2023

The air in the garage was damp.

Headlights and threads of rain hung in the air.

Through strips of colored tape, the light softened and lit up the dust like wet neon.

The woman looked at her. Backlit by the neon, her features blurred at the edges, like a dim silhouette. Only those eyes remained warm and full of feeling.

“Xiaoman, may I kiss you?”

Chi Xiaoman said nothing. She stared blankly at the woman in front of her.

They held each other’s gaze for a long time. Slowly, the woman removed her round, flat glasses and walked over to her, carrying the faint scent of a post-shower wash—identical to the scent on Chi Xiaoman herself.

Her body was very close, her eyes very close, her face clear enough that Chi Xiaoman could see the tiny mole on her chin.

She cupped Chi Xiaoman’s face; her palm was soft. Her gaze blurred as it dropped to Chi Xiaoman’s lips.

Her hair was wet, scented with shampoo. It fell slowly along the side of her face, inch by inch drawing nearer—

Chi Xiaoman suddenly gasped and opened her eyes.

What met her sight was a spotless, ghastly white ceiling. She hunched her neck with all her strength, almost unable to breathe.

A sharp, dull ache gradually welled up in her throat, like some physical response that arrived before her brain could fully wake.

The white ceiling was clean and bare, with not a trace of mold.

The air was dim, the light muted, the saturation low, like some world that had been drained of color.

By her ear was the muffled chaos of thunder and lightning, from a dull blur to something that slowly became clearer.

A typhoon day. Hong Kong. 2023.

Chen Yue.

Chi Xiaoman lay there with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Slowly accepting those four facts, she tightened her fingers around the edge of the blanket and let out a very long, very slow breath.

How had she dreamed of Chen Yue?

How had it been... a dream like that, of all things?

For a moment, Chi Xiaoman felt dizzy.

Her head sank back into the soft pillow. Staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t help recalling what had happened the night before—

Chen Yue had said she had recommended her for Xiaoyu.

And that because of her, she had wanted to become an actress?

Could that also have been a dream?

Could it be that Chen Yue had never said any of it at all?

Could it be that she had performed well, that after hearing those words she had not been able to give a good or proper response, so she fled from the projection room, then spent the whole night alone in the living room, hiding from the howling wind and rain of the typhoon... until the very end she still hadn’t been found by Chen Yue, and the self she was now had long since lost that glittering heart, her inner self ugly and ungrateful, utterly unworthy of Chen Yue wasting time and energy trying to save her?

Save.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t understand why she always thought things like this. Maybe from her twenties to her thirties, she truly hadn’t made much progress; the only trait that still remained in her was childishness.

At that thought, she reflexively wanted to laugh.

But thinking that the way she looked when she laughed now might not be very nice, she couldn’t really manage it.

So she could only stare at the ceiling and let her mind drift.

She felt tired, and she also felt unable to bear the pain of chewing over last night’s confrontation again and again.

She forced herself not to think about it.

After a long while, Chi Xiaoman gathered herself and barely managed to sit up from the sofa.

Unexpectedly.

She saw Chen Yue.

The living room wasn’t large, and no lights had been turned on. The only illumination came from the gray sky outside the floor-to-ceiling window; it was typhoon weather, the wind and rain were heavy, and the saturation of the sky was extremely low.

A gray-backed chair sat beside the window. Chen Yue was sitting in it, wearing black loungewear that looked very soft, her hair pinned up, the same black plastic-framed glasses on her face. Not the old pair; no pair of glasses could be worn for ten years without being replaced.

She had her back to Chi Xiaoman, her posture not relaxed, her gaze fixed outside the window as if she were watching the rain, as if she had been awake all night, or as if she were simply thinking.

She looked like a gray shadow herself.

In fact, the reason Chi Xiaoman had initially thought Chen Yue was suited to acting was not only because of her face, but because Chen Yue always thought so much. That might be a good habit for an actress.

But it also made her seem melancholy, lonely.

Still, Chen Yue had always been like this.

Quiet, reserved, and much of what she said was never what she truly thought.

The corners of her mouth were always curved in a smile.

And she had never once told Chi Xiaoman what she was thinking in those very, very deep nights.

So much so that Chi Xiaoman often didn’t know what her true thoughts were, and could never fully read her.

From then until now, that had never changed.

She had never felt that she had truly come close to her.

But that wasn’t Chen Yue’s fault.

The time had simply been too short. Before they had the chance to truly see each other, they had already been separated.

The wind somehow surged in from outside.

Chi Xiaoman couldn’t help coughing once.

The sound was abrupt in the room.

Chen Yue turned back in a hurry. “Awake?”

“Mm.” Chi Xiaoman suppressed the cough, her voice muffled, and looked toward Chen Yue’s shadow. “You didn’t sleep last night?”

Chen Yue stood up, still not turning on the light.

She walked over slowly.

As her blurred outline came into focus, the smile at the corners of her eyes also spread a little.

“Not exactly that I didn’t sleep,” she said. “I just woke up earlier.”

“Did I wake you?” Chen Yue’s tone was gentle. “Did mosquitoes bite you last night?”

She stood before her, the corners of her eyes carrying a smile.

Not that habitual smile.

It was a soft, beautiful smile, as if there had been no confrontation at all last night.

Chi Xiaoman was silent, then said, “No.”

Realizing she hadn’t made herself clear, she explained, “You didn’t wake me, and I wasn’t bitten by mosquitoes.”

“That’s good.” Chen Yue looked at her for a moment, as if checking whether she had any visible mosquito bites. Finally seeming reassured, she said,

“Wash up first. Come eat breakfast in a bit.”

She also reminded her, “The things you left here last time, I didn’t have time to throw them out. I put them all in the bathroom; you can keep using them.”

Chi Xiaoman covered her face and let out a difficult breath. “Okay, thank you.”

Chen Yue had already walked away.

At the sound of that, she paused for a moment and said softly,

“You’re welcome.”

-

After washing up, Chi Xiaoman found Chen Yue waiting for her by the dining table.

Chen Yue had left her a seat with good light.

On the seat was a white plate.

Inside were simple toasted bread slices, a fried egg, and a few cut cherry tomatoes.

There was also a glass of milk beside it.

Chi Xiaoman walked over and found the milk still warm, her fingertips warming in turn; instead, she felt flustered and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chen Yue said.

A matching portion sat in front of her too.

Exactly the same.

Only without tomatoes, because Chen Yue actually disliked eating any vegetables raw.

When Chi Xiaoman sat down, Chen Yue picked up the knife. Just as Chi Xiaoman was about to say something else to fill the silence, Chen Yue gently added,

“Let’s eat breakfast first.”

Her expression was natural, her attitude gentle.

As if she had been sitting there watching the rain for a long time before Chi Xiaoman woke up, only to wait for her so they could have this very ordinary breakfast together.

Chi Xiaoman felt confused, but Chen Yue had already begun eating on her own. She didn’t know how to speak up at this moment, so she also picked up her knife and fork and ate Chen Yue’s breakfast in quiet silence.

The breakfast was silent.

Almost no conversation took place.

It was a far cry from the past.

Because in the past, Chi Xiaoman probably wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet for even a few seconds before remembering something she had accumulated and wanted to tell Chen Yue, then chattering on without stopping.

Now, Chi Xiaoman also found it hard to bear sitting face-to-face with Chen Yue in silence. She forced herself to eat a few bites, but she couldn’t finish. And yet the egg, bread, and tomatoes in this breakfast... maybe Chen Yue had made them all herself.

Chen Yue wasn’t very good at these things.

She hadn’t been good at them in the past, and now she still didn’t seem very good at them.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t want to waste food, so she kept from putting down her utensils.

It was only later.

When she struggled through most of the remaining bread on the plate.

Almost only by taking a sip of milk could she swallow each bite.

Chen Yue suddenly spoke. “If you can’t finish it, don’t force yourself.”

Chi Xiaoman paused.

Under their gaze, she worked hard to swallow the last bite and shook her head. “I can finish it.”

Chen Yue said nothing, only looked at her.

Chi Xiaoman lowered her eyes, not looking at Chen Yue, not wanting to meet the other woman’s pitying gaze. She just tried her best to finish the food left on the plate, pretending to be a normal person who knew gratitude.

No matter how small her appetite was, eating a piece of bread and an egg wouldn’t make her vomit. Though it was somewhat difficult, in the end Chi Xiaoman still finished everything on the plate and finally let out a breath. Only then did she gather the courage to look into Chen Yue’s eyes and say openly,

“Chen Yue, thank you for breakfast.”

Chen Yue was still looking at her.

She had been looking at her since earlier. But the indoor light on a typhoon day was too dim, and sitting opposite her blurred the line of sight even more.

Chi Xiaoman thought she might be failing to understand why she was being so stubborn over something like this, or perhaps finding her childish behavior amusing.

But in the end, Chen Yue said,

“You’re welcome.”

After a moment of silence, she asked patiently,

“Xiaoman, do you still want to watch a movie with me today?”

Chi Xiaoman couldn’t figure Chen Yue out.

Clearly, the movie they had watched yesterday had caused so much unhappiness because of her, yet today Chen Yue was still insisting on confronting her in this way.

Chen Yue had never been a straightforward person.

And Chi Xiaoman wasn’t one now either.

They were like players trapped in some game, their positions never able to be the same from the start; yet because their personalities were like this, they couldn’t be direct, and could only choose to circle around everything.

But this typhoon day felt like some outside condition the game maker imposed when progress had stalled, locking her and her together, leaving Chi Xiaoman nowhere to run and forcing her to face the conflict head-on.

However, because coming here had entirely been Chi Xiaoman’s own willing decision, this couldn’t exactly count as being forced.

After a quiet moment.

Chen Yue stood up first.

She tidied up the plates and put them into the dishwasher.

Then she stood at a distance and looked at her. “If you want to talk to me about anything, or if you want to watch a movie with me, you can come find me anytime.”

Her attitude was gentle.

Not like an old lover, but like an elder who indulged her a great deal.

After saying that, Chen Yue didn’t look at her again. She quietly walked into the projection room without turning on the light. After a while, blue light and shadow spilled from inside, along with the sound of the speakers.

She was watching a movie.

Chi Xiaoman couldn’t tell which one.

She sat by the dining table for a long time, spacing out for a long time, and in the end stood up, collected the plate, put it in the dishwasher, turned it on, and looked at the half-open door of the projection room.

Two minutes later, she gathered her courage, pushed the door open, and made up her mind to make things clear to Chen Yue—The actor for Neon was crucial. It wasn’t that she was acting on emotion, nor was it that she didn’t want to; it was simply that she truly was no longer the right choice.

The moment the door opened, Chen Yue looked toward her from inside the projection room, seeming not at all surprised. She smiled at her and said,

“Come sit.”

Chi Xiaoman walked over slowly and, just like last night, sat properly at the corner of the sofa.

She wanted to speak.

To honestly say everything she had just decided.

But at the glance she lifted her head, she suddenly couldn’t move.

Because on the wall, on the frame projected by the projector, was Chi Xiaoman’s own face—

in her early twenties.

The first role she had ever played.

Even though she had later received too many insults and attacks for it, even being blocked on an unfamiliar street and left with nowhere to turn, Chi Xiaoman had never been able to stop being grateful for that role.

Chen Yue was watching that role.

It was impossible to say what she felt. Chi Xiaoman dumbly tightened her knees and stared blankly at her own face in her early twenties, at the green but rich and full emotions flowing through her own eyes frame by frame.

She didn’t dare look at Chen Yue’s expression.

Anxiety and unease churned in her, yet she couldn’t interrupt either—because she herself was dazed too, realizing that the person on the screen felt so strange.

And because this might be one of the few things the current her could still share with Chen Yue openly, something she could still bring herself to be proud of.

No one spoke.

One episode ended. Chen Yue didn’t press play on the next one. The ending theme slowly began to play.

Chi Xiaoman vaguely felt anxious and panicked.

She chose to use composure to hide her unease, and a smile to fend off sorrow. “Why did you suddenly want to watch these?”

The sofa wasn’t very large. But when two people sat on it, there was still a wide space between them. After a long while, Chen Yue said in a low voice,

“Because I want you to know that what I said yesterday about you being suitable wasn’t empty talk. I said you were the actress I recommended, that you were the actress I thought was good enough, only after I had truly watched your work.”

Chi Xiaoman was stunned for a moment, then smiled. She didn’t know how ugly that smile looked on her face. “Then have you watched my current drama?”

“Chen Yue.” She lowered her head.

Staring at the tips of her shoes, she said softly,

“If you had watched it, you’d know this might be the best performance I’ve ever given.”

For some reason, admitting her own shortcomings in front of Chen Yue wasn’t nearly as humiliating as Chi Xiaoman had imagined. Instead, after admitting it, she felt as if she had finally shed the burden called pride.

So after that.

She took three more breaths, slowly exhaled, steadied herself, then looked up again, wanting to smile at Chen Yue.

But Chen Yue said,

“I have watched it.”

Her gaze didn’t avoid anything. “I don’t think so.”

After a pause, her voice was very soft. “I also don’t know why you would think that.”

In fact, Chen Yue could never imagine how much pain Chi Xiaoman had gone through on this road to lose all confidence and become a completely unfamiliar other person.

Nor did she know how many things had happened to make the person who once said, “I won’t feel ashamed of effort,” now repeatedly feel ashamed and embarrassed about her talent for dreaming and for trying.

But after all, ten years ago—

Chi Xiaoman had also given the penniless Chen Yue a great deal of encouragement and unconditional support, never looking down on her, never doubting her, never finding her sudden ideas strange.

And she had never felt disappointed by Chen Yue hiding in her room and shutting herself away from time to time; from beginning to end, she had done everything she could, offering her, who knew nothing about acting, tremendous help and the highest level of backing.

So in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to blame Chi Xiaoman for anything.

She could only soften her voice once more and say gently,

“Xiaoman, don’t you believe me?”

“Don’t you believe I have good judgment?”

“Don’t you believe that my faith in you is completely real?”

Three questions.

Unhurried.

With no trace of aggression.

Yet Chi Xiaoman fell into a long, stifling silence. She lowered her eyes, her throat dry.

“Chen Yue, why are you still being this good to me?”

Why are you helping me again and again?

Why, when I’m conflicted and mired in the mud, do you keep trying again and again without ever getting tired of persuading me, of pulling me out?

Why are you willing to be so patient with me?

“Do you think that’s being good to you?” Chen Yue asked softly.

Chi Xiaoman froze.

Light and shadow shifted. Chen Yue looked at her in profile, as if thinking of something painful. After a long silence, she called her name quietly: “Xiaoman.”

There was a lot of light and shadow moving across the woman’s face.

“Why do you think that?” she said slowly. “Is it because... the people around you have all been too cruel to you?”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t speak for a long time.

Her face was pale, whether from the reflected light and shadow or because she hadn’t rested well the night before, she didn’t know.

Still, she clenched her fingertips and tried hard to pretend to be calm. “Chen Yue—”

“Xiaoman.”

Chen Yue cut her off. “Do we really have to waste time like last time?”

Her voice was very soft. “You refuse, then I keep pursuing, until you finally agree with me.”

Chi Xiaoman’s face was pale. At the word “pursuing,” her clenched fingers hurt a little. She didn’t want Chen Yue to describe herself that way.

As the projector’s screensaver appeared, Chen Yue looked at her beneath the yellow-green light and asked slowly,

“Can you tell me what you’re afraid of?”

As if afraid of startling her.

Her voice was kept very light.

As if wrapped in melted sugar syrup.

“Afraid of bringing me bad influence?”

“Afraid of not performing well?”

At this point, she paused.

“Or... do you really hate acting opposite me?”

Her voice lowered a great deal. “If it’s this reason, then I...”

“No.” The first few questions had drawn no response.

At this point, Chi Xiaoman finally denied it, then lowered her eyes in a very unnatural way.

Thunder and lightning raged outside.

She realized she had nowhere to hide, not even in her own shadow; she was already trapped in a position where she couldn’t turn and run. Her pride was being ground to dust, and yet she still had to admit it.

“But I really am afraid of acting opposite you.”

After saying that, Chi Xiaoman didn’t wait for Chen Yue to speak. She gave a laugh. “Because you’re too good.”

She said softly, “I’m afraid I’m not good enough.”

“I’ve never been that good in the first place.”

Her mouth twisted in an awkward little motion, like some automatic defensive response.

“Afraid of making a fool of myself in front of you.”

Afraid that the kindness you’re giving me now...

would disappear after you saw the real me.

“And afraid that... if I don’t perform well, I’ll drag you down too.”

Confessing pain and fear was never simple. Especially in front of Chen Yue, because she was so tolerant, so considerate.

Sometimes Chi Xiaoman didn’t like Chen Yue’s thoughtfulness very much. It made bad people push their luck.

In the past, she had always rushed ahead of Chen Yue, shielding her behind her back, never stingy about being the bad one on Chen Yue’s behalf.

Yet she never thought that one day, the person standing across from Chen Yue, the one who always made her suffer losses...

would be herself.

Chi Xiaoman understood that very early on, she no longer had the chance to fight side by side with her.

Filming this movie might be a chance.

But it was also completely different from before. Because if she took one wrong step, Chen Yue would lose a great deal.

After saying all that, she wanted to manage a light, easy smile, only to find she couldn’t even lift the corners of her lips. So she covered her eyes, which were aching badly, and said in a dry voice,

“Would that kind of fear make you think I’m useless? That I’m hopeless?”

Would it make you think I’m completely different from the person you loved back then?

Would it disappoint you?

She couldn’t bring herself to ask the last two questions either. In the suppressed standoff, Chi Xiaoman took three breaths, then slowly let them out.

This was how she handled her emotions. It might not look very good, but there was nothing she could do.

It was after she had inhaled three times in a row.

That she heard Chen Yue say,

“No.”

As if to prevent her from misunderstanding, she made the statement complete. “I wouldn’t think that.”

Chi Xiaoman felt her eyes gradually heat up, but she didn’t allow herself to actually cry.

And Chen Yue was not forceful.

Chen Yue was silent for a while.

It seemed she was observing Chi Xiaoman’s emotions, and also, after hearing her breathe several times, wanted to move a little closer.

But just as she shifted, she suddenly stopped and asked softly, “Chi Xiaoman, can I sit a little closer to you?”

The palm Chi Xiaoman had pressed over her face trembled.

But she didn’t want Chen Yue to see it.

So in a rush, she struggled to give a clear answer. “Yes.”

“That’s good,” Chen Yue said.

And she slowly moved closer.

As if afraid of making Chi Xiaoman feel pressured, she didn’t come too close, leaving half a seat between them.

Carrying a faint scent about her.

Her voice, too, drew much nearer.

Perhaps because the space was small, it sounded even more tender and soft,

“But you don’t need to be afraid.”

Chi Xiaoman trembled.

Usually, a sentence like that would be followed by an explanation, such as: I’m here; I’ll teach you well. Or: Don’t worry, I won’t let you make a fool of yourself.

But Chen Yue only said gently,

“Because you can do it.”

-

Chi Xiaoman was almost sobbing uncontrollably.

In a sense, before this Neon project began, she had never imagined it would become like this.

She had thought she might, for some reason, be unable to sign her own name to it. She had also thought they might not find a suitable actress in the end, and because she stubbornly refused to compromise, the project might drag on so long it could never get off the ground.

But she hadn’t thought that.

By now, not only had her persistence found meaning, giving Lang Lang’s name a chance to appear on the big screen, Chen Yue had truly taken part, becoming the indispensable “Shu.” And she herself... under Chen Yue’s repeated, patient persuasion, had begun to waver in absurd ways and entertain fantasies she should never have had...

What if she really played Xiaoyu?

What if... in the end, the three of them really none were missing?

Chi Xiaoman could hardly imagine that a promise made ten years ago would actually be fulfilled now, nor could she imagine that something so beautiful would happen to her. And because this choice might bring her many good things, she even began to suspect whether she had been too selfish, whether she had started the project from the very beginning with this unspeakable thought... and so felt even more burdened by it.

She didn’t know how many tears she had cried.

Nor did she know how long the moisture in her palm had remained there.

In the end.

Chi Xiaoman lifted her reddened eyes and asked Chen Yue, who was so close yet still felt like a dream,

“Chen Yue, why do you think I’m right for it?”

Chen Yue looked at her; perhaps she hadn’t expected Chi Xiaoman to suddenly raise her face, and she seemed momentarily lost.

After recovering.

She said very, very softly,

“So today is July 29 again.”

“What?” Chi Xiaoman was confused.

“Nothing.” Chen Yue gathered her thoughts, looked at her, then smiled. “Maybe because you always think you’re not suitable.”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t quite understand.

Her eyes felt so sore and swollen.

She blinked them shut in a muddle.

Yet because her eyelashes were damp and tangled together, it made her feel uncomfortable.

Hot tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

She struggled to open her eyes.

She saw the woman watching her for a long time in the dim light and shadow.

At last, the woman spoke slowly,

“I’ve never thought that.”

Chi Xiaoman was stunned.

“And I don’t want you to think that either,” Chen Yue’s voice sounded very calm.

She looked at her, the corners of her eyes seeming to smile, and then not to smile at all,

“Because in my heart, it has always been you and only you.”

Her voice was very soft, and tears slid down again, uncontrollably. Chi Xiaoman found it hard to meet Chen Yue’s gaze like this and lowered her eyes, but that only made her tears come faster, dropping one by one.

This was absolutely not the way she wanted to appear in front of Chen Yue, and it made her panic even more.

And as more and more tears fell.

As she could no longer hold it in and her shoulders began to shake again.

The woman moved closer.

After a moment’s hesitation, she raised her hand.

Her palm came down and patted Chi Xiaoman’s back very lightly. It was the gentlest of comforts, the most tender of indulgence.

And in that instant, Chi Xiaoman’s back stiffened at once.

She tried her best to hide the sobbing that had nowhere to go in this typhoon day, and had turned into a complete mess.

The next second, she felt Chen Yue’s hand, still lifted because of her stiffening and not yet lowered.

She also felt Chen Yue seem to have gone to fetch many tissues; in the end, she silently waited by Chi Xiaoman’s side for a long time.

Not pressing her for an answer, not touching her the way she had just now, only holding out the dry tissue.

When Chi Xiaoman did not move, she called softly, “Xiaoman.”

After hesitating, her voice was very, very light as she asked,

“Can I wipe your tears for you?”

【Author’s Note】

Updating Little Neon on time for its twenty-ninth day [sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses] (wearing five pairs today)