Chapter 10: “Breathing Streetlights”

This was probably because she was still groggy from sleep.

Fu Tingli yawned drowsily and realized that Kong Liyuan had already stowed away that baffling expression.

She unbuckled her seatbelt with a casual smile and asked, “It was only a ten-minute drive—did you really fall asleep?”

As she spoke, she slipped on a face mask, concealing every trace of emotion, as if that earlier look had never existed.

“How long was I out?” Fu Tingli asked in a daze.

Kong Liyuan paused in unbuckling her own seatbelt. “Fifteen minutes or so. Not that long.”

A ten-minute trip, and she’d slept for fifteen minutes. That meant they’d arrived five minutes early.

For those five minutes, she’d been asleep, and Kong Liyuan hadn’t woken her. Had Kong Liyuan just been sitting there watching her the whole time?

Before Fu Tingli could puzzle it out, Kong Liyuan got out of the car.

Snapping back to attention, Fu Tingli shoved aside the jumble of thoughts in her head, followed suit, and stepped into the burger joint on the street corner.

It was deep into the night. The air conditioning blasted away the chill, and the place held only a scattering of staff and customers. After placing their order, they claimed a quiet corner booth.

One hamburger combo: a cheeseburger, a half-portion of popcorn chicken and half-portion of fries plated together, and a cup of milk.

“I asked—they only have iced Coke right now. You can’t drink that.” Once seated, Kong Liyuan shrugged off the down jacket she’d been wearing.

Now she wore only an open denim jacket over a thin white top that clung lazily and coldly to her skin.

She looked like she’d rushed straight from a magazine shoot; the jacket and top were thin as paper, fluttering open at the collarbone in the breeze.

Just looking at her made Fu Tingli tug her own collar tighter, grateful she’d grabbed a jacket on the way out.

“What about these?” Kong Liyuan nodded toward her brown chunky-knit earmuffs, asking offhandedly. “You’ve had them on the whole ride. Aren’t you ready to take them off now that we’re inside? Don’t they feel stuffy?”

“Not taking them off. Cold.” Fu Tingli fired back casually at the three questions in a row.

Kong Liyuan fell silent. Her eyes, visible above the mask, fixed straight on Fu Tingli until that sip of milk lodged in her throat.

Fu Tingli choked a little.

Only then did Kong Liyuan smile again, as if watching her suffer was endlessly amusing—yet she kindly passed her a napkin.

Then, just as Fu Tingli reached for her milk, Kong Liyuan snatched the cup first, tugged down her mask, and took a slow sip.

Choking had apparently sharpened Fu Tingli’s vision. She could clearly see the creamy liquid tracing every curve of Kong Liyuan’s lips, gliding over the plump, perfectly proportioned cupid’s bow.

Perhaps it wasn’t her eyesight at play. Maybe it was the faint milky taste in her mouth triggering the Proust Effect—a vivid memory surging back.

She recalled that time they’d shared a glass of milk. She’d taken just a tiny sip, the soft, mild flavor not yet swallowed, when Kong Liyuan had kissed her, her tongue gliding over every inch of Fu Tingli’s mouth.

As if every rich, aromatic trace that had flowed through her mouth had first passed over the elegant lines of Kong Liyuan’s lips and that full, youthful cupid’s bow.

Every millimeter, every nuance.

She saw her own soft golden strands falling onto the slight rise of Kong Liyuan’s dewy butterfly bone.

And Kong Liyuan’s low, lazy voice, like a sodden cloud pressing against her collarbone: “Is that how it is?”

“Food is most delicious when shared with someone.”

Fu Tingli’s attention snapped back to the late-night burger shop on a Shanghai street. Kong Liyuan slid the half-empty milk over, her gaze coolly pinning Fu Tingli down.

“Wasn’t that what you said?”

“I just got over a cold,” Fu Tingli reminded her, then quietly picked up her burger. “Want half?”

“It won’t infect me,” Kong Liyuan said, then shook her head. “Can’t eat. Got a close-up shoot tomorrow—gotta fast from now or my face will puff up.”

Did this woman issue commands even to cold viruses? Telling them not to infect her.

Fu Tingli took a bite of her burger. “Then why’d you drink the milk?”

Kong Liyuan gave a small laugh, concise: “Fasting starts after the milk.”

She added, “Didn’t want you feeling awkward eating alone.”

So she’d swiped half Fu Tingli’s milk. Classic Kong Liyuan—contradictory to the end, recklessly seeing things through.

Fu Tingli sighed, eyeing the fries and popcorn chicken platter before her. Could she believe that Kong Liyuan truly took “food is most delicious when shared” to heart?

“You’re in a good mood today? You’ve been smiling nonstop,” she asked.

“Not really.” Kong Liyuan seemed to answer with a smile, or maybe not.

Fu Tingli nodded.

Somehow, no matter how contradictory, erratic, or vague Kong Liyuan got, Fu Tingli always understood her easily.

Or maybe she was just unusually tolerant, incurious by nature.

She didn’t press further. But Kong Liyuan brought it up herself. “Why didn’t you ask me about it?”

The shop’s AC had warmed Fu Tingli comfortably; the familiar cheeseburger filled her with cozy satisfaction.

“Ask what?”

“I figured anyone would get mad, or at least ask why, if someone knocked food right out of their hand for no reason.” Kong Liyuan said.

“Oh, that.” Fu Tingli chewed, nearly choking, and naturally accepted the milk Kong Liyuan offered, taking a gulp to clear it.

She smiled. “No need. You paid, I got it for free. You tossed one and comped me a hundred—how’s that not a windfall?”

“But now we’re even.” She waved the half-eaten burger in her hand, never imagining Kong Liyuan meant literally a hundred burgers.

“What if I told you…” Kong Liyuan watched her closely. “The burger wasn’t paid for with my money, so that’s why I tossed the one in your hand.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”

Fu Tingli suddenly remembered: the crew burgers had been Kong Yan’s treat. Saying “Kong Liyuan’s money” wasn’t quite accurate.

“What about me, then?” Fu Tingli was full and sleepy, her voice heavy with fatigue. “I actually bought Rong Wu’s line about a hundred burgers. Came out in slippers and a random jacket to grab late-night burgers with a female celeb…”

“Doesn’t that seem weird?”

“I lured you out here under false pretenses,” Kong Liyuan said.

“So what? I still wanted to rip you off for a meal,” Fu Tingli admitted frankly.

As payback for “deleting the photo.”

No guts to demand three million, but a burger meal? That was fine.

Kong Liyuan laughed softly—one of countless laughs that night. Perhaps it was Fu Tingli’s straightforwardness; Kong Liyuan’s smile brightened too, losing its earlier vagueness.

Like a self-destructing cigarette, igniting without flame.

When it burned out, a faint sigh escaped, followed by words hidden in the embers: “How have you been?”

Fu Tingli grew dazed at the question.

It sounded like standard reunion small talk.

Yet since returning home, since the family crisis, no one had asked her that.

Old friends had fallen out over the funding pullout; all her youthful passion crammed into a twenty-square-meter rental; money, friends, flowers, dreams—everything once tied to “Fu Tingli” brutally stripped away.

Li Weili, who’d seen her wrecked by illness, had lined up this job but never dared touch on “how are you doing?” Qiao Lipan, frantic on the phone line, ached for her solo struggle in China but always hung up in a rush, skimming over it since Fu Tingli downplayed her situation.

Everyone seemed to assume the fallen heiress was miserable now.

Everyone shied away from asking.

So she’d never expected Kong Liyuan to be the first.

Fu Tingli looked up blankly, vaguely realizing that no matter who asked, there was only one answer.

“I’ve been pretty lucky.”

She was surprised to hear herself say it with a smile.

“Mom’s company went bankrupt with debts, but none landed on me. Studio folded back home, but an old classmate hooked me up with this gig. The crew’s decent, my co-star actress is easygoing—no tripping me up over petty stuff. Rental’s chilly without AC, but I can still scam a cheeseburger at midnight.”

“Sounds not bad, right?”

She grinned openly. Kong Liyuan’s gaze brushed lightly over her smile.

“You don’t even know how much you’re scamming.”

Fu Tingli froze, then held out her pale palm. “Then give me three million.”

“I’m loaded, but not that generous,” Kong Liyuan sighed. “Next time, scam two more burgers.”

She grabbed her jacket and stood, lightly patting Fu Tingli’s nape as she passed. “Come on. Time to get you back to that chilly, no-AC rental.”

The car pulled up at her familiar spot on the street beyond the alley mouth.

No more rain outside, but a thin mist lingered in the air—like the lingering breath of the downpour.

Fu Tingli clambered out and doubled over coughing in the gusting cold wind.

A remnant of that brutal cold, leaving her so frail a breeze set her lungs rattling like a sieve.

She shut the door and turned—and suddenly had an extra layer. The light down jacket enveloped her sieved lungs once more, good as new.

She looked up and discovered that Kong Liyuan had gotten out of the car too. She was standing right in front of her, still wearing that paper-thin denim jacket, her face unflushed and her breathing steady.

She assumed Kong Liyuan’s car had air conditioning, so she kindly lent her the down jacket. A few steps later, though, she realized Kong Liyuan was still following her into the alley.

“What are you following me for?” she asked, puzzled.

“Going to check out the place.”

“Check out what place?”

“To see this chilly rental without any AC.” Kong Liyuan said. “Have the delivery guy drop the other ninety-nine burgers straight at the door.”

“You’re really giving back a hundred?” Fu Tingli blurted out, still not quite processing it.

Kong Liyuan shot her a glance. “After hearing about your situation, my conscience is bothering me. Can’t just leave a debt unpaid.”

Fu Tingli let out a “Whoa.” “Teacher Kong, you’re more generous than I thought. Throw away one, return a hundred—how about you toss all my stuff while you’re at it?”

“What else do you want me to throw?” Kong Liyuan burst out laughing. Under the yellowish-green glow of the streetlight, she looked relaxed and carefree. “I’ll think it over. It’s not impossible.”

The scene turned out prettier than she’d imagined. Kong Liyuan walked alongside her down the narrow alley crammed with motorcycles and bicycles. Clotheslines dangled overhead in a haphazard tangle. Then, out of nowhere, a beer bottle came crashing down from some distant window, shattering in a spray of glass.

~~~

It felt as if they’d never truly owned California—as if it had always just been Fu Tingli and Kong Liyuan. These two had only crossed paths in Shanghai’s winter, with no emotions tangled between them.

Fu Tingli figured she shouldn’t at least be wearing Kong Liyuan’s down jacket. She started to shrug it off, but Kong Liyuan pressed it back into place.

“Aren’t you cold?” Fu Tingli asked.

She eyed Kong Liyuan’s open denim jacket. The skin beneath it seemed completely unfazed—still fair and smooth, without a single goosebump.

There was still a stretch of road left from the alley mouth to the rental building downstairs. When Kong Liyuan spoke, no white vapor escaped her mouth. She simply hugged her arms loosely.

“Some people can’t stop yapping about female celebrities. Haven’t you heard they can shoot outdoors at minus twenty degrees for four hours straight? Or strut red carpets in evening gowns through freezing winds?”

Fu Tingli was left speechless.

Kong Liyuan glanced at her again. “I just shot a magazine cover—no AC inside. Changed a dozen outfits, worked for three hours. The skimpiest was a camisole and jeans. I didn’t feel cold for any of those three hours, so what’s a little walk like this?”

Fu Tingli listened in silence. She paused her steps, rubbing her chin absently against the jacket’s soft collar.

Kong Liyuan strode ahead through the biting wind. Her thin denim jacket billowed out, and her long, straight hair whipped upward—like a rain of blurred outlines.

Truth be told, Fu Tingli had never fully figured out this woman. She couldn’t tell if Kong Liyuan’s offhand tales of her past were casual chit-chat or quiet defiance.

All she knew was this: whether what Kong Liyuan showed her was real or illusory, Fu Tingli admired only her unfiltered truth.

She exhaled a puff of white breath and shuffled forward in her slippers.

Kong Liyuan finished talking and heard Fu Tingli dawdling up from behind. The slap-slap-slap of her slippers grew closer, echoing like those Martin boots that had once pounded down California Highway 1.

A nearby streetlight flickered out with a sharp crack, as if frozen solid and split apart. The world dimmed into a hazy, dreamlike amber glow.

She turned around. The slapping footsteps halted right beside her.

Then the down jacket settled over her shoulders—no trace of the sharp cologne scent from a man’s suit jacket.

Just the faint, soft, and slightly damp aroma of a young woman. It grew stronger soon enough.

She looked down into a pair of gentle, steady eyes gazing upward, their focus seeming to drift right over her head.

Until her ears—which had been exposed all evening—were fully enveloped by the thick, fuzzy ear muffs.

The woman in front of her withdrew her hands from beside her ears. Her chilled, reddened fingers brushed silently past her cheek.

“You can tough it out without feeling cold. You can go without a jacket. You can face the wind. You can shoot in minus twenty…”

Fu Tingli sighed.

“Say ‘I can’ a million times, and suddenly you won’t feel the cold or fear it anymore?”

She turned away casually after that. The slap-slap of her slippers resumed, echoing steadily through the quiet alley.

That freshly cracked streetlight still seemed to hold a final breath—flickering dim, then bright. Interwoven with wisps of frosty vapor, it cast a blurry light on Fu Tingli’s retreating back.

~~~

—And on those ears that, the moment the muffs came off, began to redden slowly under the cold wind’s assault.

Kong Liyuan stared at those ears.

A trace of youthful warmth lingered around the lobes, turning the streetlight’s faint pulse distant and poignant.

Someone who wilted under winter’s bite had endured her own freezing ears to share her body heat.

The young woman’s generosity was broad-minded and selfless; her withdrawal, frank and unsparing.

It mirrored the fleeting intimacy of temples brushing in tender recompense.