Romantic Paradox

[1]

During the years Fu Tingli spent studying abroad, she developed a passion for road trips.

On one meticulously planned drive along California’s Highway 1, a barefoot woman suddenly darted in front of her car, startling a flock of birds into flight from the roadside.

The woman had lustrous black hair and sparkling eyes, her features profoundly striking.

Even her hair seemed steeped in the scorching gold of sunlight. With just one look, she shattered Fu Tingli’s world to pieces. Calmly, she said,

“Please, give me a lift. I need to find someone.”

For the next three days and nights, they traveled together, listening to tales of sorrow and obsession. They drank ice-cold sodas into the wind as crimson dusk fell around them and kissed with wild abandon in the open convertible.

The woman pressed Fu Tingli’s hand against the flying bird tattoo on her waist, accompanied by a soft sigh.

When their journey ended, Fu Tingli crafted a sculpture inspired by that flying bird on the woman’s waist. But something was always missing—details she couldn’t quite capture—leaving it forever incomplete.

[2]

After her family’s bankruptcy forced her into a life of hardship, Fu Tingli returned home and sold the car that had carried both the flying bird and the setting sun for a tidy sum.

Moments later, her gaze fell upon a massive screen outside the mall.

The woman on the screen gazed out with affectionate, noble eyes, exuding a seductive sensuality.

She was China’s famous actress, Kong Liyuan.

~~~

She was also the owner of that incomplete flying bird sculpture.

A high school classmate pulled strings to land Fu Tingli a job as sculpture consultant for a new film project—and hand double for the sculptor heroine.

That heroine happened to be Kong Liyuan herself.

Fu Tingli felt a sudden daze but managed a polite greeting. “Teacher Kong.”

Kong Liyuan looked up and clasped her hand, which was chilled to the bone. “Teacher Fu’s hands are so cold.”

That day, everyone on set watched as Kong Liyuan handed a pair of cashmere gloves to the sculpture consultant. No one knew they had once shared a fleeting summer dream amid California’s highways.

Much later, Fu Tingli realized with a jolt: She had never forgotten Fu Tingli’s offhand comment back in California about how she was especially sensitive to the cold.

[3]

With the project wrapped up, Fu Tingli returned to her cheap, damp rental apartment.

Propped against her door was Kong Liyuan, her body heavy with the scent of alcohol. She took Fu Tingli’s hand once more and pressed it against the fragile remnants of the flying bird tattoo on her waist, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“What about your sculpture? Aren’t you going to finish it?”