Chapter 3: “But I Really Hate You.”

Li Wuhui was a stage name she took later; her real name was Li Chunfeng.

The first time Qiu Yiran heard that name was on Christmas in 2019, during their self-introduction segment, which came a bit late—she said her name was Qiu Yiran, and she said hers was Li Chunfeng.

She blinked and said that Qiu Yiran was a nice name because she just happened to like women whose names sounded like they would go all in for love.

She laughed uncontrollably and said that Li Chunfeng was also a nice name, because she just happened to like women whose names sounded warm and reliable.

The woman narrowed her drunken, fox-like eyes with a smile and said that it turned out they matched perfectly from their names onward.

Spring wind ignites.

If they didn’t love each other fiercely and passionately, that would be such a pity.

“Miss Li.”

In 2024, the snow fell even heavier than that year, and perhaps the Qiu Yiran of back then had never imagined that one day she would address this woman this way.

But it happened anyway.

She closed her eyelids, not looking at Li Wuhui’s reaction. “The snow’s getting heavy. You should go back.”

With that, she turned away without a hint of reluctance, gripping her crutches tightly as she walked back.

She was like a deserter. Even though the only weapon in her hands was the source of her current predicament and chaos, she had no other options.

“Qiu Yiran.”

Li Wuhui called out to her from behind, her tone still unreadable.

This time, Qiu Yiran ignored her and even quickened her pace, kicking up more and more snow around her feet.

But when people got anxious, they lost their balance. After a few steps, she stumbled and nearly fell—

Snow flew up as a pair of hands firmly steadied her.

The woman placed her palm over the back of Qiu Yiran’s hand, helping her steady the crutches that had nearly slipped in her panic.

Qiu Yiran’s first sensation was a shocking chill, like touching someone long dead.

But once she steadied herself,

Those ice-cold hands let go and quietly hung at her waist.

Neither of them spoke; the air filled only with the sound of their breathing.

No one wanted to break the silence first, especially after this awkward interlude.

“Where’s your prosthetic leg?” It wasn’t until the lingering warmth from Qiu Yiran’s hand faded that Li Wuhui spoke again.

The question was originally quite intimate, suitable for people close to each other.

But given their current relationship, where neither intruded on the other’s life, it sounded more like an interrogation.

Even though Li Wuhui had deliberately softened her voice.

“It’s uncomfortable. I just took it off.” Qiu Yiran lowered her gaze, staring at the bits of snow stuck to the toe of her right shoe.

And at the snow clinging to Li Wuhui’s high-top boots.

“You…” Li Wuhui seemed about to continue.

“I’m going back.” Qiu Yiran cut her off.

She trudged forward.

But she saw that the crowd from the earlier argument had dispersed. Some people had been taken away, and a few onlookers were heading this way, still chattering animatedly…

One of them pointed at Li Wuhui by the bus stop sign and said something, causing the group to turn and look straight at them—

Meeting their gazes, Qiu Yiran stopped in her tracks and instinctively turned back, wanting to warn Li Wuhui.

But in that moment, she locked eyes with Li Wuhui again.

Li Wuhui, with her model background, was tall, and Qiu Yiran wasn’t much shorter.

Their gazes were always level, like swords clashing in a fencing match.

“Qiu Yiran.” In the whirling snow of the night, Li Wuhui stared fixedly at her. “Take me back.”

Truth be told, Qiu Yiran had no desire to face a sober Li Wuhui. When they parted three years ago, she had warned herself not to waver once she decided, and that final meeting had drained all her strength.

She hadn’t thought she would ever see Li Wuhui again.

The snowy night grew noisy again as the group recognized Li Wuhui.

Qiu Yiran lowered her voice, not agreeing to Li Wuhui’s request. “People are coming. You should go back quickly.”

Just as she finished speaking, the noisy footsteps approached from behind.

Li Wuhui noticed too, and her first instinct was to lean toward Qiu Yiran. “Come here first.”

But the road was slippery in the snow.

Qiu Yiran had trouble walking and nearly slipped again after a few steps. In that instant, she blurted out,

“Don’t come over!”

So Li Wuhui really didn’t.

She stopped a few steps away, as if suddenly remembering something, and halted in place.

In the dizzying whirl—

Qiu Yiran thrust her crutches into the thick snow with all her might, barely steadying herself.

Once stable, she let out a short breath.

When she looked up again, she met those eyes staring straight at her, piercing right through.

Fortunately, fortunately.

Li Wuhui didn’t come to help her like before, nor did she swoop in like a savior to rescue her from her embarrassment.

She just stood there.

Silently watching her through the curtain of snow, without asking anything.

At that moment, even Qiu Yiran’s spine trembled as she gripped the crutches with all her strength.

But strangely, in this moment, Li Wuhui seemed more like the fragile one weighed down by burdens.

The suffocating standoff didn’t last long. As the group drew near,

Li Wuhui lowered her head.

She slipped around the bus stop sign to where Qiu Yiran’s yellow taxi was parked, standing by the passenger door.

She looked up distantly at her, like a show of weakness, like a plea.

“Qiu Yiran, I can’t drive.”

–

The atmosphere in the car was quieter than expected.

But when she got in, Li Wuhui noticed the magazine Qiu Yiran had left on the passenger seat—

The one with Li Wuhui on the cover.

Qiu Yiran regretted tossing it there hours earlier, but now that Li Wuhui had seen it, she could only say,

“A passenger’s leftover.”

Perhaps her explanation came faster than any question.

Li Wuhui just gave a faint “Mm,” unclear if she believed it.

After a long pause, she added, “Someone in that interview mentioned you.”

Qiu Yiran hadn’t expected Li Wuhui to bring it up so directly, without any evasion.

Her silence made it seem like she was the one unsettled by it. “I know.”

“You know?” Li Wuhui echoed, then answered herself. “You’ve read it.”

“I saw it by accident while wiping it down. The passenger’s magazine got wet, so I had to clean it before giving it back.”

“Did you finish reading it?”

“I only read the part I wiped. The rest, no.”

“What did you see that I said?”

“…Not yet.”

Li Wuhui fell silent.

The car filled only with the sound of the wipers. Qiu Yiran thought she had fallen asleep.

Li Wuhui always passed out after drinking too much, no matter where, sleeping soundly without making a fuss.

“What happened to you up there?”

After turning a corner, Li Wuhui’s voice returned, now laced with the strained slur of drunkenness.

Qiu Yiran stared straight at the taillights ahead, reacting a beat late. “What do you mean?”

Li Wuhui didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until they hit a red light that Qiu Yiran realized she hadn’t moved in a while and glanced at the passenger seat.

The car had stopped at a wide intersection with a clear view of the massive billboard on a distant high-rise.

The magazine lay on the dashboard.

Li Wuhui had her arms crossed, head against the window, eyes tightly shut. Her sharp, cold features were blurred by the flickering lights from the giant ad in the distance, shadowy and indistinct, like a dream.

Distant like a dream, close like a dream too.

The light turned green, headlights drifting. Qiu Yiran looked away, started the car, and drove on.

She heard Li Wuhui beside her suddenly mutter a word.

“Lights.”

What lights?

Qiu Yiran nearly slammed the brakes.

But the car was already moving, and she didn’t dare look away.

Li Wuhui sounded a bit more awake now, but her words were still slow. “After you went up, you never turned on the lights. Then two or three minutes later, your hallway sensor light came on, but your room stayed dark…”

Qiu Yiran’s fingers stiffened on the steering wheel.

“Qiu Yiran, I’m afraid something will happen to you again.”

Li Wuhui’s voice drifted over again, clear and distinct in her ear.

But the next second, that distant dream snapped awake.

Because Qiu Yiran heard her give a light chuckle, her voice so soft it dragged them back to the cruelest reality.

“But I really hate you.”

Qiu Yiran gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles whitening. Just as she had been since they met, she didn’t look at Li Wuhui. She watched the road, the car lights ahead.

As if every little detail in the world mattered more to her than Li Wuhui.

But Li Wuhui stared intently at Qiu Yiran’s profile.

The dizziness blurred her vision, but she could still make out the tear mole beneath Qiu Yiran’s right eye.

In her memory, she loved kissing that tear mole when emotions ran high, because Qiu Yiran always teared up then.

Back then—never having seen someone so sensitive, she would always laugh with curved eyes, cupping Qiu Yiran’s face, trying to figure out why she was crying.

Now—they sat one in the driver’s seat, one in the passenger’s, separated by drifting headlights and stagnant air, and she was still trying to read Qiu Yiran’s thoughts.

Back then—Qiu Yiran would always press her cheek into the lines of her palm, eyes squeezed shut refusing to look, but her lashes soaked with tears.

Now—Qiu Yiran stared straight ahead, refusing to glance her way, her lashes shadowed by darkness.

In a way, past and present were the same—she was watching her, and she knew Qiu Yiran knew she was watching.

Qiu Yiran stayed silent for a long time, her sullen face fragmented by the dense glare of oncoming lights.

Only after passing the intersection did she murmur very softly,

“There’s still a ways to go. Sleep for a bit.”

Li Wuhui closed her eyes and let out a laugh.

It seemed that in less than three years, Qiu Yiran had already forgotten that she got migraines from sleeping off alcohol.

–

When Li Wuhui woke again, the car was already at her hotel.

It was deep into the night, with people passing at the intersection. Until Li Wuhui got out, Qiu Yiran remained silent, saying nothing more.

After meeting her and forcing herself to drive all this way, Qiu Yiran seemed utterly exhausted.

Even as Li Wuhui stepped out,

She drove off impatiently, kicking up leftover snow in place, without even a brief farewell.

Li Wuhui watched her for more than one glance.

She didn’t know what she wanted to see in Qiu Yiran’s eyes.

But the moment she saw her again, she knew that even after all this time, Qiu Yiran still believed her choice to leave back then was absolutely right.

Perhaps she had never doubted it, not even for a second.

Qiu Yiran had always been like that—stubborn and headstrong, call it what you would. That hadn’t changed.

Even though she was now Li Wuhui.

The snow hadn’t stopped. Back in her hotel room on a high floor overlooking the entire city,

She didn’t turn on the lights. She stood by the window, watching her own image flicker repeatedly on a distant skyscraper.

She didn’t know what Qiu Yiran thought each time she saw it, but she herself felt no real joy or pleasure from it.

Then she called the Dream Paris Taxi Company.

When it connected, the night shift dispatcher asked if she needed a ride. She paused for a moment and said,

“I want to know when the driver of Taxi #7516 joined your company. Has she stayed continuously since then?”

“Hello, we can’t casually disclose driver information,” the dispatcher replied, sounding tense, as if her tone came off as accusatory.

“Are you looking to file a complaint?”

“No, I’m not complaining.”

“Then you’re not requesting a ride… You…” The dispatcher’s tone hesitated. Not a ride, not a complaint— she seemed to sense the question was personal.

“We definitely can’t share that information. If you want to know, I suggest—”

“I’m her wife.” Li Wuhui cut her off. “Does that mean I still can’t know?”

After saying that,

The dispatcher went silent for a long time.

Li Wuhui suddenly remembered they were in the country and added,

“Maybe I got it wrong.”

Then she hung up.

Moments later, she called again, getting a different dispatcher but much the same answer.

She hung up and redialed, eventually looping back to the original one.

This time, the dispatcher fell silent for a long while.

She sighed and said leisurely, “This guest, Taxi #7516 has been driving for Dream Paris for two years now. She works more diligently than others, never had any disputes with passengers, and never received a single complaint. Before we assign her to a ride, we always inform the guest about her situation. If you have any issues with her, you can also leave a phone message detailing your dissatisfaction…”

The operator sounded very protective of Taxi #7516.

Li Wuhui got the answer she wanted and said, “Thank you.”

The operator said Taxi #7516 had been there for two years.

But in reality, Qiu Yiran had left her for three years already, so there was still one year unaccounted for—where had Qiu Yiran gone?

Li Wuhui had no way of knowing. Not that one year, nor the three years.

After hanging up, Li Wuhui’s drunkenness had mostly worn off.

She glanced at the time on her phone and suddenly remembered that every time Qiu Yiran drove her back to the hotel, the trip always took much longer than the outbound journey.

And just earlier, when she had dozed off in the car, she had felt the wind blowing on her face for more than just a moment in her hazy state.

She never acted out when drunk—she only got dizzy and wanted to sleep. But if she passed out like that, she was sure to wake up with a migraine the next day.

So every time she got drunk,

No matter if it was winter or summer, Qiu Yiran never let her sleep straight through to morning. Even if she was exhausted and desperate to crash, Qiu Yiran insisted on driving her around a few extra loops to let the wind sober her up. In the summer heat, she cracked the windows wide; in the winter chill, just a small gap to let in a breeze.

Every time, that was the only way Li Wuhui sobered up enough to feel decent when she woke the next day.

Standing in the darkness, Li Wuhui suddenly recalled what happened after she spat out that barbed “I hate you” and drifted off—

In her semiconscious state, she had opened her eyes a few times and seen streetscapes outside Qiu Yiran’s car window that looked nothing like the area near the hotel…

And then, as she got out, she had glimpsed Qiu Yiran’s pale, fragile profile through the narrow opening in the window.

Qiu Yiran had still sobered her up. Perhaps even that had never changed.