Chapter 27: “My Wife Fainted from Kissing Me.” Part 1

This was a bad woman.

—At that moment, Qiu Yiran repeated this sentence ten thousand times in her heart, but countless thoughts still flashed through her mind, forcing her to contemplate—

Was everything she saw before her real? Had Li Chunfeng really reached a dead end?

Or was this bad woman too skilled at this sort of thing, having scripted it long ago and digging an obvious pit for her to jump into?

She tried to discern from the woman’s eyes, which stared straight at her, whether everything she saw now was true or false.

But the apartment was too dimly lit for her to make out the expression on the woman’s face.

And before she could give an answer, the woman suddenly spoke up.

“You like this a lot, don’t you?”

“What?” Qiu Yiran didn’t catch on.

Then Li Chunfeng suddenly buried her head in her lap and laughed.

Her laughter floated lightly.

It mingled with her naturally curly hair, drifting across her lap and making Qiu Yiran itch.

The fragrance of her hair came at her like a vast net, and Qiu Yiran stiffened her fingers, not daring to move.

Li Chunfeng laughed for a long time.

Finally, she lazily lifted her head from Qiu Yiran’s lap, propped her chin on her hand, and looked at her.

“If you really like it that much, I wouldn’t mind giving it to you.”

Qiu Yiran, in a daze, followed Li Chunfeng’s gaze.

Only then did she realize she was tightly gripping a Christmas snow globe in her hand—

This was probably one of the decorations in Li Chunfeng’s apartment, with a Christmas tree lit up by colored lights in the middle of the globe.

She must have grabbed it in a panic when the red wine was snatched from her moments ago.

Once she realized what she held, Qiu Yiran paled in shock.

She had wanted to toss the snow globe away immediately.

But good manners held her back.

She couldn’t just throw someone else’s things around, so in her fluster, she accidentally pressed some switch on the scalding snow globe in her hand.

Suddenly, lights flickered on inside the globe, and light, cheerful music wafted out—

“Jingle bells jingle bells”

“Jingle all the way”

“Oh what fun it is to ride”

“In a one horse open sleigh hey”

……

“Divorce!”

After finally fumbling to find the switch and stopping the music just before it made her jump out of her skin, Qiu Yiran tried to stay calm.

“Of course—divorce.”

The moment the words slipped out, she froze.

Then, as if she had done something wrong, she glanced a beat late at the woman still sprawled on her lap.

“It’s fine.”

Li Chunfeng lazily propped up her face and reined in the smile tugging at her lips.

“If you like it, I can still give it to you after the divorce.”

“I…” Qiu Yiran clutched the snow globe tightly, at a loss for words.

Li Chunfeng, unsurprised, lifted herself off Qiu Yiran’s lap and returned to that pile of clothes.

Surrounded by a mountain of colorful garments, the woman looked like a thin shadow with her back to her.

“So, when are we meeting next?”

“What?”

The colorful ribbons woven from light beams had vanished, and Qiu Yiran was slow on the uptake.

“I mean,”

Under the play of light and shadow, Li Chunfeng’s voice sounded perfectly calm. “When are we going to get divorced?”

Qiu Yiran had blurted it out without thinking ahead.

Now she stared at Li Chunfeng’s back, clutching the snow globe and unsure whether to set it down or keep holding it.

“If you want to do it today—” With no answer forthcoming, Li Chunfeng bowed her head.

Her chin and the skin of her neck hid in shadow, their lines carrying a dark, sensual allure.

“Not today,” Qiu Yiran cut in.

Li Chunfeng’s hands paused in their work.

She didn’t turn around, merely chuckling. “Why not today?”

“Because—”

Qiu Yiran didn’t even know herself.

In her desperation, her eyes fell on the red wine she had brought, and she blurted out,

“Because we haven’t finished this bottle of red wine yet.”

It sounded absurd.

So she added, “I bought it for you, after all.”

She had no idea if Li Chunfeng would buy that excuse.

After saying it, she gripped the snow globe tight and held her breath, waiting for Li Chunfeng’s reaction.

Just like the moment they got married—

She had waited so eagerly for those words “I do” from Li Chunfeng’s lips.

“You’re right.”

After a long pause, Li Chunfeng finally replied.

She slowly packed away the last box of clothes, gazed out the window, and let out a soft, languid laugh.

“But at the earliest, I might head back to the country in the next two weeks.”

“So soon?” Qiu Yiran was taken aback.

Li Chunfeng hummed in affirmation, then finally turned to look at her. She sat on the floor hugging her knees, eyes lazily narrowed.

“So if you want to divorce me, make sure you find me before then.”

“Got it.” Qiu Yiran didn’t know why her chest suddenly felt tight. She glanced around. “Then today—”

“Today, I should treat you to a meal.” Li Chunfeng picked up her train of thought and rose from the floor.

The folds of her fitted skirt cascaded down, the gentle curve of her abdomen striking a beautiful line. Barefoot on the carpet, she picked up the bottle of red wine Qiu Yiran had brought.

“After all, you brought the red wine.”

“Or rather,” Li Chunfeng tilted her head toward her, “a farewell dinner?”

“You’re treating me to dinner?” Qiu Yiran suddenly remembered it was the last day of 2019.

A farewell meal on a day like this felt perfectly fitting.

With that in mind, she started to nod.

But then Li Chunfeng drawled an “Ah,” her upturned eye corners narrowing—like candor, or perhaps some calculated payback in the works.

“You do know I’m broke, right?”

–

In the end, this year-end farewell dinner was still cooked by Qiu Yiran in the tiny, cramped kitchen of Li Chunfeng’s apartment: potato stew chicken, braised fish, and vinegar stir-fried cabbage.

Because Li Chunfeng insisted she was poor.

Yet she seemed utterly sincere, as if she truly wanted to treat Qiu Yiran to this farewell meal.

And lately, Qiu Yiran had been diligently learning new Chinese recipes.

Li Chunfeng had even said she wasn’t worried about getting poisoned.

So they took a cab to the nearest Asian market.

They bought fresh ingredients, along with doubanjiang and various seasonings.

While browsing the supermarket, Li Chunfeng was stunned to see Qiu Yiran navigating the aisles like a fish in water. “You can actually cook?”

“You can’t cook?” Qiu Yiran pushed the cart along, meticulously scanning the condiment section. Li Chunfeng’s surprise only amplified her own. “Do you just eat Western food here, then?”

“Don’t you just need food to fill your stomach?” Li Chunfeng cocked her head, her expression utterly earnest, as if she really believed that.

“…” Qiu Yiran sighed. “Do all you models have zero interest in food?”

Li Chunfeng laughed. “Do all you photographers love life that much?”

“Of course.” Qiu Yiran didn’t hesitate.

“If you don’t love life anymore, how can you create works that move people’s hearts?”

As she answered, Qiu Yiran focused on selecting seasonings from the shelf, deep in thought—

If Li Chunfeng really was that broke, she could buy a few pre-made sauces this time and teach her some simple, tasty noodle dishes.

But by the time she added her carefully chosen seasonings to the cart, she realized Li Chunfeng had gone quiet for a while.

She was watching her, like a cat with heavy thoughts, observing something intently.

Qiu Yiran felt uneasy under that direct stare and pressed on from her previous point.

“Anyway, any work that’s meant for others to see has to pass my own standards first.”

“So you must have tons of rejects, then?”

“Of course. Countless.” Qiu Yiran found the question odd.

“Alright, now I get it—” Li Chunfeng slowly withdrew her gaze. “You’re really two years older than me.”

“What else would it be?” Qiu Yiran said helplessly. “Do I seem childish?”

Li Chunfeng went, “Oh.” “You’re very mature.”

With that, she started pulling the condiment packets Qiu Yiran had added back out of the cart one by one.

“Then, mature Big Photographer—”

Li Chunfeng paused mid-step, as if offhand, and shot her a half-smile.

“Why did you flash-marry me?”

“Because—”

Qiu Yiran’s eyes darted away.

Li Chunfeng caught every evasion.

Finally, she resorted to bald-faced lying. “Because I was drunk at the time.”

Li Chunfeng went, “Oh.” “Drunk.”

She didn’t seem to doubt it.

Qiu Yiran breathed a sigh of relief—but she missed the sly uptick at the corner of Li Chunfeng’s mouth.

That’s when she noticed her cart had emptied out quite a bit.

Perplexed, but seeing no reason why, she simply returned the condiment packets Li Chunfeng had removed, one by one.

After a few, she caught Li Chunfeng’s look.

Li Chunfeng stood in front of her, blocking the now-stuffed cart, and sighed.

“Big Photographer, I told you I’m broke, remember?”

“Are these even that many?”

Qiu Yiran scanned the cart twice—she genuinely didn’t think so.

But under Li Chunfeng’s insistent gaze, she grudgingly swapped out a large bottle of vinegar for a small one.

Then they stood there, staring each other down by the shelves.

Finally, Li Chunfeng gave in with a casual wave. “Fine, whatever. I’m heading back to the country soon anyway. Consider it my last meal.”

“You were talking about maybe sharing rent with someone or finding a cheaper place…”

Qiu Yiran couldn’t help asking.

“Why the sudden plan to go back home?”

“Sticking around here longer is pointless,” Li Chunfeng said airily, showing no hint of regret. “It’s been game over for a while anyway.”

As she spoke, Li Chunfeng frowned.

She had no idea why Qiu Yiran was buying so many pre-made seasonings. Was she planning to make her prepared meals?

But Li Chunfeng wasn’t petty.

She had lived in Paris for years, and though the city had been brutally unkind to her, she still lived by the creed of making merry while the wine lasted.

So when they passed the beverage aisle, she tossed two bottles of what looked like drinks—but were actually liquor—into the cart.

After all, Qiu Yiran wasn’t great with alcohol—

A little sip and her face turned red as an apple.

But she hadn’t expected that by the time they reached the checkout, as Li Chunfeng pulled out her maxed-out credit card—

Qiu Yiran beat her to it.

And her clumsy insistence on paying looked premeditated.

Throughout the line, Qiu Yiran kept squeezing ahead of Li Chunfeng, lest she pay first.

She kept the conversation going too, to distract her.

Only after the transaction cleared did Qiu Yiran fully relax.

Her ears had turned pink from the tension.

But turning back, she feigned nonchalance toward Li Chunfeng.

“I have a member card.”

“Would be a waste not to use it.”

With those cool words—

Qiu Yiran grabbed the two big bags of doubanjiang, soy sauce, noodles, vinegar, salt, and marched right out of Li Chunfeng’s sight.

Only once outside the supermarket did she exhale completely.

It probably wasn’t obvious, right? It shouldn’t make Li Chunfeng—who was supposed to treat—feel disrespected, right?

Qiu Yiran thought, a bit uneasy.

–

The last day of 2019.

They heard Paris was freezing, but neither felt it.

Li Chunfeng cleared a corner of her messy apartment and shoved that copy of Her Ideal Country they had bought into the deepest part of her suitcase. She no longer planned to return the photo collection to Feng Yu.

Qiu Yiran went thump thump thump as she chopped the vegetables, pop pop pop as she opened all the condiment lids, then sizzle sizzle as she stir-fried the three dishes in the kitchen that only had an induction cooker. Finally, using one of Li Chunfeng’s old T-shirts as a hot pad, she brought the steaming platters to the table.

They huddled together amid a chaotic pile of old clothes and furniture, eating Qiu Yiran’s improved Chinese dishes while reeking of oil and smoke. They only finished half a bottle of red wine.

The yellow warm light sank like the setting sun.

Qiu Yiran wore a little bear apron. Her face flushed like a moist raspberry from the wine as she seriously picked the bones from the braised fish.

Li Chunfeng propped her chin on her hand. Probably a bit drunk, she suddenly said to her,

“Qiu Yiran, looking like that, no one would hire you for a fashion shoot.”

Qiu Yiran picked up the deboned fish and placed it in front of Li Chunfeng, who was wearing a hoodie, barefaced, with thick black-rimmed glasses. She said,

“Li Chunfeng, looking like that, no one would hire you to endorse a new ad.”

Then both of them clutched their stomachs and burst out laughing.

That night, it was as if the scale that had always teetered and clashed between their hearts was gone.

So they weren’t a famous photographer and an unemployed model—they were just companions spending their last night together by chance.

After dinner, before they could even wash the dishes, Li Chunfeng suddenly dragged Qiu Yiran out.

Because she’d heard there would be a New Year’s fireworks show on the Champs-Élysées tonight.

As expected, the streets were packed with crowds of all skin colors—white, yellow, black—everyone exhaling moist white breath into the air, enough to drown the entire Earth.

Turning the planet into a massive ball of cotton candy.

They arrived very late.

From the edge of the crowd, the fireworks looked tiny, like colorful spiders crawling across the sky.

Their heights didn’t give them much advantage among the white people.

Qiu Yiran originally thought they’d just watch from the edge. She wasn’t very interested in crowded scenes like this.

She usually couldn’t immerse herself in them. Most of the time, she found them noisy and dizzying, so she rarely watched performances or went to crowded places.

Compared to such occasions, she preferred enjoying quiet at home.

But in that moment, when she turned her head and saw Li Chunfeng’s lonely profile under the brilliant fireworks, she suddenly felt a pang of sadness—if Li Chunfeng left Paris, would she see fireworks again next year at the end?

Like a telepathic connection. Li Chunfeng looked over at that exact moment, her face lit by multicolored lights.

She saw her staring blankly.

Li Chunfeng suddenly smiled, then reached out and mischievously pinched her nose.