Someone had even said they were afraid she’d hit them up for money. She had no such intention, and that same person had joked right in front of her: “Welcome, old classmate! Has it really been seven or eight years?”
They had called her miserable for slinging odd jobs on set. Fu Tingli had almost bought into it herself, but then she remembered: her work wasn’t grueling. Li Weili had pulled strings with the art director to look after her, and Wen Yingxiu had promised to add her name to the end credits…
Fu Tingli stayed hidden beneath the sculpture just like that.
It wasn’t until Kong Liyuan had driven off and the sound of the engine faded into the distance that she exhaled a breath laced with defeat.
The dim glow from her phone lit her face. With numb fingers, she swiped the screen—it had been open for ages, something she had pulled up absentmindedly while studying the sculpture. It showed a recently updated post.
From the account Nicole_echo.
Her eyes drifted over the photos one by one, and she tapped like on the new update.
She shifted just one step, and the numbness in her foot sent a hazy fog through her whole body. Her hand throbbed too, as if sliced open, from the phone’s edge digging in.
She must have gripped it too tightly while lost in thought, leaving a red welt on her finger.
Figuring the meal was wrapping up, she pushed open the door to the private room with resolve. Inside, conversation died instantly as every gaze snapped to her.
Evidently, the chatter circling her hadn’t let up.
“You all still talking?” Fu Tingli said breezily.
The one who had dubbed her “this kind of rich girl” gave an awkward smile. “Tingli… how were you in the bathroom so long? The food’s all gone.”
Fu Tingli dropped into her seat, eyeing the stares fixed on her, and let out a soft sigh. “I figured you had stuff to hash out, and with me around, you couldn’t really let loose.”
“…”
After an eerie silence, the one fretting about loans jumped in to smooth things over. “Aw, come on, we were just worried about you—scared something went wrong at home. Hearing us talk shop about scraping by probably bummed you out.”
Fu Tingli replied evenly, “Some things I probably shouldn’t have heard. You’re all done eating, right? Time to head out?”
She grabbed her bag briskly and, with a smile to cap it off, added, “I’m not here to mooch—put me down for AA.”
The words landed, and everyone knew she had caught most of it. Some chuckled awkwardly, others sipped water to hide, and a few dropped the act, faces twisting in scorn as they sniped,
“Family’s bankrupt, sold the cars and house, but still playing rich heiress? What a joke!”
The mutter was soft; Fu Tingli nearly missed it. But then came another peacemaker:
“Hey, Tingli, look— we didn’t know you’d show, so we booked this private kitchen. It’s steeper than most spots. If we’d known, we wouldn’t have picked it…
“Don’t play tough.”
Fu Tingli’s knuckles whitened on her bag strap, her insides roiling. Warm air cascaded from the vent overhead.
The sour bloat in her stomach crept upward, flooding her limbs and churning so fiercely she wanted to hurl again. Her face drained of color once more.
She suddenly grasped just how repulsive this feeling was.
She hadn’t truly clocked it before stepping in—how pathetic and disheveled this mess made her look, how it stripped away her composure. She had still seen herself as above it all.
Her old self would have just covered the full tab and bounced, sucker or not, if only to spit out that pent-up breath.
But no one had ever mocked her over something like this before.
She had grown up without want for food or clothes. Never flashy with spending, money had mostly been an abstract string of digits to her.
True to the “raise her rich” philosophy, Qiao Lipan had never left her short on funds. Fu Tingli never threw barbs like that at others, but absence didn’t make them immune to hearing them.
Now it hit her: their mindset was pure, out-in-the-open schadenfreude. You were pampered rich without a care? Time to choke down those broken teeth and blood.
But what did understanding change?
Her breath was still lodged, neither up nor down. She truly had little cash to flash the full bill and declare no freeload.
It felt like a hand twisting in her hollow gut. She pressed her uneasy stomach, drifting off for a beat before the stares yanked her back.
In a hazy flicker of relief, she felt grateful.
Grateful Kong Liyuan wasn’t hovering by the door to catch what she had to say next.
Because all she could do was give a self-deprecating smile and say,
“Isn’t paying your own share the right thing—”
The door flew open then, ushering in a gust of chilly wind. It was the owner she had chatted with earlier. Seeing their frozen stares, he asked in surprise,
“You haven’t left yet?”
The organizer piped up, “Yeah, heading out now—oh, let me settle the bill first…”
“Settle?” The owner’s face grew more puzzled, and he jerked his chin. “Didn’t Miss Fu just take care of it?”
The room’s vibe turned downright strange. Fu Tingli froze too, caught off guard.
The organizer pressed, “You sure that’s right?”
“Positive.” The owner jabbed a finger at Fu Tingli, his tone brooking no doubt. “Her—she came out and paid just now.”
He glanced at the organizer. “Oh, right, you didn’t have that AA code earlier? We don’t do those. Just send your shares straight to her.”
The organizer mustered an awkward grin, turning to Fu Tingli. “Tingli, why’d you go and pay quietly like that?”
The rest traded looks, the pieces clicking: When Fu Tingli had said “AA, count me in,” it turned out…
The organizer—the very one sweating her borrowing money—had even planned to use an AA payment code, too stingy to front anything himself.
Fu Tingli had already settled the bill, covering it upfront.
That meant they all had to pay her back individually for their share of the split bill?
Countless gazes converged on Fu Tingli’s face—some surprised, some awkward, some stunned, and others simply eager for the drama.
Fu Tingli dazedly unclenched her fingers. Then she caught the boss suddenly winking at her.
She thought it was a trick of the light and looked again in surprise. But as she narrowed her eyes, the boss winked once more. This time, Fu Tingli was certain—it was deliberate, aimed right at her.
She found it amusing, and a weight lifted from her chest. Moments ago, when the boss had burst in declaring the bill paid, she’d nearly assumed Kong Liyuan had covered it for her.
That would have made things even harder to square away.
She hadn’t expected the boss—who had only overheard a snippet—to rush in and bail her out like that.
“Right,” Fu Tingli replied, winking back at the boss. She swiftly grabbed her bag and, right before stepping out, tossed a screenshot of her payment QR code into the WeChat group.
“Just send it straight to me.”
Once outside, she carefully closed the door behind her and leaned in close to the boss, whispering, “So, what’s the total? I’ll transfer it to you.”
The boss blinked. “Haven’t you already paid?”
Fu Tingli glanced at her phone. Notifications for incoming payments were already trickling in—probably people inside calculating their shares and starting to pay up.
She stood there stunned, realizing that watching these payments roll in, one by one, felt even better than footing the entire bill herself and walking away. It truly let her exhale that pent-up breath.
Some notifications popped up with slightly more than owed—a few extra cents from the sore losers—though that was all.
She let out a sigh. Lifting her eyes, she saw the boss grinning at her like the Buddha himself and prompted, “Come on, enough fooling around. Aren’t you afraid I’ll skip out on the bill the second I walk out that door?”
The boss eyed her for a moment before leisurely pulling out his phone and holding up a payment QR code with the amount preset.
“Per head, six hundred thirteen. I’ll round it down for you solo—six hundred flat. Call it your fee for keeping them entertained tonight.”
It was exorbitantly beyond Fu Tingli’s current means. Her face paled as she made the transfer, and the boss’s face creased into delighted folds as she chatted about coming back next time.
After some back-and-forth with the boss, she reached the entrance as night had fully fallen. Pockets stuffed in her coat, she checked her phone for public transit options back.
By then, most of the group had filtered out of the private room, dispersing into a variety of cars. A few friendlier ones passed by where she stood at the roadside and called out, “Tingli, want a ride back to the city? It’s late—might be hard to catch a cab.”
Fu Tingli considered it, on the verge of saying “No thanks.” She had no desire to linger in that atmosphere any longer.
Just then, another car pulled up slowly beside her. The person inside leaned out.
“Tingli, what I said earlier came out harsh—don’t take it to heart. But if you didn’t drive, hop in with us. Cabs are scarce around here.”
It was the same woman who’d called her a “spoiled rich girl.” Her words sounded conciliatory, but her upturned eyes betrayed her.
“No subway or buses at this hour.”
A smile tugged at her lips, as if she weren’t genuinely offering a ride out of kindness but smirking, waiting for Fu Tingli to climb in—ripe for prying into her situation, to confirm her suspicions:
Stop putting on a brave face pretending to be better off than us. Just admit you’re worse off.
Fu Tingli sighed. She was truly exhausted. Even if she had to bum a ride home in her fallen state, would that really make this crowd happy?
She said sincerely, “No, thanks.”
The woman’s expression soured. She promptly rolled up the window and sped off with a car full of eye-rolls and boasts. The classmate who had offered kindly at first, picked up on Fu Tingli’s genuine refusal. She just smiled and drove away.
Nearly all the cars parked outside the Private Kitchen had departed. Fu Tingli eyed the subway station on her phone map and ambled along the roadside.
The weather was chilly; walking didn’t warm her up. If anything, her feet grew icier with each step. She rubbed her hands and huffed warm breath onto her palms. White vapor bloomed in her vision before dissipating.
A car approached slowly.
It sliced through the thick night, its bluish-yellow headlights like pale flames in the dark, flickering closer amid a mighty roar and rush of wind.
The gust tousled her hair as it pulled up right in front of her.
She lowered her hand from her eyes. Seeing the car that had stopped before her, her heart clenched sharply:
This was one of the cars she’d sold off before.
Someone hopped out with effortless grace—tall, long-legged, flowing hair, clad in a sharp black suit, exuding the aura of a runway model on a catwalk.
