“Wen Wanbing, you are a very, very good person. You don’t need to dream of becoming someone else; being yourself is enough.” Fu Junxue looked her straight in the eye, her dark pupils shining brightly.
They were like the buoy lights on the surface of the sea at night—the brightest points of light in the infinite blackness.
Wen Wanbing couldn’t maintain such direct eye contact; it felt as though she were being seen through. After a few seconds, she lowered her long lashes and averted her gaze, unconsciously winding the thin string tighter around her finger. Driven by a trace of stubbornness, she countered, “Why do you think I’m not being myself?”
“Is it not obvious?”
It was a question, yet delivered in a tone of such certainty that it wasn’t offensive.
Fu Junxue felt a bit stifled by their earlier conversation. This heavy, suffocating feeling was something she hadn’t experienced in a long time; its sudden reappearance triggered a sort of withdrawal response.
She fished a diamond-encrusted cigarette case and a lighter from her coat pocket, turning her head to ask, “Do you mind if I have a cigarette?”
Wen Wanbing shook her head.
“You aren’t even that old, yet you carry yourself with such gravity, pretending to be mature and cold,” Fu Junxue said, pulling out a long, slender white cigarette.
Wen Wanbing continued to loop the string around her knuckles.
“Deep down, you’re interesting, humorous, and vivid—you have the heart of a child. Yet you suppress your true nature to be everyone else’s pillar of support.” Fu Junxue leaned against the wall, the cigarette dangling from her red lips with a soul-stirring elegance.
Wen Wanbing watched her intently for a moment as the cotton string slowly unspun and slipped from her fingertips.
She had seen women smoke many times. In the dead of night, she would occasionally wake up to see Wen Rushui sitting on the window seat, a tiny spark of fire always present between her fingers or lips. Wen Wanbing could never see her expression or her face; she only remembered that small ember, flickering in the dark, from her middle school years through university.
It had never been lit again.
“Since your sister left, you’ve been like this bound sunny doll. You carry the hope of others for a ‘sunny day’ and are hung up high.” Fu Junxue flicked her lighter open. The flame illuminated her face with a decadent, striking beauty.
The cotton string was wound back around Wen Wanbing’s finger, loop by loop.
“You really don’t like your current life. You’re tethered, trapped. What you want to escape isn’t the city, but the ‘you’ that you are now.”
Fu Junxue exhaled a cloud of smoke. Her exquisite face was veiled in the ethereal mist, making even her gaze seem hazy.
“So, to avoid shattering everyone else’s expectations, that rope of fate choking your throat is actually being held in your own hands. Just like right now—you’re pulling this string so the sunny doll doesn’t fall.”
Her voice was like the most gentle and beautiful siren song in the world, carrying a harsh truth behind its tenderness.
The string was now wound in a messy tangle around Wen Wanbing’s finger. She suddenly pulled it taut, her fingertip turning red from the lack of circulation. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t admit to Fu Junxue’s words, yet she couldn’t deny them either.
Fu Junxue couldn’t bear to see the string digging into her skin. She reached out with the hand holding the cigarette, the ember glowing in the night as she singed the string apart. “Doesn’t that pinch?”
Her voice was so soft that it was hard to tell if she meant “pinch” or “exhaust you.”
“It’s fine,” Wen Wanbing said flatly.
The sunny doll fell from the window frame. Because the neck hadn’t been tied tightly enough, it spun and separated from the string as it fell. When it hit the ground, it fell apart into a light face towel and a crumpled ball of tissue.
Wen Wanbing brushed away the remaining cotton string. Looking at the two white pieces on the ground, she felt as if she were looking at herself, laid bare by Fu Junxue.
She instinctively took a step back.
Fu Junxue knelt down and picked them up, but she didn’t put them back together. Perhaps it was because she was holding a cigarette and a case, making it inconvenient.
Wen Wanbing stared at the silver, diamond-encrusted case for a few seconds. Just as she reached out, Fu Junxue moved her hand behind her back to avoid the touch and gave Wen Wanbing’s hand a light playful slap.
The somber atmosphere seemed to be dispersed by that single tap.
Fu Junxue clicked her tongue. “This isn’t a good thing to touch.”
“If it’s not a good thing, why do you smoke it?” Wen Wanbing lowered her hand. She had only been curious about the expensive-looking case; she hadn’t intended to take a cigarette.
“I was actually in the process of quitting, but then…” Fu Junxue paused. She didn’t want to admit it was because of Wen Wanbing’s influence. She changed the subject. “It’s a bit difficult. By the way, why are you suddenly willing to share your past with me? You used to dodge and change the subject every time.”
The warmth from where Fu Junxue had slapped her hand still lingered on Wen Wanbing’s knuckles.
“Because I want you to understand me a little more…”
The words that followed were too difficult to say, leaving the first half of the sentence to take on a different meaning in Fu Junxue’s ears.
Fu Junxue smiled with a hint of teasing. “Wen Zhui-zhui, don’t you know? Sharing your story and wanting someone to understand you is the beginning of ‘liking’ someone.”
The words stuck in Wen Wanbing’s throat. Her face slowly began to flush.
“I didn’t know,” Wen Wanbing murmured, trying to sound defiant.
Fu Junxue laughed and arched an eyebrow. “Well, now you do.”
Wen Wanbing gave up on further explanations to prevent Fu Junxue from twisting her words again. She prepared to head inside to rest, but Fu Junxue caught the door handle first, pinning it down.
Fu Junxue tilted her head to look at Wen Wanbing’s ear. It was too dark to see clearly, but she sensed it must be red. Her restraint with the cigarette had actually made her craving more intense. The feeling of wanting to indulge while being held back was agonizing. Her throat moved; she wanted something more stimulating to distract her.
Fu Junxue took the cigarette from her lips and reminded her in a low, melodic voice, “Don’t run away. You haven’t given me today’s goodnight kiss yet.”
Wen Wanbing rubbed the door handle. Her gaze rose from the face towel in Fu Junxue’s hand to meet her eyes. She turned slightly, facing her directly. She reached behind Fu Junxue’s neck and pulled her closer, then paused.
A smile spread across Fu Junxue’s lips. She leaned her forehead against Wen Wanbing’s and whispered, “Are you falling in—”
Wen Wanbing’s lashes trembled. She lowered her gaze to Fu Junxue’s moving red lips and pressed her fingertip against them, blocking the last word. Then, with practiced restraint, she kissed Fu Junxue on the forehead.
Fu Junxue let out a soft sound.
Wen Wanbing felt like she’d been struck by lightning. She pulled away, ending a goodnight kiss that was still brief but felt entirely different from the ones before. The image of Fu Junxue singeing the string with her cigarette flashed through her mind.
Closing her eyes, she said:
“I just wanted you to see more clearly. A soul like mine isn’t as good as you say, and it won’t resonate with yours.”
Wen Wanbing opened the door. She still couldn’t bring herself to say it—the relationship between us is just a fake romance held together by a contract; it’s just brief companionship. It’s best not to fall in love.
Their first night of true honesty had progressed from an ambiguous atmosphere to a parting of ways on a sour note.
Inside, Wen Wanbing lay down next to Wen Xing. She pretended to sleep but couldn’t help but keep her eyes open and her ears alert, watching Fu Junxue’s silhouette through the glass window. After a long while, Fu Junxue moved away. She didn’t come inside; her footsteps grew distant and soon vanished.
Wen Wanbing stared at the moon hanging high in the sky, radiating its cold light. In the middle of summer, a sense of loneliness and emptiness invaded her body, feeling like winter.
Fu Junxue wasn’t sleepy at all. She knew that if she went inside, she’d only end up staring at the ceiling. Instead, she went downstairs and sat on a hanging chair in the hall. She lit another cigarette to calm her mind and organize her thoughts.
In the swirling smoke, she shook out the two pieces of face towel. The light from a small night lamp in the hall filtered through the fabric. Looking at the towel and the cotton thread, the things Wen Wanbing had said replayed in her mind.
She suddenly remembered He Xiuying’s nickname for Wen Wanbing. Wen Wanbing had said her pet name was “Zhui-zhui.” But Wen Xing’s video account was called “A Star Like Water” (Ru Shui).
So, “Shui-shui” (Water-water) must have been the nickname of Wen Wanbing’s sister. Fu Junxue’s movements slowed. Initially, she had thought Wen Wanbing was simply living her sister’s life and had lost herself.
But thinking about it now, it seemed that the people closest to her were treating her as someone else entirely.
When this startling realization surfaced, Fu Junxue found it too absurd. Wen Wanbing and her sister only shared a slight resemblance; their features were quite different not nearly enough to be mistaken for one another. Surely, He Xiuying wouldn’t be unable to distinguish her own daughter from her niece?
Even if she had been traumatized by her daughter’s death and mistaken her niece for her child, there was still her granddaughter, Wen Xing. When Wen Xing called Wen Wanbing “Auntie,” He Xiuying should have found it strange. Yet, she hadn’t reacted at all.
Why was He Xiuying like this? In her mind, what was the actual relationship between Wen Wanbing, Wen Xing, and herself?
And how did the sister die? Was Wen Xing’s autism congenital or acquired? Where was Wen Xing’s father? What happened to the uncle who abused them or the stingy grandfather?
What about Wen Wanbing’s own parents? Why did they divorce, why did they abandon her, and where are they now?
Only now did Fu Junxue understand why Wen Wanbing had lost control earlier, why her tone had been almost accusatory, and why her “book of love” was filled with shadows before it even had color. It was because she had grown up seeing only the wrong, violent ways of maintaining a relationship.
And how did the three of them escape the “man-eating” Wen family?
The tangled mess of thread, which had seemed so simple once the end was found, turned out to be full of knots. The more she pulled, the messier it became.
Fu Junxue brushed back her hair with a trace of frustration. She wasn’t usually a highly empathetic person; she preferred her own carefree life. Mind your own business and take care of yourself that was her motto.
But now, she was worried about Wen Wanbing.
And beyond worry, she was curious.
And curiosity is also the beginning of liking someone.