Cheng Jing X Tu Xiuxiu
To See You Once
After spring began, Cheng Jing would go to Copenhagen once a week.
In that city’s opera house, a seat in the corner was always empty. Only when Tu Xiuxiu was performing would that seat be occupied.
When not in Copenhagen, Cheng Jing would occasionally call Tu Xiuxiu. They never talked for long, just a few shallow words.
Nothing more than, What are you eating? What are you doing? Good morning, good night.
She also asked, When do you plan on coming back?
Tu Xiuxiu would always fall silent on the other end, and it was never clear if she was thinking or if it meant something else.
Cheng Jing never asked a second time.
Until the next time.
Tu Xiuxiu said that Cheng Jing had grown more patient.
Cheng Jing asked her in return, “Was I very impatient before?”
Tu Xiuxiu then brought up an incident. Once, they had gone to a restaurant to eat, and Cheng Jing was in a bad mood while ordering.
She had only asked twice before Cheng Jing lost her patience.
“You decide.”
That was what Cheng Jing had said at the time.
After Tu Xiuxiu finished speaking, Cheng Jing was left speechless.
Recalling it now, she could often remember times when she had been unreasonable, but to have it pointed out so plainly by Tu Xiuxiu, she suddenly grew a conscience.
It wasn’t just unreasonable, it was—
“Pretty detestable.”
“Pretty?”
“Extremely detestable.”
Over the phone, Tu Xiuxiu let out a low laugh, then reined it in.
Startled to realize the number of times Cheng Jing had joked with her was increasing, startled to realize the content of their chats was becoming richer.
Startled to find her heart beating, unable to pull itself free.
A few days passed.
Today was not a day Tu Xiuxiu was scheduled to perform, but she had a guest role.
After the performance, she saw a call from Cheng Jing on her phone.
At this hour, it was the middle of the night in Beicheng.
The Alpha’s voice was low and deep, a magnetic, electric tingle penetrating her eardrums. “Finished?”
This question could make her mistakenly think that Cheng Jing was right outside.
“Mhm.”
“Then come on out.”
“…”
It was May, still spring, but the weather wasn’t great; the sky had the texture of impending rain.
The moment she stepped outside, she could see the black Maybach by the roadside.
Cheng Jing was standing by the passenger-side door, dressed in professional attire, but still wearing black pants. Cheng Jing’s legs were perfectly straight, and one could imagine that without the black pants, those legs would be shockingly pale.
She was holding a cigarette case, likely about to take one out, but her motion paused midway when she saw her.
She pushed it back in.
Cheng Jing opened the door for her.
And so, that feeling of unreality surfaced again.
Tu Xiuxiu was always thinking of the past, always feeling that Cheng Jing’s current transformation before her was somewhat illusory and pale.
She raised her head to look at Cheng Jing, who asked her, “What’s wrong?”
Cheng Jing genuinely didn’t know what was wrong.
Cheng Jing wasn’t deliberately creating this persona; she simply did things as she thought of them. Tu Xiuxiu knew this well, and so her heart was faintly stirred.
She shook her head and said, “It’s nothing.”
They went to a French restaurant.
The dishes had been ordered in advance by Cheng Jing: French foie gras, Australian Wagyu M9, and a stew.
The Wagyu was Tu Xiuxiu’s favorite.
The others were things they used to eat often.
The appetizer came first: okra with scallops.
But Tu Xiuxiu barely touched it.
Cheng Jing asked, “You don’t like it?”
Tu Xiuxiu said, “Actually, I don’t like okra.”
She had just never said so before.
Cheng Jing paused, said “Alright,” and raised her hand to gesture for the waiter to take it away.
It was a very brief interlude.
It didn’t affect the course of the meal. They spoke on and off, none of it on any particular topic.
During the meal, Cheng Jing asked once, “Is there anything else you don’t like? Tell me.”
Tu Xiuxiu took a sip of wine. “If President Cheng wants to know, you’ll always find out, won’t you?”
Cheng Jing’s eyes glanced at the lipstick mark on the rim of the glass. She lifted her red wine, her throat moving as the liquid went down, cool and searing.
“Yes.”
Midway through the meal, the ground outside was already wet, and the number of people holding umbrellas by the roadside gradually increased.
After dinner, they called for a designated driver.
As the car headed toward her apartment complex, the rain began to fall in a drizzle.
Cheng Jing took a work call, then hung up.
A moment later, she took another one.
After the second call, Cheng Jing said, “There’s a joint venture project recently, so I’ll be a bit busy.”
Tu Xiuxiu belatedly realized Cheng Jing was explaining herself to her.
“Mhm, heading back tomorrow?”
Usually when Cheng Jing came, she would leave the next day.
She would stay at a nearby hotel, then pick her up for breakfast the next morning before heading to the airport.
This was the case even after the acquisition in Copenhagen was complete.
She came at irregular times, but she was almost always there for her solo performances.
“I’m leaving after I drop you off.”
Hearing this, Tu Xiuxiu’s heart froze. She turned her head to look at Cheng Jing, who was still looking down at her tablet.
Likely sensing her gaze, Cheng Jing looked up.
And spoke words that sounded like a dream.
The road to the apartment complex had been repaired, so the car drove directly to the entrance of her building.
Tu Xiuxiu stood under the eaves of the building entrance and turned slightly—
Cheng Jing stood holding an umbrella three steps down the stairs, a few meters away. Copenhagen was dim and gloomy, but at this moment, as the rain fell on the umbrella’s fabric, it looked like twinkling stars in the bright light of the streetlamp.
The rain had also spattered the cuffs of Cheng Jing’s pants.
She seemed to hear what Cheng Jing had said slowly in the car—
“I just came to see you.”
A tedious journey of eight or nine hours, just to see her.
When a person like Cheng Jing truly set her mind on someone, she was truly impossible to resist.
Would Cheng Jing know that, in that moment, I had almost given up all resistance?
She probably would, Tu Xiuxiu thought to herself. Cheng Jing is so meticulous, so clever.
For nearly two months afterward, Cheng Jing was swamped with work, and her time in Copenhagen dwindled. She would almost always make it to the solo performances, but this one time, she really couldn’t get away.
It was just past 11 PM in Beicheng.
Cheng Jing finished reading the documents in her hand, closed them, and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her sore eyes.
A moment later, Secretary Liu knocked and entered, reminding her of the time. “You didn’t rest at all yesterday. Shouldn’t you head back early?”
Cheng Jing said, “Send me the latest quote from HK, then you can get off work.”
She said no more.
After Secretary Liu left, Cheng Jing reached for her phone.
It was afternoon in Copenhagen.
She opened WeChat. She never looked at her Moments feed.
But one day, she had suddenly discovered that Tu Xiuxiu had posted a Moment.
Afterward, when she had free time, she would occasionally take a look.
There was no new content, but she did see a video the opera house owner had posted that afternoon, showing off the costumes backstage.
It played automatically, and she saw a familiar figure.
She pressed pause. Tu Xiuxiu had her back to the camera, and a woman was standing in front of her, talking.
The woman was quite pretty; she had seen her a few times at the opera house.
Her surname was Wang? She had forgotten her full name.
She exited the video.
And dialed a number.
While waiting for the call to connect, Cheng Jing drew out a cigarette. It was a slender one, held between her beautiful fingertips, and lit by a black lighter.
The flame briefly illuminated Cheng Jing’s eyes, and her well-manicured nails also gleamed.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end was echoey and quiet.
Cheng Jing asked, “What are you doing?”
“Just got out of the shower.”
Cheng Jing’s fingertips paused, and it was impossible to tell if it was intentional.
In the two seconds of silence that followed, she heard the faint rustle of fabric.
“Mhm.”
“Are you smoking?”
“Mhm.”
It was nearly midnight in Beicheng, yet Tu Xiuxiu asked her, “Have you eaten?”
Cheng Jing exhaled a puff of smoke and quietly asked back.
“Have you eaten?”
Tu Xiuxiu: “No, it’s still early.”
Cheng Jing said, “Me neither.”
“Why haven’t you eaten?” Tu Xiuxiu asked.
“Don’t know what to eat,” Cheng Jing replied.
“President Cheng, smoking won’t fill your stomach. Have some congee.”
Cheng Jing was silent for a moment, then her lips curled slightly. “That works.”
Cheng Jing stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the sky was overcast, as thick and dark as ink.
They continued to talk on and off, all about unimportant topics.
After chatting for a while, the air fell silent.
After ten seconds of silence.
Cheng Jing pressed her cigarette out in the ashtray and said, “I’ll come over tomorrow.”
The next day.
It was raining again in Copenhagen.
Tu Xiuxiu had just finished her performance and ran into Wang Rou1 in the hallway. Wang Rou was, by rights, her Senior Sister2, having just left their master before she did.
After leaving Cheng Jing and coming to Copenhagen, she and Wang Rou had, by a stroke of fate, become partners.
She actually understood what Wang Rou’s intentions were.
Among adults, how many could fail to see such thoughts?
She wasn’t stupid.
Therefore, when facing Wang Rou, she would also make her attitude clear. Coupled with Cheng Jing’s frequent visits, she had assumed Wang Rou understood.
She just hadn’t expected Wang Rou to still confess.
It was very sudden, right in the hallway on the way back to the dressing rooms after the show.
“I know I’m not as powerful as that President Cheng, but I can promise to treat you well for a lifetime, to wholeheartedly see you as my one and only,” Wang Rou said with sincerity. “Xiuxiu, can you give me a chance?”
Tu Xiuxiu did not answer.
The sound of her high heels on the carpet was extremely faint. As if sensing something, she turned her head to look.
Cheng Jing was standing at the other end of the hallway. For once, she was actually wearing a long dress—black, with a cinched waist, falling to her ankles.
She just stood there, watching her, and seemed to give a slight smile.
Only then did her gaze slowly drift over to Wang Rou.
There was no emotion in it.
In the exclusive backstage room.
Tu Xiuxiu sat in a chair, removing her makeup.
It was raining outside. Beyond the old-fashioned window frame, the sound of the rain was hurried.
The wind slipped in through the cracks, carrying a damp smell that, surprisingly, still held a trace of spring’s lingering scent.
Even though the weather was about to turn hot.
“Still chasing you?”
Cheng Jing was beside her, examining a white folding fan on the side, about seven inches long.
Tu Xiuxiu removed the hairpin from her hair. The corners of her eyes tilted up as she glanced to her side, hearing something in the tone.
“President Cheng, she’s my partner.”
Her words held a hint of coquettish complaint, something unique to Tu Xiuxiu. That voice was delicate and soft, seemingly fragile, yet full of backbone.
A fusion of pride and softness.
It wasn’t an answer to the question, but Cheng Jing understood.
Cheng Jing lowered her gaze, picked up the fan, and in two steps, turned and suddenly pressed in from behind, planting her hands on either side of Tu Xiuxiu’s chair, instantly enveloping her.
“Afraid I’ll do something to her?”
“Would you?”
Tu Xiuxiu’s back was almost completely enclosed by Cheng Jing. It was a natural sense of pressure, but it wasn’t frightening. Instead, the proximity made her heart rate quicken.
The heat was infectious.
She endured the earthquake in her heart’s chambers.
Then, her chin was gently lifted by the fan in Cheng Jing’s hand, forcing her to look at the other woman in the mirror.
Cheng Jing said, “I would.”
Her voice was level, yet it held a faint, murderous air.
Tu Xiuxiu’s gaze flickered. A moment later, her lips parted, her voice soft. “I need to change.”
Cheng Jing said, “Then change just like this.”
Change just like this? How? Tu Xiuxiu glanced at her.
“Why not?”
The fan slid slowly down from Tu Xiuxiu’s chin, over her neck, and downward, pausing at the crossed collar of her costume.
Then, it pushed inward an inch.
Cheng Jing tugged at the sash, making it easier for the fan’s ribs to slip inside. The fan, in place of a hand, nudged the lapels apart.
But the fan’s ribs were cool, and when they landed on the soft skin over her heart, it made one unable to keep from gasping.
Tu Xiuxiu’s breathing was heavy. She could also feel the softness and the heartbeat against her back.
Tu Xiuxiu suddenly realized that Cheng Jing’s actions carried a quality of ‘punishment’ and ‘offense’—all because she hadn’t rejected Wang Rou to her face just now.
No matter how much she gave in to her, how much she indulged her, this person was still Cheng Jing.
But upon realizing this, Tu Xiuxiu’s mood, on the contrary, became cheerful. She felt a somewhat base sense of glee.
Finally, there was a day when Cheng Jing could also feel this kind of displeasure.
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