Chapter 38: Rebirth

Cheng Zhanya rested for a week.

She slept, ate, slept some more, and seemed to have filled out a little.

Color had returned slightly to her cheeks.

Fan Jiujiu was finally allowed to roam freely again, though only when Fan Yaobai was home.

After days of confinement, it seemed rather listless.

Cheng Zhanya squatted down and gently stroked its fur. “Sorry to put you through that.”

“Meow~”

As if it understood, Fan Jiujiu butted its head against her palm. Its fur smoothed under her touch, and it narrowed its eyes in bliss.

Cheng Zhanya opened the refrigerator. It was stocked to the brim with milk and fresh fruit, all bought by Fan Yaobai.

This godmother thought of everything.

Cheng Zhanya chuckled and plucked a water peach from the bunch. She ate it as she made her way to the study.

Her divorce had come right as her work was gaining traction, only for her to discover the pregnancy—everything had happened so suddenly. Fortunately, Lu Ting had been understanding. They’d cut her comic updates from twice a week to once, easing the pressure considerably.

She mulled this over as she booted up the computer.

Cheng Zhanya opened her drawing software, but her mind drew a complete blank. She stared at the empty canvas, unable to make a mark.

These past few days had been far too leisurely.

She licked her lips and tossed the peach pit into the trash bin beside her. After gazing at the screen for a long moment, she decided to reread the relevant chapter from the original novel, hoping to reimmerse herself in the scenes.

She pored over the text again and again until drowsiness—or perhaps agitation—set in. Suddenly, nausea surged through her.

And she did throw up.

It was all sour bile.

Mingled with bits of the undigested peach she’d just eaten.

Her stomach burned like fire, leaving her grimacing in misery.

“Why are you heaving like that?”

“You okay?!”

Fan Yaobai had the day off and had stepped out to buy groceries for a meal suited to the pregnant woman at home. She’d no sooner walked in the door than the gut-wrenching sounds of retching reached her ears.

She set her bags down and hurried into the bathroom.

There was Cheng Zhanya, half-kneeling over the toilet, so frail she looked ready to topple at the slightest breath of wind.

Pregnancy symptoms were normal, of course, but this seemed excessively harsh.

“Want me to take you to the hospital?”

Cheng Zhanya lifted a trembling hand and waved it weakly.

A hospital visit wouldn’t help her condition.

Another wave of acidity hit, and she brought up more bile before the violent spasms finally eased.

Fan Yaobai’s face was a mask of worry as she rubbed her friend’s back.

“Feeling better?”

Cheng Zhanya nodded, mustering what she hoped was a reassuring smile despite her ghostly pallor. “I’m fine.”

Regaining some strength, Cheng Zhanya braced herself against the wall to stand. She splashed water on her face and peered into the mirror.

Her hair was a tangled mess, long strands hanging every which way.

Her face was ashen.

She looked like a bedraggled wraith.

The study computer screen glowed in the background. Fan Yaobai glanced at it and asked, “Did you get any drawing done today?”

Cheng Zhanya nodded. “I’ve been putting it off too long.”

“How can you draw in this state?”

“Didn’t you give me a month’s leave?”

Cheng Zhanya sighed. “I want to build up a stock of drafts, create a buffer for later. That way, if something comes up, I can still make deadlines.”

“Pfft, pfft.”

Fan Yaobai’s eyes flashed with urgency as she snapped, “Can’t you jinx yourself like that? Nothing’s going to come up.”

The sharp words made Cheng Zhanya’s ears ring; her thoughts stuttered to a halt for a few seconds. “I meant…”

Inspiration had dried up.

Prenatal visits, labor—those sorts of things.

Faced with her friend’s furious expression, Cheng Zhanya found herself at a loss for words.

In that moment, she felt profoundly grateful for such a friend.

“My bad.”

Fan Yaobai huffed.

“Baibai~”

“Go lie down in your room. I’ll cook.”

Fan Yaobai had a mouth that barked louder than her heart was soft. Fresh from her scolding, she softened her tone to ask, “Hungry? How about fresh shrimp and tofu soup tonight?”

“Sounds good.” Cheng Zhanya smiled.

“Baibai, you’re the best.”

Fan Yaobai shot her a look and set quietly to work.

Cheng Zhanya powered down the computer. In her current state, anything she produced wouldn’t satisfy her.

Fan Jiujiu padded slowly past her feet, its tail curled up in a neat coil.

It made a beeline for the kitchen, where it rubbed against its owner’s legs before sitting tall and meowing up at her.

“Obedient One, dried fish for you in a bit.”

Fan Yaobai didn’t break stride or even glance back.

Seeming to understand perfectly, Fan Jiujiu meowed once and withdrew from the kitchen. It hopped onto the sofa and settled into a lazy curl.

The scene was serene, heartwarming.

Cheng Zhanya itched to lend a hand, but she knew Fan Yaobai would shoo her away, so she retreated to her room instead.

She hadn’t drawn the curtains that morning. With the door shut, the space felt dim.

Swish.

The sound was faint.

Cheng Zhanya drew back the curtains. The midday sun pierced sharply; she shielded her eyes with one hand until they adjusted.

Fresh air wafted in as she cracked the window.

It carried the languid warmth of afternoon.

In the light, a few dark strands on the pale floor stood out starkly.

Not many—just a handful.

But with her long hair, even a few clumped together looked substantial.

She’d always shed some, even before the pregnancy—worse during dry spells at the drawing board.

One episode had cut deeper: Lin Hanbing away on business, insomnia striking. After tossing sleeplessly, she’d risen to draw, only to shatter into sobs when her mind jammed on the plot.

She still couldn’t say whether it was loneliness or the story truly confounding her.

Midnight moods bred wild fancies. She’d ached with longing for Lin Hanbing, even tormented herself with suspicions that her wife had found someone else—that the endless trips masked secret trysts.

She hadn’t slept a wink that night.

Yet morning brought miraculous recovery.

From then on, she’d accepted Lin Hanbing’s travel as routine.

In time, she’d grown accustomed.

Cheng Zhanya ran her fingers along her smooth ends. It had been ages since a trim.

Time to fix that, she thought.

She swept up the stray hairs and tidied her desk.

Her belongings were few. Leaving Lin Hanbing’s home, she’d taken only her computer, a handful of daily outfits, and ditched her skincare routine for pregnancy-safe alternatives.

The room was modest but inviting.

Cat meows mingled with her friend’s voice now and then; emptiness held no sway. It felt safe.

Once people tasted warmth, solitude chafed.

Her original plan was a short stay, wary of upsetting Fan Yaobai’s bachelor life. Moving out lingered in her plans.

Fan Yaobai wouldn’t hear of it.

Pregnancy made solo living unwise.

Cheng Zhanya had pondered and conceded the point. She’d have the baby first, then hunt for a new place.

Fan Yaobai’s care filled her with gratitude, etched deep in her heart.

“Ya’er.”

Fan Yaobai’s voice floated from the living room soon after. “Dinner’s ready.”

Cheng Zhanya came to and called back.

She opened the door, and savory aromas assailed her. Her stomach growled obligingly.

The earlier bout of sickness had left her ravenous.

Fan Jiujiu scrabbled at the table legs, its bright eyes betraying naked hunger. Clearly, it craved a share.

Cheng Zhanya laughed and scooped it up. Before she could pet it, Fan Yaobai emerged with a dish. “Put it down and wash your hands.”

“Okay.”

“Meow~”

Fan Jiujiu’s gaze fixated on the feast, plainly peeved at Cheng Zhanya’s interference. Its cry came out sharper than usual.

The women exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

What a little glutton.

Fan Yaobai lifted Fan Jiujiu, stroked its fur smooth, and dropped extra dried fish into its bowl.

“Give it more,” Cheng Zhanya urged.

“Ignore the beggar.” Fan Yaobai rinsed her hands. “Eat up.”

“Don’t starve my goddaughter.”

“Alright, alright.”

Cheng Zhanya grinned and accepted the bowl of shrimp soup Fan Yaobai ladled for her.

The shrimp had been prepped with exquisite care: heads and shells fried down to rich oil, boiled with water till bubbling, then finished with tofu and tender meat. Every trace of fishiness banished, pure sweetness remained.

Early pregnancy turned bold flavors to triggers.

Fan Yaobai watched her struggle and fretted inwardly, devising ever-subtler seasonings whenever she cooked.

Cheng Zhanya sipped and flashed a thumbs-up. “Baibai, you could open your own private kitchen.”

Fan Yaobai rolled her eyes fondly. “You footing the bill?”

“If you wanted.”

“Nah.” Fan Yaobai shrugged. “Not enough steam for that.”

She relished the occasional kitchen stint but had no designs on turning it profitable.

Too draining.

Cheng Zhanya smiled without pressing, savoring her meal at a leisurely pace.

“Busy this afternoon?” she asked.

“Nothing pressing.” Fan Yaobai tilted her head. “Why?”

“I want to get a haircut.”

“Out of the blue?” Fan Yaobai blinked in surprise.

“Hair’s falling out.”

Fan Yaobai quieted, her eyes tracing a lock draped across Cheng Zhanya’s chest, its tip lost beneath the tablecloth.

Far too long.

No wonder the shedding.

“Let’s do it then. I’ll come along.”

The neighborhood salon was small but fully equipped, run by a young couple. The owner was midway through trimming another patron.

Learning Cheng Zhanya wanted a cut, he directed his wife to wash her hair first.

The wife was a natural talker. In the course of chatter, Cheng Zhanya learned they’d been high school sweethearts, forbidden by stern parents. Defiance led to dropout for both.

Now twenty-six, they already had an eight-year-old.

They’d mastered the trade elsewhere and struck out on their own for a stab at prosperity.

Her hair washed but left damp for now, they waited. The prior customer finished; the owner approached to inquire her preferences.

“Make it shorter,” Cheng Zhanya said.

He gathered a hank, felt its texture, and double-checked the length.

Mirror in hand, Cheng Zhanya studied herself a beat, then indicated a spot just below her ears.

Short hair was uncharted territory, but impulse struck to try.

Some saying drifted to mind: a haircut betokened fresh beginnings.

She yearned to shed the past and embrace tomorrow boldly.

“Right here.”

The owner eyed the mark and paused, stunned.

Years in the chair, and few women went this drastic—zero margin.

Waist-length waves like hers, lustrous from devoted care. Off with it all? Bystanders would wince; how could the owner herself consent?

“Nice quality you’ve got—nurtured long, huh? This short for real?” His tone mixed mild dissuasion and deep regret. “Last chance to reconsider? No undoing it.”

Why circle back?

Cheng Zhanya asked herself, then nodded steadily. “I’m certain.”

Fan Yaobai listened in silence, offering no comment.

She knew her friend’s resolve; support was all she could voice.

“Then we’ll proceed.”

“Yes, please.”

Scissors met the hair at her nape. Snip by crisp snip, the sound drilled unmistakably into her ears as heavy lengths tumbled free.

The stylist snipped it off for her in one decisive cut.

The half-meter length of hair clutched in the boss’s hand gleamed with a silky sheen.

She had cut off the long hair she had grown over five years!

She had severed five years of bitterness—and five years of deep-seated emotions…

Staring at her unfamiliar reflection in the mirror, Cheng Zhanya’s eyes instantly reddened. Tears spilled forth in an uncontrollable torrent.

The moment Cheng Zhanya burst into tears, the few people in the shop panicked.

“Is it too short?”

The boss let out a sigh. “I haven’t even started trimming it yet. It’ll look even shorter once I’m done.”

“That’s why I confirmed with you over and over just now. Once it’s cut, there’s no going back. But hair grows back, so don’t be sad.”

Cheng Zhanya shook her head. “It’s fine. Go ahead and trim it.”

She wasn’t crying because it was too short.

No, it was those five years of her youth—and the endless nights of desperate longing.