Chapter 47: “The Mournful Bird” Part 1

So, a simple phrase like “long time no see” could take on such a tangible form.

It was Kong Liyuan’s rain-soaked eyebrows and eyes, the thin, wrinkled classic American plaid shirt in shades of green and blue clinging to her body, her lips drained of color, the faint blue veins visible beneath the pallor of her neck, the weary scent of rain and road dust mingling with alcohol and the faint aroma of osmanthus…

And that utterly ordinary line: “You’ve lost weight.”

The woman standing before her looked nothing like the glamorous female star plastered across billboards and ads everywhere.

Fu Tingli had assumed that after so much time apart, things between her and Kong Liyuan would feel awkward and distant.

Perhaps she’d say something fitting for the occasion, like “long time no see” or “happy birthday.”

But at the last moment, as the words reached her lips, she suddenly didn’t want to say them. Instead, she let out a soft sigh, mounted the steps with a gentle warmth, and called out her name.

“Kong Liyuan.”

Kong Liyuan tilted her chin up slightly, watching as Fu Tingli approached step by step. Her gaze resembled a drenched umbrella, with something liquid-like trickling within its depths.

Fu Tingli stopped just short of the final three steps—a spot where she could look Kong Liyuan, who was leaning against the door, right in the eye.

“Does your agency not feed you?”

In a way, that line served as their “long time no see.” And after it, Kong Liyuan finally let out her first laugh of the evening.

It was light and faint, just as always—like a wisp of cloud on the verge of drifting away.

“Will you feed me, then?”

“No meals, but I’ve got two cakes.” Fu Tingli smiled, lifting the two cakes in her hands to show her, then pointing to the one Kong Liyuan had brought. “And you’ve got one too, right?”

It felt strangely familiar between them, as if even after two centuries apart, they could be certain that the cake in the other’s hand was meant for them alone.

“We can finish it—there are two of us, after all.”

Kong Liyuan pushed herself up from the ground, her movements slow, as if she could barely stand. The moment she straightened, she staggered toward the door, colliding with the metal with a sharp, resounding clang.

Yet the one who hit the door made no sound at all. She simply braced herself against it, forcing her body upright. Her face was entirely shrouded in the shadow of her cap’s brim, and the skin at her exposed collarbone was so pale it resembled fragile paper, as if it might tear at the slightest touch.

Fu Tingli hurried up the last few steps, instinctively reaching out to help—only to realize both her hands were full of cakes.

By then, Kong Liyuan had steadied herself. She turned her head, spotting the two cakes in Fu Tingli’s outstretched hands, and a faint, indifferent smile curved her face, half-hidden in the dim yellow light.

“I’m fine. I can stand.”

“Really?” Fu Tingli sounded doubtful. Now that she was close, she could smell the intensified alcohol on Kong Liyuan and wrinkled her nose slightly. “Weren’t you just on a live birthday stream? How much did you drink?”

As she spoke, Fu Tingli looked at Kong Liyuan. The light in the stairwell flickered like a burning strip of film, and Kong Liyuan smiled at her through the swirling white flames, her features blurred.

“You watched my birthday live stream?”

Of all the points to latch onto? Fu Tingli was a bit displeased by the topic shift but answered honestly anyway.

“One of my coworkers at the convenience store is a huge fan of yours. She was watching the stream in the shop last night, and I glanced at it for a couple of seconds.”

“Oh, right.” She lifted the small cake in her left hand, her eyes crinkling slightly. “This one’s from her. Cute, huh?”

“She likes you?” Kong Liyuan, slurring a little from the drink, fixed her gaze on Fu Tingli all the same.

“Of course she likes you—she’s been a fan of yours for ages. She just happened to know we share a birthday, thought it was fate, and gave me this cake.”

Fu Tingli explained patiently.

“That’s pretty coincidental,” Kong Liyuan said, then asked again, “Does she like you?”

“Probably.” Fu Tingli wasn’t about to argue with a drunk and brushed it off casually.

She looked up then and met Kong Liyuan’s unwavering stare, which held her captive. Fu Tingli couldn’t help but laugh softly and added gently,

“We get along great at work—why else would she give me a little cake?”

“She likes you?” This was Kong Liyuan’s third time asking.

“Nope.”

Fu Tingli replied offhandedly, and Kong Liyuan finally dropped it. Then Fu Tingli shoved the small cake from her left hand into Kong Liyuan’s grasp, fished her keys from her bag, and prepared to unlock the door.

“Let’s head inside. Chatting out here might disturb the neighbors, and the soundproofing here’s not great.”

“You’re okay with me coming in?”

“It’s not like I could let you come all this way, chat for a few minutes at the door, and then send you stumbling home drunk, right?”

Fu Tingli said it so straightforwardly, as if inviting Kong Liyuan into her twenty-square-meter space was something that had never made her feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

But perhaps it wasn’t quite that simple.

She just felt that if she didn’t let Kong Liyuan in tonight, where else could she possibly go?

Fu Tingli didn’t know why that thought crossed her mind, nor was she surprised at all that Kong Liyuan had shown up at her door on this particular night.

She only knew that, compared to letting Kong Liyuan return to that empty house devoid of any trace of life—with its furniture all draped in white cloths—she would rather open up her own cramped, cluttered twenty square meters to her.

—Even if that might be presumptuous of her.

But it was her birthday, after all. She figured she could afford to be a little presumptuous tonight.

After wrestling open the stubborn lock on the battered iron door, Fu Tingli flicked on the thirty-watt bulb first thing.

Summer had arrived, so the rental no longer felt as chillingly damp as in winter. Instead, it carried a steamy hint of rain, humid and bright.

What hit her first was the essence of Fu Tingli’s own life.

A small fridge barely taller than the dining table, covered with the landlord’s white lace cloth; a narrow full-length mirror leaning against the wall, fogged over from the rain outside; old clothes hanging on the balcony window, carrying the scent of Walch laundry detergent; a wooden desk by the massive window, still cluttered with carving tools and small sculptures.

On the white wall beside the desk hung a photo frame with printed four-inch photos. Glancing over, they were mostly landscapes from places she’d been: the Northern Border, California, Shanghai, Chongqing… Not the famous tourist spots, but captures of the unique street flavors of those cities—photos she’d printed to test the self-serve machine at the convenience store during a promo.

For some reason, as she set the two cakes down on the glass dining table and heard the door click shut behind her, followed by the sound of Kong Liyuan’s shoes on the tiled floor, the first word that bubbled up in Fu Tingli’s mind was: finally.

She had finally let Kong Liyuan see this scene—the scraps and edges of her current life.

“Isn’t this place nice? Why wouldn’t you let me in before?” Kong Liyuan’s voice drifted from behind her, laced with a faint whiff of alcohol.

Then came the duckbill cap placed on the dining table, and the cake box Kong Liyuan had been carrying, smaller even than the one Fu Tingli had splurged over three hundred on—only four inches across, just the right size for two people to share.

“Perfect size for two,” Kong Liyuan said, as if reading her mind.

“I’ll stick these two in the fridge for tomorrow, then.” Fu Tingli replied briskly.

But when she opened the fridge, the six-inch cake she bought wouldn’t fit. Unwilling to give up, she removed some canned fruit, but it still didn’t squeeze in—she managed only a small piece.

She sighed, her tone full of regret. “What a waste.”

Why did their birthdays have to fall in summer? Two cakes were too much; they’d spoil overnight.

Kong Liyuan leaned against the wall nearby, giving a listless little laugh. “You’re the wasteful one. Why buy a six-inch if you’re eating alone?”

Fu Tingli was about to retort.

But a glance at Kong Liyuan’s damp hair made her press her lips together. She set the cake aside, grabbed the drying rod from the corner of the balcony, raised it high to retrieve a towel from the line, and handed it to Kong Liyuan.

“Here, dry your hair. It’s clean.”

Kong Liyuan took it casually, wiping her hair while watching Fu Tingli rehang the rack, stow the drying rod, and swiftly close both the balcony window and the curtains.

She watched this young woman, who had once sped along California’s Highway 1 in a convertible, calmly embracing her life in this tiny rental.

It was acceptance, not endurance.

At twenty, Fu Tingli would place a bouquet of vibrant orange-red California lupine in the passenger seat of her convertible sports car. She would pick up a cunning woman who pretended to be injured just to hitch a ride with her.

At twenty-five, Fu Tingli would clear space on a wooden table in her cramped, cluttered rental apartment to sculpt, setting down a photo frame that held an image of the vast Earth.

This young woman had never changed. The vigorous, soft wildness in her life could never be easily broken.

“Alright, come eat the cake now, or our birthdays will be over.”

The voice drifted over, a touch more subdued than in the past yet laced with greater resilience. It interrupted Kong Liyuan’s swirling haze of thoughts.

Kong Liyuan looked over again.

Fu Tingli was already standing by the dining table. Her faded T-shirt, damp from the rain, clung thinly to the skin at her waist and collar.

Her wet black hair fell loosely, edged with a faint golden glow that softly outlined her full-boned frame—just as it always had—calm and gentle, like a hazy old summer dream captured in a frame.

She was struggling to lift both cakes from the box, determined to keep them intact, her expression slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Eat both?”

Kong Liyuan’s steps faltered as she approached, her vision blurred by the fog in her mind.

Though she had tried her best to hold it together, her condition tonight was far from stable. Her thoughts leaped erratically.

For over a decade, this was the first time she hadn’t gone to the sanatorium in California before the summer solstice.

Because of that, she had relied on medication to keep herself in check—attending the wrap party, the birthday gathering. Her mood had held steady all day.

But she shouldn’t have drunk so much hard liquor after the party ended, especially knowing she had already taken her medicine that day.

She shouldn’t have come to see Fu Tingli during this time of all times.

She shouldn’t seek her out at all. Instead, she should head straight to the sanatorium now, before anyone could notice her in this state.

—Kong Liyuan thought, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Of course we have to try both. They’ll go bad tomorrow otherwise, and it’d be a shame to miss either one.” Fu Tingli finally eased both cakes out of the box.

She bowed her head slightly, carefully inserting the birthday candles. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she burst into a soft laugh and drawled, “Besides, food shared between kindred spirits is always the most delicious.”

Even now, times had changed, but when she said it, those beautiful eyes of hers crinkled into happy slits without fail.

Once the candles were all in place, Fu Tingli let out a slow “Oh,” realizing something. “I forgot—I don’t have a lighter.”

“I do.” Kong Liyuan’s words came out clear and precise.

She fished the lighter from her pocket with slightly trembling fingers. She pressed it once—no spark. Twice—still nothing.

Impatience flared. She nearly tossed the thing away.

“Let me.” Fu Tingli took it from her hand, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You’re too drunk. It’s normal you can’t get it right.”

Kong Liyuan said nothing.

She lowered her head and shuffled over, leaning lazily against the wall beside the table.

A sharp click cut through the air. She looked up into the flickering glow and saw Fu Tingli ignite the flame on the first try.

Through the dancing fire, past the “25” and “29” numerals on the birthday cakes, Fu Tingli’s light brown eyes curved into a smile directed right at her.

“Alright. Make a wish.”

Tonight’s wind was too fierce. That was why she had come here.

Because Fu Tingli was her shelter from the storm.

—That was the only thought in Kong Liyuan’s mind as she blew out the candles.