The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 14

by Little Panda

Don’t Move

“Let me look at you for a while.”

[To walk the roads you once walked,
and as for those feelings tied to you—let them be slowly forgotten.]

Stepping out of the client’s company, Cheng Xiang raised her wrist to glance at her diamond watch. “It’s still early. Would it be convenient for Teacher Tao to show me around Gangdao?”

Tao Tianran replied without a hint of politeness, “Inconvenient.”

Cheng Xiang: …

The corners of her eyes curled up slightly. “Then let me ask it this way. If an old acquaintance came to Gangdao with Teacher Tao, where would Teacher Tao take her?”

Cheng Xiang hadn’t expected Tao Tianran to respond.

After all, Tao Tianran was such a cold person.

But perhaps her tone when she said “if an old acquaintance” had carried a trace of melancholy.

Cheng Xiang didn’t know why Tao Tianran was willing to sit down at a set of tables and stools by the street, pulling a stack of drafting paper and her Montblanc fountain pen from her bag.

She lowered her head, tucking a falling strand of black hair behind her ear, her slender wrist pressing down on the paper.

Cheng Xiang sat across from her. Without looking at her, Cheng Xiang gazed out into the distance at the bench where she had sat drinking red wine the night before.

The pace of life in Gangdao was so fast. Everyone who passed by walked with rapid steps. A ray of winter sunlight spilled down. The only sound was the scratching of Tao Tianran’s fountain pen—like falling rain, shrouding the small patch of space where she and Cheng Xiang sat.

Time slowed down here, as if reaching out through a hazy mist of rain to catch an irrecoverable past.

Cheng Xiang turned her gaze back, watching Tao Tianran bow her head to draw the map. That Montblanc of hers was so old. For some unknown reason, she had never replaced it. The leaking ink left a stain on the side of her middle finger.

A lock of long hair slipped down again, obscuring her expression.

“Teacher Tao,” Cheng Xiang suddenly said. “I actually saw you drinking last night.”

She pointed to the bench. “Right over there.”

She asked, “Is there some hurdle you can’t get over?”

“No.” Tao Tianran handed the draft paper over and twisted the cap onto her pen. “In my book, nothing should be defined as an insurmountable hurdle.”

Cheng Xiang froze for a moment.

She lowered her head, her lips curving up slowly. “I do.”

Tao Tianran didn’t catch it. “What?”

“Nothing.” By the time Cheng Xiang lifted her face, she had already restored her charming smile. She took the paper and lowered her eyes to look at it.

“It’s not some popular tourist spot,” Tao Tianran said. “Just a place I personally have a deeper impression of.”

“That’s great.” Cheng Xiang’s gaze traced over the map drawn in blue ink. She stood up and gave a light, airy wave of her hand. “I’ll be going, then.”

Leaving Tao Tianran sitting there alone.

Her wrist still pressed down on that stack of drafting paper. Who knew why she had pulled out so many sheets when preparing to draw the map, as if she had so many places worth sharing.

In truth, all that remained in her memory was just a short slope.

As her mind wandered for a split second, the harbor wind kicked up. The stack of blank draft paper flew out from under her wrist, swirling in the air alongside her wind-tousled black hair, like butterflies drifting away into the passing years.

Clutching the hand-drawn map, Cheng Xiang stood at the bottom of the upward slope, her eyes widening in faint surprise.

Tao Tianran’s family background was astonishing. She was the wealthy daughter of a powerful Gangdao family. Her parents had relocated to Beicheng to open a branch of their family enterprise, which was why she had transferred there. This was something everyone at Attached Seventh High School later knew.

Cheng Xiang had assumed Tao Tianran’s map would lead her to the luxury mansions of Banshan¹.

In reality, as she stood there now, before her was the most ordinary of slopes. Low red-brick walls were stacked along the sides, and the black, carved cast-iron fences retained a lingering flavor of the Victorian era.

It was dusk. Children carrying blue backpacks walked along the base of the walls up the slope.

Cheng Xiang walked in the opposite direction. She stood in front of a shop doing brisk business, waiting for a freshly baked egg tart.

Further in were crowded residential buildings where diapers hung out to dry, the sound of a crying baby drifting over.

Cheng Xiang gazed out at the scene, wondering who lived there.

“Miss, your egg tart.” The shop owner’s Mandarin was heavily accented and clumsy.

“Thank you.” Cheng Xiang hurriedly took it. “Excuse me, is there anywhere nearby where I can buy Yuanyang milk tea²?”

“No. Look around, not many people even live here anymore.” The owner waved a finger casually at the surroundings.

Cheng Xiang nodded.

She had always thought her first trip to Gangdao would be in the fifth year after her breakup with Tao Tianran, on the day she realized she finally no longer dreamed of her.

She would sit in a small street-side shop, artistically order a cup of Yuanyang, and plug an earbud into one ear, leaving the other free to listen to the bustling traffic of Gangdao.

The female singer in her earbud would murmur an a cappella line in Cantonese: “The years are long, the clothes are thin.”³

Yet it turned out Cheng Xiang no longer had such long, long years left.

She no longer had a span of years long enough to forget Tao Tianran, nor did she have the mood, under the guise of “letting go,” to seek out a cup of Yuanyang.

She merely sat on a low street curb and kicked off the high heels she wasn’t actually used to wearing. Her bare feet pressed against the asphalt slope. The egg tart between her teeth was cloyingly sweet, its flaky crust shattering at the slightest touch—just like her mood, falling away in rustling pieces that could never be picked up again.

Tao Tianran and Cheng Xiang took an evening flight back to Beicheng.

While packing her luggage, Cheng Xiang didn’t expect Tao Tianran to initiate a conversation, but then she heard her ask from behind, “How was your outing?”

“What?” Cheng Xiang looked back.

“The map I drew for you.”

“Oh.” Cheng Xiang smiled and nodded. “It was just a very ordinary slope. Crape myrtles were planted inside the cast-iron fences nearby, and there were small shops selling beef offal⁴ and egg tarts. Business was really good when the primary school students got out of class.”

Tao Tianran’s eyelashes fluttered. “Yes, very ordinary.”

For some reason, Cheng Xiang’s heart began to ache.

Actually, since her rebirth, she had managed to control her emotions fairly well whenever she faced Tao Tianran. But right now, the final hues of twilight hung in the sky, illuminating Tao Tianran’s pale, calm face.

The ancients said, “At the time, it seemed only ordinary.”⁵

Yet even the ancient poet who wrote that line didn’t possess an understanding as profound as Cheng Xiang’s—when saying the word “ordinary,” her very heart trembled alongside the vibration in her throat.

And how could the Tao Tianran standing before her right now possibly know just how precious a word “ordinary” was?

“Tao Tianran,” Cheng Xiang murmured her name.

Tao Tianran’s shoulders stiffened slightly.

“Could I ask a favor of you?”

“What is it?”

“Just stand there. Don’t move.”

“Why?”

Cheng Xiang fell silent for a few seconds. Finally, she said, “Let me look at you for a while.”

With a soft clack, Tao Tianran lightly lifted her ankle, the heel of her shoe bumping against the wall. But ultimately, she slowly came to a halt. She stood perfectly still, bathed in a patch of ordinary sunset light.

At first, she kept her head lowered.

Then, she lifted it, looking toward Cheng Xiang against the backlighting.

Cheng Xiang stood rooted to the spot, not taking a single step closer. Looking at her. Only looking at her.

After who knew how long, Cheng Xiang smiled.

“All right,” Cheng Xiang said softly.

Qin Ziqiao found this world very baffling.

She was baffled not only by the fact that she—a hardcore lover of apocalyptic literature—had ultimately taken over her mother’s job to become a zookeeper, but also by the fact that Yu Yusheng, a wealthy Eldest Miss, was currently squatting on her computer chair eating potato chips on the second day after returning from a business trip to Beicheng.

True, the woman was dressed in a highly professional silk satin shirt and wide-leg trousers, sporting curly hair, red lips, and the mature aura of a powerful older sister.

But shifting her gaze downward, Qin Ziqiao noticed that she had carelessly rolled up the hems of her trousers, looking exactly as if she were getting ready to wade into a river to catch fish.

Qin Ziqiao asked, “Why are you squatting?”

Cheng Xiang chewed her chips with a crunch, crunch. “It’s relaxing.”

Good grief. The potato chip crumbs were falling all over Qin Ziqiao’s computer chair.

Qin Ziqiao frowned. “Why are you eating White Rabbit-flavored⁶ potato chips?”

“Because this way, I feel like life”—Cheng Xiang continued chewing with a crunch, crunch—”is a little sweet.”

This… Qin Ziqiao’s frown deepened. Based on her limited worldview, other than Cheng Xiang who had once loved milk-candy-flavored potato chips, this Eldest Miss Yu was the sole surviving specimen.

Cheng Xiang pointed a seasoning-covered fingertip toward the entryway. “Oh right, the bag I bought for you in Gangdao. I brought it over.”

“You bought another bag?” Qin Ziqiao froze. She looked toward the entryway. It was another famous outdoor brand.

“Yeah, it was convenient. If you don’t like it, just list it on Xianyu⁷, sell it, and get some cash.”

“When you act like this, I seriously suspect you’re running a pig-butchering scam⁸.”

“What do you have worth scamming? Scam you for the capybaras you raise at the zoo?” Cheng Xiang continued dropping chip crumbs onto Qin Ziqiao’s computer chair.

“Hey!” Qin Ziqiao raised an eyebrow, displeased. In her twenty-something years of life, she, Qin Ziqiao, only did three things: raise capybaras at the zoo, grow scallions on her balcony, and read apocalyptic novels on the sofa. She would brook no criticism!

Cheng Xiang said, “Doesn’t everyone say they want a rich bestie to keep them as a sugar baby?”

“Even so, you’re not my bestie.”

“Just pretend I am,” Cheng Xiang said. “Haven’t we formed a strategic alliance now?”

“Speaking of that.” Qin Ziqiao grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa and hugged it to her chest. “How’s your progress with Tao Tianran? Didn’t you two stay in the same room?”

“No progress.” Cheng Xiang licked her lips.

“Ah? Why?”

“Actually… I don’t know how to pursue someone.”

“Impossible.” Qin Ziqiao gave her a suspicious look. “That day you dragged me to the bar, I saw you winking at Tao Tianran on the dance floor. Those little glances of yours were textbook perfect.”

“That was an act.”

“Huh?”

Cheng Xiang scratched her head. “Like, what comes after throwing winks? I don’t know how to proceed, and she didn’t take the bait anyway.”

Qin Ziqiao’s gaze circled up and down her body. “Didn’t you say you were going to be direct? With a figure like yours, can’t you put it to flexible use?”

“I originally thought the same thing.” Cheng Xiang tucked her chin down. “But how are you supposed to pose to seduce someone? Like, the kind that seduces someone invisibly, without looking deliberate.”

She climbed down from the computer chair and rolled her trouser hems back down.

Qin Ziqiao, watching from the side, couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Can you wash your hands first?”

Cheng Xiang pulled a tissue to wipe her fingertips clean. Standing up, she clung to the frame of Qin Ziqiao’s door. “Like this?”

“Why do you look so much like the macaques at the zoo?” Qin Ziqiao sighed. “With your arms and legs stiff as a board like that, I might as well put on some music and let you do the Eighth Set of Broadcast Gymnastics⁹ first.”

“Ugh.” Cheng Xiang felt a bit embarrassed herself. She sat back down on the computer chair, kicking up a calf and spinning in a half-circle. “I just don’t know how to seduce anyone.”

After transmigrating, all that charm exuding from the corners of her eyes and the tips of her brows, all those little seductive habits—they belonged to Yu Yusheng.

But when it came time to actually face Tao Tianran, Eldest Miss Yu’s flirtatious moves seemed to completely malfunction. It made Cheng Xiang unable to help but suspect: could it be that Eldest Miss Yu, who looked like a social butterfly, was actually just a paper tiger too?

Qin Ziqiao hugged her throw pillow. “How about this: let me tell you how Xiao Xiang used to pursue Tao Tianran back in the day.”

“No!” Cheng Xiang nearly leaped out of the computer chair.

“Why are you so worked up?” Qin Ziqiao shot her a glance. “Even though Xiao Xiang’s experience was a failure, experience is still experience, right?”

Footnotes

Bànshān, a reference to the affluent Mid-Levels residential area on Hong Kong Island, known for its extreme wealth and luxury real estate.
Yuānyang nǎichá, a popular Hong Kong beverage consisting of a mixture of three parts coffee and seven parts Hong Kong-style milk tea.
A famous lyric from a Cantopop song (suìyuè cháng, yīshang báo) that evokes the melancholy of passing time, lingering vulnerability, and the chill of loneliness.
Niúzá, a traditional Cantonese street food dish consisting of stewed beef offal (innards).
A famous line from a poem by the Qing dynasty poet Nalan Xingde (dāngshí zhǐ dào shì xúncháng). It expresses deep regret over taking precious, everyday moments with a loved one for granted, only realizing their value after they are lost forever.
A bizarre but real crossover snack flavor based on White Rabbit creamy candy, a famous and nostalgic Chinese milk candy brand.
Xiányú (Idle Fish), Alibaba's popular second-hand marketplace app in China. The name is a pun on the slang 'salted fish' (a lazy person).
Shāzhūpán (pig-butchering scam), a type of long-term online fraud where the scammer builds a deep relationship with the victim (fattening the pig) before convincing them to invest money and vanishing (the slaughter).
The 'Eighth Set of Broadcast Gymnastics' (dì bā tào guǎngbò tǐcāo) is a widely known synchronized calisthenics routine that Chinese students are required to perform daily in school. It represents stiff, mechanical, and decidedly unsexy movements.

Footnotes

0 Comments