Her nose was buried in her collarbone, her fluffy eyelashes brushing against her chin, her hand sliding up from below to encircle her shoulders.
Her back arched, palm cradling her butterfly bones.
~~~
At this moment, Kong Liyuan resembled a newborn chick huddled in its eggshell—silent and listless, yet holding her with unyielding tightness.
Fu Tingli had thought more than once that this kind of dense, glue-like embrace was a private possession, shared only between lovers.
Through a thin layer of skin, their bones chilled each other, like trees grown intertwined, unchanging over days and years.
“Will you remember me?”
It was Kong Liyuan’s voice.
The words synced almost perfectly with her breathing rhythm, giving Fu Tingli the illusion that Kong Liyuan’s voice emanated directly from her own heart and lungs, undisturbed by any medium.
Sunlight filtered through the blue curtains and green plastic window paper, like melted blue ice mixed with a hint of green oil, dripping onto her eyelids in a rich, dizzying teal hue.
Fu Tingli let out a soft laugh. How rare—this was Kong Liyuan talking in her sleep.
And so ambiguously, murmuring those words.
How could she possibly forget her?
How could she ever forget that kiss they had shared on the edge of the cliff, just two feet from shattering to pieces?
In that instant, daylight fully emerged. Their feet crunched on the cliffside gravel, the Earth’s ceaseless rotation reduced to mere backdrop.
Later, they discovered the convertible had a soft top.
So Fu Tingli leaned back against the seat, the gray canopy shielding them from the sun’s gaze.
The sea horizon gleamed through the tinted car windows, brimming with sunlight. Kong Liyuan’s fingers intertwined with hers, steadying her ankle, and as that round sun fully rose, she lifted her head, her nose tip glistening with seawater.
Her face shimmered with rippling light, like a mermaid breaking the surface, her smile tender and hazy, salty droplets hovering at the corners of her eyes.
And Fu Tingli was the sea from which she stole her oxygen—thin and subdued.
At first, she hadn’t imagined they’d leave anything else behind on that strange, romantic cliff.
It started when the wound on Kong Liyuan’s ring finger knuckle split open again.
Fu Tingli hopped back to the car on one foot and opened the glove compartment on the passenger side. Beneath the stack of bandages, some boxed items tumbled out.
She calmly closed the compartment again. Turning back, she met Kong Liyuan’s profound gaze.
With a soft sigh, Kong Liyuan gripped her honest pulse, the blood from the wound staining red.
Followed by that clear-headed yet languid remark: “Looks like you’ve really grown up.”
On the drive back, Fu Tingli slept the whole way again, heart pounding with fear that the cast on her leg might need redoing.
Though for now, it hadn’t come to that.
Kong Liyuan slept far more soundly than she did. Bored, Fu Tingli kept her eyes open, idly toying with Kong Liyuan’s still-damp hair, inhaling the osmanthus scent wafting from her body. She’d doze off now and then, yawn, and pat Kong Liyuan’s shoulder.
Like coaxing a child to sleep.
Though Fu Tingli had no such experience, she still chuckled at her own clever analogy.
Kong Liyuan seemed disturbed by the laugh, her eyelashes fluttering lightly and tickling Fu Tingli’s chin.
Fu Tingli immediately fell silent.
She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. After a few seconds, sensing no further movement from Kong Liyuan, she peeked open one eyelid, gaze skipping over Kong Liyuan’s hair to the lighter placed on the side table.
~~~
It was about the size of half a palm, matte black with chaotic yet harmonious red lines—the outline of that red flying bird tattoo replicated onto it.
Kong Liyuan finally had a distinctive lighter. Compared to the ones she’d picked up from who-knows-where before, this one felt truly her own.
The other side of the lighter bore an old photo.
The image captured an old street in Chongqing, with a barbershop in the lower right corner. Colorful lanterns flanked it, and the glass door read “Little Jade Barbershop” in faded letters.
But the photo had been cropped to just that corner—”Little Jade Barbershop”—and glued firmly to the lighter’s opposite side with sticky adhesive.
At first glance, it looked mismatched. But the longer you stared, the more it resembled some obscure, eerie art.
From Los Angeles to here, Kong Liyuan hadn’t smoked until today by the cliff.
Fu Tingli also realized then that the old photo Kong Liyuan had taken from her had been preserved in this way, completely and utterly.
“Did you notice I stole your photo?” Kong Liyuan suddenly spoke, her voice clear, as if she hadn’t been asleep at all—or perhaps she’d just woken from being disturbed.
Fu Tingli realized this woman loved using the word “steal.” She didn’t like that word applied to them.
“I noticed, so it doesn’t count as stealing,” she said, wrinkling her nose imperceptibly.
Kong Liyuan laughed against her skin, her breath tickling. When the laughter faded, she asked lazily,
“When did you go to Chongqing?”
“Not long after my twentieth birthday…” Fu Tingli squinted, recalling.
“There was an exhibition in Chongqing then. A friend gave me tickets, so I flew back to see it. But the style didn’t really match what I usually like. I didn’t find many pieces I loved, so I only stayed two or three days, wandering around.”
“Calculating precisely, that would be July 2017. Were you filming in Chongqing the whole time then too?”
“I was shooting Blue Book.”
“Right in July?”
“Actually, I arrived end of June and didn’t leave until filming wrapped at year’s end.”
“That long? We must have crossed paths.” Fu Tingli was first surprised, then filled with regret.
“What a shame the photo caught you, but we didn’t meet.”
“When did you take the photo?”
“Honestly, I can’t quite remember exactly when.”
In truth, back then, Fu Tingli was a genuine tourist, snapping shots everywhere with her new Fujifilm camera.
Chongqing’s sights felt so novel to her, and she’d never imagined that among her scattered photos, one would capture that “Little Jade Barbershop.”
“For a while, I was obsessed with photography, traveling to lots of cities, taking scenic shots.
“Then I returned to Shanghai. The camera became cumbersome amid the hustle, and I lost the leisure to capture beauty.
“So I sold it.
“I transferred all the photos from the memory card and that’s when I found this one.”
“Realized I’d been to Little Jade Barbershop so early.”
Here, Fu Tingli laughed. “What a coincidence, Kong Liyuan.”
She thought if Zhu Muzi heard this, she’d probably sigh something like, “Turning suddenly, there she was amid the fading lanterns.”
“Yeah, what a coincidence.” Kong Liyuan sounded a bit distant. After a pause, she asked languidly,
“If you’d met me back then, what would you have said to me?”
That was a fresh question.
Fu Tingli pondered carefully, as if Chongqing’s humid, sweltering summer drifted back to her.
She stood again before that rundown Little Jade Barbershop, seeing Kong Liyuan in her blue scarf, squatting by the roadside, smoking a cigarette with a lazy ember.
She approached slowly through the puddles, meeting the woman’s slightly raised gaze.
“Kong Liyuan.” She called her name first.
Kong Liyuan didn’t speak, just exhaled lazily as her reply.
Then Fu Tingli smiled, rubbing her chin against Kong Liyuan’s prickly hair, and said softly,
“Let’s be lovers for life.”
The timing was clearly off. But Kong Liyuan held her even tighter.
As if they’d returned to Chongqing together.
To the watery street before Little Jade Barbershop, amid flickering, humid lights. Her gaze held a deep smile, then she took her hand directly.
Right there on the open road, she said,
“Sure.”
~~~
When she woke again, the sky had darkened considerably. Sleepiness really was contagious.
Fu Tingli felt groggy, eyelids heavy, tempted to sleep through to oblivion—even if it were the end of the world.
But glancing at Kong Liyuan’s deeply sleeping face, she suddenly didn’t want to sleep anymore. She just wanted to watch her.
Yet after staring a while, she remembered something else.
That morning, head lolling against the car door in a daze, just before the engine started, she’d seen Kong Liyuan place two packs of cigarettes up front.
Same brand, teal packaging. One was the crumpled pack tossed by Zhu Muzi and the others. The other was Nicole’s gift.
Windswept and fuzzy-headed, wrapped in a thin blanket, she sniffed and blurted,
“How come I’m the only one who didn’t get you cigarettes?”
Kong Liyuan’s voice drifted on the wind then, laughing tenderly and wildly.
After they finished laughing, Kong Liyuan gently pressed the back of Fu Tingli’s head. Before she could drift off to sleep, Kong Liyuan straightened the thin blanket that the wind had tousled and said softly,
“Then buy me another pack of smokes.”
By now, evening had fallen. Fu Tingli remembered the request and glanced at the two packs of cigarettes sitting next to the lighter. She could no longer sit still.
She thought that even if it were the end of the world right this moment, she still had to go buy a pack of smokes for Kong Liyuan.
So she carefully shifted her leg in its cast, watching Kong Liyuan’s every move while suppressing any noise she herself made.
She slipped on a T-shirt, grabbed her crutches, and hobbled along, taking one step where ten would normally go. In this way, leaning on the crutches, she made her way downstairs and out of the guesthouse. She peered out onto the unfamiliar, noisy street.
A kind stranger asked if she needed help. Fu Tingli shook her head and said thanks. Then, with a crinkled smile, she added,
“No need. I’m not inconvenienced at all. I just want to go buy a pack of smokes for my love.”
The kind stranger smiled warmly but said nothing more, only repeating some of the same things the blond man had said. It was strange—when she’d overheard the blond man telling Kong Liyuan those words, Fu Tingli had only felt irritated.
But now, when the kind stranger said them to her, a smile stayed plastered on her face. She listened patiently to the stranger’s long speech.
Only then, with her heart so full it nearly overflowed, did she flash back a bright smile, prop herself up on her crutches, and cross the crowded, bustling road.
She reached the convenience store across the street and searched for the brand that was still in production.
Five years ago, these cigarettes had lined every street. Now they were hard to find—scarcer in big supermarkets amid the traffic, but popping up sporadically in narrow corner shops.
Luckily, though production was low, they hadn’t vanished entirely.
This brand, rumored to be going under five years back, had held on. Fu Tingli still found it oddly fascinating.
Once she found some in the shop, she studied the packs for a long time—even though they all looked nearly identical. In the end, she picked the one that seemed the most perfectly formed.
While waiting in the sparse checkout line, she stared at the cashier in the green vest and suddenly felt a wave of daze wash over her.
She remembered that clerk from five years ago, the one with the exaggerated expressions, who’d told them their items would “expire” tomorrow.
Fu Tingli burst out laughing. She felt a touch of nostalgia.
The current cashier was a black-haired girl whose skin tone matched her own, speaking in English laced with a Thai accent.
When it was nearly her turn, Fu Tingli belatedly realized she had no money on her.
She rummaged through her empty pockets, hoping for a surprise bit of cash.
But there was none.
She pressed her lips together, about to hobble away from the line on her crutches. Just as she turned her head, a crumpled dollar bill appeared, blocking her path and keeping her in line.
She froze for a second.
Then she took the bill. Behind it was Zhu Muzi, chewing gum. “How come you’re out here alone?”
Fu Tingli felt a pleasant surprise. “I just came out to buy something. You haven’t left yet?”
She had no memory of last night’s goodbyes and no idea where Zhu Muzi and Zhu Manda had gone. She’d only seen a message from Nicole on her phone saying they were rushing to catch a plane and would meet again next time.
These two had come and gone like ghosts. She wasn’t sure if they’d cross paths again.
And yet here they were, reunited over a simple pack of smokes.
“We’re just about to head out.” Zhu Muzi jiggled the plastic bag she’d already paid for and nodded toward the door. “Came in for a pack myself and spotted you.”
Fu Tingli followed her gaze.
The sunset bled red across the sky. A motorcycle waited outside, Zhu Manda leaning against it. She hadn’t yet removed her helmet—Muzi’s hadn’t come off in time either—only nodding at them through the foggy visor.
The wind blew fierce. Who knew where this pair of lovers would ride it next.
Fu Tingli looked back at Zhu Muzi and curved her soft eyes into a gentle smile. She waved the dollar bill. “I see. Thanks, then.”
