“Why is it that no matter how embarrassing a scene I make, you always end up seeing it?” Fu Tingli’s voice carried no particular tone. It didn’t sound sad—more bewildered.
“Shanghai’s too small,” Kong Liyuan said.
“Yeah, it is.” Fu Tingli laughed, and the shadow behind the sculpture quivered along with her.
“I figured it wasn’t a big deal at first, but the moment you walked up to me, I felt so mortified.”
In a way, the woman’s candor was disarming. Kong Liyuan could only tilt her head up at the bizarre sculpture before her, pinching her fingertips together. She realized something:
This time, she didn’t even have a black umbrella in her hand.
“You’re that afraid of looking bad in front of me?” Kong Liyuan asked. “Anyone else, and it’s fine?”
“Not exactly.” Fu Tingli only said that much, her words a bit vague, trailing off without elaborating.
Kong Liyuan sighed lightly. “Haven’t you seen all the smear pieces about me online?”
Fu Tingli fell silent.
“You should search them up sometime,” Kong Liyuan said casually. “Some of them are pretty hilarious.”
“What’s the point? They’re all fake,” Fu Tingli replied, her tone stubborn.
Kong Liyuan turned her face slightly, offering a lazy smile. “You know they’re fake without even looking?”
Fu Tingli sounded a little indignant. “Smear pieces with any truth to them? They’re all just made-up nonsense.”
The overhead scrim flowed slowly, bathing the two women in a hazy, profound glow. Kong Liyuan suddenly wanted a cigarette. But they were indoors, so she crushed the impulse.
“What if some of it is true?” Kong Liyuan lowered her head and tapped the edge of the light circle with her toe.
“If it comes out of your mouth, then it’s true.” After a long pause, Fu Tingli said, “I don’t read those press releases online.”
Kong Liyuan gave a faint smile. “I’m not like you—I don’t always tell the truth.”
“Who doesn’t tell—”
Fu Tingli got only that far before pausing.
Because right then, from somewhere came the rumbling roar of a train, tearing through the air with the howl of wind.
Kong Liyuan was certain they had both heard it.
For an instant, it felt like they were back in that California night slipping out of summer.
No bizarre sculpture stood between them—just a single train-car door that could open at any moment. She would lean in, she would tilt her head down, and they would share their first kiss.
But the train noise was too distant, fading after a mere second. The ensuing silence yanked Kong Liyuan back. They still stood on opposite sides of the sculpture.
Her presence, or even just witnessing it, only amplified the other woman’s embarrassment.
To the point that Kong Liyuan found herself thinking, somewhat out of character—if she’d known it would end up like this, would Fu Tingli have kissed her back then?
“But that kind of ugly noise must be everyday stuff for Teacher Kong, right?”
Fu Tingli spoke again, her phrasing a bit odd, as if wary of touching on something Kong Liyuan might not want to discuss.
But Kong Liyuan had nothing she didn’t want to talk about, nothing that truly bothered her. She never much cared for herself anyway, and no matter how vicious those voices got, they never really got to her.
Kong Liyuan hummed softly in agreement. “That’s why I’m saying you should check out more of my smear pieces. Get to know me better.”
After a pause, she added in a more relaxed tone, “At least next time, you won’t immediately feel embarrassed.”
Fu Tingli laughed at what sounded like self-deprecation, and the shadow at the base of the hall perked up, swaying with her unsteady mirth.
After laughing for a bit, she said softly, “When you walked over just now, I thought it was so embarrassing. Why was I squatting there like an idiot?”
“If I’d just stood there from the start, I wouldn’t be hiding behind this sculpture too scared to come out.”
“But you did stand up,” Kong Liyuan said.
“Yeah, I did.” Fu Tingli laughed as she said it. “And I already feel better.”
Then, politely, she added, “I should head in now. Thanks, Teacher Kong.”
Kong Liyuan stared at that sliver of shadow before finally turning to leave in a different direction. She didn’t say “no problem.”
After a quiet moment, she added, “Don’t forget to like Nicole’s post.”
By the time Rong Wu finished in the bathroom and hurried over, she found Kong Liyuan already at the main entrance, leaning against the doorframe with her gaze cast downward, lost in thought.
Rong Wu followed Kong Liyuan’s line of sight to the massive sculpture looming in the vast living room.
It was in a classic absurd style: a female figure draped in gossamer, shackles around her ankles, countless birds on her back, wings sprouting from her shoulder blades and extending down her neck, thorns on the wings piercing her fragile throat, her face serene yet somehow grotesque—the Private Kitchen owner’s masterpiece.
Rong Wu recalled the owner mentioning during the intro that it symbolized life and death coexisting. Though most people there probably hadn’t been listening.
A sculpture like that in a dining space was indeed a bit unsettling. Did Kong Liyuan feel the same?
“Teacher Kong?” she ventured. “Should we head back now?”
Kong Liyuan seemed to snap out of it then, straightening from the doorframe. She asked, “Do I have any more schedules today?”
“Nope.” Rong Wu had confirmed the itinerary before the dinner. “Work starts at two tomorrow afternoon, and there’s an interview in the morning.”
“Then let’s go.” Kong Liyuan started to leave but paused after a few steps, mulling it over. “Head to where I used to stay. It’s closer to here, but farther from the set. You don’t need to pick me up tomorrow morning—I can drive myself.”
“Got it,” Rong Wu replied crisply.
As they stepped outside, Kong Liyuan stopped again. It was night now, and the suburban wind felt desolate, stinging their faces.
Rong Wu draped the down jacket she was carrying over Kong Liyuan’s shoulders.
Kong Liyuan tugged the jacket tighter around her, burying the lower half of her face in the collar. Out of nowhere, she said, “Rong Wu, can you do me a favor?”
“What?” Rong Wu blinked, caught off guard.
Kong Liyuan descended one step slowly.
She glanced back—or maybe she wasn’t looking at Rong Wu at all, just something behind her.
But her words were for Rong Wu, spoken softly. “Do you know anyone who looks tough and intimidating, hard to mess with? Someone who can drive, and preferably a woman.”
“Huh?” Rong Wu thought dazedly, That’s basically you.
But seeing the swirling depths in Kong Liyuan’s eyes that threatened to drown her, she swallowed and lowered her voice deliberately.
“I actually do know someone like that.”
Kong Liyuan nodded and didn’t say more. Rong Wu thought the topic was done as she turned the key to start the car.
Then she saw Kong Liyuan in the back seat, speaking amid the dim, flowing streetlights. “Ask her if she’s free tonight. She needs to pick someone up for me—I’ll pay her.”
After a few seconds, as if considering the hour, she added, “If she can make it, she can name her price.”
Rong Wu was stunned. “Now?”
Kong Liyuan glanced out the car window. From this angle, only the sculpture’s wings were faintly visible.
She stared for a moment, smiled faintly, and said, “Of course. Right now.”
The tall, sleek black business van pulled away from the Private Kitchen’s entrance, leaving behind a deep, muffled rumble.
That rumble reached the massive sculpture in the Private Kitchen’s living room as a tiny, distant thud.
Fainter even than the wind whispering past her ears.
Fu Tingli rubbed her chilled, stiff hands and exhaled a puff of white breath.
She stepped out from behind the sculpture, tilting her head back with some difficulty to study its expression. She figured her own face probably looked about the same.
She couldn’t quite remember when she had ended up standing here.
Had it started when they were gossiping about her from inside the private room? Or had it begun when she saw Kong Liyuan emerge from another private room and overheard others gossiping about her?
She simply had an upset stomach and couldn’t handle anything too spicy. But this private kitchen specialized in Hunan cuisine.
Halfway through the meal, she had staggered to the bathroom and thrown up everything she had just eaten, a watery mess.
When she emerged, steadying herself against the wall, she spotted the sculpture. She ran into the private kitchen’s owner, who remarked on how frighteningly pale her face was and gave her a plum candy from the shop. Seeing her interest in the sculpture, they chatted a few more sentences.
And then came those words. A few of her old classmates, gossiping about her current situation in that gawking or teasing tone, speculating on why she had come to this reunion.
The owner must have overheard, because he gave an awkward smile and found an excuse to slip away. She smiled back at him and calmly watched him hurry out of sight.
Truth be told, those people weren’t exaggerating much; her situation really was like that.
But one thing nagged at her, stemming from that phrase: “this kind of rich girl.”
What kind of rich girl was she? Did they see her as some awful person? In the year they had been classmates, had she ever done anything bad to them?
No, she hadn’t. Fu Tingli felt that Qiao Lipan’s strict upbringing had kept her from developing any haughty tendencies.
Besides, in her old self-image, she had never tagged herself as a “rich girl.”
So why, now that she had fallen on hard times, were people slapping that label on her?
No matter how she turned it over in her mind, Fu Tingli refused to accept it.
So she had simply stood there in a daze, listening, her face growing even paler—whether from the wind or because those words had actually stung a little.
Until she spotted Kong Liyuan.
Her first thought was: Since when could she recognize Kong Liyuan from her back alone?
Her instinctive move was to tuck away the exposed hem of her jacket and cautiously duck behind the sculpture.
The question arrived belatedly: Why was she hiding?
Only when Kong Liyuan slowly circled to the other side of the statue, silently facing her off, did she sluggishly realize the truth:
She wasn’t as nonchalant as she had imagined. She couldn’t bear the thought of Kong Liyuan looking at her after hearing those words.
Somehow, those cutting remarks hurt less than even a fleeting glance from Kong Liyuan—even though she had never been able to read those gazes.
So she hid. Just like she couldn’t stand Kong Liyuan seeing her cramped twenty-square-meter rental apartment.
She had overheard them saying the cars she sold had fetched higher prices. She knew full well they had been undervalued; fresh back from abroad, she hadn’t known the local market, and it turned out the agent had pocketed a huge markup. By the time she realized, it was too late to claw it back.
