Mu Qinglin snapped back and whispered a word to Little Liu before heading to the stairwell to take the call.

It was a work call from the station. Mu Qinglin talked for three or four minutes. When she returned, Zhou Yi had claimed her spot, leaning against the back door with hands in her pockets, those black-and-white eyes fixed unblinkingly on the lectern.

Up close, you could see the steady light in her gaze. The kind of ease that came only from deep familiarity with a subject. Not the blankness and boredom someone should have in the face of such a dry, complicated physics problem.

Had Zhou Yi really never been to school?

The question surfaced in Mu Qinglin’s mind without a moment’s hesitation.

But it barely had time to be asked before the end-of-class bell blared and the silent corridor erupted into noise.

Zhou Yi rose to her feet like any student desperate to stretch after a full class and started walking out.

She turned and collided with Mu Qinglin’s searching gaze. Her brow furrowed instinctively.

Catching her own reaction, she tilted her chin at Mu Qinglin and said with infuriating ease, “Tsk. What do you expect from a twenty-seven-year-old fossil? Completely out of place among all this youthful energy.”

Mu Qinglin didn’t fire back. She walked forward a few steady paces, her gaze never leaving Zhou Yi’s eyes.

The crease between Zhou Yi’s brows deepened.

It reached its peak when Mu Qinglin grabbed the brim of her cap and yanked it down hard over her entire face.

“What’s your problem?!” Zhou Yi ground her teeth. The wrist she raised was effortlessly caught by Mu Qinglin.

Mu Qinglin leaned in close and whispered in a voice the camera wouldn’t pick up: “We’re not done filming yet. Keep it down. And has your memory gone to the dogs? I told you. No needling me today.”

“Sister Mu, look at this. Uh, are you free right now?” Little Liu asked, scratching his head.

Mu Qinglin released Zhou Yi’s wrist and walked over. “Got it all?”

Little Liu: “Mm. Have a look.”

Not bad.

The teacher was nervous at the beginning but settled in naturally once the camera was out of sight. With a little editing in post, it would work.

“You pack up. I’ll go tell the teacher,” Mu Qinglin said.

Little Liu: “Sure.”

“Still want to watch the show?” Mu Qinglin tilted her head toward Zhou Yi. “Your eyes were glued to the board earlier.”

“That was from being tired.” Zhou Yi adjusted her cap left and right, put it on properly, and turned to leave.

Mu Qinglin stood motionless, quietly watching Zhou Yi’s back as she weaved through the bustling corridor with her head down.

Afterward, Mu Qinglin went to thank the head of year.

The group left the affiliated school on the tail end of the sunset.

Since they were going the same way, the moment Little Liu offered, Zhou Yi accepted without ceremony and hitched a ride back to the provincial station.

Mu Qinglin’s personal car, at that.

The moment Zhou Yi climbed in, her sharp-tongued mode activated. “Someone who’s poor enough to drink the northwest wind can afford a car this nice? How many lifetimes’ worth of coffin boards is that?”

Little Liu giggled from the back seat. “Sister Mu used to make a lot.”

“Is that so?” Zhou Yi twisted halfway around from the passenger seat and asked with scholarly humility. “Why is she scraping by like this now?”

Little Liu: “It’s not that bad now. Our team’s salary is a bit low, but you earn extra from writing stories. Especially when external media picks them up. On top of the fee, there’s a bonus. Sister Mu has plenty of story fees backing her up every month. She won’t be drinking the northwest wind.”

“If I actually were, would I let you see?” Mu Qinglin climbed in from the other side and said to Zhou Yi, who was twisted like a pretzel, “Seatbelt.”

Zhou Yi looked at her, leaned back in her seat, and pulled on the seatbelt.

The drive from the affiliated school back to the provincial station took a little over twenty minutes.

Mu Qinglin’s phone rang nonstop the whole way, leaving Zhou Yi no room to perform. It wasn’t until they got out that Zhou Yi had a chance to fish two coins from her pocket and hold them out with grand generosity. “Thanks for today. This is your tip.”

“Ah…” Mu Qinglin nodded and reached for them. Her fingertips were about to make contact when they suddenly veered upward. Under Zhou Yi’s bewildered stare, her hand rose all the way to the top of Zhou Yi’s head. She curled her finger and rapped her on the forehead with a bonk.

“…?!”

“The northwest wind is courtesy of the heavens. Won’t cost you this much. I’m tipping you back for today’s stellar performance.”

“Where’s Little Jiu?” Yang Ling came home from work and didn’t see Zhou Yi by the radiator as usual. She went to ask Tang Yuanzhou.

Tang Yuanzhou pointed upstairs. “In her room. Don’t know what happened to her out there. She came back and went in and out five or six times, threw out all the trash in the shop. Then she hauled the cat food and dog food outside and fed them for ages, came running back with tears streaming from the cold, yelling at me that the weather was too cold. Like I can control the weather! And when I pointed that out, she gave me attitude.”

Yang Ling couldn’t help laughing. “Enough. How old are you, how old is she? Say less from now on. I’ll go check on her.”

“Hey—” Tang Yuanzhou grabbed Yang Ling’s arm. “Tell her I’m making braised spare ribs tonight.”

Yang Ling: “I know, I know. Every time you yell at her it feels good, and the moment it’s over you regret it. What’s the point?”

Yang Ling grumbled her way upstairs.

Zhou Yi, who had been spread flat under the covers, shot upright the instant she heard “braised spare ribs,” stars twinkling across her entire field of vision. “Make a big batch!”

Yang Ling sat on the edge of the bed, laughing so hard she couldn’t straighten up. “Were you starved of ribs in your past life?”

Zhou Yi sighed. “I haven’t had them many times in this life either.”

“Are they really that good?”

“It’s not about whether they’re good…” Zhou Yi sat cross-legged, spine perfectly straight. “Everyone needs a pillar of strength to live by. In my world, there is nothing that a plate of braised spare ribs can’t fix. And if there is…” Zhou Yi held up her hand in a perfect peace sign. “Then two plates.”

“Fine, fine. You win.” Yang Ling, clutching her aching stomach, asked Zhou Yi, “What happened this afternoon? Were you upset?”