2013

The winter cold was terrifying, as if two wandering spirits frozen to death last winter were drifting around the room. This was the first winter they had spent in this rented place; it was also their first winter together. Chi Xiaoman had never imagined it could be this cold.

She didn’t know whether holding each other tighter, or holding on for longer, would make this dark, dry basement feel even a little warmer.

So she suddenly asked, “Sister Chen Tong, should we do it once more?”

But Chen Tong was silent for a very long time.

She seemed to be in pain over Chi Xiaoman’s request… almost suffering.

Yet even through that pain, she still held Chi Xiaoman the way she had just now.

One hand around her back, the other slowly stroking her hair.

Her face was buried in Chi Xiaoman’s shoulder, her breathing light and slow.

She seemed very quiet, but she was holding on so tightly.

Chi Xiaoman thought hard for a while.

Then she turned her face and tried to kiss Chen Tong’s lips.

But Chen Tong avoided her.

She turned her face away and did not let Chi Xiaoman kiss her.

So Chi Xiaoman only brushed the tip of her nose.

The touch was soft, the skin cool; a trace of liquid seeped into her lips, wet, salty, and bitter…

Chen Tong was crying.

Chi Xiaoman feared nothing more than Chen Tong crying.

She didn’t dare kiss her again.

She hurriedly pulled her lips away, then awkwardly pressed her face against Chen Tong’s, opening her mouth several times before finally forcing out a few words with great difficulty:

“Brother Chen Tong, please don’t cry.”

Chen Tong said nothing.

She held Chi Xiaoman tighter, both hands tightening with force.

At first her breathing was very light.

After a while, it inevitably grew a little unsteady, but soon settled down again.

“Brother Chen Tong,” Chi Xiaoman called her.

An embrace should have been the simplest thing. But perhaps because they had not hugged this long in so very long, when the two of them held too tightly, it hurt, and even their posture felt a little stiff.

Chi Xiaoman spread her arms around Chen Tong like a clumsy insect unfolding its wings. “You… you’re so cold.”

Chen Tong said nothing. She shook her head against Chi Xiaoman’s shoulder with some difficulty.

Actually, Chi Xiaoman should have said something else. But she could feel Chen Tong’s breathing against the side of her face, slow and steady, and she could also feel Chen Tong holding her with all her strength, while her body temperature remained cold.

So she said nothing.

She simply pressed her face lightly against Chen Tong’s. Even though she already had a premonition that this winter would be long, and that most of the time their embraces would be just like this: intimate and forceful, yet never able to become warm like summer.

Still, that did not stop her from wanting to keep this embrace going a little longer.

-

Starting from New Year’s Eve of the Year of the Snake, Chi Xiaoman fell gravely ill.

It was strange.

Because Chi Xiaoman had always thought that although she had no other real abilities, the one thing she was best at was not getting sick easily. Especially after coming to Beijing, she had run up and down without rest, year after year, through spring and autumn, and still hadn’t fallen seriously ill many times.

But this time, the illness came hard and fast.

At first there was drowsiness and confusion; later came fever, vomiting, inability to eat, and severe chills. Even when she was already wearing layer after layer of clothing and wrapped in several blankets, she still felt cold, and a dense, numbing pain spread through her joints, as if every part of her body had a rusted nail driven into it.

The symptoms piled up, flooding over her like seawater.

For a long time, Chi Xiaoman remained unable to stay conscious, and had very little sense of the New Year arriving.

New Year’s Eve.

She lay in bed, burning with fever nonstop.

Chen Tong sat by the bed holding her, spooning medicine into her mouth one mouthful at a time, feeding her hot water, feeding her a little soup brought back from outside.

But even this little bit of soup.

Chi Xiaoman couldn’t keep down.

She drank only a little.

Then, in discomfort, she hunched over and vomited everything onto the floor, then onto Chen Tong.

Chen Tong didn’t mind.

Very quietly, she helped her lie back down, then cleaned up the vomit she had thrown up.

After tidying up, Chen Tong lay down on the bed too, and from behind her held her very quietly around the back.

Chi Xiaoman obediently leaned back a little.

She could feel that the embrace opening toward her from behind was soft, making her feel as if she were being wrapped in deep, damp soil, being nourished.

After holding her for a while, Chen Tong came to touch her forehead, checking whether she was still feverish.

“Brother Chen Tong,” Chi Xiaoman breathed out hoarsely. Her vision was blurred and unclear. Forcing her eyelids open, she stared at the old yellow wall and asked with difficulty, “Is it… is it true that in a few hours, we’re going to the crematorium?”

“Mm.” Chen Tong encircled her shoulders, her face resting against the damp skin of Chi Xiaoman’s neck, wet with fever sweat. “Sleep a little first. I’ll call you later.”

“Then you…” Chi Xiaoman’s head swam as she opened her eyes, “what about you?”

“I’ll stay with you,” Chen Tong said.

“But I… I don’t want you to handle all of this alone.” Chi Xiaoman’s throat was very hoarse; every sentence cost her effort. “You have to take care of the patient and handle the crematorium. The crematorium stuff will be exhausting.”

Chen Tong came over and covered her eyes so she wouldn’t open them again. After a long while, she said slowly, “I’m not tired.”

Chi Xiaoman laughed weakly. She rubbed softly against Chen Tong’s palm and still wanted to stay awake as much as she could.

Lang Lang was their good friend. Losing Lang Lang would hurt Chen Tong too. But perhaps because Chi Xiaoman was too fragile, too helpless, and such an unskilled lover, Chen Tong could not show any sadness or pain in front of her.

“Then what about the movie?” In her dazed state, Chi Xiaoman asked.

Chen Tong said nothing.

Chi Xiaoman, weakly, wanted to open her eyes.

But Chen Tong covered them, not letting her see.

She laid her palm over Chi Xiaoman’s eyelids, just like in summer, and softly said to her,

“Go to sleep. Don’t open your eyes.”

Chi Xiaoman parted her lips, wanting to ask again.

But Chen Tong did not let her.

Leaning in, she pressed her face quietly against Chi Xiaoman’s shoulder from behind and said, “Get better soon, and I’ll go make the movie sooner.”

Her tone was natural.

It didn’t sound like she was lying.

Chi Xiaoman was muddle-headed and had no energy to think too much, but she still felt she should trust Chen Tong. Because last year, when Chen Tong made this decision, she had also hardly hesitated. Because Chen Tong had never been someone who should hesitate.

Thinking this.

Chi Xiaoman curled her shoulders in the corner and fell into a drowsy sleep.

When she woke again—

The outside had grown noisy and clamorous. It wasn’t fireworks or firecrackers; it was people shouting, running, jumping, and voices crying out “Happy New Year” with all their strength.

Chi Xiaoman slowly opened her eyes.

Turning her body.

Chen Tong was no longer lying beside her.

Like many summer nights, this winter too Chen Tong was sitting in the dark, as thin as a gray shadow, silently staring blankly out the little window at the night beyond.

The colored adhesive film that made the world look neon had yellowed, and because of wind and rain had faded and peeled away. Even the little curtain embroidered with goldfish was no longer as pretty as when it had first been hung up.

Chen Tong sat on a small wooden chair, hugging her knees, her black long hair covering half her face.

She seemed to be thinking about something very sad, yet also as if she were thinking of nothing at all.

Chi Xiaoman forced her eyes open to look at her.

She wanted to see her clearly.

But she couldn’t.

Until Chen Tong seemed to feel her gaze and turned her face toward her—

Their eyes met.

In the dark.

Under the faint, dim light spilling in from the streetlamp.

Cold air, murky shadows, and an entire vicious winter lay between their two pairs of eyes.

A long time passed.

Chi Xiaoman lifted the corners of her lips. “Brother Chen Tong, Happy New Year.”

Chen Tong seemed to come back to herself. Hearing those words, she smiled at Chi Xiaoman too, carrying a little of the cold from the winter night, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

“Xiaoman, Happy New Year.”

-

The farewell before Lang Lang’s cremation was very short.

They hadn’t been able to contact Lang Lang’s relatives. Because Lang Lang hadn’t left behind any contact information either. In a certain sense, she really was like she said; like a lone hero wandering through a wuxia film.

So apart from the two of them.

The people who came to the farewell service that morning were some crew staff who had once worked with Lang Lang, and those people Chi Xiaoman had borrowed money from and not yet paid back, but who still came anyway.

Altogether, fewer than fifteen people.

Before it began, the staff in charge of the arrangements asked them for a photo of Lang Lang.

They had no time to have one printed.

So they could only crop part of that group photo and print it out to place in the center.

The lighting was stark white, and Lang Lang still wore that somewhat comical birthday hat, with a thin red string under her chin. In the middle of the photo, she smiled with great happiness, giving a bright smile to the scattered people who had come to say goodbye to her. That may have been Lang Lang’s whole life.

Chi Xiaoman had a 38.7-degree fever, which made it almost impossible for her to stand on her own. But she still insisted on staying through the entire service, insisting on thanking every person who had come at this time to bid Lang Lang farewell, and solemnly stating that she would definitely repay the money and would not let them wait long.

People willing to come to a farewell service at a time like this generally wouldn’t care about such a thing.

Among them were extras who had lived in Beijing for many years, little screenwriters like Lang Lang who believed what they wrote would one day be seen, independent directors who longed for their films to reach the big screen, and small actors Lang Lang had taken a liking to and helped…

Each of them had rushed over through wind and snow, gripping Chi Xiaoman’s hand, their eyes red as they looked at her.

The farewell service ended around ten in the morning.

By then, no one else was coming.

The crematorium staff reminded them that it was almost time for the cremation.

Chi Xiaoman was dizzy and weak, sitting on the cushion with her back bent. In a daze, she saw Chen Tong standing beneath the photo of Lang Lang smiling so brightly, staring for a long time at Lang Lang in the center of the photo.

Her back was to Chi Xiaoman, and she spoke softly to Lang Lang, saying something.

She didn’t say much.

The body was hurried off to be cremated.

So Chen Tong watched Lang Lang for a long time at the end. When she saw the staff step forward, she lowered her face and covered her eyes with her palm. When she raised her face again, she quickly wiped the corner of her eyes, and with a hoarse voice asked Chi Xiaoman, “Xiaoman, do you have anything else you want to say to Lang Lang?”

“No.” Chi Xiaoman shook her head.

She looked at Lang Lang in the photo and smiled strangely. “What I needed to say, I already said that day.”

Chen Tong nodded and did not persuade her further.

Then the body was pushed in for cremation.

A person; someone who not long ago had still been alive and had asked her to help dye her hair, someone whose skin had been warm just two days ago, was suddenly packed into a small box, burned completely by a fire, and in the end became a little urn.

Chi Xiaoman stared blankly as Lang Lang was pushed in to be burned in a very simple little box, and she staggered forward without being able to stop herself—

Chen Tong blocked her.

Chi Xiaoman had no choice but to stop, her whole body collapsing into Chen Tong’s arms.

Chen Tong held her hand tightly and drew her shoulders in, not letting her faint.

Chi Xiaoman clenched Chen Tong’s hand tightly, forcing herself to remain standing. Watching Lang Lang being pushed in completely, she felt she could not bear it and had to crouch down, bending her back to ease the pain in her chest.

Chen Tong protected her trembling shoulders tightly.

Chi Xiaoman raised her red and swollen eyes, parted her chapped lips, and after a long time said to Chen Tong,

“Brother Chen Tong, can I…”

She said a few words but couldn’t get them out.

Chen Tong rubbed her shoulder.

After a long while, Chi Xiaoman looked at her and said with great effort, “Can I… can I get Lang Lang a, a prettier box?”

Chen Tong looked at her.

The rims of her eyes slowly turned red.

She seemed to have a lot to say to Chi Xiaoman.

But in the end.

She only pulled Chi Xiaoman into a tighter embrace, kissed her forehead, and said three words slowly:

“It’s okay.”

-

After that sentence, Chi Xiaoman fainted.

When she woke again.

She found herself back in the hospital.

It was the emergency room.

Around her, many patients lay on the beds, crying out in pain, looking very, very miserable.

Chi Xiaoman did not cry out.

Leaning half-sitting against the side of the bed, she laboriously lifted her eyelids and stared blankly at the water in her IV bottle dripping down one drop at a time.

There were many voices in the ward, noisy and chaotic. But she still keenly picked out one of them from among the others; it belonged to Chen Tong.

Chen Tong was on the phone again.

These past few days she had always had many calls to make.

Chi Xiaoman did not deliberately listen, nor did she deliberately look for Chen Tong’s figure. Because she knew that as soon as she looked at Chen Tong, and Chen Tong saw her eyes, she would quickly hang up and come over to her.

Chi Xiaoman leaned against the head of the bed.

Sat in a daze for a while.

Then she saw several payment slips scattered messily on the bedside table shared with the patient next to her.

Chi Xiaoman had become very sensitive to payment slips lately.

She looked for a while, then laboriously reached out to take them.

The line from the drip pulled at the back of her hand and hurt a little. But she didn’t care. She took the slips, and from the tiny printed words found a few numbers—

numbers she didn’t have.

A lot of the tests were ones she had never had done for herself, because they were clearly tests she couldn’t afford.

Chi Xiaoman stared blankly at the slips.

Before Chen Tong noticed.

She memorized the numbers on the receipts.

She had originally planned to write them into her phone.

But she didn’t dare touch her shattered-screen phone anymore.

At first she felt her memory was good enough.

But then she thought of how she couldn’t even remember Lang Lang’s passbook password now.

So Chi Xiaoman looked around the ward in a daze. After her eyes met those of a crying child on the bed next to hers—

The child suddenly looked at her and hiccupped through tears.

Chi Xiaoman curved her eyes and smiled.

-

Chen Tong hung up the phone.

She put the phone into her pocket.

Then turned to look at Chi Xiaoman—

It was still the same as not long ago.

Chi Xiaoman lay very quietly on the hospital bed, eyes closed, sound asleep. She hadn’t slept very well these past few days; only in the hospital had she finally managed to sleep a little more peacefully.

Chen Tong didn’t want to disturb her.

So she walked over gently and quietly.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t wake.

The way she slept was very docile, as if she had never suffered any harm, only her skin carrying a sickly, fragile pallor.

Chen Tong reached out to touch her face.

It was a little hot.

The fever still hadn’t gone down completely.

Chen Tong slowly withdrew her hand.

She sat by the bed and looked at her for a long time.

She wanted to tuck the hand placed outside the blanket back in, but when her gaze lowered, she saw—

Chi Xiaoman was sleeping very soundly. Her cuff had slipped up a little, exposing the skin on her forearm.

There were some gray lines drawn on it.

Chen Tong found that strange, so she gently rolled up Chi Xiaoman’s sleeve a little, and then saw several crooked strings of numbers written on her hand—

235.

678.

34.

167.

Chen Tong looked for a while, then let the cuff fall back down.

She gently put Chi Xiaoman’s hand back under the blanket.

And kept watching her sleeping face for a long time.

Chen Tong picked up the payment slips she had been ignoring.

The first one.

Her gaze fell on the number in the corner.

167.

The emergency room was noisy and clamorous, and Chi Xiaoman did not wake. Chen Tong calmly turned to the second one—

34.

Chen Tong curled her fingers.

Turned to the third—

678.

Chen Tong looked at the sleeping Chi Xiaoman.

She could no longer continue turning them over.

The payment slips freshly printed from the printer were clean and flat, and slipped from her hand.

The phone in her pocket was still buzzing nonstop.

Chen Tong tiredly covered her eyes.

-

Chi Xiaoman insisted on not staying in the hospital.

At first Chen Tong still wanted to persuade her.

But Chi Xiaoman leaned against the hospital bed, breathing pitifully as she said to her,

“Brother Chen Tong, I really hate hospitals.”

Because she was so ill, her voice carried a nasal sound, making it seem like she was deliberately acting spoiled.

Chen Tong had no more way to argue.

When Chi Xiaoman’s fever had gone down a little.

She called the nurse to remove the needle, and also chose to carry Chi Xiaoman on her back and slowly go home.

Perhaps she was afraid Chen Tong would be angry because she refused to stay in the hospital. Chi Xiaoman remained obediently on her back all the way, and when Chen Tong panted a little from carrying her, she nuzzled her shoulder like a kitten and said sweetly, “Brother Chen Tong, do you want to put me down?”

Chen Tong shook her head.

Carrying someone in winter was very hard. Because both of them wore a lot of clothes. But she still insisted on carrying her, even though carrying her made her move much more slowly.

Chi Xiaoman grew quiet and did not try to persuade her anymore.

Lang Lang’s farewell service was over. The two of them seemed to have no more words left to say. Talking about Lang Lang would touch pain; talking about anything else felt like betraying the newly departed Lang Lang.

So most of the time, they could only remain silent.

But on this stretch of road.

Chi Xiaoman still wanted to make things a little easier for Chen Tong, so she took the initiative to say,

“Actually, having a fever is just like this. It comes and goes; even going to the hospital won’t make it better right away.”

“Okay,” Chen Tong said slowly. “Then let’s not go to the hospital these next few days.”

Chi Xiaoman hadn’t expected Chen Tong to agree so readily. But after thinking about it carefully, she felt she really couldn’t keep going to the hospital so often; not only would it worry Chen Tong, it would also waste a lot of money.

Chen Tong’s money.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t know why she had suddenly become like this.

While she was asleep, she thought a lot; in the end, somewhat blankly, she suspected that perhaps she had been lazy in the summer, which was why she couldn’t now buy Lang Lang a prettier coffin, and even each meal she ate, each sip of water she drank, was paid for by Chen Tong.

And yet even so, she still wanted to keep walking like this with Chen Tong forever.

“Once I’m a little better, I’ll go find work,” Chi Xiaoman said after thinking for a while, still on Chen Tong’s back.

“Okay.” Chen Tong did not object. She walked very slowly, perhaps because it was difficult, so she didn’t have the strength to speak. Her breathing was also a little uneven.

“Once I’m better, Brother Chen Tong, you can go make your movie.” Snow seemed to be falling again. As it drifted down, it landed in her eyes. Chi Xiaoman rubbed them and said, “Don’t worry about me.”

Chen Tong stepped through the snow and walked a few more steps, still saying, “Okay.”

That answer made Chi Xiaoman feel at ease.

Not long after.

She lay on Chen Tong’s shoulder and fell asleep again.

She slept for several days.

This illness tormented her terribly; for the next few days, there was almost no time she was truly awake.

Taking care of a sick person was really very hard. You had to check her temperature at all times, see whether she could keep food down, clean up her vomit, and endure her silence and loneliness while she was sleeping and unconscious… No one understood this better than Chi Xiaoman.

So during those periods of unconsciousness.

She gradually understood why, before leaving, Lang Lang had said sorry to her twice.

Because behind every sentence she wanted to say.

There was another “I’m sorry” hidden.

I’m sorry for not taking good care of Lang Lang before you came back.

I’m sorry for not taking good care of myself this winter.

I’m sorry that I brought you more pain than happiness.

I’m sorry that I can’t pull myself together.

I’m sorry that I didn’t make this New Year good for you.

I’m sorry I don’t dare say sorry to you, because I’m afraid once I say it, these things will never be put behind us; because I’m afraid that in the future, every time I look into your eyes, I’ll want to say sorry; because I’m afraid you’ll really think I’m completely useless, and then we’ll never be able to become equal lovers again, so I’m even more sorry.

…

Those three words were like this fever, grinding over and over through Chi Xiaoman’s fragile, unbearable body.

She didn’t want to say them out loud.

So they kept appearing again and again in her mind.

Their frequency grew higher and higher.

So.

When she felt a little better.

Chi Xiaoman said she needed to go to school for a bit, then secretly ran out. When she came back, she brought a little money, and some vegetables bought from the market. Rolling up her sleeves, she was ready to make candied sweet potatoes for Chen Tong.

Chen Tong originally didn’t want her to do it. But perhaps seeing that she was really much better, and seeing how excited she was about it, she touched her forehead, confirmed she wasn’t feverish, and let her do as she pleased, even helping with her hands beside her.

“Why did you suddenly think of making candied sweet potatoes?” Chen Tong asked.

“It’s New Year,” Chi Xiaoman said. She had been ill for so long that her face was somewhat pale, but she still smiled. “We didn’t really get to have a proper New Year before. Now we have to eat something sweet. That way this year will go more smoothly.”

“Mm.” Chen Tong touched her hair. “That makes sense.”

“Oh right, Brother Chen Tong,” Chi Xiaoman said casually as she peeled the sweet potatoes, “I bought you a plane ticket.”

When she said this, she kept her face lowered and didn’t look at Chen Tong at all. So she didn’t know what expression Chen Tong wore.

She only heard Chen Tong fall silent for a moment after hearing that, then ask softly, “For when?”

“Mm… the flight to Guangdong in three days.” Chi Xiaoman said. “I don’t know when your crew starts work again, but I’ve been thinking these past few days that, since it’s New Year and we borrowed money from your mother again last year, it’s probably more appropriate for you to go back and spend the New Year with her.”

“And besides, hasn’t she been calling you these days, telling you to go back and see her?” Chi Xiaoman said lightly. “It works out perfectly. You can go back and see her, stay with her for a few days during the first month, then fly straight to Hong Kong to start filming.”

Chen Tong was quiet for a moment. “Chi Xiaoman, where did you get the money?”

Chi Xiaoman suddenly stopped moving.

Chen Tong didn’t rush to speak either. She just waited a while, and when she saw that Chi Xiaoman had remained motionless for a long time, she looked over.

After that question.

Chi Xiaoman accidentally cut her hand. Fresh, red blood welled up, ran in a thin line, and dripped down.

But she seemed not to see it, not to care, just stared blankly at the blood.

Chen Tong walked over calmly.

She took the sweet potato core from Chi Xiaoman’s hand.

Then took her to rinse the wound under water.

The blood slowly seeped out, mixed with the water, and flowed into the drain.

Gradually fading.

Chi Xiaoman also slowly came back to herself.

She curved her eyes and smiled at Chen Tong. “Grandma gave me New Year’s money.”

But she probably didn’t know how hard, how forced, how strange her smile looked.

Chen Tong looked at her for a while, lowered her eyes, and stopped looking into her eyes.

She treated the wound.

They didn’t have a bandage for the moment, so after the blood had stopped, she wrapped her hand briefly in paper, then said to her, “Don’t touch water for now. We’ll go buy a bandage later.”

Chi Xiaoman sat down obediently. “Then what about the candied sweet potatoes?”

The prepared ingredients had only had the sweet potatoes peeled so far; nothing else had been touched, lying in a messy heap on the floor of the rented room.

Chen Tong sat down tiredly by the bed, looked at the ingredients for a long time, then rubbed her brow and said slowly,

“Chi Xiaoman, why do you have to make me leave now?”

Chi Xiaoman hadn’t expected her to ask that. She paused, then looked at the coat on Chen Tong that had gotten a little dusty against her body, and said with some difficulty, “Because Beijing winters are very cold, and you’re from Guangdong, so you’re probably not used to it…”

“Didn’t you say there would be another chance to film?” Chen Tong turned her face to look at her, her expression blurred in the light and shadow. “Why is the same thing different when it happens to you and when it happens to me?”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

She blinked, confused, and felt that Chen Tong’s reasoning was off, so she opened her lips with great effort. “But I’m not leaving.”

She told Chen Tong,

“Because after you go film, we’ll still have another chance to see each other.”

The sun came out that day, and a little bit of sunlight spilled in. But the rented room was still cold.

Chi Xiaoman smiled at Chen Tong, who was looking at her. “Isn’t that right?”

Chen Tong did not answer.

“Brother Chen Tong.”

Chi Xiaoman had no choice but to call her again.

She rested her injured finger on her knee, looked down at the shadows separating them so widely, and said softly,

“If, if it were Lang Lang instead, before Lang Lang left, I definitely would have told you— it’s okay, we’ll still have another chance to film.”

“But Lang Lang just left like that.”

Actually, Lang Lang had already been gone for several days. But this was the first time Chi Xiaoman said the fact out loud. She tried to make her tone sound normal, but when she said it, her chest still hurt terribly, and she had to grip her knee tightly in order to remain conscious through the sharp pain and keep going with what she wanted to say.

“And before she left, she still never managed to film the movie she wanted to make. That’s a pity, because the real world is like this; there are so many things we can’t decide.”

“The chance to make a movie isn’t something we can decide, just like… just like Lang Lang’s leaving wasn’t something we could decide either.”

When she said this, she smiled at Chen Tong sitting in the sunlight. “So this actually doesn’t contradict what I said before. Because after you go make your movie, I’ll still be here waiting for you.”

Carefully, Chi Xiaoman reached out to hold Chen Tong’s hand and softly said to her,

“But the chance to play the female lead in a movie is something that, once you miss it, is very hard to have again later.”

“So if this really is something you want to do, if it’s something you only discovered you liked after growing up this much, then you absolutely must not give it up because of me, okay?”

-

Chi Xiaoman’s words made sense.

The winter rented room was not bright, but Chen Tong could still clearly see on her face the effort she had put into this relationship, and the maturity she was trying so hard to show.

Chi Xiaoman had grown up like this.

—When Chen Tong was not by her side.

Actually, Chen Tong was not convinced by Chi Xiaoman’s words. Because the first time she left, she had believed she was making the “most correct” choice, and had left Chi Xiaoman alone in Beijing without the slightest hesitation… It wasn’t that she had never regretted it, only that back then, regret could still be soothed by calling it “correct.”

And now…

Chen Tong no longer knew—

If she left again, whether there would be even more things missed, more things unseen.

Perhaps the growth in this relationship had suddenly lagged behind Chi Xiaoman. Emotionally, she did not want to leave, and she could not make the “correct” choice.

But if this was what Chi Xiaoman wanted.

She thought she could do her best to satisfy it.

Sunlight filled the room. She touched Chi Xiaoman’s face and said,

“Okay.”

Then a visibly relieved expression appeared on Chi Xiaoman’s face. She let out a long, long breath, and the tension in her back finally completely relaxed, as if a huge problem had been solved. She smiled at Chen Tong with all her strength, then said,

“Then before you leave, I’ll make candied sweet potatoes for you again.”

Seeing Chi Xiaoman’s pale, haggard smile in the sunlight, Chen Tong realized she herself did not feel much joy at all, nor any relief.

For several nights.

Watching Chi Xiaoman’s sleeping face, finally relaxed because of this, she still could not convince herself that going to film this movie was the biggest difficulty between them.

Nor could she feel at ease because of it.

As long as she went to film this movie, would Chi Xiaoman really wait obediently here just like now? After filming was over and she came back, would they really become what they were before? Would things really develop that way?

And if she didn’t go? If she didn’t go, would she and Chi Xiaoman stay in this rented room until the end of time? Would they get another chance? And even if there was another chance, would she still have to face the same choice as now?

This was also Chen Tong’s first relationship.

She wasn’t quite sure whether agreeing to Chi Xiaoman that she would go already counted as solving the problem.

It was just that Chi Xiaoman felt at ease because of it, and she had no way to offer any further objection.

Until the night before she left.

Chi Xiaoman burned with a high fever again. She was delirious, yet even in her sleep she kept insisting—Brother Chen Tong, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.

Brother Chen Tong, have you packed your things yet?

Brother Chen Tong, stay a little farther away from me, don’t catch it from me.

Brother Chen Tong, did your mother call you again?

Brother Chen Tong, tell your mother that I’ll repay her money as soon as possible, and ask her not to be too hard on you…

Every word came out muffled.

Every word was said with great effort.

To the point that on this night, Chen Tong watched the wet, feverish face of Chi Xiaoman as she curled her legs on the chair and sat in the dark, thinking for a long time. Then, when Chi Xiaoman vaguely opened her eyes and met hers, Chen Tong suddenly began to feel her heart go numb, and in that almost painful numbness, she finally understood one thing completely—

Actually, whether she went to film this movie or not didn’t matter at all.

Because it seemed…

No matter which choice she made, nothing would be able to stop the fact that she and Chi Xiaoman were destined to drift farther and farther apart.

Chen Tong did not deny that she was a complete pessimist, unable to place long-term hope in any relationship.

The reason she had been willing, in that last summer, to believe in so much and receive so much.

Was all because of Chi Xiaoman’s influence.

There were less than twelve hours until the flight took off. Chen Tong climbed down from the stool, got onto the bed, and held Chi Xiaoman from behind, breathing in the familiar scent of hair on Chi Xiaoman’s body.

Deep in the night’s lingering light and shadow, Chen Tong, utterly exhausted, buried the tip of her nose behind Chi Xiaoman’s ear, hoping this winter could pass inside this embrace. If that could happen, then she would not have to make any decision that would push Chi Xiaoman farther away.

Chi Xiaoman was sleeping drowsily, and perhaps sensing something, she turned her face a little toward her and asked in a hoarse voice, “Brother Chen Tong, what are you thinking about?”

On many nights like this, back in summer, Chi Xiaoman would always ask her the same thing—Brother Chen Tong, what do you think about when you can’t sleep at night?

And Chen Tong would always, just like now, hold Chi Xiaoman from behind, shake her head behind her back, and answer softly, “I’m not thinking about anything.”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t say anything. Perhaps she didn’t have the energy, or perhaps she was simply spacing out.

In the past, in this kind of situation, she would have turned around and hugged Chen Tong face-to-face, pressing her own pounding heart against Chen Tong’s heart, then looked at her with bright, moist eyes.

But that night, she did not turn around.

She remained with her back to Chen Tong.

Like a curled-up, cold little bird, held in Chen Tong’s arms.

But still pressed against her heart, and with waning energy said to her, “Brother Chen Tong, when I went out today, I sent your coat to the dry cleaner. Remember tomorrow… remember to go pick it up early.”

“Okay.”

Chen Tong said that.

After hearing the answer, Chi Xiaoman said nothing more.

Chen Tong watched her profile, as if she had already fallen asleep, and after a long while, very lightly touched her hair.

She really wasn’t thinking about anything.

Because on many long nights, it was always just like this one.

A switch stood in front of her.

If she pressed it, she would walk in another direction.

If she left, she would head toward another road.

But Chen Tong could only stand there, unable to press it, unable to leave.

Because neither result could be accepted, and neither result could be perfect; if she chose one path, she would lose the other destination, so she had delayed making any decision for so long.

Hesitant, painful, pessimistic, passive.

That was Chen Tong.

-

When Chi Xiaoman woke up.

The two small beds pushed together no longer had Chen Tong on them, and there was no one in the room either.

The plane ticket was for the afternoon.

But Chen Tong probably didn’t want her to see her off, so she simply left early.

Chi Xiaoman felt a little down, but she also felt much comforted by it.

She was glad that Chen Tong had made the right choice, and had not completely turned into a different person because of her.

And because of that, she resolved to take good care of herself in Beijing, handle Lang Lang’s affairs properly, and finally wait for Chen Tong to come back.

Then Chi Xiaoman heard her phone ring.

It wasn’t her phone. Because her shattered-screen phone hadn’t been charged for many days.

Chi Xiaoman got out of bed in a daze, her legs weak as she climbed down, put on her slippers, and searched for a long time before finding Chen Tong’s phone on the blue sofa—

They hadn’t sat on that sofa for a long time.

Chi Xiaoman stood beside the sofa, looking at the lit-up phone screen, and suddenly didn’t dare touch it.

But the phone rang for a long time.

So she had no choice but to overcome her trembling and anxiety and answer it—

At once, a familiar voice came from the other end.

“Chen Tong, where are you?”

The tone was stern, slightly sharp.

It was Chen Tong’s mother.

And also Chi Xiaoman’s biggest creditor.

Chi Xiaoman opened her lips and very stiffly called, “Auntie.”

The person on the other end paused for a moment, then asked warily, “Who are you?”

“What is your relationship with my daughter?”

“Where did my daughter go? Why is her phone in your hands?”

…

One question after another, not exactly aggressive, but the tone sounded anxious.

Chi Xiaoman stood alone in the rented room. She didn’t know what others would think. But at that moment, she suddenly realized this seemed to be the first time she and Chen Tong’s mother had ever spoken. Then she stiffly thought that perhaps she should smile; at the very least, she should leave a better impression on Chen Tong’s mother.

And the person on the other end went quiet for a moment.

Then continued asking,

“Was the reason she borrowed money from me last time because of you?”

Chi Xiaoman’s forced smile froze on her face. She tightened her grip on the phone and squeezed out a single word with all her strength: “Yes…”

“Forget about the money you borrowed.”

Chen Tong’s mother cut her off.

“I’ll treat it as you, a young girl out there on your own, having difficulties. I won’t keep pushing you to pay it back.”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

“But if you really think you owe us,” Chen Tong’s mother sighed, “then consider it helping Auntie out with a favor.”

“Don’t keep finding excuses to call our Chen Tong over for every little thing. Can you do that?”

“I…” Chi Xiaoman’s throat moved.

As soon as she opened her mouth, black water seemed to surge over her, flooding the entire rented room, flooding her throat.

Chen Tong’s mother continued talking on the phone,

“She’s still young, maybe just immature, or maybe I raised her too gently since childhood. But our family isn’t in a very good position either; we really can’t keep being dragged around by you like this. Once or twice is one thing, but again and again, rushing over like this, she can’t even live her own life properly…”

To be fair, Chen Tong’s mother’s tone wasn’t especially harsh.

It didn’t even count as truly blaming her.

It was more like… the kind of muttering Chi Xiaoman often heard from classmates’ parents.

Only perhaps because she was speaking too quickly.

Chi Xiaoman could barely find a gap to reply.

So.

By the time the call ended.

When the long “beep beep” sound came from the other end.

Chi Xiaoman stood beside that blue sofa in a daze for a long time, before slowly saying the words she had wanted to say from the very beginning: “I… I’m not a bad person.”

But the person on the other end didn’t hear it.

And Chi Xiaoman had no way to call back.

She didn’t really know how to use Chen Tong’s phone.

It was a new smartphone, with the screen sliding around, full of lots of little squares inside.

Chi Xiaoman had originally wanted to put the phone down, but after hanging up for a long time, she found that the phone still hadn’t gone dark, because new messages kept popping up one after another—

[Where are you?]

[Can you come tomorrow? The director is already very unhappy. We already gave you a five-day break, which was long enough. Now it’s been delayed by three days and you still aren’t back? Contact me as soon as you see this text.]

[Chen Tong, it’s your sister.]

[I heard from Auntie that you suddenly ran to Beijing. What’s going on? Aren’t you filming anymore? Before, didn’t you kneel for a whole night begging Auntie to let you go back and film? Why did you suddenly decide not to film?]

There were many messages.

This illness really had hit her hard. Chi Xiaoman felt dizzy and confused, as if she could no longer see the words on the screen clearly, but she still pieced together many fragments of fact from them—

Chen Tong had rushed back after taking leave from the crew.

In order to go film this movie, while Chi Xiaoman didn’t know it, Chen Tong had knelt before her mother for an entire night.

The phone calls Chen Tong had been answering these past days were all to handle these matters.

…

Many facts surged toward her.

It felt as if the sun had suddenly gone out, like a controllable lamp, lit only in front of whoever it wanted. Chi Xiaoman stood blankly inside the cold rented room and suddenly no longer understood what was happening.

Just like that day, when she stood outside Lang Lang’s hospital room and also didn’t quite understand what had happened to Lang Lang.

Nearly a week had passed.

She still didn’t understand how all of this had happened.

Why was Lang Lang gone?

Why was Chen Tong suddenly suffering so much because of her?

Why, when things had been agreed upon so clearly, did Chen Tong have to lie to her?

Why had it become like this?

No matter how she thought about it, Chi Xiaoman couldn’t understand.

Until there came a very soft sound of the door opening—

Their garage door was a rolling shutter; every time it was pulled up, it would catch in the middle. After that, it took even more force to raise it.

Chi Xiaoman turned her head.

The person opening the door got stuck too this time.

About half a minute passed.

Only then did Chen Tong lift the entire door.

So sunlight seeped in a little again. Chen Tong also stepped in under the sun.

First she saw Chi Xiaoman.

Then she saw the phone clenched in her hand.

Chen Tong froze.

She may have already gone to the dry cleaner and retrieved the coat she had worn back, along with that purple scarf. But she wasn’t wearing them. She held both the coat and the purple scarf in her hands, and she also wasn’t wearing the black padded jacket she used to wear often in Beijing.

She was only wearing a black turtleneck sweater. The wrapped-up line of her neck was slender and long, her black hair stained by sunlight into a glittering color, her face exposed beneath the golden sun, looking beautiful.

Chi Xiaoman gripped the phone tightly. The edge of the phone was hard, digging painfully into the joints of her fingers.

Chen Tong’s gaze fell on the phone in her hand, one second, two seconds, and then calmly moved away.

She did not put down the coat or scarf.

She only set the breakfast she had bought on the table, then walked over quietly and said, “Xiaoman, let’s eat breakfast.”

She didn’t look at Chi Xiaoman.

Chi Xiaoman looked at her lowered profile and silently handed the phone back to her.

Chen Tong took it a beat late and said to her, “Thank you.”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t speak for a long time.

She watched Chen Tong put the phone away, watched Chen Tong slowly unwrap the noodles she had bought, watched Chen Tong take her chopsticks apart very slowly, watched Chen Tong refuse to look her in the eye.

After a long while.

Chi Xiaoman spoke with difficulty.

“Brother Chen Tong.”

“I’m sorry.”

She finally said those words, yet she did not feel even the slightest bit relieved, nor did she feel sad.

It was as if something white had separated her mind from everything else; whatever she did, whatever she said, it was hard to stir up any emotion.

Chen Tong’s movements paused. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

To be honest, at this moment Chi Xiaoman believed there were many, many reasons she owed Chen Tong an apology, and just as many rushing up to her throat.

But she felt that every part between her heart and lungs was suddenly hurting terribly. She couldn’t breathe smoothly, and could hardly directly ask those heavy, blunt things.

In the end, she could only approach it from the side, and pick the easiest one to say:

“Because I accidentally saw your messages.”

Chen Tong was silent for a while, then smiled at her with good temper. “It’s okay.”

“Mm.” Chi Xiaoman sniffed, feeling thick, sticky liquid struggling to force its way into her airway inside her chest. “But I still want to ask you one thing…”

The sunlight dimmed a lot. The rented room became dark again, hiding both of their lines of sight.

Chen Tong did not speak. She stood in front of her, looking at her quietly. Even her shadow was silent.

Chi Xiaoman carefully looked into Chen Tong’s eyes.

“It’s just that I saw your messages saying you’ve been refunding the ticket these past few days and buying it again, then refunding it again, then buying it again…”

She wanted to smile, but couldn’t; even the sound she made seemed thinner than the sunlight outside.

“What exactly is going on?”

[Author’s Note]

Updated Little Neon on time for the fifty-ninth day [sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses][sunglasses]