Chapter 63: My Back Aches—In Short, Everything Aches. Part 1

Chapter 63: My Back Aches—In Short, Everything Aches.

(The 2D Fairy Tale Version)

The little rabbit, out on her very first hunt, lost her way the moment she looked up. Carrying her floral hoe, she stared at the mountain peaks before her—which weren’t particularly tall—and asked sheepishly, “What should I do now? Ah Huan…”

Who “Ah Huan” was remained a mystery.

However, a warm power surged from behind to support her, like a soft cloud carrying her up the twin peaks. Only then did the rabbit realize there were two mountains here; the valley between them stretched downward, seemingly leading toward a hidden spring.

But this wasn’t enough. She continued to ask, “And then? What do I do next?”

She was being mischievous. Although it was the rabbit’s first time hunting, she had been tutored by her elders with ancient texts; how could she possibly be a stupid rabbit who didn’t even know how to walk? Yet, she simply sat atop the mountain, biting into the red fruit that grew there. It wasn’t very juicy, but it was more than delicious. She hooked her floral hoe over the other peak and asked that extremely patient voice once more, “Ah Huan, what do I do next?”

The mountain trembled. A muffled voice drifted out from the cavernous depths, fragmented and breathless, telling her she was truly quite annoying.

If she kept this up, the mountain spirit would throw her out into the heavy snow and refuse to teach her how to pick the sweet, succulent fruits today.

But how could that be?

The rabbit leaned down, offering a sincere and fervent kiss to these peaks that would accompany her for a long time to come. Then, she lay gently in the valley, feeling the primal tremors of the earth.

The mountain spirit was urging her; after all, the fruits near the spring had already ripened. If she were any slower, they might become overripe, mingling with that natural, intoxicating wine-spring and releasing a heart-stirring fragrance.

But the rabbit was in no hurry. Though she was a bit hungry, she knew well that wine only reached its peak mellow fragrance after being carefully distilled. She walked slowly with her floral hoe, passing a small hollow. She tentatively reached out with her tool, but didn’t dig up anything useful. Instead, she provoked the mountain spirit; the mountains shook so violently she was nearly tossed aside.

She carefully lay flat, opening her small embrace to hug her companion, whispering an apology—yet she continued to amuse herself in that hollow until the mountain spirit reached the limit of its endurance.

The rabbit shushed the mountain. “Careful not to wake the humans nearby, or they’ll catch us both!”

The mountain spirit replied, “Then hurry up and pick the fruit… mmm, ah… they’re going to overripen.”

“Will they taste bad if they’re overripe?”

“Ah… maybe, probably.”

“But the books I’ve read say that the riper the fruit, the better it tastes, and the more fragrant it becomes.”

“Nn… are you going or not!” The mountain spirit grew agitated. “Didn’t you say… hng… you’d listen to me?”

The rabbit had no choice. Obediently shouldering her hoe, she walked toward the spring.

From a distance, she saw the bright red fruit, partially obscured by dense, low shrubs, yet still drenched in spring water—sparkling and translucent.

Full of anticipation, she took a bite. The mountain spirit fell silent for a fleeting second before responding to her expectations with an even more torrential surge of spring water.

What a fragrant fruit!

The rabbit squinted her eyes in satisfaction. The ancient texts had not lied to her!

The texts said that every rabbit spirit had its own twin peaks to live with, and what truly nourished a rabbit spirit was the mountain’s spiritual spring. However, spiritual springs were rare, and the nearby fruits—along with the red ones on the peaks—served as the rabbit’s other source of sustenance.

But a mountain spirit had only one rabbit, and a rabbit could only eat one fruit at a time. What was she to do?

The rabbit pondered, tossing her floral hoe into the spiritual spring, asking softly, “Does this hurt?”

“Mmm… no, it doesn’t… it’s okay.”

The rabbit sighed. “Alright then, I’ll just have to work a little harder.”

The mountain spirit was confused. “What are you going to do?”

The rabbit declared, “I’ll run an 800-meter sprint like the humans do, and see if I can eat all the fruits.”

The mountain shook. It took a long time for the spirit to find the strength to speak again, cursing her for being a snake trying to swallow an elephant—greedy beyond measure.

The rabbit spirit laughed. “But a rabbit spirit can eat all the fruits at once!”

—The Real World—

Fingers stained with moisture pressed gently near the woman’s ear. She turned her head; under the dim, amber light, every mark looked suspicious.

Su Ye sat up and looked down at her, searching for a gaze that refused to focus. She sighed softly. “Ah Huan, you really are so much fairer than me.”

It was a whiteness that even the amber light couldn’t mask; a single spot of crimson on her shoulder was strikingly vivid. Su Ye leaned down and bit firmly into her shoulder. The woman shuddered, instinctively pulling her shoulder back, only to be pressed back down.

Tonight, Su Ye was exceptionally assertive, refusing to let her withdraw.

Yue Chengqi looked at her with a pitiful gaze. The younger girl’s lips curled into a slight smile as she leaned down to bite her again, not softening her touch in the slightest. She left marks on every “petal” of crimson until she bit into her lips one last time.

The faint taste of iron filled the air.

“Ah Ye…” Yue Chengqi spoke, only to realize her voice had become incredibly low and raspy. She frowned, speaking slowly. “We still have to get up early tomorrow to pick up stock.”

“I’ll get up early. I can do it.” The girl lowered her head, focusing on her “work.”

Soon, the woman bit her lip again, nearly crying out. The girl pressed her fingers over her mouth, whispering, “What if Sister Wanjia and the others hear us?”

Outside the window, the snow drifted lazily. Suddenly it quickened, blanketing the ground in frost before slowing down again, covering the green leaves in the corner that had stubbornly refused to wither even in winter.

The next day, Su Ye woke up early to pick up the stock. Yue Chengqi was conscious when she left, but barely. By the time she fully regained her senses, the courtyard was already flooded with brilliant morning sunlight reflecting off the snow.

Even lying indoors, it felt a bit blinding.

Yue Chengqi lay flat, gently rubbing her lower back, thinking: This stuff is actually more effective than alcohol. It had given her a dreamless night, allowing her to sleep straight through until this hour.

She didn’t drink often, but every time she did, she craved a peaceful sleep. Yet, she always had nightmares or would wake up startled; she could never sleep through until dawn.

At this hour, the working crowd had already departed. The courtyard was quiet, save for the faint sound of someone playing with a child next door.

Steamed buns and pickles were warming on the stove, which still held some residual heat. Beside them was a bowl of soy milk, its plastic bag unopened, the inside coated with a misty layer of condensation.

These were very ordinary, mundane sights, yet Yue Chengqi pieced two words together from these daily trifles—

“Happiness.”

Just as Su Ye had said before they slept, this was happiness. It was happiness itself. They were embracing each other, and in doing so, embracing happiness.

After finishing her meal, she went to the shop alone. Qi Sheng had already opened up and was checking out a customer.

Seeing her arrive, the girl glanced over and called out, “Lao Da said Sister Huan would be a bit tired today and told me to do more. Sister Huan, you just keep an eye on the electronics section.”

Yue Chengqi stumbled slightly, nearly face-planting.

How does Su Ye have no filter? Did she say anything else?

She stole a glance at Qi Sheng, but the girl looked normal and professional. Her hands didn’t stop as she tallied the bills; the sound of the calculator was continuous, like a rhythmic melody.

Yue Chengqi cleared her throat twice, intending to agree, but the moment she opened her mouth, she immediately swallowed her voice back down.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone all morning and hadn’t realized her voice had become like this—so raspy it sounded as if she had been coughing for three days and nights.

It turned out the books were quite wrong. Even if you didn’t let the sound out, your throat would still go hoarse—perhaps even hoarser than if you had screamed. Swallowing every breath back down, a person didn’t even know what their voice would end up sounding like.

She weakly supported her waist, her steps carrying a sense of weary age.

After Qi Sheng finished with a customer, she looked over curiously. “Sister, did you just say something?”

Yue Chengqi shook her head.

She didn’t want to talk today. Not at all.

She didn’t want to stand, either. Her back hurt so much. Logically, it shouldn’t have been this bad; she wasn’t sure if she had twisted a tendon during one of those arching motions last night, or if it was from that time Su Ye begged her to stand by the headboard…

The woman hurried to stop her train of thought, but when the cup is full, it overflows. Memories of the night began to seep out anyway.

Later, when she was leaning against the nightstand, the cold air had given her goosebumps all over. Only one place on her body was burning hot, and that specific spot was being held in another’s mouth.

The only thing she could move was that one leg, draped over Su Ye’s shoulder. Her ankle was gripped tightly, fingers pressing against her pulse as if Su Ye were holding her very lifeline, forbidding her from moving.

The girl insisted on looking at her, meeting her eyes. Those pure eyes reminded her of their relationship and the era they lived in. Unable to escape, she could only sink deeper into it.

“Why is Boss Yue’s face so red? Is it the cold?”

The owner of the neighboring cosmetics shop suddenly spoke, startling Yue Chengqi. She hurried to wave it off, but the woman had already leaned in, giving Yue Chengqi’s cheek a light pat.

“Exactly as I thought, your skin is so dry. I can tell at a glance you’re the type who has no time for skincare.” The owner took a bottle of cream from her bag and shoved it into Yue Chengqi’s hand. “It doesn’t cost much, just a small favor. My family has bought so many things from your shop anyway. If it works well, remember to come buy more. My shop is the one on Guangchang Road; don’t go to the wrong one.”

“Our Great Northwest is dry and harsh in winter. Be careful, don’t let your skin chap. Consider this an early New Year’s gift, don’t try to pay me back.”

Yue Chengqi failed to refuse. Once the woman left, she looked down at the little item in her hand.

Oh, it was Dabao SOD Cream. Such a nostalgic product.

Just as she set the item down, the delivery man arrived. He unloaded four or five crates of food and several cases of drinks with a series of loud thuds. Wiping his hands on his apron, he pulled out a manifest and shouted, “Boss Yue, come sign for this!”

Yue Chengqi walked over slowly. Taking the pen and paper from the man, she did a quick inventory and signed the name “Yue Huan”—she had already grown accustomed to writing those two characters. If she were to exist in the past long-term, perhaps one day she would even silently change her name in her heart.

If she could change it, could she live as “Yue Huan” starting from 1998? Could she stay with Su Ye forever and prevent her from entering those twenty years?

Those twenty-two lonely years of being alone, wanting to give up but unable to let go.

As she looked down to sign, a middle-aged woman nearby circled her twice before suddenly speaking: “Boss Yue, do you have a cold?”