2023

If she were being honest, it would be a lie to say she had never imagined running into Chen Yue one day at Felicity Noodle Shop, both of them bright and dazzling in their own ways.

In Chi Xiaoman’s imagination, that scene would have to happen late at night, under Felicity Noodle Shop’s old yellow lamp, with moths fluttering overhead. She and Chen Yue would sit across from each other, exchange a quiet “hello” out of courtesy, and then part with matching smiles.

Like two people putting down that insignificant old past and each stepping into the clear, new life they had once dreamed of ten years ago; the most fitting ending.

But when that day really came,

Chi Xiaoman discovered that if Chen Yue hadn’t taken the initiative to greet her, and hadn’t invited her to share the same table without holding old grudges, she probably wouldn’t have been able to say hello at all.

That was probably also why, even though she had already worked out how to handle it, she had still kept avoiding it, never daring to set foot on this road again.

At the table,

two steaming bowls of noodles were brought over. All these years, the owner had only raised the price by two yuan, and the portions hadn’t shrunk at all. Steam drifted between them, blurring their faces whenever their eyes met.

At first, neither of them spoke. Only the people at the neighboring table were chatting in hushed, rustling voices.

“When was this place demolished?”

“Probably sometime in the last year or two.”

“Recently?”

“Yeah. I heard there was one holdout in the building on Fragrance Alley, and for months they refused to let it be torn down. It wasn’t until the end of last year that they finally signed.”

“Right after that holdout signed, all those young migrants who’d been living in the basement for years came swarming out like ants fleeing disaster. In the blink of an eye, the building was gone and rebuilt.”

Chi Xiaoman lowered her head and picked up her chopsticks, intending to pull her bowl closer.

But she hadn’t even touched the rim before—

Chen Yue pushed her own bowl toward her, the one with two added eggs, and set it in front of her.

Then she pushed the plain bowl away and said softly, “You’re already a big star. You still won’t even add an egg for yourself?”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

For some reason, her eyes suddenly stung.

She didn’t know why it was that even though Fang A-Yun had said essentially the same thing, she could answer Fang A-Yun however she liked, but when it came to Chen Yue, she had no idea what to say.

Chi Xiaoman kept her head lowered, not daring to look at Chen Yue.

She took two disposable pairs of chopsticks from the holder, tore open the packaging, and in her flustered state tried to hand them over.

Then she pulled them back.

She hurriedly scraped off the little wood shavings on the chopsticks.

And handed them over again.

Then she worried that Chen Yue would mind that her hands had touched them and made them dirty.

So she shrank back again, wanting to pull them away and fetch a brand-new, unopened pair for Chen Yue instead.

Chen Yue didn’t care much. Before Chi Xiaoman could go find a new pair, she took the chopsticks from her hand; Chi Xiaoman had carefully scraped away every bit of splinter.

“Give them to me. I’m not that delicate.”

Chi Xiaoman slowly withdrew her hand.

Only then did she stare at the bowl in front of her, the one with two eggs added, and say very slowly, “I might... just be used to it.”

Chen Yue’s hand paused.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t say anything else. She just lowered her head and bit into the soft, hot egg.

She had thought Chen Yue would quietly finish this bowl of noodles with her. But maybe because they hadn’t seen each other in so many years, Chen Yue’s natural warmth had only grown stronger. After a pause, she spoke again in that soft tone that sounded almost like a voice-over from outside a film frame.

“Have you lost a lot of weight again?”

Her voice was very light; it didn’t sound like an accusation or a scolding. It sounded more like a sincere concern from an elder, as if this habit really wasn’t very good.

“Have I?” Chi Xiaoman didn’t look Chen Yue in the eye, and didn’t dare tell whether the look Chen Yue gave her was concern or pity. “Maybe I was too busy some time ago.”

“How did you recover?”

“Pretty well. I stayed in the hospital for just one day and then went home. Nothing went wrong after that, either.”

She took another bite of noodles. Chi Xiaoman chewed carefully; it was still the same taste as before, and once it went down, it settled warmly and comfortably in her stomach. She hadn’t really eaten much all day, so finally having something in her stomach made her feel much better.

“And you? You’ve been pretty busy too, right?” Maybe after a few polite exchanges, she wasn’t quite as tightly wound anymore. Chi Xiaoman hadn’t expected she would ever be able to tease Chen Yue. “Best Actress.”

“Mm, I have been pretty busy,” Chen Yue said.

It was just a polite question to begin with. Chi Xiaoman nodded, thinking that was the end of it.

But after a short silence, Chen Yue actually remembered it carefully and, without much attempt to avoid the topic, told her what had happened next.

“In total, I did more than ten interviews, shot several magazine spreads at home and overseas, and after that my agent would pick more than twenty scripts a day out of her inbox, print them, and hand them to me to read. But after all those days, besides reading scripts, I didn’t really have anything else to do.”

“All together, I probably wasn’t as busy as you.”

“I...” Chi Xiaoman blinked for a second, set down her chopsticks, and then said softly, “I’ve been pretty busy too.”

These past few days, she had been rushing around nonstop, flying everywhere. Not only did she have to catch up on all the work that had piled up before, she also had to talk with Song Yingying about terminating the contract.

She had also tried to make time to contact people, hoping to gather the film’s core team as soon as possible so they could start work sooner.

By rights, none of that should have been said to Chen Yue.

After all, their paths had long since gone separate ways; one was a fixture in the sky, always circling the hot searches, while the other had settled in Hong Kong, willing to take her time and make films, and they didn’t really know much about each other’s current lives.

But sitting face to face like this, Chi Xiaoman couldn’t think of anything else to say. Without meaning to, she ended up pouring out her situation in a rambling rush.

“I should’ve been able to rest ages ago, but because I was injured before, a lot of things got delayed.

“Now my contract is almost up again, so I also have to fulfill the business contracts that have already been signed, and after that...”

Right there, Chi Xiaoman suddenly lost her voice. She couldn’t tell whether speaking like she was making an announcement, and telling Chen Yue she planned to make Neon, was also offending Chen Yue.

After that last hot search, they hadn’t spoken a single word.

As for the final news about Neon,

it had also stopped at Chen Yue’s one sentence: “There’s nothing not to believe.”

While she hesitated, Chi Xiaoman was about to explain.

But Chen Yue spoke first. “You’re this busy and you still thought to come all the way here for noodles?”

Chi Xiaoman’s thoughts were easily led astray. After a moment of silence, she said, “I just happened to pass by.”

Chen Yue didn’t answer; through the dim golden light, she looked at her.

Chi Xiaoman lowered her head.

She took a bite of noodles, chewed them as slowly as possible, and only then said, very gradually, “Maybe because people are always a little late to realize things.”

The way she ate was vastly different from Chen Yue’s memory. Back then, Chi Xiaoman had never cared about table manners; when she was running around sets, there was barely any time left to finish boxed meals, and after a whole day of exhaustion, who could stand eating bite by bite?

But now every mouthful she took was careful, as if there were a mirror placed in front of her, a camera shoved in her face, making her check after each bite—

whether the way she chewed was proper, whether anything was left at the corner of her mouth, whether her expression could withstand being captured frame by frame, then enlarged and used as proof of whether she was beautiful enough to bear so many people’s liking, longing, and infatuation.

“Or maybe it’s because I finally have money now.”

Her appetite seemed smaller too. She only ate such a tiny bite before putting down her chopsticks and smiling at Chen Yue.

“After all, once you have money, you think of coming back to eat this bowl of noodles you can get anytime; when you’ve got nothing to do, you start running back here to reminisce, don’t you?”

Even though Chen Yue felt sorry for her, she had no choice but to keep bringing up the past again and again, hoping to catch even a trace of the old Chi Xiaoman in the one sitting across from her now.

“Then when you suddenly wanted to make Neon, was that because you had money too?”

She hadn’t expected Chen Yue to ask so directly.

Chi Xiaoman froze for two or three seconds.

Her soft voice turned very, very light. “You’ve changed so much.”

Chen Yue was momentarily speechless.

She hadn’t expected Chi Xiaoman to be the one to say that first.

After a pause,

Chi Xiaoman spoke again, even more softly.

“Maybe it’s also because I’m sick.”

Chen Yue opened her lips, then suddenly realized she couldn’t speak.

Chi Xiaoman, however, gave a small smile.

As if she were making an insignificant joke with her. “You didn’t see the comments outside? They all say that. They say I’m sick, bipolar, crazy, and even wish I’d get stomach cancer and things like that..."

By then,

she no longer looked at her.

Her lowered eyes were blurred by the steam.

“Then when you first saw the news that I wanted to make Neon, did you think that too?”

“No.” Chen Yue didn’t know what had happened over these nine years for Chi Xiaoman to react with such obvious defensiveness after such a simple question.

The answer she gave didn’t seem to be outside Chi Xiaoman’s expectations. Chi Xiaoman nodded slowly. “Sorry.”

Her tone was sincere.

As if she had truly done something irredeemably wrong and needed to apologize to her.

“I wasn’t trying to say those things just now.”

“Which things?”

“Those words are ugly.” Chi Xiaoman smiled, looking at her, a pair of crescent moons through the steam. “I shouldn’t say them casually to people; I’d only end up making everyone else dislike me too.”

It wasn’t that she was deliberately playing the victim or putting herself down. Chi Xiaoman knew very clearly that this was a cost she herself should bear; it had nothing to do with Chen Yue, nothing to do with anyone. Some things, once said too often, could only leave behind the impression of “playing the victim” and “a bitter woman.”

What she should have given was a lighter answer. For example—yeah, because I have money now. Or—if I want to make it, why can’t I?

But now that the words had slipped out by accident, even if Chi Xiaoman regretted it, there was no chance to explain further. She could only lower her head again and eat the egg noodles that had already gone cold.

It was only after she had dutifully eaten two bites, swallowing every mouthful properly into her stomach, that she heard Chen Yue ask,

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

Chi Xiaoman’s movements froze.

The table had already been quiet for a long time. She hadn’t expected Chen Yue to keep following the topic from before.

She looked up.

And met Chen Yue’s eyes.

She still hadn’t figured out how to explain.

So she just smiled at the other person first, out of habit.

“I..."

“Chi Xiaoman.”

Near sunset, at Felicity Noodle Shop, dusk was drawing to a close.

Chen Yue had her back to the plastic curtain; her face was soaked in the dimming light. She interrupted her as if she had been holding it in for a long time and could no longer bear it.

“Can you please not do this?”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

Chen Yue still looked at her, still sounding like the elder who had once patiently guided her, her voice calm, but warm.

“Don’t keep smiling like that all the time; don’t be so careful with every bite of noodles; don’t weigh every word you say against other people’s reactions; don’t apologize so casually; don’t turn inward just because someone else is silent and you think you said something wrong.”

After saying so much in one breath, Chen Yue suddenly regretted it.

She didn’t know whether she still had the right to say these things to Chi Xiaoman, and she didn’t know whether Chi Xiaoman would think she was meddling, or even... the same way she had about those two Weibo posts.

“Chi Xiaoman, you..."

But when she hesitantly saw the steam part and Chi Xiaoman’s eyes come into view through it, wet and beautiful, with much less stubbornness than before, no longer like fire and no longer so blazing, but instead reminding one of a dying sun sinking into a black hole,

she sadly and silently realized that the question she had truly wanted to ask had never once had the chance to make it out of her mouth—

Chi Xiaoman, could you not,

when I’m not looking, quietly turn into someone I don’t recognize?

[Author’s Note]

Updating Little Neon on time for the tenth day [sunglasses][sunglasses]

My heart’s all tied up