Chapter 25: The Passage is Ready
Throughout the entire weekend, Jiang Xiaoyuan was immersed in the wedding photography studio, doing four different styles for the quarrelsome couple and establishing a gossipy relationship with the studio cashier who liked to talk too much.
It was not until the evening that the photographer sent Feng Ruixue and her partner away, and came back with an excited look on his face, ready to retouch the photos.
The cashier waved to him, lowering her voice to ask: “Did you get the contact information for those two clients?”
“Of course,” the photographer said energetically. “If I finish the job quickly and get the photos ready ahead of time, I can contact them to come pick them up early.”
“That’s not what I meant,” the cashier said mysteriously. “You need to save their contact information well. If they get divorced in the future and need new photos, they’ll be your returning customers.”
Photographer: “…”
The cashier looked away from his silly expression and stared at her freshly painted nails, saying, “I’ve dealt with so many clients; I have experience. Those two look like they won’t last long. Once she can’t stand it anymore, she’ll definitely leave. You’ll see—oh, stylist sister, do you think this nail polish color matches my hands?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan expressed her admiration, her words carrying double meanings: “It matches perfectly; you really have an eye for it.”
The cashier, delighted, kept turning her hand to admire her nails. “Sister, if you’re free in the future, come over to do our makeup. Your skills are much better than our old Buddha. Next time the boss is here, let him know and have him pay you according to the job!”
Jiang Xiaoyuan was a bit tempted. She found the repetitive, mundane tasks of washing hair and applying treatments boring, but she didn’t mind styling people. Moreover, she was truly poor and in desperate need of extra income.
Just as she was about to agree, the photographer came running over, inserting his card into the computer and excitedly saying, “Come look at the raw shots I took just now. They’re not retouched yet, but they’ll look even better after!”
Jiang Xiaoyuan and the cashier leaned in to look at his work. Two minutes later, Jiang Xiaoyuan, with a strange smile, declined the cashier’s invitation, wrapped herself up in her shabby down jacket, and left—if a studio could hire such a photographer who turned wedding photos into funeral portraits, this wedding photography studio was truly at the end of its line.
She left feeling somewhat tired and calm. Jiang Xiaoyuan had begun to forget the lighthouse and the two intersecting time spaces. Gradually, the wealthy young woman and the tragic, resolute lighthouse assistant seemed like a dream she had imagined—one she had moved on from. Jiang Xiaoyuan was used to not thinking too much and began to accept the reality of this world.
It seemed she was born to be a village girl, who, out of necessity, gave up her studies and worked to support her family. No longer was she concerned with the latest fashion week collections, who copied whom, or who hired a new designer. Instead, her focus was on finding ways to earn a few extra hundred yuan… A few days ago, Lily and others talked about participating in hairdressing training, and she even began to take it to heart.
Jiang Xiaoyuan warmed her hands with her breath and quickly crossed the street, shivering as she opened the door to the hair salon. Just as she entered, a TV in the salon, meant for customer entertainment, suddenly turned on.
Jiang Xiaoyuan was startled and hesitated at the door.
Was it her colleague returning, or had there been a theft?
She stuffed her hands into her pockets, gripped her phone, and knocked on the door: “Who’s in there?”
No one answered. By now, the sky had darkened, the afterglow had faded, and the streetlights had flickered in groups of three or two. The salon had no lights on, only the TV casting an eerie glow. Jiang Xiaoyuan was covered in goosebumps.
As she hesitated about whether to call Boss Chen, she was suddenly drawn to the TV screen.
On the TV, there was a little girl about seven or eight years old, dressed in a small dress, looking like a doll. She seemed unhappy and refused to get out of the car.
A young woman, presumably her mother, was half-squatting beside her, trying to reason with her: “The teacher is here to teach you things. You need to respect the teacher and not make them wait. Do you understand?”
The little girl, unmoved, angrily shouted back: “I’m supposed to go to the playground today. I told my classmates I would treat them to ice cream!”
The mother helplessly said: “Is learning more important or going to the playground for ice cream?”
The little girl firmly declared: “Of course, ice cream is more important!”
Seeing that reasoning with this stubborn child was futile, the mother grabbed her and pulled her out of the car: “You were the one who made a fuss on learning to paint.”
The little girl began to cry loudly: “I’ve already told my classmates!”
“And you told me as well!” The girl’s mother didn’t say anything, and pulled the kid into her future teacher’s studio.
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s fingers on her phone froze— that little girl was her.
The evening traffic roared behind her, the lonely TV like a detailed slow-motion replay of her past.
At thirteen or fourteen, she had clamored to buy a camera, enthusiastically acquired the equipment, spent a lot of money, joined a club, and found someone to teach her. She was determined to become a renowned artist. After a year of novelty, she abandoned the camera, her attention shifting to fashion illustration. Before she had mastered illustration, she was captivated by real, beautiful clothes. Later, as clothes alone no longer satisfied her, she began to obsess over makeup and jewelry…
And these, as she entered adulthood, gradually lost their original meaning. They became tools for flaunting status and comparing wealth.
Over time, Jiang Xiaoyuan had almost forgotten why she initially loved these things—she had merely been enamored with the dazzling colors and beautiful things frozen in time.
She had once simply wanted to be someone who captured beauty with her own hands.
At this moment, Jiang Xiaoyuan’s phone rang, and a text message suddenly appeared: “Regret it? Want to start over? Don’t trust that robot. I’m the one who can help you. I will send you back to your original world. The passage is ready. Will you embark on the journey?”
Oh right, fifty days had already passed.
Jiang Xiaoyuan looked up in a hurry, seeing that the TV screen was still showing— the little girl was in the art studio, bathed in warm sunlight, a cup of juice prepared for her on a small table. An elderly, elegant lady with white hair and a childlike face held her hand and earnestly explained the perspective principle of light and shadow.
A young girl sat at a computer, while a seasoned photographer patiently advised her not to be obsessed with photo retouching and equipment, but to capture the moment in the lens—what an excellent photographer should do…
These were the moments she had missed.
The pictures on the TV flashed quickly, and after all were played, the screen finally turned into a mirror, clearly showing her appearance at this time—she was down and out, trapped in the cold wind, her nose was frozen red, and her face was numb as if she had accepted her fate.
A line of text slowly appeared: “The passage is ready. Will you embark on the journey?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan, almost by instinct, took out her phone. The hope she thought she had forgotten surged back, overwhelming her once more— the slivers of hope that had been extinguished time and again now resurfaced. What if this was just another Rashomon[mfn]Rashomon: a situation where no one knows the truth, but everyone has their own theory.[/mfn]?
How could she know the truth?
How could she be sure that the lighthouse assistant and Qi Lian weren’t deceiving her? From beginning to end, it was just their one-sided words…
Jiang Xiaoyuan knew deep down that what mattered was not the truth but what she chose to believe.
It was like in a difficult, ordinary life, where everyone hoped that buying a lottery ticket would eventually lead to a win.
She had typed out “Yes.” Her frozen fingers were on the send key, but she couldn’t press it.
If she pressed it, she might vanish into the unknown like countless predecessors, or she might return to her past life, rekindling her colorful artistic dreams.
Or she could remain impoverished in a corner of the city, waiting for the frost to etch wrinkles on her face.
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s hand trembled violently, as if she was holding not an outdated phone but her entire life.
When she typed out the “Yes,” her heart’s inclination was already clear. Yet she still couldn’t send it, as the lighthouse assistant’s words surfaced once again.
And his entrusted dream of becoming an athlete.
Jiang Xiaoyuan wondered, “Would you deceive me?”
The kind of relentless pursuit and destruction she truly felt—would it be a scam?
If it wasn’t a scam, then after she pressed send, she would be losing not only her own life but also the lighthouse assistant’s all-in efforts.
Thinking of Xu Jingyang, Jiang Xiaoyuan hesitated again with great difficulty.
She was willing to bet her own life, but she couldn’t stake someone else’s dreams as well.
Just as she was in this state of indecision, a car horn suddenly sounded behind her. Startled, her hand shook, and her phone fell to the ground, the screen going dark and the battery falling out.
Jiang Xiaoyuan turned around abruptly to see Qi Lian hurrying out of the car. Seeing him was like seeing a ghost. Noticing her expression and the phone that was broken into two pieces on the ground, How could he not understand?
He stood a few steps away from Jiang Xiaoyuan, hands in his pockets, and said, “I figured it’s been about fifty days. If that virus hasn’t given up, it should be making a move soon, right?”
Jiang Xiaoyuan’s emotions fluctuated wildly, leaving her momentarily speechless.
Qi Lian stepped forward, picked up her phone, and reinstalled the battery but didn’t return it to her.
“You haven’t eaten yet?” he said. “Let’s go. I’ll treat you today.”
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