Chapter 15: “The Voice-Activated Light”

When Kong Liyuan’s car came to a stop once more on that familiar street, Fu Tingli had already dawdled her way into slipping on the gloves.

They hid the scar on her hand—a mark neither deep nor shallow, barely noticeable at all.

She wasn’t dead set on snagging this cheap pair. She just figured they didn’t suit the boss at all. They didn’t suit her much either, true, but they beat those pricey cashmere ones that left her wracked with guilt.

She resolved to keep these and return the other pair she’d left back at the rental.

At least she could chalk it up to a fair trade—a bowl of tangyuan and a pair of twenty-five-yuan gloves.

She’d heard it time and again from others: Kong Liyuan always made sure favors were settled square, even more than she did herself.

Kong Liyuan must want it squared away even more than that, Fu Tingli thought to herself.

“You’re scheming over how to give those gloves back to me.” In the car, Kong Liyuan suddenly pinned down her little plot. “The ones I handed you right in front of the whole crew.”

Fu Tingli blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

Kong Liyuan shot her a glance. “Nobody rolls their eyes around like you do—good or bad, every thought’s plastered right across your face.”

“That obvious?” Fu Tingli didn’t think so.

Back when she was nineteen or twenty, all her friends and playmates said she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Her heart was an open book, like wild grass that parted at the slightest breeze, spilling out every joy and sorrow in waves.

But she figured that after her family fell apart and she returned to Shanghai, all those hairpin turns and gaping wounds had swallowed that wild grass whole. She wasn’t the same Fu Tingli anymore. She’d learned to keep her joys and rages under wraps.

Besides, she and Kong Liyuan had known each other for less than ten days combined. How could she spot that wild grass so easily?

“Don’t bother returning them.”

Before Fu Tingli could puzzle it out, Kong Liyuan spoke again, shoving all her bottled-up questions right back down her throat.

Fu Tingli knew she ought to ask why. But Kong Liyuan beat her to it.

“I’m not the type to take back a gift once it’s given. If people see us passing the same pair back and forth, they’ll think there’s some big secret between us.”

One sentence, and Fu Tingli flashed back to the garage access card that had once been tucked inside those gloves.

There had been a secret there, all right. She’d even forgotten—the gloves weren’t the point; they were just the delivery method.

When Kong Liyuan first gave her the gloves, it was all about that access card. A way to draw her in, to make sure she wasn’t some invisible time bomb ready to blow.

And now? Had Kong Liyuan confirmed it? She must have, now that she’d learned the photos were all deleted.

Fu Tingli let it drop, murmuring a slow “Oh” before adding, “Got it.”

She put it out of her mind until the car pulled up again outside the alley leading to her rental.

The snow hadn’t let up. It drifted down in lavish swirls, as if desperate to etch some memories into this New Year’s Day before it slipped away.

She pushed open the door and stepped out, only to get a face full of swirling flakes that made her duck her neck into her coat collar. A second later, she heard the thud of another car door closing behind her.

Without thinking, she said, “You’ve already scoped out the place, Teacher Kong. Why get out again?”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she heard the click of heels. She turned to find Kong Liyuan already rounding the front of the car. All she caught was the flare of a spark at her fingertips amid the flying snow—a jarring burst of heat—followed by the sharp profile half-hidden in a veil of white smoke. The bone structure was striking, the lines softened just enough. When those eyes flicked up, they always held a hazy, come-hither gaze.

The woman had always been like that.

“Just stepping out for a smoke.” Kong Liyuan leaned against the car, exhaling a plume of white mist that clawed through the air toward her.

She held the cigarette between her fingers, her smile hazy in the smoke, lazy and languid. Then she added, “Not walking you in today.”

Fu Tingli halted before the smoke could scatter, pivoting with an “Oh.”

“I’ll head in then. Snow’s coming down out here—finish up and get back home, Teacher Kong.”

An “Mm” hummed from behind her, mingled with the crunch of footsteps in the snow as Kong Liyuan’s voice grew fainter, more indistinct.

She seemed to say something. But Fu Tingli didn’t catch it. She’d glanced back in a hurry.

There was Kong Liyuan in her thick down jacket, upper body lost in the drifting snow, as if talking on the phone. But hadn’t her phone been dead?

A few steps later, Fu Tingli’s own phone rang. It was Qiao Lipan.

Qiao Lipan’s voice sounded distant on the line, like it had been ages since she’d heard it. Or maybe pulling that hundred-yuan bill from her pocket felt like ancient history now.

That black umbrella, those three bowls of tangyuan, the rice cake—they’d turned her breakdown, her failure to call Qiao Lipan, into the distant past. Like another life.

Now, Qiao Lipan spoke in a weary, irritated tone. “One of my old investment partners couldn’t handle the debt. Jumped off a building today.”

Fu Tingli went blank, her grip tightening on the phone until her fingers shook. “D-do I know her?”

Qiao Lipan didn’t answer right away. She seemed to mutter a curse on her end, then remembered who she was talking to and sighed, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Left behind a daughter wailing her head off and a mess of headaches I can’t just ignore.”

Fu Tingli was at a loss for words. But the image of that wailing daughter made her sure she knew this person.

A whole life snuffed out in one phone call.

“Anyway, enough of that.” Qiao Lipan’s voice sharpened. “Don’t worry about me. Think of your mom—she’s tougher than nails. Remember when you were little? Your dad and I were splitting up. I clawed his face bloody and made sure he left without a dime of ours.

“Then that summer he dragged you to his place, tried to make you call him Dad, and his little bastard kid bullied you. You sank your teeth in, I grabbed the broom—we left the brat bloody all over.”

“I’m not about to hit rock bottom like that. Relax.”

Qiao Lipan’s tone drew a laugh from Fu Tingli despite herself. “I know.”

Qiao Lipan chuckled too. “Hey, sweetie—New Year’s Day today, right? How’s it going?”

Fu Tingli sniffed and started spinning lies about her day.

The snow seemed to fall heavier now. Fu Tingli’s thoughts wandered. Her body grew damper and colder the farther she walked, and the urge to cry at the sound of Qiao Lipan’s voice—that was her reality.

All this New Year’s festivity? Just seasonal snow, melting away bit by bit.

By the time the call ended, she’d been standing dazed at the door to her rental for a good while. Fumbling for her keys, she swiped open her phone screen and spotted the camera app still running in the background.

She tapped into the gallery. There was the photo she’d just snapped of Kong Liyuan—a selfie with the billboard for the perfect check-in shot.

Swipe left: another one.

A sneaky shot from behind the billboard’s shadow. Kong Liyuan surrounded by a cluster of young, fervent female fans, radiating that tender glow.

She still couldn’t keep things bottled up. She’d said she wanted to capture that moment of Kong Liyuan forever, so she had.

Said she still had the photos? She really did.

In the picture, Kong Liyuan was smiling, her glow spilling over like liquid light. The fans around her—they were just a fraction. Plenty more would buy ad space on a mall’s 3D screen to cheer her on, or even snag the naming rights to stars in the sky, like the news said.

And there she was, skulking behind the billboard, pocket change jingling, wondering if paparazzi lurked nearby. If they caught her in a shot, good or bad? If this photo might spell trouble? Pondering how Kong Liyuan was so tolerant, so warm. Even drifting further—to California’s eternal sun, vintage cars cruising forever under open skies…

The phone screen went dark on its own, the photo vanishing into shadow. Fu Tingli pocketed it, yanked tight on the rental door handle, and sighed as she readied to turn the key.

Those three days of fleeting passion had given her more than enough from Kong Liyuan. She didn’t want to be some pathetic fool chasing more. She couldn’t anyway.

But what about Kong Liyuan? Fu Tingli couldn’t help wondering. Was it those three days that left her with this unclear, unspoken attitude? Or did she just want things settled even? Could she possibly want to pick up where they left off?

She fished out the key and snuffed the thoughts, laughing at her own wishful thinking.

Pick up where they left off? What would Kong Liyuan even get out of it? And what “where” was there to pick up from?

Why dwell on it out of nowhere?

People always overthought, stirring up a storm of emotions from thin air.

Did she even have the luxury to indulge in such feelings now?

She slid the key into the lock and twisted it twice. A faint mechanical click echoed—like slicing the air, or a thud against her forehead.

She looked up in a daze. The light flicked on.

It was the voice-activated light on the sixth floor. She remembered this building had six stories total, and only the sixth-floor one was busted. Plus, those windows overlooked the high-rise across the way, so the rent was cheaper than the other floors.

Last time she’d opened the door, she’d fumbled in the dark, even scraping her fingers raw on the old lock. No blood, though. Her hands were already numb from the cold, so the sharp sting just dulled into a steady ache.

She racked her brain a bit, trying to remember just when this light had turned on.

Was the landlord—someone who clearly hoped for a quick demolition and had no intention of living here—suddenly struck by a change of heart? Had she actually gotten all the hallway lights on the sixth floor fixed before the New Year, just like Fu Tingli had told Qiao Lipan over the phone?

The key turned back, the lock clicked open, and the door swung wide. Fu Tingli stood there for a moment in the unusually bright hallway, staring into the pitch-black room.

Then, with a sudden bang, she slammed the door shut.

She started down the stairs. The voice-activated lights in the hallway flickered on one by one like a series of nets unfurling before her. Unbidden, her mind replayed Qiao Lipan’s question from the call: how had her holiday been going?

She’d replied:

“Pretty good. It’s even snowing here. My place is lively—lots of kids in the building. They were whooping it up a couple days ago, but it’s been quiet lately. And the landlady’s been great. I mentioned the hallway lights were out, and she got them fixed today.” The words from that now-distant conversation followed her to the fifth-floor landing. Yeah, right, Fu Tingli thought. She’d never even mentioned it to the landlady.

“Oh? So how’d you spend it? Not with those friends of yours?” The stairwell numbers ticked from five to four. The door to the neighboring apartment swung open as someone took out the trash. They glanced at her and muttered something about all the racket going on all day.

“Yeah, I made some new friends and ran into some old ones.” Four to three. The Hair Salon Boss Lady stood out front on her phone, leaning against the wall amid a cloud of cigarette smoke. She spotted Fu Tingli descending and called out a greeting: “Happy New Year’s, little sis! When are you coming back for a trim?”

“How are the new friends?” Three to two. Someone dashed up the stairs, snow melting in clumps from their hair, thudding footsteps echoing as they grumbled: “Told ’em to fix it days ago and they wouldn’t. What, does their conscience need New Year’s repairs too?”

“They’re great. Super cute. Loves checking out exhibits and sculptures. We agreed to swap names next time we meet.” Two to one. The doorway at the base of the stairs glistened with wet slush, flecks of snow drifting in.

“And the old friend?” Fu Tingli pushed open the building’s entrance door, a bit out of breath.

“She’s a total sweetheart. Bought me a hundred burgers, held an umbrella over me in the snow, shared sweet rice dumplings with me, and gave me these gloves.” The door stood wide, snowflakes swirling in.

“She’s such a good person. I’ve decided not to mess with her anymore.”

Right then, the voice-activated light under the doorway’s short eaves blazed to life, drenching her in a flood of harsh white illumination.

It was bright as a thirty-watt bulb, merging seamlessly with the streetlamp at the alley’s edge, blurring all sense of shadow and light.

Snow drifted lazily onto her as she stood there in a daze, feeling neither the cold nor any real reason why she’d bothered coming down to check. Bright or dark, what did it prove?

A kid crouched in the snow just outside their building, burying a ground firework in the thin layer of powder—the kind that burst right there on the spot.

As the voice-activated light began to fade, the kid fiddled with an earbud and lit the fuse. It crackled and popped for dozens of seconds—or was it minutes? Fu Tingli couldn’t tell.

She only knew that as soon as the firework exploded, the light overhead refused to dim again. She heard the kid’s parent chasing them off just after the fuse caught:

“It’s dinnertime, and you’re still out here after dark? Been setting these off all night! Get home! Fang Jiali, did you blow your grandma’s pocket money on fireworks all evening? Fang Jiali, come back here! Did you hear me?”

The kid—Fang Jiali—clamped her hands over her ears and bolted past the sputtering fireworks, past Fu Tingli at the door.

She skidded to a halt, shot Fu Tingli a quick glance, then dashed inside, yelling at the top of her lungs:

“No! You can’t yell at me! We have to celebrate properly, or next year won’t go smooth for our family!”

Amid the cheap fireworks’ brief, endless blaze, white snowflakes danced through the air and settled on Fu Tingli’s nose tip, making her wrinkle it. Just then, a distant car horn blared.

Fu Tingli stood beneath the now-brighter-than-ever voice-activated light as the fireworks crackled and popped in a shower of white sparks before her eyes. She watched the kid scamper inside and thought, in a haze:

Why is this kid saying the exact same thing as Kong Liyuan?