Chi Shuo asked again, “Is your training over?”
“Yes.”
“So…” Chi Shuo asked, “Are you coming back to work tomorrow?”
He Lindi was silent. The silence stretched for about ten seconds, so long that Chi Shuo almost thought the call had disconnected.
“Not for now,” He Lindi finally replied. She paused, then said, “I requested a long leave from the company, about two months. I need to travel and clear my head.”
Chi Shuo mumbled on the other end, “Really…?”
He Lindi heard her and said softly, “Yes.” Then she added, “Lots of work recently, high intensity, I’m tired, so I’m taking a proper break.”
“Then I wish you a speedy recovery.”
“Chi Shuo.”
“What?”
“…Nothing. I’m going to pack now.”
The call ended. Chi Shuo held her phone, feeling a sense of frustration.
She felt He Lindi’s break was too sudden, without any warning. She opened WeChat, found Q Ge’s contact, and messaged him, wanting to confirm if He Lindi really wasn’t coming to work for two months.
Two months off work to travel, what did that mean? It meant Chi Shuo wouldn’t see He Lindi for two months.
Since starting work, she had never gone so long without seeing He Lindi. This sudden news hit Chi Shuo like a bombshell, leaving her with a throbbing headache.
Q Ge confirmed the news: 【It’s true. She’s not in a good mood.】
Chi Shuo politely replied: 【Okay, thank you, Q Ge.】
After sending the message, Chi Shuo turned off her phone, stared at the can of beer in front of her, took two quick gulps, and then went back to her bedroom.
She took out the camera from the cabinet, turned it on, and started flipping through the photos she had taken. Finally, she found a photo with a storefront in the background and He Lindi casually posing to the side. Chi Shuo pressed her lips together and sent the photo to her phone.
She couldn’t recall her thoughts at the time. Chi Shuo only knew that she now wanted to remember He Lindi through photos. What if she couldn’t recognize He Lindi after two months? Or… what if He Lindi couldn’t recognize her?
Even though such a situation was impossible, Chi Shuo still couldn’t help but worry.
She returned to the company on Wednesday and went to work as usual on Thursday.
News had somehow spread that Chi Shuo and the celebrity Shen Qu were good friends. As a result, many people came to Chi Shuo’s desk, wanting to know the truth.
“Shuo Shuo, were you close with Shen Qu before?”
Chi Shuo: “Not close.”
“Shuo Shuo, why haven’t we heard you mention her? Any gossip from back then?”
Chi Shuo: “Because we weren’t close. No gossip.”
“Did she buy you any makeup or bags or anything in the past three years since she became famous?”
Chi Shuo: “Why would she buy me anything? It doesn’t matter if we’re close or not. There’s no need.”
Questions like these came one after another. Chi Shuo tried her best to answer calmly, but some questions were too ridiculous. She silently started chanting the Great Compassion Mantra in her head, telling herself not to get angry; it wouldn’t be good to get sick from anger.
But these people’s gossip instincts were truly impressive. On Friday morning, Chi Shuo finally snapped. She frowned at the colleague she wasn’t close with at all, her voice cold. “I already said we weren’t close, why keep asking? How would I know her grades in PE? How would I know if she ever failed a course? Why do I even need to know or answer all this? Can you just leave me alone? I’m annoyed. I really am not close to her.”
Her colleague was stunned by her outburst, only apologizing after Chi Shuo stopped speaking. “Sorry, sorry.” Then she returned to her own workstation.
Chi Shuo’s frustration was genuine. She covered her head and slumped onto her desk.
Her workload was relatively light recently. It was already September, a more relaxed and free time.
Zeng Guai rolled her chair over, placed a hand on Chi Shuo’s shoulder, and patted her gently. “Shuo Shuo, don’t take it to heart. Those gossipmongers just love to talk.”
Chi Shuo nodded slightly, her head still down, not responding.
Fang Xiuxiu, diligently typing away at her keyboard, saw Chi Shuo like this and turned to Zeng Guai. “I think Shuo Shuo isn’t just down because of all the questions. She must be bothered by something else.”
Zeng Guai’s eyes widened. “Really?” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “That’s not right. Besides this, nothing else has been bothering our Shuo Shuo lately.”
“Just because you don’t know doesn’t mean there’s nothing.” Fang Xiuxiu analyzed seriously. “Could it be a breakup?”
Zeng Guai shook her head. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well, then I don’t know.”
Zeng Guai looked thoughtfully at Chi Shuo, then patted her shoulder again and rolled her chair back to her workstation.
Back at her desk, Zeng Guai opened WeChat and quickly typed a message to Xia Zhou: 【Major discovery! I suspect Shuo Shuo’s been down these past two days because…】
Xia Zhou immediately replied: 【Because what?】
A determined glint shone in Zeng Guai’s eyes: 【Lovesickness!】
Xia Zhou: 【…Mm.】
【Don’t you think she looks like someone lovesick?】
【No.】
【Damn it, Xia Zhou, I can’t talk to you.】
【I think the most important question is, how do we cheer her up?】
Chi Shuo’s mood from yesterday to today was noticeably worse than before. She looked like she could fall asleep at any moment. Whenever she could rest, she slumped over her desk. She even refused to go to the cafeteria for lunch, saying she had no appetite and just wanted some water.
【Sigh.】
【Sigh.】
They both simultaneously expressed their sighs in text.
Chi Shuo herself didn’t feel particularly bad. She was still serious during work hours, at least not making any mistakes. Only during breaks did she feel completely drained and just wanted to lie down.
Friday afternoon arrived, bringing the weekend. Chi Shuo slung her bag over her shoulder and went downstairs with Zeng Guai.
In the elevator, Chi Shuo stood at the very back, her head practically leaning against the elevator wall, perhaps because she was being squeezed.
Zeng Guai turned to look at her. “Shuo Shuo, how about you quit your job and I become your manager? I’ll get you to debut.”
Chi Shuo, eyes closed, chuckled softly. “When did you get signed by a talent agency? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Just now.” Zeng Guai couldn’t resist reaching out to touch Chi Shuo’s face. “It’s such a waste for this face not to act.”
Chi Shuo replied indifferently, “Oh, really?”
They got off the elevator and ran into He Xiuqi, who had just exited the adjacent elevator. He smiled and walked over to stand beside Chi Shuo, extending an invitation. “Xiao Chi Jie, are you heading home now? Want to go together?”
Chi Shuo had initially planned to go home, but after He Xiuqi’s question, she shook her head. “Not going home now. You go ahead. I’m meeting a friend.”
“Okay,” He Xiuqi showed no displeasure at being rejected. He said goodbye before putting his headphones back on and walked away.
Chi Shuo was heading in the opposite direction. Zeng Guai, looking at He Xiuqi’s receding figure, was puzzled. “Which friend are you meeting?”
“Han Yu,” Chi Shuo replied.
“Then be safe.”
“I will.”
Going to see Han Yu was a spur-of-the-moment decision, initially just to decline He Xiuqi’s invitation. Now, it had become a mission to seek comfort from Han Yu.
Comfort for what? Chi Shuo didn’t even know herself, but she felt being with Han Yu might make her feel better.
Unfortunately, Han Yu was on a business trip. She had instructed her staff to reserve the most luxurious private room for Chi Shuo.
Chi Shuo didn’t refuse and was led to the room.
She sat alone on the soft sofa. The coffee table was filled with snacks, fruits, and drinks.
Chi Shuo randomly picked a few dozen songs, some she had never heard before. She turned on the original tracks, lay down on the sofa, and drifted off to sleep with the music as background noise.
At 11:30 PM, a staff member came in with a blanket. “Miss Chi, you’ll catch a cold like this.” She offered a suggestion. “The boss said if you want to stay, you can sleep in her office bed. If you want to go home, we can drive you.”
Chi Shuo nodded groggily. “I’ll go home.” She kept her eyes closed. “Wake me up at midnight. I’ll go home then.”
“Okay.”
Chi Shuo had been feeling exhausted these past two days. Logically, the workload shouldn’t have been that tiring, but she was so tired she didn’t even want to speak. Singing was one of her hobbies, but she hadn’t sung a single word tonight.
Just muddling through.
Back at home, half-asleep, Chi Shuo was jolted awake by a stomach ache so painful it made her break out in a cold sweat. She had to get up, get some hot water, and take medicine.
After taking the medicine and resting for a while, Chi Shuo finally picked up her phone, checked the time, and realized it was already 4:30 AM.
A bedside lamp was on in her bedroom. Chi Shuo stared at the time, slowly curling up, hugging her knees, and leaning against the headboard. She stayed in this position until daybreak.
This wouldn’t do. Chi Shuo decided to find something to do. She called Zeng Guai, who was still single, and asked her to be her model. She wanted to practice her photography skills.
Zeng Guai agreed without hesitation, got ready, and went out.
They met at the Yangliu Riverbank, a perfect location for photography with its lush green grass and verdant willow trees.
Zeng Guai came prepared like she was going on a picnic, carrying a backpack filled with water, snacks, and a picnic blanket.
Chi Shuo, watching her pull these things out like Doraemon, was quite surprised. She held her camera and smiled. “Zeng Jie, isn’t this a bit much?”
Zeng Guai had already laid everything out. She clapped her hands and gave Chi Shuo a disdainful look. “What do you know? This is called ritual.”
These words sounded familiar. Chi Shuo searched her memory for two seconds and found the answer.
She remembered. On her birthday, right before they started eating barbecue, He Lindi had said the same thing.
Chi Shuo’s smile faltered, but only briefly. The next second, she smiled again and asked, “So, are you going to be my model first or eat first?”
“Let’s take some pictures first, see if your skills have improved.” Zeng Guai looked a bit puzzled. “When did you buy this mirrorless camera? Looks pretty good.”
Chi Shuo paused, then adjusted the camera settings based on the surroundings, and replied, “Last Saturday.” She paused again. “My teacher gave it to me.”
Zeng Guai didn’t know Chi Shuo’s teacher was He Lindi, so she was even more confused. “Teacher? When did you get a teacher?” Her eyes held a hint of suspicion. “Shuo Shuo, don’t tell me you’ve been playing games? Found a master online? Are you in an online relationship? And they sent you a mirrorless camera? Is that it?”
Chi Shuo was speechless. She said a bit irritably, “Just go be my model, stand still.”
Zeng Guai clicked her tongue, still not giving up. “Did I guess right? Shuo Shuo, this isn’t good. I was saying you’ve been lovesick lately, is it because of an online relationship? All that uncertainty…”
Chi Shuo couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed an open bag of chips and shoved it into Zeng Guai’s mouth, clarifying, “Just shut down your imagination first. One, I haven’t been playing games. Two, I’m not in an online relationship. Three, I know this person in real life. Four, I’m not lovesick. Five, stop overthinking, okay? I’ve just been a bit tired lately.”
Zeng Guai nodded frantically, her words muffled. “Okay, okay, that’s good.”
Chi Shuo no longer felt like taking pictures immediately. She lay down on the grass, the mirrorless camera resting on her stomach. The weight reminded her of when she first received it. Honestly, Chi Shuo had initially thought He Lindi had sent her a brick.
Zeng Guai also lay down, closed her eyes, and sighed contentedly. “This is so relaxing.” She said, “I’m so jealous of Didi, taking two months off to travel. If only I could be that carefree.”
Chi Shuo slowly opened her eyes, looking at the clear blue sky above, her voice barely a whisper. “You think…”
“Think what?”
“Will she miss… us?”
“Of course she will.”
Chi Shuo turned her head to look at Zeng Guai. “Why?”
“We’re her friends.”
“There’s no reason not to miss your friends.”
Chi Shuo turned her head back, slowly voicing her question. “If someone misses another person very much, what would it be like?”
“I don’t know.”
“…”
Chi Shuo pursed her lips, feeling the cool breeze, and said, “Zeng Guai, I think I’m starting to like my former crush again.” Chi Shuo exhaled. “When I hold my things, I think of her. When someone says something similar to what she said, I think of her. Even when I wake up in the middle of the night, the first thing I open is her photo.”
Zeng Guai became serious. “Really?” She asked carefully, “A former crush? Did you stop liking them over time?”
“Sort of.”
“Then I know.”
“Know what?”
“Because you’re too lonely.”
“Think about how long it’s been since your last relationship.”
Before Chi Shuo could answer, Zeng Guai continued, “Holy shit, I just realized, I don’t even know when your last relationship was.”
“…Three years ago.”
“Why did you break up?”
“Cheated on me.”
“…” Now it was Zeng Guai’s turn to be silent for two seconds. “So, I think… it’s probably because you’re lonely.”
“Mm.”
“How old were you when you had a crush on them?” Zeng Guai assumed Chi Shuo liked a guy.
“Sixteen to seventeen.”
“That makes sense. The person you liked at seventeen… it’s easy for them to trigger the little devil in your heart. It’ll tell you, ‘This is the person you liked,’ whether it’s been ten or twenty years. It’ll keep brainwashing you, making you think you like them again.”
“Otherwise, why are there so many successful elopements? It’s because they were first loves during adolescence. Although yours was a crush, after being brainwashed, it’s not impossible.”
What was supposed to be Chi Shuo’s photography practice had turned into a heart-to-heart talk. Since Xia Zhou wasn’t there, Zeng Guai even started a video call in their group chat, insisting Xia Zhou had to participate.
Xia Zhou was amused, but after hearing their story, she immediately perked up, becoming a relationship advisor.
He Lindi seemed to be in a bad mood. She hadn’t posted anything on Weibo for days, nor had she replied to any of Chi Shuo’s messages.
Chi Shuo still messaged her, still infrequently, just telling He Lindi about practicing photography but not making much progress, or about being sleepy at work and almost falling asleep—trivial, uninspired things.
Dry and stiff. Chi Shuo scrolled through the messages she had sent, wanting to retract them, but too much time had passed. Retracting was impossible; she could only dream of it.
The only thing Chi Shuo felt slightly regretful about was that she couldn’t personally give He Lindi her birthday gift on September 28th.
He Lindi herself had said birthdays were opportunities to receive gifts openly, but Chi Shuo’s gift had already been bought. Where was the recipient?
Chi Shuo had bought a pair of relatively expensive roller skates, similar to He Lindi buying her a mirrorless camera. The only difference was… He Lindi already had roller skates, while Chi Shuo didn’t have a camera.
But Chi Shuo didn’t overthink it. She wanted to buy them, so she did. The skates carried her aspirations of becoming the future roller skating queen of the company.
It was just that He Lindi had disappeared for a long time.
Thinking of this, Chi Shuo lit the two “23” candles on her small cake, turned off the lights, took a picture, and sent it to He Lindi: 【Happy birthday.】
After sending the message, Chi Shuo’s tears fell.
She thought, Zeng Guai and Xia Zhou’s analysis was completely useless.
It seemed she really had fallen for He Lindi again.
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