Chapter 9

Chen Li hadn’t tacked on a “Would that be okay?” at the end to ask Xie Anqing’s opinion. But Anqing wanted to start with one clear question of her own.

Why?

Why did Chen Li keep crossing the line, again and again?

Why, before Anqing had even decided whether the fleeting possibility in her mind was real—or how to handle the question of where the line lay—had Chen put a bandage on her hand, rested a palm on her head, and now offered to paint a mural for her?

Anqing had been through things before. Some were so hard to get over, she might never manage it in this lifetime. But she must have hidden them well. How else could Xie Beibei, who’d called her “Aunt” for over twenty years, have no idea?

So she couldn’t look that pitiful. She certainly wasn’t someone who needed to be coddled, pampered, and soothed every minute of the day.

And what had she done to deserve someone she’d asked to come all the way out here standing beneath the blazing sun to paint a mural for her?

Anqing fell silent. For one second, she didn’t want to keep going around in circles, guessing at everything on her own. Guessing wore her out. And once she’d tired herself out, she was still the one asking for help, still the mute who didn’t dare say anything.

For one second, she didn’t want to keep doing this.

Anqing had always been direct. Right then, with Chen Li standing in front of her, she wanted to ask outright: “Why?”

But before she could speak, Chen Li said, “Xie Beibei has already agreed. She seemed to really want me to paint the wall. She said it could be used as promotional material.”

That was true.

Not long ago, Chen Li had asked Beibei, “Can someone who isn’t a college student take part in this project?” Beibei had told her herself.

Beibei was still cursing the intern who’d been acting like an idiot. When Chen Li spoke, she stopped to think, then said, “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“I’d like to join the project,” Chen Li said.

Beibei’s mood flipped in an instant. “Of course you can!”

Promotional material!

An internationally renowned photographer painting a mural in their village? That was the perfect publicity opportunity!

Beibei couldn’t contain her excitement. Then she thought of something. “I know you’re amazing with a camera, but can you paint?”

“Did you see the bandage on your secretary’s hand?”

“I caught a glimpse. My aunt kept stuffing her hand in her pocket, so I only got a quick look.”

“Did you see the dog on the bandage?”

“I did.”

“What did you think of the drawing?”

“It was good.”

The dog had been drawn in a cute, cartoon style, which was easier, but Beibei had studied art for ten years—well, sort of studied art with the village teacher when she was a kid—and she knew a steady hand when she saw one. The artist’s eye was incredible, too.

That pleasing palette. The effortless expression. The vivid countryside in the background.

Okay, maybe she was exaggerating.

But she really liked it.

So she said again, “It was good.”

“I drew it,” Chen Li said.

“I’ll find you a wall right now!”

It had to be the wall at the village entrance. What was that saying? Even a donkey turd looked good with a coat of paint.

But Chen Li said, “No need. How about the two courtyard walls at Secretary Xie’s house?”

Beibei blinked. “Huh?”

Her aunt lived right in the middle of the village. Who would even see a mural there?

“I only know Secretary Xie in your village,” Chen Li explained. “Find me a house belonging to someone I don’t know, and I won’t know how to greet the owner every time I see them coming and going.”

That did make sense.

Beibei was still a little disappointed.

“Also,” Chen Li said, rubbing the finger that had touched Anqing’s head, “I startled Secretary Xie on the way back. I’d like to paint her a wall as an apology.”

Beibei’s disappointment vanished. “Great! We’ll paint my aunt’s courtyard wall!”

She was Dongxie Village’s finest publicity committee member. Once it happened, she’d find a way to hype it up—no, promote it!

And maybe her aunt would be in a better mood, too. It was a win-win.

Beibei’s mind was already racing ahead with plans.

Chen Li leaned back in her chair and waited for Anqing to come up. She was still waiting now.

Anqing’s unspoken “Why?” seemed to crack apart. Suddenly, she felt like laughing.

“You’ve already discussed it among yourselves. Why ask me?”

Her voice and expression were as composed as ever; there was little to read in either.

The two women stood facing each other in silence on the terrace, one’s left cheek caught in the light, the other’s right cheek burning beneath the sunset.

From her slightly higher vantage, Chen Li watched Anqing lean back in her chair, hands in her pockets, her posture so languid it seemed unfamiliar. For a moment, Chen thought Anqing was angry.

Why would she be angry?

Because Chen had made the decision for her? Or because Anqing had seen through something?

Chen Li rubbed her thumb twice over the rough railing. “If you don’t agree, I won’t paint it.”

“I agree,” Anqing said. “We invited you because we wanted to borrow some of your reach. It’s not every day we get an opportunity like this.”

Anqing stood. Chen Li had been caught off guard; now she had to look up at her.

“Thank you for your hard work, Miss Chen.”

Then Anqing turned her gaze farther down the riverbank. “Teacher Huang.”

Chen Li’s eyes stayed fixed on Anqing’s face. From where she sat, she could see only the soft outline of Anqing’s jaw, melted gold by the sunset. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

After a moment’s silence, Chen pressed her fingertips against the railing and turned to look.

Huang Huaiyi was strolling along the riverbank in an old-fashioned navy-blue qipao, waving a delicate fan made of fine bamboo strips. Beside her walked a woman of about the same age, also dressed in a qipao. She carried a bamboo flute rather than a fan, its tassel the color of amber.

Lu Yu and the others heard Anqing’s voice and came over to greet them. They noticed that four more classmates were there, too. The four were staying with another teacher, Wei Qiyun, and had come out to look at the river with her after dinner.

As soon as they saw their classmates, the four, who’d been shy until then, began chattering away.

Teacher Wei smiled and invited them upstairs.

The four clearly wanted to go, but they felt awkward just leaving, so they looked at one another and waited for someone to speak.

“Come on up,” Anqing said.

“Okay!” Xie Huaixia squeezed in beside her and leaned over the railing, pointing down. “Step here, then here, then swing your leg over like this, and you’ll be up! It’s really easy!”

The four exchanged baffled looks.

Was she telling them how to climb the wall?

They had no idea what she meant.

Huaixia looked up. “Auntie, show them. Give them a demonstration.”

“You dare,” Xie Xiumei’s voice rang out without warning. “Try climbing a wall before I finish your acupuncture and see what happens.”

Anqing fell silent.

She hadn’t said a word about climbing a wall.

Huang Huaiyi hid half her face behind her fan and laughed against Wei Qiyun’s shoulder. “You leave your little granddaughter alone, but you’re fussing over grown women who’ve been adults for years.”

Xiumei gave a soft snort. “If I don’t keep an eye on her, she’ll be flying off with Xie Yun before long! Besides, how much more did the two of you raise her than I did? One of you taught her to write as soon as she could hold a pen, and the other taught her flute as soon as she could talk. Compared to you two, I was half a lifetime late! You—turn your pockets inside out. Let me see!”

Xiumei pointed at Anqing.

Anqing said, “…Everyone’s here.”

“If you’re embarrassed, then don’t do embarrassing things.”

Anqing had no answer.

“Hurry up. I still have to take the kid out in a bit!”

Anqing slowly slipped a hand into her pocket. She didn’t turn it inside out; she just took out a packet of medicine. “I’ve been cooking since I got back. I forgot.”

“I’d sooner believe there were ghosts in this world.”

Anqing fell silent.

She was telling the truth.

“Xiaxia, get your aunt some water and make sure she takes her medicine,” Xiumei ordered.

Huaixia nodded so hard her head bobbed, grabbed Anqing by the hand, and led her to the table.

Under the same scrutiny as a prisoner being forced to take medicine, Anqing swallowed the pills. Her mouth tasted too bitter for her to say anything.

But the bitterness helped her calm down, at least for the moment.

Once she was sure Chen Li had left the terrace, Anqing sat back down and slowly let her thoughts empty out.

Dusk came quickly. In the blink of an eye, the fading daylight gave way to lamplight.

In the end, the four students staying with Wei Qiyun never did learn how to climb the wall. Instead, they walked across the village, gathered the rest of their classmates, and bought beer. More than a dozen of them sat together on the terrace, drinking and singing to celebrate the official start of their project.

Lu Yu was considerate. She brought beers over to Chen Li and Anqing right away.

Chen Li took one and drank with the students.

Anqing was getting sleepy after taking her medicine, so she didn’t join in.

As Lu Yu had said, there was always more work to do in the village. Everyone was exhausted, but no one dared complain. Complaining would only discourage them; no one else would do their work for them. So whenever Xiumei caught Anqing sick, she made sure to give her something to calm her nerves and restore her energy, forcing her to rest.

Anqing grabbed Huaixia by the legs as she passed and pulled her onto her lap, sitting her astride herself. She claimed it was to let the girl curl up against her and have a nap. Really, Anqing wanted to use her head as a pillow. She closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

Night slipped quietly over the courtyard walls and climbed into the branches.

The next thing Anqing heard was a chorus of “Cheese!” She patted Huaixia and sent her home. Then she bent forward, lowered her head, and massaged the back of her neck with her right hand. She took out her phone to check the time.

Almost eleven thirty.

If she didn’t go to bed soon, she wouldn’t be able to work tomorrow.

Anqing turned, intending to tell them to quiet down before someone complained about the noise. But the words died on her lips when she saw the camera in Chen Li’s hands.

Chen hadn’t replied to her WeChat message that morning, and Anqing had forgotten about the camera. Now she noticed at once that the one in Chen’s hands wasn’t the camera she’d seen the night she fainted.

This one was clearly bigger, more professional, and even less suitable for an ordinary occasion like this. It was a waste to use it here.

But Chen Li had chosen to bring it.

Which meant the other camera really had been broken.

Anqing vaguely remembered telling Chen that night, “I can’t afford to pay you back just yet,” and asking what she wanted to do about it.

What had Chen said?

Anqing held her phone, her thoughts as jumbled as a bowl of paste. All she could see was a blur.

Chen had spent the evening taking pictures. After the group shot, she turned her head and saw Anqing looking deeply thoughtful. She gripped the camera, turned, and leaned against the table to look through the thumbnails on the display.

She still remembered: Anqing had been angry today.

Some people needed to be comforted right away when they were angry. Others were better left alone.

Anqing was one of the latter.

Chen lowered her head and flipped through the pictures she’d just taken.

Anqing came up empty after thinking it over. She glanced at Chen, stood, and asked, “Miss Chen, would you accept installment payments?”

Installment payments?

The topic came out of nowhere. Chen didn’t understand at first.

She looked away from the camera and met Anqing’s eyes. “Installment payments for what?”

“The other camera,” Anqing said. “I can’t afford to pay you back just yet.”

So that was it.

Chen’s shoulders relaxed. Anqing was facing the problem head-on and taking it seriously. She seemed to have returned to her usual, easygoing self.

Chen tapped a finger lightly against the camera, weighing her options for a moment. Then she smiled. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“I haven’t.”

“Really?” Chen glanced at the students taking selfies nearby, then lowered her voice. “Then why did you think of paying in installments?”

Anqing caught her meaning and countered, “Is there another way?”

Chen held the camera. Moonlight gleamed in her amber eyes. “Didn’t I make that perfectly clear the other night?”

Anqing fell silent. “…I didn’t hear you.”

Eeeek!

Some of the students, giddy from drinking, were fooling around behind them. One of them accidentally bumped into Anqing, sending her crashing into Chen.

The table they were leaning against had been anchored to keep it from tipping in the wind, but it couldn’t support both of them. It scraped a few inches backward.

Anqing lost her balance completely and fell against Chen.

Chen instinctively raised a hand to steady her by the waist. A soft gasp escaped her beside Anqing’s neck.

For an instant, the sound and the hot, damp breath struck Anqing at once. They tangled together in a rush, and a numbness spread over her ears. Her thoughts went blank.

She vaguely heard someone apologize, then someone move away, but she couldn’t make out what was happening.

Chen’s steady breathing lifted and lowered Anqing’s body against hers, again and again. Just as the ringing in Anqing’s ears began to fade, Chen said, “That night, I said I wanted you to watch the moon here with me.”

Her voice was as light as moonlight. Her breath burned more fiercely than the sun.

Anqing’s hands, braced against the table, tightened. She forced her thoughts back into order amid the storm of her emotions. Coldly and clearly, she recalled the words—I want you to watch the moon here with me—and took them apart, one by one. Then she pieced them together with Chen’s actions over the past few days.

She had her answer to the possibility she’d been wondering about, the boundaryless question she’d wanted to ask.

Chen Li wanted to make Anqing her fourteenth relationship.

“Would that be okay?” Chen asked, as if on cue.

Anqing didn’t answer. She was wondering how long it would last before it ended.

According to her count, Chen Li’s shortest relationship had lasted a week. The longest had lasted a year.

Every one of those women had been beautiful, fashionable, and full of allure. Anqing had none of that.

So how long would her shelf life be?

One night?

Anqing dug her fingers into her palm. She could hear her breathing grow heavier, and even Lu Yu’s piercing voice after a few drinks couldn’t drown it out.

“Secretary Xie, come take a picture with us!”

Anqing slowly straightened and looked down at Chen, who still leaned against the table with one leg bent.

“The moon here isn’t any different from the moon anywhere else. It isn’t worth that kind of price.”

“The moon’s brighter here, isn’t it?” Chen asked. “Anything beautiful has value to me.”

“You’ve photographed the moon over ancient pagodas, reflections between sky and water, Moonlit Night on the Spring River, and the moon rising over the sea with the tide. Every one of those scenes is a classic. You’ve seen them all. You still think this place is beautiful?”

“I don’t think so…” Chen said.

Anqing parted her lips, the answer ready.

“…Would I have come otherwise?”

Anqing fell silent.

She’d almost forgotten that Chen Li was better than she was at expressing herself, at least about certain things. Anqing could start a conversation with a question and still end up without the answer she wanted, silenced by Chen’s effortless composure.

Anqing gave in to Chen again and again. Chen never went easy on her.

“Secretary Xie, come on!” Lu Yu called from behind them.

Anqing unfastened two buttons that had been making it hard to breathe. Her gaze was steady and direct.

“Forget the moon. And forget the installments. I’ll pay you back in full before you leave, Miss Chen.”

With that, the tall, slender woman stepped back and turned away.