Chapter 12: “Walk the Paths You’ve Walked, Do the Things You’ve Done.”

Recording Li Wuhui’s period dates had been a daily habit for Qiu Yiran three years ago.

Because Li Wuhui always suffered from painful periods.

So she feared the arrival of that date even more than Li Wuhui did, and she would count down the days early—

In summer, she would empty all the ice from the fridge ahead of time, not letting Li Wuhui secretly add ice cubes when drinking, then steal Li Wuhui’s wine flask and fill it with hot water…

In winter, she would drag Li Wuhui out from under the covers and feed her steaming red dates and ginger water while she was half-asleep, starting at least a week early so the pain that month wouldn’t be so bad…

Of course, she didn’t think this was anything worth romanticizing.

Because she believed such things weren’t rare—ordinary enough that they were the same for anyone who had ever loved each other.

She just hadn’t expected—

That this habit would bypass her brain and revive itself now.

“Are you okay?”

After a silence, Qiu Yiran accepted the fact and recognized it as a bad habit that needed to be discarded.

Compared to her hesitant question, Li Wuhui’s response was direct enough.

“If I say I’m fine, are you going to leave right away?”

Qiu Yiran was stunned. “What?”

Li Wuhui fell silent.

Or rather, she couldn’t say more.

She hadn’t expected Qiu Yiran to call her Li Chunfeng so easily, and even less had she expected that afterward, instead of the satisfaction of getting her way, she would feel a dazed void.

She didn’t even know herself—what she wanted Qiu Yiran to do to her to make her feel a little better.

“Li—” After a long wait with no response, Qiu Yiran spoke again, but that untimely name stuck in her throat. “How about I take you to the hospital to get checked?”

The churning in her stomach had eased a bit.

“No need.” Li Wuhui leaned against the wall and shook her head blankly. “I know my own body. It’s not at the point where I need to go to the hospital.”

“You…” Qiu Yiran took a step forward. In that instant, she really wanted to ask—then to what point do you need to get before you’ll go to the hospital?

But she quickly realized that phrasing was too aggressive, unsuitable for their current relationship, so she had to stop herself again.

From Li Wuhui’s angle, she could only see Qiu Yiran’s shadow cast on the wall—very thin, very long, and very gaunt.

How could a person’s shadow become so thin and heavy? Like dried-out wood, without a trace of life.

“I’m fine.”

Li Wuhui said this.

She gripped the green plaid handkerchief in her hand tightly. She clearly hadn’t needed to use it, yet she had no intention of giving it back to Qiu Yiran.

Then—

She walked straight to Qiu Yiran’s car, got in the passenger seat, and gazed at her faintly through the misty car window.

Qiu Yiran was helpless against this.

She walked over silently, got in the car, buckled her seatbelt, and couldn’t hold back from asking once more,

“Are you sure you don’t need me to take you to the hospital?”

“Don’t take me to the hospital.” Li Wuhui rejected her suggestion.

Qiu Yiran tried to persuade her again. “But you’re like this—”

“But today is Christmas Eve.” Li Wuhui interrupted her. “I don’t want to spend it in a hospital.”

She gazed at her quietly, her voice turning hazy and illusory amid the wandering lights outside the car.

“Now you can’t even fulfill this request for me?”

You shouldn’t spend it here at least—you should be in Paris, somewhere I can’t see you—Qiu Yiran should have said that.

But in that moment, she saw Li Wuhui’s eyes.

She couldn’t quite describe what was in them—perhaps the growing resentment day by day, or perhaps the isolation and helplessness from countless illnesses over the past three years that she had missed.

Whatever it was, she found it hard to say those words. So she lowered her eyes slightly and said softly,

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know.” Li Wuhui shook her head. “What do you usually do on a day like this?”

“Me?”

Qiu Yiran reacted a beat late.

“I don’t do much. Most of the time, I drive around the streets, pick up passengers, drop them off—nothing different from usual.”

“You don’t celebrate?”

“Usually not.” Qiu Yiran said. “Nothing worth celebrating. Besides, here in Mang City, Christmas Eve isn’t a holiday everyone observes.”

After leaving Paris, her memory had deteriorated for a time; she wouldn’t even remember what day it was when she opened her eyes each morning, so how could she have the mind to celebrate holidays?

“Then let’s do that.” Li Wuhui said suddenly.

“What?” Qiu Yiran’s train of thought was interrupted.

Li Wuhui was no longer looking at her, but at the street scene outside the window, her gaze even quiet.

After a long pause, she said slowly, “Drive the routes you usually take, do the things you usually do.”

Because I want to know.

–

Unsure where Li Wuhui wanted to go, Qiu Yiran drove aimlessly through the streets.

Li Wuhui’s condition in the car seemed much better than before—no more dry heaving, no pallid face.

This eased Qiu Yiran’s mind a little.

Then she remembered something else. “The medical fees last time weren’t that expensive. The tip you gave was too much.”

“Is that so?” Li Wuhui said. “I don’t know how much it was.”

“I’ll give you cash back later.”

“No need.”

Cash—Qiu Yiran was clearly trying to draw a line.

But whatever Qiu Yiran wanted to do,

Li Wuhui just didn’t want her to succeed. “Just consider it prepaid fare.”

“Prepaid fare?”

It was the first time Qiu Yiran had heard the term. Did Li Wuhui plan to ride in her car many more times?

Though Li Wuhui had appeared four months ago, back then she had been too panicked, too at a loss—

She had thought that once she vented her hatred and blame toward her, Li Wuhui would eventually leave this place.

After all, her unilateral departure back then had been too humiliating for Li Wuhui.

She hadn’t expected that after three years, Li Wuhui would even consider becoming her regular passenger.

As she hesitated, Li Wuhui suddenly spoke up.

“I want to go take a look there.”

Qiu Yiran pulled her thoughts back.

She realized that Li Wuhui’s gaze had settled on Mang City’s tallest building.

And right then, it was cycling through ads from several companies, including Li Wuhui’s latest endorsement—for some car brand.

Qiu Yiran pulled the car up to the building.

It happened to finish playing Li Wuhui’s ad, and now it had to loop back.

The view from inside the car was limited, so they got out.

This was a commercial street under construction. Aside from the building, the street was thick with Christmas atmosphere.

A massive Christmas tree had been placed at the central fountain.

Three stories tall, hung with gifts and colored lights, seemingly preparing for some large event.

They hadn’t waited for Li Wuhui’s ad to play again when, just after getting out, two young people approached, pointing at the lit Christmas tree across the way and asking cautiously,

“Hello, could you help us take a photo together?”

The camera was extended toward Qiu Yiran.

Probably because Li Wuhui looked listless at the moment, her face half-buried in her collar, seeming unapproachable.

On Christmas Eve eve, the streetlights were warm.

The young couple’s request was utterly ordinary. Their expressions full of anticipation—they probably never imagined being refused.

But Qiu Yiran froze at this simple ask.

She stared intently at the black camera held out to her—a very ordinary model, a common brand.

Yet it was like countless venomous insects gathered together.

Crawling densely into her vision, spreading into the gaps between her knuckles.

She moved her stiff fingers, which were starting to tremble.

Mindful of Li Wuhui beside her.

She actually didn’t want to show weakness in front of her and was about to take it—

“I…”

“I’ll take it for you.”

Li Wuhui took the camera before she could.

Even in her moment of shock.

She raised it swiftly and snapped several shots of the unprepared pair. Then she directed their poses and took over a dozen more in the cold wind.

Once done—

The two hurriedly thanked her.

They took the camera to check, expressed great satisfaction, thanked Li Wuhui again, and offered,

“You two have been standing here a while too—want us to take a photo of you?”

Their gazes roamed over them with warmth and curiosity.

Having watched the whole thing, Qiu Yiran still hadn’t fully recovered. Hearing this, she blurted out first,

“Thanks, no need.”

Then she glanced at Li Wuhui, who seemed utterly unmoved, paused in silence, and added to the still-eager pair,

“We…”

“We’re not at the point where we can take a Christmas Eve photo together.”

“Ah… that’s too bad.”

The couple seemed to sense something, didn’t say more, thanked them again, and left.

Li Wuhui’s face still hadn’t appeared on the ad screen. Qiu Yiran leaned against the car, still shaken by what had just happened.

In fact, after leaving Paris, she hadn’t touched a camera again.

Even when she bought a new phone, the first thing she did was delete the camera app…

Even after three years without trying, she still didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of Li Wuhui.

Then she heard Li Wuhui suddenly chuckle lightly out of nowhere.

“What? Didn’t expect me to get compliments for taking photos now?”

“…No.”

In the past, Li Wuhui’s photos always had bizarre compositions, and her selfies on social media were always ridiculed for finding the 361st degree in 360.

Seeing her photography skills now so changed from what she remembered, Qiu Yiran felt no regret at not being included; she just shook her head sincerely.

“I just think you’ve changed a lot.”

The light and shadow from the ad screen overhead flowed, casting on Li Wuhui’s face like a perfectly composed light source. She was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Didn’t you say it yourself—”

“People always have to look forward.”

Qiu Yiran couldn’t deny it. Perhaps she should be happy about that.

In those days when she sank like a ship smashed to the ocean floor, laden with pain and unable to recover.

At least Li Wuhui had rallied, cast aside the cruel, burdensome past, walked the path she most wanted, and obtained everything she had once desperately desired.

The ad screen spanning twenty floors lit up again.

This time, it was finally Li Wuhui’s face.

Everyone passing by would see her, even unconsciously committing her to memory. After tonight, how many more people would remember the name Li Wuhui?

Remember the global spokesperson for this brand: Li Wuhui.

—Qiu Yiran thought, looking at that line of text in the bottom right corner of the ad screen.

She looked away and saw Li Wuhui’s profile.

Even pale-faced as she was,

Li Wuhui stared intently at her image on the screen, not blinking, not wavering.

So Qiu Yiran remembered—

Five years ago on Christmas Eve, when Li Wuhui stood on the high ground shouting that she would conquer Paris. Maybe that night had impulse and deception.

But she still believed that the 100% longing and anticipation she glimpsed in Li Wuhui’s eyes at that moment weren’t fake.

Even now—she could still see traces of that “100%” in Li Wuhui’s eyes. Even if Li Wuhui herself denied it, she didn’t think she was wrong.

The ad ended.

The bright lights faded to dark, but Li Wuhui kept staring at the screen without moving.

Qiu Yiran looked away first.

She realized snow had started falling on the street unnoticed. This Christmas Eve hadn’t been forecast for snow; in her daze, she murmured unconsciously,

“Li Wu…”

But she stopped amid the flurry of artificial snowflakes.

The snow was fake.

And she didn’t know what to call Li Wuhui after all.

But Li Wuhui turned toward her at the call.

Probably because of the ad’s effect.

This time, she didn’t question the name, just looked at her quietly.

Qiu Yiran’s back grew numb from leaning against the car, rooting her in place. She paused, then exhaled the stifled breath she’d held so long, smiled relaxedly, and said,

“Do you hate the name Li Wuhui that much?”

She looked at her, white snowflakes falling through their intersecting gazes. Qiu Yiran said softly,

“Because I gave it to you.”