Chapter 33: Not at All Like Newlywed Wives. Part 2

One in the master bedroom, the other in the nearby spare.

One surrounded by glamorous teams by day, the other by greasy chicken legs and wings.

Evenings, they might crowd onto that red velvet sofa to binge the latest Netflix.

Li Chunfeng loved horror and suspense. Qiu Yiran went for rom-coms.

During horror, Qiu Yiran hid behind Li Chunfeng. For rom-coms, Li Chunfeng silently passed tissues to the teary-eyed Qiu Yiran.

Their TV watch history was a mess.

Afterward, they retreated to their own rooms, no interference.

Not at all like newlywed wives.

Qiu Yiran didn’t know if this kind of relationship could be considered normal, but sometimes she felt that if they kept going like this, it wouldn’t be so bad—no interests involved, no one’s self-esteem hurt.

This time, Paris’s winter didn’t seem so monotonous either.

The shoot for the day ended.

Qiu Yiran took her camera and strolled down the street as usual.

Besides the commercial shoots she had signed on for, she also wandered the streets in her free time to find subjects of her own.

She always believed that only by being passionate about observing life could one take good photos.

When she did this kind of thing, she often wandered aimlessly without a specific route, so she frequently didn’t even know where she had ended up.

Paris’s winter skies were often gray-toned too, but they weren’t as gloomy as in other European countries because the streets at night always had beautiful lights that coated the asphalt roads in a layer of warm yellow glow.

So it felt a little warmer.

Qiu Yiran spotted Li Chunfeng through her lens.

The other woman wore the Fried Chicken Shop’s uniform shirt, apron, and work beret, with a mask over her face that only revealed a pair of eyes both cold and seductive, and she even had on black-rimmed glasses.

Qiu Yiran narrowed her eyes.

In the lens—

Li Chunfeng crossed the street in the light drizzle. In such cold weather, she ran around outside wearing only the Fried Chicken Shop uniform.

Although…

She did look tall and leggy, much prettier than most.

But this was proof.

Proof that Li Chunfeng outwardly complied but inwardly opposed her, claiming she absolutely wouldn’t unzip but then taking off her entire coat.

Qiu Yiran itched with anger.

Then she shifted the lens away, aimed it at the Fried Chicken Shop sign, zoomed in, locked focus, and snapped a shot—the location.

She aimed at her own phone next, click, snapped another—the time.

Oh, right.

And the culprit—Li Chunfeng.

Qiu Yiran pointed her lens straight at the woman.

But she discovered that the street from moments ago was now empty, with only a few oddly shaped cars driving past.

The lens swept through the misty sky a few times but didn’t find her.

Had she seen wrong?

Qiu Yiran blankly lowered her camera and turned around in place a couple times. She only saw the bookstore and Fried Chicken Shop on either side of the road, along with various food shops. She really didn’t see that woman in uniform from before.

She wasn’t ready to give up.

Street traffic slid past one vehicle after another. She stood in place and lowered her head to check the photos she had just taken.

She flipped through them one by one.

Finally, in the photo of the Fried Chicken Shop sign she had just shot, she spotted a pair of shoes in the corner of the frame, stepped on by passing feet.

No mistake.

Li Chunfeng’s shoes.

The thin high-top canvas pair she had put on right in front of her that morning.

There were too many people around, and the Fried Chicken Shop was packed with customers crammed together.

Qiu Yiran scanned with her naked eyes for a few rounds.

But she still couldn’t spot Li Chunfeng anywhere, so she raised her camera again and aimed it at the Fried Chicken Shop sign.

With the sign as the center.

With Li Chunfeng’s height as the radius.

She swept it around twice.

Rain and mist filled the air. She zoomed in and out, the lens quickly sliding over one unfamiliar face after another—

Double-checking it wasn’t her.

Finally, she spotted a figure that seemed to be weaving through the Fried Chicken Shop.

Qiu Yiran zoomed in—

And finally got a clear look at the shadowy figure moving through the Fried Chicken Shop.

Though blurry. But…

It wasn’t Li Chunfeng.

Qiu Yiran disappointedly adjusted the focus back, widening the framing to show the whole Fried Chicken Shop—

A woman suddenly appeared from the corner.

She wore a beret, her eyes blocked by black-rimmed glasses. She stood at the Fried Chicken Shop entrance, hands tucked into the sides of her apron, posture casual as she raised a brow toward Qiu Yiran in the distance.

That alone was captivating enough.

Click—

In her fluster, Qiu Yiran pressed the shutter.

The woman was thus captured—

The background was Paris in warm yellow tones. The woman stood at the Fried Chicken Shop door, her face separated from the lens by fogged glass. Red letters on the glass read “Merry Christmas,” splitting her face into blocks of different colors with that outdated greeting.

This was the first photo she took of her.

Very beautiful, but imperfect from a composition standpoint.

Qiu Yiran looked down at it, not entirely satisfied, and raised her camera to take another.

But the woman in the lens saw her movement, turned her face aside to smile for a bit, then looked back at her.

A hint of laughter lingered at the corner of her eyes.

Then, very casually, she breathed on the glass and wrote stroke by stroke on the foggy surface—

“Big Photographer.”

Qiu Yiran read it out character by character, then froze.

Because Li Chunfeng had written it in Chinese.

And this was Paris.

So the words on the glass easily became their secret code.

Qiu Yiran never pressed the shutter.

It was as if an invisible string had tied her camera in place, the other end in Li Chunfeng’s hand, completely under her control.

Through the glass.

The edges of the camera’s viewfinder slowly brushed over the beautiful contours of the woman’s face.

Li Chunfeng didn’t know what she was thinking, but her face stayed smiling all the while.

Qiu Yiran found it strange.

She pushed the lens in closer.

The framing narrowed almost to an extreme close-up. Li Chunfeng’s features were actually the striking kind.

The closer it got.

The more one could feel that bold, vibrant beauty of hers.

The lens slid bit by bit over Li Chunfeng’s features like it was pulled by a rope—

Large, seductive eyes under the black-rimmed glasses, a straight and prominent nose, perfectly shaped lips, and that tiny mole at the corner…

Li Chunfeng suddenly wiped away the four characters “Big Photographer.”

Qiu Yiran froze.

In the lens, that cleared patch of glass quickly fogged up again.

Through that hazy glass, Li Chunfeng stared straight at her.

Her slender fingers scraped across the glass again, slowly writing two characters.

“Come here.”

–

Qiu Yiran walked over stiffly.

This was her first time at Li Chunfeng’s workplace.

For some reason, she had a very inexplicable feeling—that if she didn’t behave well this time, the shop manager and other colleagues wouldn’t think highly of Li Chunfeng.

So she kept a polite smile on her lips the whole time, giving friendly looks to every employee who passed by.

When ordering, she hesitated for a long time and didn’t order the entire menu.

She skipped just two items—onion rings and pineapple pie.

Because she hated onions and pineapple.

Even though she only planned to order to go and treat her collaborators.

Still, not a single onion or pineapple would escape being treated on her dime.

After ordering.

She sat at a table like a teenage girl entering an internet cafe for the first time, wooden-faced as she watched the Fried Chicken Shop employees bustle around her.

In the end, what Li Chunfeng brought her was just two plates—fries and a combo of popcorn chicken and wings.

Plus a cup of hot milk she hadn’t ordered.

Qiu Yiran took a sip of the hot milk and expressed full understanding. “Was the kitchen too busy? You can have them make other customers’ orders first. I can wait.”

The shop wasn’t too busy at the moment. Li Chunfeng sat across from her, still wearing that beret which Qiu Yiran found novel and had never seen before.

Hearing this, Li Chunfeng took off her black-rimmed glasses, breathed on them, wiped them clean, then sighed. “It’s because I’m poor and can only treat you to this.”

Qiu Yiran said, “I was planning to treat you.”

Li Chunfeng hummed. “I know.”

Then she propped her chin on her hand and looked at her. “But today, I wanted to treat you.”

“Not allowed?”

“Allowed.” Qiu Yiran nodded helplessly.

She glanced at the staff passing by their table; several were eyeing her.

So she flashed them a very friendly smile back.

The few looked at Li Chunfeng and nearly burst out laughing.

Li Chunfeng sighed again and snapped her fingers in front of Qiu Yiran.

Qiu Yiran snapped back to attention.

“Keep that creepy smile on your face any longer,” Li Chunfeng said calmly, “and they’ll think someone is bullying me, so my rich and kind Chinese parent rushed over to back me up.”

“Is that so?”

Qiu Yiran touched her stiffly smiling face, then asked puzzled, “And isn’t backing me up a good thing?”

Li Chunfeng raised an eyelid.

“When I was little,” Qiu Yiran withdrew her friendly gaze, gulped down her milk, propped her chin, and said, “whether at school or work, I always thought it was amazing and impressive when a parent came to visit.”

“Then the parent bought stuff from outside, I treated everyone, and watched my good friends or work buddies eat it all. That made me so satisfied.”

“When you were little?” Li Chunfeng snatched Qiu Yiran’s milk and drank it. “You worked when you were little?”

Qiu Yiran elegantly wiped her mouth. “Smaller than I am today—that’s little.”

Li Chunfeng had a sudden realization. “Very philosophical.”

Then she mimicked her, propped her chin, narrowed her eyes smilingly, and looked at her. “Not bad for someone two years older than me.”