The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 20

Full Effort

The screen displayed the step count: 23,556 steps.

[Who doesn’t know that the appearance of trying your hardest looks rather pathetic?]

            

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Cheng Xiang crouched on Qin Ziqiao’s computer chair again. “I think Tao Tianran is avoiding me.”

“Impossible.” Qin Ziqiao was categorical. “By the way, why are you eating rice crisps¹ instead of potato chips this time?”

Cheng Xiang lowered her eyes to glance at the packaging. “I redeemed them with frequent flyer miles.”

            

Qin Ziqiao was shocked. “What?”

“That’s not the point.” Cheng Xiang licked the seasoning powder from her fingers. “The point is, I really think Tao Tianran is avoiding me.”

“You only avoid what you care about.” Qin Ziqiao said, “Do you think she’s started caring about you?”

            

Cheng Xiang shrugged.

“Why would she care about you?” Qin Ziqiao propped her chin in her hand. “Because of your face? It’s passable, but that’s Tao Tianran — someone who doesn’t even blink at gemstones.”

“I know.” Cheng Xiang pulled out another rice crisp but didn’t eat it, just held it in her hand.

            

“Then why would she care about you?”

Cheng Xiang fell silent.

If she said now that perhaps there was something about her that might remind Tao Tianran of Xiao Xiang, wouldn’t that be a bit narcissistic?

            

Besides, the Tao Tianran of the past had never truly been moved by Xiao Xiang either.

She swiveled the computer chair half a turn. “Let’s observe a bit more.”

“Hey!” Qin Ziqiao was displeased. “You’re getting rice crisp crumbs all over the chair, and now you’re scattering them like a goddess scattering flowers.”

            

“Let me ask you something.” Cheng Xiang finally stuffed that rice crisp into her mouth and chewed.

“What?”

“Is there anything at all similar between me and Cheng Xiang?” She tapped the tip of her own nose.

            

“Loves snacks, wrinkles her nose, talks too much nonsense…” Qin Ziqiao stopped speaking and leaned back against the sofa, putting distance between them. “Why do you keep mentioning Xiao Xiang?”

“Oh, I owe her money.”

Qin Ziqiao stood up, walked in a circle without finding anything to do, and lowered her head to smooth out the tablecloth.

            

Cheng Xiang licked her lips and lowered her head.

She had noticed it.

Qin Ziqiao wasn’t that willing to bring up Cheng Xiang.

            

Just like Director Ma and Deputy Director Cheng — they fundamentally didn’t want to think of Cheng Xiang either.

Cheng Xiang stood up from the computer chair. “I’ll head out first, then.”

Qin Ziqiao was actually surprised. “This early today?”

            

“Mm.” Cheng Xiang smiled. “While the buses are still running.”

“So why exactly are you taking the bus?” Qin Ziqiao turned around, her leg resting against the edge of the table. “Experiencing life?”

“Something like that.” Cheng Xiang fished out her car key from her handbag and tossed it to Qin Ziqiao. “Want to drive? It’s yours.”

            

Qin Ziqiao was terrified. “No, no, your car is so expensive.”

“What’s there to be afraid of? There’s insurance. Come pick it up at my place someday when you want to drive it.” Cheng Xiang waved her hand. “I’m off.”

Sitting on the bus, the city passed before her eyes like a kaleidoscope.

            

She rested her elbow on the window, the back of her hand curving softly to press against her temple.

Two high school girls who had just finished evening self-study got off, glanced at her in the back row, their eyes revealing amazement.

After sitting in the front row, they whispered to each other, and one of them turned around to steal a look.

            

Cheng Xiang curled her lips into a bewitching smile.

The high school girl’s ears turned red. She raised her hand to pinch her ear, pretending nothing had happened as she turned back around.

Cheng Xiang turned her head to look out the window again. On the half-closed window was reflected Yu Yusheng’s face — dense curly hair, a slightly upturned nose tip, a pair of cat-like eyes that somehow held a languid grandeur.

            

The wind drifted in through the window, carrying a scent unique to the night.

Not the scent of plants. Not the scent of neon lights. Not the scent of fried rice noodles, fried noodles, or roasted chicken legs from street stalls.

In the past, when Cheng Xiang got off work from cramped office buildings, she would always sit on the bus like this to go home, wrinkling her nose to sniff at the air outside. The city at night was purer than during the day, stripped of its glittering pretense, exuding a kind of decadent, listless, yet more authentic scent that seeped up from the texture of the roads.

            

Cheng Xiang would sit on the bus like this, hugging her backpack, always feeling very happy.

The Cheng Xiang of the past had nothing, only herself.

The Cheng Xiang of the present had everything, except she had lost herself.

            

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The next day, the company held a meeting to discuss the design drafts for the quarterly theme.

This was a tradition since Kunpu’s founding — each quarter, a theme was proposed, and the in-house designers would compete with their drafts. Regardless of seniority, whoever was best would be chosen. Yi Yu would take out a gemstone from her collection to be made into the flagship product, and the company would promote it with full force.

But whenever Tao Tianran was employed, this honor never fell to anyone else.

            

And no one complained.

Cheng Xiang had discussed this with Qin Ziqiao before: “Don’t you think it’s strange that someone like Tao Tianran never got pushed out?”

Qin Ziqiao analyzed it for her: “What people dislike about arrogant people is the ‘arrogance.’ What they dislike about cold people is the ‘coldness.’ Look at ‘arrogance’ and ‘coldness’ — don’t they both have a kind of subjective showing off in them?”

            

This explanation enlightened Cheng Xiang.

Tao Tianran had no subjectivity. She was objective in the absolute sense.

Sometimes you felt she was an ice-sculpted vessel — whatever the world poured in, she let flow out. Sometimes you even felt she was simply an ice field — sunlight, rain, dew, she only reflected the pale blue light.

            

Tao Tianran was always the busiest among the designers. She walked in quickly while everyone else was already seated.

She said “Let’s begin” as she sat down. Yi Yu was appraising a box of dzi beads², and at this moment casually grabbed one and tossed it at her: “Are you the boss or am I the boss?”

Tao Tianran caught it mid-air and put it back in the brocade box for her. “Don’t throw them around. These are worth millions.”

            

Yi Yu snorted through her nose.

Tao Tianran sat there, completely unmoved, her slender hand resting on the table, the back of her hand showing faint blue veins. She wasn’t like porcelain; she was like diamond — more enduring, more profound, without joy or sorrow.

“Who’s going first?” Yi Yu asked.

            

“I’ll go first.” Cheng Xiang stood up.

For some reason, from childhood to adulthood, whenever she truly put effort into something, she got nervous. The more nervous she was, the more she wanted to use the bathroom.

Better to get it over with quickly.

            

She walked to the presentation computer, lightly moved the mouse, and exhaled a small breath.

Her design draft was drawn beautifully, with a kind of computer-refined precision.

But what was more moving was her presentation.

            

Rather than speaking about “Blue Algae,” she was speaking about “Regret.”

She spoke of the humid monsoon winds that gave birth to life on Earth. Of marine animals evolving feet to walk on land. Of dinosaurs migrating along red rock and earth. And blue algae was still there.

“The greatest regret is actually time.” At the end, her thick lashes lowered. “Not because there isn’t enough time, but because there’s too much time.”

            

“How so?” In the silent conference room, Tao Tianran’s fountain pen tapped lightly on the table, then she asked clearly.

Cheng Xiang raised her head. The blue algae pattern on the projection screen was reflected on half of her lovely cat-like face.

“Because you’ll never change.” She smiled slightly. “You’re forever fixed in your form in that place, while the person you’ve been watching has already decided to move forward.”

            

“The greatest regret is…” Her voice grew even softer, echoing off the white conference room wall: “You gain an extra stretch of time for no reason, to watch this cruel scene with your own eyes.”

The conference room was silent.

Until Yi Yu gave a sob.

            

“Give money!” Yi Yu slapped the conference table.

“Huh?” Cheng Xiang was confused.

“Reward you thirty thousand.”

            

…Was that for real? Cheng Xiang thought. In her past life when she was most short of money, why hadn’t she encountered a boss like this?

Perhaps only Yi Yu’s sudden interruption slightly broke that emotional moment, giving Cheng Xiang the courage to look toward Tao Tianran.

Tao Tianran was also looking at her.

            

In her eyes was present appreciation, yet also something that seemed to hold distant time.

Cheng Xiang lowered her head, curled her lips, and the laser pointer in her hand drew a small circle on the table.

She inexplicably thought of that high jump in high school when she had tried her hardest.

            

Tao Tianran, in that moment, did you ever look at me with such appreciative eyes?

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Tao Tianran’s design draft was always the finale.

Compared to Cheng Xiang’s hand-drawn refinement, Tao Tianran’s sketch showed a certain roughness. The ink-blue lines had traces of smudging and repeated strokes, but that roughness instead highlighted the work’s flawlessness —

            

It didn’t show some primitive vitality because of the sketching; it was simply a kind of calm, profound, perfection.

If Cheng Xiang’s design work held moving emotion.

Her work contained no emotion whatsoever.

            

In that moment, Cheng Xiang was deeply shaken. Perhaps everyone had misunderstood — why should jewelry have emotion? Emotion was just the world’s projection onto it. It swallowed all emotion into itself to ferment, finally presenting a kind of eternity that transcended time.

Yi Yu decided very decisively: “It’s this one, Teacher Tao.”

After the meeting dispersed, Cheng Xiang exchanged a few words with colleagues, then turned into the restroom. Tao Tianran walked at the very end, watching her back.

            

Cheng Xiang leaned against the door in a daze for a while. Someone knocked outside.

Cheng Xiang said “Sorry” and pulled open the door, only to find Tao Tianran standing outside.

She stepped aside to let Tao Tianran in, preparing to leave first.

            

It seemed Tao Tianran had no intention of using the restroom. She simply extended her slender wrist toward the motion-sensor faucet.

Watching Cheng Xiang’s back in the mirror, she spoke: “Sad?”

“Hm?” Cheng Xiang turned her head.

            

“Because you lost.” Tao Tianran said indifferently.

“Oh.” Cheng Xiang smiled lazily, her fluffy curls shaking with the small motion of her shoulder shrug. “Losing to Teacher Tao is perfectly normal, isn’t it?”

Tao Tianran withdrew her hand. On the marble-patterned counter was ambergris incense³.

            

She turned and asked Cheng Xiang: “Want to have a meal together?”

Cheng Xiang pressed her lower lip inward. “Why?”

Tao Tianran paused for a moment.

            

“Perhaps, I feel that one day,” she lifted her thin eyelids, looking at Cheng Xiang, “you might win against me.”

Cheng Xiang curled her lips. “So Teacher Tao, because of this, you’re asking me out? This is the second time.”

Tao Tianran paused again, then said: “Mm.”

            

Cheng Xiang pressed her tongue lightly against the back of her teeth.

“If we’re eating together, Teacher Tao has to answer one question first.” Then she smiled. “These past few days at the company, were you avoiding me or not?”

The restroom was silent for a long time. The ambergris scent was actually quite overpowering.

            

Finally, Tao Tianran’s slender high heels lightly tapped against the marble floor as she walked past Cheng Xiang toward the exit.

“I was.” There was almost no gap between her two sentences: “You choose the location.”

The sound of high heels went tap, tap as she left, leaving behind a door left slightly ajar.

            

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At dusk on the closing day of the school sports meet, orange-gold sunset spilled down. Students from the broadcasting station carried their equipment back, dragonflies hovering around the foam-wrapped microphones.

The shot put team stood at the edge of the field, without equipment, discussing throwing techniques with empty hands.

Everyone else had scattered. Taking advantage of the sports meet not having evening self-study, they made plans to go shopping or play games at internet cafes.

            

Only Cheng Xiang dragged Qin Ziqiao, running lap after lap around the track.

Qin Ziqiao was out of breath. “What are you doing? Addicted to exercise?”

Cheng Xiang smiled, waving her arms as she continued running.

            

“Let’s go, today’s exercise is plenty already.” Qin Ziqiao pulled her arm. “Let’s eat.”

“Wait a bit.” Cheng Xiang shook her head. “Wait and I’ll treat you to malatang⁴.”

Around the fourth lap, Qin Ziqiao gave up and sat down on the inner rubber track. “I’m not running anymore, I’m dying. I’m not running no matter what.”

            

Cheng Xiang continued.

Lap after lap around the red rubber track.

“Xiao Xiang.” Qin Ziqiao called.

            

“Xiangzi.”

Cheng Xiang waved her arms and continued running.

Qin Ziqiao pressed her lips together and didn’t call her anymore. She sat cross-legged on the grass. The orange-gold sunset beside her faded bit by bit, but the ink-dark night was suddenly spilled, as if between opening and closing her eyes, stars had appeared in the sky.

            

Cheng Xiang was still running.

Still running.

The wind brushed Qin Ziqiao’s hair, until Cheng Xiang finally lay down on the rubber track as if exhausted, and there was no one else left on the field.

            

Qin Ziqiao stood up and walked toward her, nudging her with her ankle. “Psychopath.”

Cheng Xiang lay on her back on the track, heh-heh-heh-ing with laughter. Her face was covered in sweat that plastered her overly soft hair to her forehead in a messy tangle.

Qin Ziqiao lay down beside her, also on her back.

            

Cheng Xiang lightly touched Qin Ziqiao with her shoe tip. “Look.”

“What.”

“So many stars. The weather must be amazing today, to see such obvious stars.”

            

Qin Ziqiao turned to look at her old friend and cursed again. “What’s wrong with you.”

Cheng Xiang giggled, letting out a long breath from her chest. “Qin Ziqiao.”

“Why are you suddenly calling me by my full name, you’ll scare me to death.”

            

“I’m just saying.”

“Say it.”

“Does the way I’m trying my hardest look pathetic?”

            

Qin Ziqiao glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, your whole face is covered in sweat, ugly as hell.”

Cheng Xiang nodded, spreading her arms and legs to lie in the shape of a “大” character. “But, I’m also really happy.”

“From childhood to adulthood, it seems like I’ve never tried my hardest at anything. Sometimes people persuaded me, sometimes I talked myself out of it before anyone else could persuade me.”

            

She turned her head to look at Qin Ziqiao, her smiling eyes bright in the night sky: “But liking Tao Tianran — this is something I can try my hardest at. It feels like everything else in life has been encouraged too.”

She raised her wrist to look at her sports watch. In those days, the trendy iWatch wasn’t common yet. Everyone wore a domestic sports watch with a very tacky name — “Wenwen⁵.”

Cheng Xiang pressed the side button. The screen displayed the step count: 23,556 steps.

            

It’s settled, Tao Tianran. If you need me, if you take that first step toward me, I’ll walk the remaining 23,556 steps.

This is my full effort.

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The author has something to say:

            

Teacher TTR, you seem a little suspicious.

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