2013

Chen Tong had always believed that becoming an actor and falling in love with Chi Xiaoman were, in fact, inseparable.

Or maybe the two things happened at exactly the same time, so much so that even later, she spent a long time unable to tell which had started first, or under what exact circumstances.

In the end, she could only blame it all on that day.

July 29, 2013.

It was sweltering; in Chen Tong’s memory, it was probably the hottest day of that summer in Beijing.

Because it was so hot, the crew Chen Tong was with wrapped early that day. They were probably close to finishing anyway, and everyone got a heat allowance so they could go home and escape the weather.

Chen Tong took her allowance and went to find Chi Xiaoman.

Summer break had arrived. Chi Xiaoman had finished her exams, and she was busier than usual.

Unlike most people her age, summer vacation for her did not mean rest. It also did not mean she could pause for a moment in this heavy, unfamiliar city and drag a suitcase toward a home with hot food waiting.

That summer, her first job was as a part-time cashier at the movie theater near school; the overnight shift, from six in the evening to six in the morning.

At exactly six, Chi Xiaoman would put on her gray cap and wine-red uniform and appear on time behind the concession counter, surrounded by the smell of popcorn, like a beautiful doll set there to greet customers, her entrance already rehearsed, smiling at everyone who passed by.

It was Chi Xiaoman’s favorite part-time job, because the theater’s rules allowed employees to watch two movies free every day. It was also the only job where she could enjoy free air-conditioning, and even sneak popcorn when that stingy manager wasn’t looking.

When the hour hand made one full turn and then a little more, Chi Xiaoman would tiptoe over to open the garage door and appear, blurry-eyed and half-asleep, in their rented room.

It made Chen Tong feel as if she were living in a forest, where every morning a greedy little cat that had eaten far too much popcorn would pad past her without making a sound.

And leave sweet traces beside her bedside table.

Because this greedy little cat was obviously too kind, and always felt terribly guilty about disturbing her sleep, so every day she would secretly pack a little popcorn into a small bag for Chen Tong, while pretending it was only a coincidence.

In that long cycle of the clock.

Sometimes after wrapping on set, Chen Tong would also bring a skewer of fried rice cakes to the movie theater to look for her. Every time, she would see Chi Xiaoman standing energetically behind the counter, chattering while she packed popcorn for people, like a bird that would never lose its vigor.

And every single time.

When she saw Chen Tong coming to find her,

Chi Xiaoman would immediately raise a hand high.

Her eyes shining as she looked over here.

Amid the sweet, rich smell of popcorn, amid the constantly changing music in the movie theater lobby.

She would lift her chin and call out brightly and without reservation,

“Chen Tong, Chen Tong! I’m here!”

At times like that, Chen Tong would laugh, carrying her bag as she walked slowly toward her, smiling all the while.

In that summer, when even a short walk left your whole body sticky with sweat.

After walking over from work, she would receive a whole cup of iced cola that Chi Xiaoman had secretly bought for her, or a piece of candy in flashy wrapping.

Chi Xiaoman was always smiling, and especially good at coaxing children, so little kids often gave her pretty candies; sometimes butterflies, sometimes lollipops.

She would save almost all of them for Chen Tong to eat. And unlike her composed appearance, Chen Tong had an especially strong sweet tooth.

Chi Xiaoman liked this job for another reason: she got to choose the music for the night shift.

That made her feel proud. Sometimes when Chen Tong couldn’t sleep, she would go over during Chi Xiaoman’s shift to keep her company.

In those late nights with almost no customers, nights that might only belong to the two of them until dawn, they would sit beneath the low counter, shoulders touching, in the sweet smell of popcorn, taking turns speaking as they slowly revised rejected drafts and listened to the playlist Chi Xiaoman had specially put together for the night.

Sometimes it was hit songs from popular dramas, sometimes Taiwanese singers, sometimes old Cantonese songs; but as long as it was a full moon, she would always play The Moon Reflects My Heart.

Chi Xiaoman’s second job was as a street promoter for a hotpot restaurant. The base pay was eight yuan an hour, with an extra five yuan commission for every table she brought in.

It was probably a job she didn’t like very much, because the restaurant owner always deducted her commission and gave her false numbers. And because the weather was so hot, doing street promotion on the main road left her sweating buckets, forcing her to buy a lot of water to drink.

So sometimes Chi Xiaoman would rest her chin in her hand and sigh, thinking it wasn’t worth it.

But it was a hotpot restaurant, and it was close to home. Chi Xiaoman could eat lunch and dinner there, and sometimes even bring back clean ingredients that hadn’t been used that day.

So every time, Chi Xiaoman would work hard to keep her eyes wide open, carefully counting how many tables had gone in.

In the end, she would argue things out with the boss, and with the extra ten or five yuan she fought for, she would occasionally buy a watermelon to take home. They would cut it open; half of it would be eaten by the three of them that day, and the other half would go into Lang Lang’s fridge for later.

Chi Xiaoman’s third job was writing ad copy after she came back from the theater’s night shift, yawning and crying from exhaustion, and opening the extremely heavy laptop that Lang Lang didn’t need while sleeping.

Afraid of waking Chen Tong, who was asleep, she would run outside, rub medicated balm on her temples, stand in the slightly cool morning wind, and write the copy Lang Lang had asked her to handle.

At that time, online ad copy was just becoming popular, and demand was high. But the pay wasn’t much; usually fifteen yuan for three thousand characters.

Chi Xiaoman would often write until she fell asleep, then suddenly wake up, touch her mouth very seriously to check whether she had drooled, and continue typing away.

Whenever Chen Tong got up and saw her, she would walk over and look at Chi Xiaoman, half-awake and slumped against the garage door.

After a long while, she would drape a coat over her, then carefully pry the computer out of Chi Xiaoman’s arms, which were holding it very tightly. After that, as the temperature slowly rose, she would help her finish the few hundred characters she hadn’t written. Sometimes, if she had more time, she would even help her write an extra piece at home.

But because Chi Xiaoman was someone with a lot of backbone, and very sharp eyes—at least, that was how she described herself—every time, the few hundred characters Chen Tong wrote, or even the few pieces she wrote, would be caught without a single word missing. In the end, Chi Xiaoman would count them all clearly and divide the pay with Chen Tong once the money came in, generously including every last cent.

Except for the four-yuan bathroom fund, which was kept in a mineral water bottle.

Besides that, Chi Xiaoman also had a little piggy bank that looked heavy and large. It was only allowed to hold hundred-yuan bills.

Every day, she would take it out and look at it once, then carefully put it back before leaving the house.

That was her tuition for the semester she would start after that summer ended.

During that period, Lang Lang almost never got the chance to see Chi Xiaoman, so she had no choice but to come to Chen Tong to talk, and to explain to her as well: it was because there was a bad person at home who didn’t support Chi Xiaoman going to school, and had hidden the household registration booklet so she couldn’t apply for a student loan.

“But don’t feel sorry for her,” Lang Lang told Chen Tong. “Chi Xiaoman hates it most when people feel sorry for her.”

But in fact, when she said this, Lang Lang herself had secretly tucked her face under the collar of her T-shirt. Chi Xiaoman wasn’t even there, yet she still looked around anxiously as if she were trying to sneak money out.

In the end, she put two crumpled hundred-yuan bills inside, and even made a “shh” gesture at Chen Tong, who had witnessed the whole thing, awkwardly explaining, “This isn’t feeling sorry for her; it’s friendly help.”

But clearly, Lang Lang wasn’t practiced enough at doing this sort of thing. Because that very night, Chi Xiaoman, with those sharp eyes of hers, pulled those two bills out.

Chen Tong didn’t even have time to tip off Lang Lang.

Chi Xiaoman was already thumping up the stairs. The moment Lang Lang opened the door, Chi Xiaoman threw them back without another word.

“I’m telling you, Lang Lang! Don’t even think about looking down on me!”

Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, she added furiously, “My money has never been this crumpled!”

And that was true. Because every time she put money in, she would take those hundred-yuan bills she had earned with such difficulty, slip them into an old copy of The Self-Cultivation of Actors that had been thumbed through to the point of wear, leave them there for the whole night, and then smooth them out neatly the next day.

Lang Lang had been caught in the act. She curled her lips a little awkwardly, unable to beat Chi Xiaoman, and could only take the two crumpled hundred-yuan bills back.

Only then did Chi Xiaoman relent. She snorted, then turned and saw Chen Tong, who hadn’t managed to catch up in the stairwell. She strode past her in high spirits and gave her a serious warning.

“You can help them out today, fine; but you absolutely are not allowed to learn from her.”

Chen Tong smiled mildly and said nothing.

Chi Xiaoman huffed and hopped down the stairs.

Of course, beyond those three jobs, in the gaps between all that busyness and sweat, she still rode her little electric scooter through the long summer to audition for different crews, do background work, and stand in.

Chen Tong asked her why she worked so hard.

At the time, Chi Xiaoman was extremely sleepy. Her hair was still damp after a shower, and she hadn’t even dried it before collapsing onto the bed. In a daze, she mumbled one line: because summer is for dreaming.

July 29.

Before leaving, Chi Xiaoman told Chen Tong that today she was going to audition for a role with lines, and just a little bit of backstory—

A high school girl in a youth film, someone who had to follow the others and bully people together with them.

Before she left.

She even lifted her chin, tipped her nose down, and made a face for Chen Tong to see whether she looked arrogant enough.

In truth, Chi Xiaoman wasn’t exactly a natural-born actress, and she had never studied acting systematically.

So she relied entirely on her own understanding.

On the experience she had absorbed from life and from film and television dramas, trying hard to move closer to this path.

It might have been Chen Tong’s first time seeing Chi Xiaoman act.

She thought that expression was wonderful, as if it had turned Chi Xiaoman completely into someone else, someone utterly unfamiliar.

Chen Tong didn’t skimp on praise.

“You’re amazing.”

And then Chi Xiaoman burst into laughter at once.

She became the Chi Xiaoman Chen Tong knew.

Smiling as she bit down on a hair tie and tied her hair up high, she said vaguely,

“Then I’m going to act like this today!”

In the afternoon.

Chen Tong took her heat allowance and arrived at the crew where Chi Xiaoman was auditioning, carrying two soft-serve cones she had bought from a nearby supermarket and asked the shop owner to pack in ice for her.

But the weather was too hot.

By the time she looked around the set, the cones had already begun to melt inside the red plastic bag.

Carefully protecting those two soft, sagging cones, Chen Tong found Chi Xiaoman in a corner of the set—

The sun was glaring white; her face was burned bright red.

But her body was still trying its best to stand straight, and her eyes were still trying hard to look directly at the person standing in front of her.

And the tall shadow in front of her, arms folded, said to her in an unhurried voice,

“Chi Xiaoman.”

“You really thought that if you listened to me and ran ten laps in the sun, I’d let my sister use you?”

“Are you stupid or what?”

“I just hate that you always act like ‘I work hard, so I’m in the right.’ Do you understand?”

“I just don’t like that you’ve got no ability and no money at home, that you can’t even afford to study our major, and you still come here trying to mooch off our classes. Do you understand?”

“I really don’t know where you get your confidence.”

“And you still think you can turn a chicken into a phoenix and become an actor? Dream on for the rest of your life.”

The set was noisy, and several people had gathered in the middle to watch. The temperature was very high, and the hot air seemed to ripple faintly.

Chen Tong stood outside the crowd, perhaps three or four meters away from her. Separated by the backs of many people, hazy and indistinct, she couldn’t see Chi Xiaoman’s face.

All she could see was that before she had left the house.

The hair Chi Xiaoman had tied up so high had come loose a lot by now, sticking wetly to the nape of her neck. She could also see one of the hair ties Chi Xiaoman had bought at a street stall, two yuan for a bundle...

The soft-serve cone in her hand was melting faster and faster, dripping into her palm. It felt cold to Chen Tong, and hot too.

Maybe she had been too slow to find Chi Xiaoman.

Just as she heard those words, and pushed her way in a little, still not fully reacting, the crowd surrounding Chi Xiaoman began to disperse.

The afternoon sun was blazing. Everyone left while talking in low voices. Chi Xiaoman was still standing there. On the red track, the young girl held her chin high. Her hair was messy from running laps, her breathing uneven after the exertion, her chest rising and falling in a quiet rhythm.

For the first time.

Chen Tong saw Chi Xiaoman so quiet.

Not speaking. Not rushing forward like an angry little bird to argue with someone.

Just standing there.

Like she was spacing out.

And like she was afraid.

The sun was huge that day, like a fireball overhead. Chen Tong wanted to go up and remind Chi Xiaoman to hide in the shade for a while, but she also very calmly concluded that showing up like this was inappropriate.

No one would want to be witnessed from behind by someone familiar at a moment like that.

Maybe Chen Tong should leave at the right time, pretend she had seen nothing, and go buy two new soft-serve cones, ones that hadn’t melted, so at the very least Chi Xiaoman could eat something sweet that day.

As if nothing had happened at all.

But she looked at Chi Xiaoman’s stubborn back.

Looked at Chi Xiaoman’s side profile, red from the sun.

Looked at the tiny shadow beneath Chi Xiaoman’s feet.

And couldn’t move even half a step.

She didn’t remember how long she stood there.

She only remembered that day was very hot.

Only remembered how long Chi Xiaoman had stood there.

She herself stood behind her with those melted cones for just as long.

Only remembered that later, as the sun slowly tilted westward and the sunset turned red, the set wrapped and started clearing people out, and the soft-serve cones had completely melted.

Chi Xiaoman took three breaths, slowly exhaled, then looked down as if she had discovered something and slowly crouched.

She gently picked up the shoelaces she had dropped around her, the ones that had been stepped on and gotten a little dirty.

And tied them again.

Her movements were very slow, not at all like her usual energetic self, the one who would be chomping on a steamed bun and hurrying about at the doorway.

At last.

She tied them into a neat, clean bow.

She was still crouching on the ground, staring at the bow for a very long time, before she bent at the waist, stood up, and turned around—

Her eyes collided with Chen Tong’s.

In that instant, the air seemed to shake violently.

Chen Tong instinctively wanted to turn away.

Because she thought she would see embarrassment in those eyes, humiliation, grievance.

But Chi Xiaoman only froze for about two or three seconds, then wiped at the corners of her eyes, which were slowly reddening.

After that, she still raised a hand high and waved at her, baring her teeth in a grin.

—Just like every time she stood behind that crate of golden popcorn, her face bright with that gold light, her eyes shining, calling to her in a loud voice—Chen Tong, Chen Tong!

Under the sunset, she walked over slowly in her canvas shoes.

Standing a little timidly in front of her, the flush on her face had faded quite a bit.

“Big Sister Chen Tong, when did you get here?”

“Not long ago,” Chen Tong said softly. Then she lifted the plastic bag and realized the cones and the ice inside had already melted into water, sticky and wet, dripping down into a puddle at her feet.

There was no way to give them out anymore.

Chi Xiaoman stared at the plastic bag in her hands, froze for a moment, and smiled at her.

“Oh, so you brought me ice cream.”

As soon as she said that, she came over to take the bag from Chen Tong’s hand. She rummaged through it without any disgust at all, and after seeing there was really no way to eat it, she paused for a moment and said very softly,

“It was still a cone. What a pity.”

Her tone carried no embarrassment whatsoever. Chen Tong looked at her, unable to speak.

So Chi Xiaoman quietly cleaned up the mess herself again. At last, she held up her two sticky hands, turned in circles in a daze, and asked her, “Big Sister Chen Tong, did you bring tissues?”

Chen Tong looked at her for a while.

Then she took tissues out of her bag and gave them to her.

Chi Xiaoman took them, carefully and cautiously trying to pull out just one sheet without wasting the others.

Chen Tong looked at her fingers, which were gripping tightly as she tried hard to complete the motion. She parted her lips, felt a pang of sadness, and her speech slowed down and down.

“Xiaoman, I’ll buy you another one when we get home.”

“Huh?”

Chi Xiaoman laughed, as if she thought Chen Tong was strange.

Then she finally got one tissue out. While wiping her hands, she asked, “Why are you being so generous today?”

“No.” Chen Tong denied it.

And in the heavy sunset, she smiled and asked back, “Am I usually not generous?”

“Not exactly.” Chi Xiaoman wrinkled her nose, glanced at her, and still seemed to think she was strange. Since the set was already clearing people out, after wiping her hands she came over and took Chen Tong’s wrist.

“Let’s go first.”

The young girl’s palm was warm.

Even in midsummer, it was still a little scorching.

Chen Tong looked at her back as she led her away, looked at the slender fingers around her wrist.

She said nothing.

The road back was quiet.

The evening temperature still hadn’t gone down. Riding the electric scooter on the road, the engine’s noise was swallowed by the noisy streets.

Chen Tong was already quiet by nature, but that day she was even more silent. Seated on the back, she looked at the little cross-shaped pinwheel on Chi Xiaoman’s helmet and didn’t say a word.

Chi Xiaoman spoke first.

By then, the scooter had moved from the high-rises into the urban village. The roads were narrow, and Chi Xiaoman rode carefully; when the vehicle swayed a little, she also looked back at Chen Tong in the rearview mirror in time.

Only then did she see Chen Tong’s possibly not-so-good expression.

She curved her eyes into a smile—an honest one, not a mask.

After she finished smiling, she said softly into the wind, “Big Sister Chen Tong, you’re so quiet.”

“Am I?” Chen Tong didn’t want her to bring up what had just happened. “Maybe it’s because it’s too hot today.”

Even though she also understood that Chi Xiaoman had been struggling alone in Beijing for so long, and that something like this surely wasn’t rare. But she still didn’t want to be so cruel as to force Chi Xiaoman to explain every detail to her.

But Chi Xiaoman still said it anyway. “Big Sister Chen Tong, are you afraid I’ll feel embarrassed, so you don’t dare say anything now?”

Her tone was normal.

And she was still calling her Big Sister Chen Tong as usual.

Chen Tong paused. “No.”

Chi Xiaoman sighed. “Big Sister Chen Tong, you’re not very honest.”

Chen Tong said nothing.

So Chi Xiaoman went on talking to herself. “That person just now was a classmate from the acting department next to ours. I always go borrow classes from their department, and because of some filming assignments, I’ve also gone to borrow actors, so later on someone in their class started not liking me very much.”

“Why?” Chen Tong didn’t understand.

Chi Xiaoman seemed stumped by the question. She went quiet for a moment, then shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Her tone was light. “Why would you need a specific reason to dislike someone?”

The wind blew past, and Chen Tong subconsciously looked into her eyes.

In the rearview mirror, Chi Xiaoman didn’t avoid her gaze. Instead, she looked back at her with complete frankness. After a few seconds of eye contact, she curved her eyes into a smile.

“Actually, it was a coincidence today too. He was playing a small role here over summer break. He said his cousin was the assistant director, and that they needed this role. He said if I was willing to run ten laps, it would just be a matter of him saying a word.”

“So you ran?” As the scooter moved through the sour, stale smell drifting through the urban village, Chen Tong couldn’t help asking.

“Mhm, I ran.” Talking about it, Chi Xiaoman’s tone still wasn’t aggrieved. She also didn’t seem to feel embarrassed at all.

Chen Tong couldn’t speak.

Chi Xiaoman then looked at her again in the rearview mirror. After finding her eyes, she smiled.

“But Big Sister Chen Tong, don’t be afraid I’ll feel embarrassed.”

Her voice was very light, carried by the wind, free and soft. “On the contrary, I think you should be proud of me.”

Chen Tong froze.

Their scooter reached the dirtiest, most crowded streets at the very bottom of Beijing. Waiting ahead for them was that cheap basement room.

“To work hard for your dream and keep moving forward, to be willing to suffer, to be willing to believe every opportunity that looks tiny, and to be willing to bear the consequences after failing...”

Chi Xiaoman was still looking at her, those bright, beautiful eyes curved like crescents, as if something inside them were burning. “I’ve never thought those were bad things, or things not worth seeing.”

“So, Big Sister Chen Tong.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, or think I’m embarrassing.”

Her voice was soft in the wind. “Please don’t have even a little bit of that thought.”

That was the end of the matter regarding her embarrassing encounter. Chi Xiaoman didn’t say anything else about the details after that. She only smiled at Chen Tong again with those bent eyes and continued riding them home.

And Chen Tong, looking at Chi Xiaoman’s slim chin in the rearview mirror, looking at the nape of Chi Xiaoman’s neck, slightly red from the sunset, finally understood after a long time in the warm wind that drifted around them—

Maybe it wasn’t a mask.

Not stubbornness either.

It was true that she didn’t feel humiliated because Chen Tong had seen it.

She was frank. Generous. She didn’t feel inferior because of her own effort and exertion. There was no grievance, no embarrassment, no shame. Only a full, abundant ease and naturalness, because she had tried, because she had struggled, and because she had absolutely no regrets.

That was Chi Xiaoman.

Chi Xiaoman, who was not ordinary at all.

So much so that on that evening, Chen Tong, in a daze, followed behind her across many streets, watched her still look as relaxed as every night after wrapping, watched her step through puddles at the market and argue with people in a sweet voice, and watched her smile—feeling, all at once, a sensation she had never experienced before in her life.

So this was what people looked like when they were dreaming.

They really could shine like this.

But Chen Tong had never dreamed before. She had never possessed anything she wanted so badly.

What did it feel like to have a dream?

Was it like Chi Xiaoman, fearless, unembarrassed, and never humiliated?

Chen Tong suddenly wanted to make films too.

But because the timing of that thought was so abrupt, on this summer day when the temperature exceeded forty degrees and made people dizzy, and because it happened when Chi Xiaoman looked at her with those bright, glowing eyes—

even much, much later, she could never quite separate what had been shining that day.

Was it the dream of becoming an actor?

Or was it just Chi Xiaoman?

-

Beijing was huge, and every road home was long.

But because the twenty-year-old Chi Xiaoman was a woman who had a vehicle and good friends, that evening, when her good friend Chen Tong offered to buy her a soft-serve cone, she didn’t refuse and hopped off near the supermarket by their neighborhood.

She took off her helmet happily.

Then waited for Chen Tong to bring the cone back for her.

She very proactively chose taro, her favorite flavor, unwrapped it, and took a big, satisfied bite.

Then she noticed Chen Tong’s soft gaze on her.

A little embarrassed, she wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t really have good table manners when I eat.”

“No.”

Chen Tong denied it, her eyes full of laughter. “I think it’s cute.”

“Liar,” Chi Xiaoman muttered through her nose.

Then.

No matter how Chen Tong denied it, she only took small, careful bites of the cone after that.

There was still a stretch of road from the supermarket to Parking Garage No. 5 in Fragrance Alley, so the two of them stood on either side, each pushing the scooter back with one hand. Chen Tong looked at her across the evening air and suddenly said,

“Xiaoman, I want to buy a smaller fridge tomorrow.”

“Hm?” Chi Xiaoman thought Chen Tong was still upset because of what happened today. After freezing for a moment, she said, “But summer is going to be over soon.”

“It’s fine,” Chen Tong said softly. “It’ll probably still be hot next year.”

Then she looked at the cream at the corner of Chi Xiaoman’s mouth.

As if joking with her,

“Then you can have your taro cone every day when you come back.”

Maybe back then, just getting through the life right in front of her was already hard enough for Chi Xiaoman. She wouldn’t think about things far in the future, much less ask—then next year, will we still be living here together?

So she thought about the practicality very seriously. In the end, she reluctantly finished the cone and said to Chen Tong,

“Then we should buy it together.”

Chen Tong said nothing.

She didn’t seem to want to make things difficult for Chi Xiaoman, but she understood Chi Xiaoman’s stubborn insistence on this matter well enough, so she could only quietly think about a compromise.

But before that.

They had already reached the door.

The scooter stopped.

Recently, a family upstairs had been renovating, and every day they threw a lot of scraps of adhesive paper at the entrance to their home. Once, Chi Xiaoman had specifically gone upstairs to argue with the workers. In the end, the man rubbed his nose and said, sorry, I didn’t know someone was still living in the garage.

And then Chi Xiaoman came back like a deflated balloon. Seeing Chen Tong and Lang Lang cleaning up those strips of tape together, she rested her chin in her hand.

Very gloomily, she crouched on the concrete floor and looked at the sky, which was especially red at dusk, saying, from now on I have to be this red too.

Lang Lang had glanced over at the time. How red?

Chi Xiaoman raised both hands and clenched them into fists.

With that confident expression—of course, the kind of red that sets the whole sky on fire!

But after declaring her grand ambition, she went right back to happily humming and helped Chen Tong and Lang Lang clean up the tape.

Ever since the renovation upstairs had started, the falling tape had never really lessened; it always piled up at their door.

But later, the owner came down to apologize, saying the workers were hard to talk to and lazy as hell, and that she herself was in a difficult spot too, so she brought them two boxes of chocolate and hoped they would understand.

That night, Chi Xiaoman ate until her teeth were black and still thought the owner was kind and gentle.

Who would have thought.

Today there was once again so much tape piled at the door.

Chi Xiaoman sighed.

She rolled up her sleeves and resigned herself to cleaning it up.

Then, seeing Chen Tong crouch down to help her pick it up, she said, “It’s not much. I can do it myself. You should go shower first.”

Unexpectedly.

Chen Tong didn’t argue with her.

Instead, she stood nearby for a while, then said gently,

“Then be careful. Don’t cut your hand.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Chi Xiaoman mumbled with her head down.

“Okay.”

Chen Tong looked at her for a while, and without much hesitation, she went inside. While Chi Xiaoman was bent over gathering the adhesive paper, Chen Tong found, in the layer of a book under her bed, a neatly folded hundred-yuan bill.

They lived in what was basically a semi-basement.

From the outer wall of the building, you had to walk down a slope to reach their garage.

Less than fifteen square meters, with only a very small window facing the wall, and directly facing the garage of another building.

The garage in that other building was much larger.

It was shared by many owners, which meant they were always being dazzled by car headlights at night.

Through that blurry little window.

Chen Tong looked at Chi Xiaoman.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t seem to notice what was happening inside.

Chen Tong put the book away and crouched by the bed.

She took out Chi Xiaoman’s piggy bank and slipped the neatly folded bill inside.

Two bills at once would be too risky.

One at a time, every few days.

Only then would Chi Xiaoman let her guard down.

Unskilled as she was, Chen Tong managed to finish all of this.

When she stood up, she saw that outside the window, Chi Xiaoman was still bent over cleaning, so she relaxed and went to gather her clothes for a shower.

Evening temperatures were still high. After taking a hot shower, Chen Tong only felt sticky all over.

The garage outside had already been cleaned spotless.

Chi Xiaoman was no longer crouching there.

Chen Tong dried her hair as she looked for her, but before she even went out, she saw Chi Xiaoman standing outside that window, focused on cutting those strips of tape into pieces—green, blue, red, yellow... many colors, pieced together and pasted onto the glass...

Chen Tong paused.

Then she walked over and, through the window covered in colorful tape, looked at Chi Xiaoman outside, drenched in sweat, sticking piece after piece onto the whole pane.

“Xiaoman, what are you doing?”

Hearing her voice, Chi Xiaoman looked a little dazed at first; she raised her eyes and looked around, and finally saw her through the glass. Then she smiled, lifted her chin with great pride, and tapped the window with her knuckles.

“Pretty?”

Light filtered through the colored tape.

It illuminated the dust.

It also illuminated Chi Xiaoman’s youthful, full face, and the brightness in her eyes that seemed ready to spill over.

Chen Tong said, “Pretty.”

“Mhm~” Chi Xiaoman seemed pleased by that. She hummed a little tune and then explained in a lively voice,

“Don’t you often lose sleep because of the car lights outside? And since the window is so small, buying curtains would be expensive. I was cleaning up these tapes just now and thought they fit perfectly, and that they might look really nice, so I thought I’d try sticking them up.”

As she spoke.

She cut off another piece.

With great effort, she tilted her head up and carefully stuck it on the glass. “Let’s see tonight whether it still hurts your eyes.”

The tape was translucent.

So that day, Chi Xiaoman went back and forth until she had layered several sheets over the little window.

And because Chen Tong had just finished showering, she refused to let her help, bringing out the same familiar line again—there isn’t much, I’ll be done in one go; don’t sweat it.

But perhaps because of the multicolored pane, Chi Xiaoman looked even brighter that day, her body edges glowing with a fuzzy halo, making it hard to look away.

Chen Tong didn’t leave.

She stood on the other side of the window.

In a daze, she watched Chi Xiaoman slowly cover the glass that always stabbed at the eyes at night, watched the glass that had always reflected glare become covered piece by piece, watched Chi Xiaoman’s face gradually refracted by those blocks of color into all kinds of hues.

In the end.

After pasting the final piece.

Chi Xiaoman was already covered in sweat.

Her T-shirt was soaked too.

But standing outside that rainbow-colored glass, a little blurry, she waved at her very happily.

“Chen Tong, Chen Tong, can you still see me now?”

Chen Tong came back to herself and smiled. “I can.”

“Hm?” Chi Xiaoman’s shadow wobbled behind the glass. Then, as if she had thought of some clever trick, she suddenly leaned in very close, spread both hands into little tiger paws, made a blurred scary face, and said in a deep voice,

“Chen Tong, Chen Tong, are you scared of me?”

Chen Tong laughed so hard she could barely hold it in.

And she told Chi Xiaoman outside the window, “Xiaoman, Xiaoman, I’m not scared of you.”

“Fine.”

Chi Xiaoman grinned. Her shadow, reflected in the glass, was full of color. “Then I won’t mess around. I hope you sleep well tonight.”

After saying that.

She seemed to want to leave from behind the glass.

She turned around.

But then she spotted Lang Lang on the second floor across the street, so she simply lifted her head and started shouting and chatting with her instead.

“Chi Xiaoman? What are you doing?”

Maybe because her cold still hadn’t gone away, Lang Lang’s voice sounded a little weak.

“Putting up window decorations,” Chi Xiaoman said. By then, she had almost walked behind the wall.

On the glass.

Only the tips of her hair, blown by the wind, remained inside the green blocks of color, and half her ear remained inside the red ones.

Lang Lang was probably leaning over the railing as she lazily asked how the audition had gone today.

Chi Xiaoman sighed.

“Not great. Buy me a meal.”

Outside the glass, she moved her face; her ears moved with it too.

Inside the glass, Chen Tong couldn’t help reaching out and poking her ear.

-

The tape Chi Xiaoman had stuck on the glass really did work.

That night, when they went to sleep, it rained. The wet strips of tape reflected the car lights, and the light that filtered in through the window became softer, less glaring, shadows of low-saturation color.

Chi Xiaoman had taken a shower, and the smell of Safeguard soap still lingered on her body. Her hair hadn’t been fully dried, so the ends were still damp, leaving transparent droplets by her face.

The electric fan creaked as it turned, bringing a not-quite-cool breeze into the tiny space.

She lay on her pillow for a while, originally revising drafts on Lang Lang’s laptop, but then, as if a cat had been drawn in by the rainbow-colored light, she suddenly reached out to touch the glass. After staring blankly for a moment, she said with fresh wonder,

“It’s like neon.”

At that moment, she turned to look at Chen Tong, who was less than twenty centimeters away from her, and with her eyes curved into beautiful crescents, she said,

“Big Sister Chen Tong, don’t you think so?”

Car lights came and went, strong and weak. The beautiful, faint light and shadow on Chi Xiaoman’s face also came and went, strong and weak. Chen Tong looked at her and once again lost herself.

And Chi Xiaoman, not getting an answer, didn’t mind. She just turned back around smiling and stared at the colored tape outside the glass for a while. Then, as if remembering something, she suddenly began humming a song in a soft, indistinct voice.

Not many lyrics. Still The Moon Reflects My Heart.

But because Chen Tong had always remembered the lyrics to that song vividly.

So.

When Chi Xiaoman was bobbing her head, her hair still wet, wearing that faded red T-shirt, her skinny little legs bent on the bed as she hummed the melody and murmured the lyrics, and reached the line about “a gentle kiss,”

Chen Tong didn’t know whether she had failed to hold herself back.

Or whether she simply never wanted to hold back at all.

In any case, she heard herself say in a voice she had deliberately softened for the late night,

“Xiaoman, can I kiss you?”

And because Chi Xiaoman froze at that moment, looking both surprised and as if Chen Tong had gone insane.

But then, just as a car light happened to sweep past, the flickering light and shadow landed on her face, looking like neon.

So much so that Chen Tong allowed herself to think there was another possibility: assent.

Thirty-seven seconds later, Chi Xiaoman still hadn’t said no. The car light went out. Chen Tong got out of bed and walked over in the dark. Under Chi Xiaoman’s frightened, bewildered gaze, she waited three seconds. When she didn’t sense any resistance from Chi Xiaoman, she took the initiative and kissed Chi Xiaoman’s moist, soft lips.

July 29. Clear weather. Temperature reaching forty degrees. Nothing major happened that day, as before.

But Chen Tong quietly went home with Chi Xiaoman, quietly showered, quietly put a hundred-yuan bill into Chi Xiaoman’s piggy bank, and in the neon disguised by strips of tape, suddenly kissed Chi Xiaoman’s lips; she began to have the idea of becoming an actor, and completely completed the final step of falling in love with Chi Xiaoman.

Later, she thought that if there had to be a reason for something out of the ordinary.

It was probably because from that day on, they had neon.

【Author’s Note】

Updating Little Neon on time for its twenty-eighth day [sunglasses]

(I also liked every comment yesterday. Just a straight-up high five, whether you wanted it or not [glasses])