Meng Ning knew Qi Xiao was thinking of her own past.
Qi Xiao had cried her heart out, begged desperately, even leaped off a cliff once. She’d thrown herself into it without a shred of reservation, heedless of how pathetic she looked or what the end result with that person might be.
All at once, Meng Ning felt a twinge of envy.
Whenever Qi Xiao had one of her big crying fits, snot bubbles would pop out of her nose. Meng Ning smiled and grabbed her wrist to keep her from shoving anymore. “Qi Xiao, calm down. I… I don’t dare to ask.”
“What are you laughing at? Why do you always laugh? If you’re sad, then cry! If you can’t bear to let her go, then go find her!” Qi Xiao kept shoving her and sobbing. “What right do you have not to ask? Who are you trying to fool, acting all tough like that?”
“Qi Xiao.” Meng Ning had no choice but to grab both her arms. “What good would asking do? Even if she does like me, so what? She’s gone now, living this glamorous life. In time, she’ll naturally forget all about me.”
“You really want her to forget you?” Qi Xiao struggled fiercely. “Stop pretending!”
“I’m not pretending.” Meng Ning held her steady with effort. “I really do want her to forget me. I don’t dare ask because I couldn’t handle any answer—I’m scared she doesn’t like me, but even more scared that she does. I don’t deserve her, you get that, right?”
“I get it! Who in the whole damn world understands better than me?” Qi Xiao wailed at the top of her lungs. “Who gets to decide if you ‘deserve’ her? You think there’s some MBTI compatibility app that’s gonna score you two? The only way to know is to try! I can snag group deals too, boo-hoo-hoo. I even figure out the discounts when I order takeout…”
Lost in her own painful memories, Qi Xiao sobbed in hiccupping gasps, shoving at Meng Ning all the while. Meng Ning had no idea where this girl—who always ranked dead last in PE—found the strength. “Qi Xiao! Keep flailing like that, and I’ll have to hug you. We’re both tops, remember.”
Qi Xiao froze for a second, then burst into fresh tears. “What are you even saying…”
Worried she’d cry herself into a faint, Meng Ning patted her back with a smile. “All right, all right. I get it. I know you snag group deals too.”
“So what makes you two a mismatch?” Qi Xiao wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“We’re really not a match.” Meng Ning’s lips curved gently as she coaxed her with saintly patience. “In the past, I… I did some things.”
“What things? What things?”
Meng Ning just smiled without replying. Qi Xiao started bawling harder, and Meng Ning kept rubbing her back until she finally slumped onto the sofa and recovered after what felt like forever.
By the time Song Xiao walked in carrying a bag of braised meats, she took one look at Qi Xiao—perched on the sofa with eyes swollen like walnuts and a full pack of tissues clutched in her lap—and jumped in alarm. “What happened with you two? Did you fight?”
Qi Xiao muttered, “Our vibes match too well for that.”
“No fight.” Meng Ning’s lips quirked upward. “Qi Xiao was just schooling me in life lessons and ended up getting all emotional on herself.”
Song Xiao eyed them both carefully. “For real, no fight? Then hug it out.”
Meng Ning: …
Qi Xiao: …
Song Xiao burst out laughing. “Kidding! You two don’t look like you’ve fought anyway. Qi Xiao, quit crying. Meng Ning’s about to leave—don’t make it all maudlin. I got the braised stuff; go check out which barbecue place to order from.”
As she headed to the kitchen to fetch plates for the meats, she called over her shoulder, “Where’s the beer?”
“Top shelf in the fridge.” Qi Xiao hollered back, then lowered her voice to Meng Ning. “Um, sorry. I got a little worked up. I didn’t mean to meddle in your choices.”
Whatever had happened in the past, Meng Ning wasn’t spilling, and as adults, Qi Xiao didn’t press further.
Meng Ning just shook her head with a smile. “It’s fine.”
She couldn’t help thinking life was full of strange twists.
Sunset hours had a way of stirring up emotions, and right when her own heart ached the most, she’d ended up consoling Qi Xiao instead.
A good cry, a laugh or two—it was like all those times she’d told Qi Xiao “it’s fine,” and somehow convinced herself it really was.
That night, Qi Xiao picked a barbecue joint that took discount coupons. The three of them ordered takeout together, with the beer perfectly chilled, its cool bite soothing their souls.
Qi Xiao’s eyes were still puffy, so Song Xiao pressed an ice-cold beer can to them. She let out a yelp of surprise, and the three dissolved into laughter.
Later, after one too many drinks, Qi Xiao jabbed a finger at Meng Ning. “You’re such a big dummy, Meng Ning.”
Meng Ning didn’t argue, just poked at the chopped peppers in the tin-foil enoki mushrooms with her chopstick tip. “Mm-hmm.”
“You think I don’t know how much of a dummy you are?” Qi Xiao let out a boozy belch. “Back in middle school, I had this senpai I kinda had a little crush on.”
“Oh?” It was news to Meng Ning. She traded a smiling glance with Song Xiao.
“I was scheming hard back then, digging around to find out her birthday and all.”
Meng Ning’s smile faltered.
She knew what was coming.
Sure enough, Qi Xiao went on. “But if you ask me now, do I still remember that girl’s birthday? Come on, no way. And that was someone I actually felt a spark for. You’re saying Gwyneth had the crush on you, and you felt nothing? Then why’d you memorize her birthday all these years?”
Meng Ning picked up a shelled edamame pod and placed it on the paper plate in front of her, then used her chopstick to peel away the thin membrane. Inside, the beans split into two perfect halves.
Qi Xiao rambled on. “I figured it out later. When Gwyneth first showed up, pushing for that no-strings physical thing with you—you weren’t bowled over by some candy-coated bullet. You’d been harboring those feelings for her since you were a teenager! But then you ghosted her. What were you playing at? You’ve always been so damn twisted!”
Meng Ning didn’t eat the edamame. She peeled off that translucent film with her chopstick, watching the beans part.
“You memorized her birthday for years, pined after her for years. Deep down, you knew from the start you’d fall for her—and that she was the type to leave. So you dove headfirst into that pit of fire anyway. Aren’t you just the biggest fool? You into self-torture or what?”
Meng Ning smiled. “She’s leaving, but so am I. I’m going traveling.”
“Travel, travel…” Qi Xiao shot her a glare. “Where exactly are you traveling to, huh? The end of the world? Is it that important? Can’t you just… not go?”
Meng Ning shook her head. “No, it’s something I’ve planned for ages.”
“You’re a huge dummy! A huge dummy and a total coward!”
Meng Ning tilted her face up and smiled at Song Xiao. “She’s had too much.”
Song Xiao smiled back. “Yeah, I know.”
That was the unspoken understanding between adults.
Whether Qi Xiao’s words rang true or not, if Meng Ning didn’t want to talk, Song Xiao wouldn’t pry.
They could drink and chat together, even share an apartment, but an invisible line ran between them—one that guarded their privacy and pride. Everyone respected it without crossing.
After barbecue, Meng Ning and Song Xiao helped Qi Xiao back to her room.
Song Xiao had drunk too, and was soon fast asleep.
The rental fell quiet, but Meng Ning couldn’t sleep. She figured she’d pack, but there wasn’t much to pack ahead of time. Her wardrobe was pathetically sparse; she never stocked up on clothes, toiletries, or even pads.
She really did seem like someone always on the verge of leaving.
She wandered into the living room and carried Qi Xiao’s projector back to her room.
What to watch? She searched absently, only snapping to when she realized she’d typed: movie Paris.
Paris it was, then.
She scanned the results and clicked on Paris Night Traveler anyway.
Knowing the plot twists already, her attention wandered badly as she watched.
She stood up instead, opened the window, and lit a cigarette.
With Wen Zenian’s lighter.
It was solid silver with intricate engravings, exquisitely delicate. Meng Ning turned it over, studying it. How did you even refill the fuel?
No clue.
She set the lighter on the desk beside her and gazed at the projection on the wall.
With the window open, streetlights filtered in, turning the window-side of the image semitransparent and blurry. Meng Ning stared without really seeing, letting the Parisian scenes flicker past like movie posters.
The female lead had beautiful brown eyes.
She wore a long, chunky knit sweater, sitting by the window smoking, bathed in the morning sun of Paris. The whole street became her backdrop.
Meng Ning took the cigarette from her lips.
It wasn’t until the ash burned her finger that she realized she’d zoned out.
She’d just been thinking how, since their reunion, she’d never seen Wen Zenian in a sweater.
Word was, optimizing the Paris C Hotel was even trickier. How long would Wen Zenian stay in Paris?
The whole autumn?
Would she dress like some arthouse film heroine too—chunky knit sweater with short boots, hugging a baguette as she strolled a Paris corner?
Meng Ning almost laughed picturing Wen Zenian with a baguette.
The laughter turned to tears before she knew it.
She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Had she cried once in the past five years? Not that she could recall, aside from those physiological tears during her entanglements with Wen Zenian.
It was as if all her tears had been locked away inside her since then.
First she felt the wetness on her collarbone. She looked down—damp spots. Touched her chin—dripping wet.
Surprised, she felt her eyes and confirmed it: she was crying.
She laughed again. So she could still cry after all.
She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, grabbed a tissue, and slowly dabbed away the tears on her face.
Then, on impulse, she hurried out of the room.
Qi Xiao and Song Xiao were both asleep. She closed the security door softly.
At first, descending the stairs, she walked, feigning calm.
Then she broke into a run.
Leaping the last two steps, dashing past the dingy old street where barbecue stalls dumped their wastewater, under streetlamps with webby shades and bulbs crusted in grime, glowing hazy.
She reached the main street and flagged down an empty taxi.
“To the dock,” she heard her own voice tell the driver.
She checked her phone en route—past eleven, too late for speedboats to the island.
At the dock, she ran some more, panting on the shoreline.
If a client chartered a boat, she’d have a shot.
Worst case, she’d wait till dawn. First light would bring boats to the island.
But she didn’t want to wait. She realized now how desperately urgent it felt, and she paced the shore in frantic circles.
If only she’d gone when Qi Xiao urged her that evening.
