—Movie actors really are on another level from TV or web drama stars. Even this fuzzy clip feels cinematic. Reminds me of what the Blue Book director said—she was born to make movies!
—Did Kong Liyuan kill the bird? Nah. Did she abuse it? No way. And people griping she didn’t bury it? What, do you dig a hole for every roadside bird you see? Playing morality police much? She was deep in character, studying the scene—even jumped in the river herself. Who has time for the bird?
—Wild. We’ve seen so many idols crash and burn, but this? No smoking gun, just a plot twist. Fang Mo’s been struggling lately and even went to Singapore—yet she’s digging up old footage like this to help out…
—Gonna rewatch Winter Storm. There’s a fan-organized screening in Chongqing soon—anyone down?
Fu Tingli scrolled through all the top Weibo posts and comments in the trends, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
Sure, there were still some ugly comments like “And that’s supposed to whitewash her?” but they weren’t gaining any traction.
Overall, public opinion had flipped.
What surprised her even more was spotting a repost from Xia Yue on the square, with the caption:
【Knew it!】
Clicking into her profile by accident, Fu Tingli discovered that even before the full video dropped yesterday, Xia Yue had posted an original Weibo three days prior.
—Back when the backlash hadn’t turned yet. Forget other high-profile celebs— even brands Kong Liyuan collabed with got reported if they posted anything new. Pinned endorsement announcements were flooded with demands to drop her, and even official e-commerce shops got dragged, threatened with boycotts if they didn’t switch spokespeople.
In short, just mentioning “Kong Liyuan” those days got you labeled a “defender of an animal abuser.”
Yet Xia Yue had the guts to post a photo of two cups of ginger tea side by side, with the caption:
【Forever grateful for these two cups of ginger tea. Forever grateful for meeting Ayang.】
It was as good as publicly taking a stand.
Fu Tingli scrolled further down that post and saw a few particularly vicious comments bubbled to the top:
—You drink tea from an abuser?
—Backing an abuser? You’re no saint either. Internet doesn’t forget—remember Xia Yue beating someone on that variety show under guise of punishment?
—Huh? Crazy? Taking a side right now?
—Come on, Xia Yue, I was just starting to like you. Still waiting for that CP with you and whoever in your drama…
—Unbelievable. Can you not go off the rails? My bro’s so unlucky, paired with a lead like you…
And now, trailing those were thousands upon thousands of replies:
—Slapped in the face. Epic.
—For real? Keep this up and I’ll start shipping them hard. Sis deep in scandal, little sis publicly rides or dies /shrug. Y’all acting out a palace yuri drama!
—Anyone got fanfic? I demand these two in sapphic romance RIGHT NOW!
—Damn, so bold! From here on, I’m ride-or-die stan for this little sis. Mom fan mode activated!
—Am I the only one wondering why ginger tea? /shrug. What, even us Weibo premium members can’t see the full “ginger tea” edition?
Even if the turnaround was real, the barrage of abuse this young woman endured before posting was real too.
Just because of two cups of ginger tea?
Fu Tingli yawned and glanced at Kong Liyuan, who was driving. After mulling it over, she realized it wasn’t that simple.
A variety show recommendation, a post-broadcast online war, a rain scene after the backlash, ginger tea after the rain scene flub…
There was some “public image management” in those choices and turns, more or less. But Fu Tingli always remembered that misty drizzle, Kong Liyuan leading a white horse and looking at the young, green Xia Yue beside her, saying:
/At her age, she needs to meet better people in this industry./
At least in that moment, it was no longer a question of whether to pretend to be a good person or not.
With that thought, Fu Tingli’s eyelids drooped sleepily, bathed in the warm California sun like a layer of molten olive oil.
“Tired?” Kong Liyuan seemed to pick up on her state with sharp intuition.
“A little. I haven’t slept well these past few days.” Fu Tingli pocketed her darkened phone and let out a yawn.
“Then get some rest.”
The wind whistled around them, scattering Kong Liyuan’s voice everywhere and nowhere at once. Fu Tingli sank peacefully into the darkness, only to suddenly remember something.
“Kong Liyuan.” She called out her name abruptly.
“Yeah?” Kong Liyuan responded quickly, her voice soothing in a way that put Fu Tingli at ease.
“We’re going to be in California for several days this time. Do you have any commitments?”
Kong Liyuan seemed to chuckle softly, her languid tone drifting on the breeze and tickling Fu Tingli’s ears.
“We’ve already been on the road for so long, and you’re only asking about that now? Isn’t it a bit late?”
“You’re right.” Fu Tingli laughed. “We should already be past Los Angeles by now. You can’t go back. If your agent calls and chews you out, just tell them I kidnapped you.”
Kong Liyuan burst into laughter. Once she finished, she said “Okay” and turned down the volume on the stereo a notch.
Fu Tingli was so exhausted that she mumbled through a haze, “But you’ll have to cover the breach-of-contract fee upfront.”
Kong Liyuan laughed again. “Okay.”
Fu Tingli wanted to follow up with “How do you always know to just say okay,” but she only parted her lips once more without a sound before tilting her head and drifting off to sleep in a daze.
She always fell asleep so easily and peacefully in the car when Kong Liyuan was driving.
By the time she was fully asleep, she remembered this.
She recalled the first night back in Shanghai when she’d reunited with Kong Liyuan—Yiyuan. She’d dozed off in Kong Liyuan’s car just like this, sinking into a heavy slumber.
Day and night blurred together. She couldn’t tell if they were in Shanghai or California, couldn’t distinguish the color of the crosswalks they’d stepped over or the direction the wind had come from, didn’t know where the endpoint lay on which street.
All she knew was that Kong Liyuan had always been by her side.
All she knew was that they had been on the same road back then.
When she blinked her eyes open in a daze, the wind had died down, and the car seemed to have stopped. Dusk had settled right at the edge of her vision.
Amid the clamor of traffic.
Fu Tingli heard Kong Liyuan’s voice, sharp as an arrow piercing through her haze.
“Thanks, but I already have a lover.”
Who was Kong Liyuan saying that to?
The brim of her baseball cap shaded most of her view. Fu Tingli groggily pushed it up.
A blood-red dusk burst into sight. It dazzled her eyes, and she squinted toward the side of the car.
She saw Kong Liyuan and a man’s silhouette.
The blond man’s face was obscured by something fluttering in the wind, making it hard to see clearly.
Fu Tingli only caught him saying in English,
“That’s too bad, but still, I wish you and your lover the kind of warmth and brightness as California’s sun, forever forward…”
He rambled on at length.
Fu Tingli pursed her lips and lazily reached out to feel the breeze. Just then, a strand of Kong Liyuan’s loose black hair drifted into her view, and she toyed with it idly.
She glanced up and saw that the fluttering thing was covering Kong Liyuan’s face.
It was Kong Liyuan’s face mask.
Kong Liyuan leaned casually against the car, the bright red mask covering most of her face.
The mask was printed with vivid, bewitching floral patterns.
Her hair fell loosely, tousled by the wind, and the hem of her clothes billowed out.
Just standing there by the car, she exuded a decadent, intoxicating beauty.
No wonder she was getting hit on even with her face hidden.
Seeming to notice Fu Tingli playing with her hair, Kong Liyuan let out a light, playful laugh.
The blond man, mid-monologue, immediately fell silent. He muttered “Sorry” and turned away, finally vanishing from Fu Tingli’s sight.
Fu Tingli wasn’t sure if it was from sleeping too long, but upon waking, everything still spun in a dizzy haze, edged with dreamlike light and shadow.
Lost in thought, she fiddled with Kong Liyuan’s hair and suddenly recalled five years ago—leaning against the car, the lazy woman behind her had played with her hair in just the same way.
“So five years ago by the car, you already knew I was awake?” Kong Liyuan brought it up out of nowhere, as if they shared some innate telepathy.
But this telepathy came too slowly.
Fu Tingli was caught off guard. “You only just realized?”
How could she not have known back then that Kong Liyuan in the car had woken up?
If she hadn’t noticed, why would she have shifted her position just to share that full golden sunset with the woman in the car?
“I know more than you think,” Fu Tingli said softly once her memory settled.
“Like what?”
Kong Liyuan turned her head slightly, her back to the crimson sunset. In the depths of her profound, affectionate gaze, something seemed to flicker like a hidden flame.
“Like—”
Fu Tingli drew out the word. She rested her hands on the car door, chin pillowed on them, and leaned in deliberately, staring at Kong Liyuan’s fine, feathery lashes as she called her name.
“Kong Liyuan.”
Playing along, Kong Liyuan leaned in too. Their differing eyes drew impossibly close in the dreamlike summer dusk, as if to draw each other in completely.
Then exhale the other whole, transforming them into something entirely their own.
Fu Tingli’s eyes curved in a smile as she generously took in the gaze the woman fixed on her. Abruptly, she said,
“Am I your lover?”
Kong Liyuan smiled, her lashes quivering faintly. The evening wind whipped fiercely overhead, where a suspension bridge loomed, a rail train thundering past.
Once her laughter faded, Kong Liyuan leaned in closer still.
At that moment, even the blood-red sun seemed on the verge of melting into their entwined gazes.
She gently lifted Fu Tingli’s chin, her knuckles warm and unhurried as they traced every inch of her lips—just as before.
With that familiar look, she examined her intently. Fu Tingli now understood—this gaze held surging passion, struggling love, and a slow-emerging self-loathing weariness.
“Fu Tingli.” She called her name in return.
Fu Tingli tilted her chin up slightly in response.
“So, shall we?” Kong Liyuan asked with that look, like a reminder.
A reminder that every time before, when she’d gazed at her this way, all she’d wanted to say was this one sentence.
Faced with the question once more.
Fu Tingli recalled her past two answers, lowered her lashes, and decisively pulled her chin away.
Away from Kong Liyuan’s cool yet soft fingertips, away from those affectionate yet dangerous eyes.
“Later. Not now, at least.”
Her reply was straightforward, not quite a refusal, and she knew Kong Liyuan wouldn’t part ways with her over it.
Kong Liyuan didn’t seem surprised by the answer. Her fingers, hovering in midair, flexed slowly before withdrawing. She stared at Fu Tingli a moment longer, then smiled and asked,
“Fu Tingli, do you know how strange you are?”
“I do.” Fu Tingli nodded, still lazily propping her head on the car door as she watched the swaying taillights on the open street and the red sun dipping toward the horizon.
Golden strands floated up, twining around Kong Liyuan’s fingers. Or perhaps Kong Liyuan reached out deliberately, using her body heat and that nearly burning gaze together to stroke Fu Tingli’s silky locks.
She leaned against the car door, tilting her head down to gaze at her.
The mask fluttered at one corner in the wind, like a swaying dream of seductive allure.
Then she reached out again, lightly scraping Fu Tingli’s wrinkling nose, and asked,
“Where did you get this standard from? A three-day fling is fine, but lovers aren’t?”
Five years ago, at their first meeting, she’d asked the same question in a tone calm to the point of emotionlessness. And Fu Tingli had boldly laid bare her desire.
Now, years later, they both openly acknowledged each other as “lovers” to the world. No one would deny they were “in love.”
She asked again, gaze brimming with affection.
Yet Fu Tingli only hoped that even without desire, they could love to the end—content as a devoted couple, faithful unto death.
Fu Tingli’s nose itched from the scrape, her feigned indifference pierced. Unfazed, she curved her eyes and laughed aloud, then said with striking honesty,
“You said it yourself—it was a three-day fling. Naturally, from San Francisco to Los Angeles is only three days on the road, so anything goes without a care.”
The wind wove their breaths together. Kong Liyuan leaned against the car, Fu Tingli draped over the door, facing into the breeze.
Their young faces bared to the wind—generous, resilient—watched the blood-red sunset drown into the earth, their hair tangling like a vivid frame from a road movie.
“So what makes being lovers different?”
At the end of the film—or perhaps this was only the beginning. She heard her say with a smile,
“When it comes to being lovers, you have to be the kind who love all the way to the end—the deepest, most enduring love. Of course, you need to be more cautious than with friends you share just a leg of the journey with.”
She still possessed those frank, honest eyes, holding the other woman’s gaze without flinching.
“Lovers have to share the road for a whole lifetime.”
Overhead, the suspension bridge train thundered past the blood-red sunset. The speakers inside suddenly switched tracks, and a gravelly male voice boomed through the car, so powerful it seemed to shake the earth itself. Everyone who had ever heard the song knew the refrain:
Between every pair of people, there is a bridge—and that bridge is made of tears.
Later, they left California. They never listened to “California Dream” again, only to “Tear Bridge.”
