The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 25

Breath

Is Tao Tianran…?

[Did you see me. Did you pass through me.
Did you focus on me. Did you enter me.]

            

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Dinner was a group affair.

Tao Tianran didn’t eat much. More than one person struck up conversation with her, laughing: “Teacher Tao eats so little—no wonder she’s so thin.”

Cheng Xiang ladled a spoonful of soup, thinking: Tao Tianran never used to eat a lot, but she certainly never ate this little.

            

Among the designers was someone from Yu Province¹; the production team had clearly done their homework. A dish of sliced beef in chili oil arrived, bean sprouts forming the base.

Cheng Xiang resisted the urge to move it away from Tao Tianran, lifting her white wine glass instead, chin propped in hand, smiling and chatting with the others.

The dinner was meant to help everyone get acquainted quickly. She and Tao Tianran sat at opposite corners of the table. Tao Tianran finally became a small shadow hanging at the edge of her vision, just as she had once hoped.

            

When the meal ended, Cheng Xiang didn’t wait for Tao Tianran. She headed back to the dormitory area alone.

First, she checked the camera positions. The production team had explained in advance that since they were all amateurs, the cameras wouldn’t be rolling constantly—only when dormitory scenes were needed, with prior notice.

So for now, she didn’t need to worry. Cheng Xiang still had the sticky sweat from Thailand clinging to her skin. She seized the chance to shower.

            

Wrapped in a bathrobe, she emerged to find her roommate had already arrived—a young designer named Zou Tian.

Cheng Xiang tugged at the neck of her bathrobe. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Zou Tian raised a hand in greeting. “You’re so beautiful.”

            

“I think so too.” Cheng Xiang wholeheartedly agreed with the Eldest Miss Yu’s beauty.

“…Huh?” Zou Tian looked her up and down. “Your figure is amazing too.”

Cheng Xiang thought: I’m wrapped up like this and you can already tell? If I took it off, you’d probably die of shock.

            

Cough. Just kidding.

Cheng Xiang gathered her clothes and went into the bathroom to change before coming out. After all, she was gay—best to be polite, for everyone’s sake.

She crouched by her suitcase, rummaging through it.

            

Great. Not a single clean shirt.

She had to message her editor, asking if someone could send her clothes out for dry cleaning. The answer came back affirmative, but even with rush service, it would take three days.

Cheng Xiang clicked her tongue, planning to pack up the clothes to send out tomorrow. She kept two shirts aside, meaning to hand-wash them and make do for the next couple of days.

            

So she gathered the shirts and headed for the washroom.

The dormitory prefab units were built somewhat like school dorms, especially the washroom—a large space with two rows of sinks facing each other, two rows of big glass mirrors, and hair dryers provided.

Since these were prefab units, the electrical circuits in the rooms couldn’t handle the load. Everyone was required to dry their hair here.

            

Cheng Xiang tilted her head, one hand casually tousling her seaweed-tangled hair as the dryer whirred away.

But Eldest Miss Yu’s hair was simply too thick, and the dryer wasn’t very powerful. She held it up for ages until her arm was sore.

She gave up at half-dry. Cheng Xiang plugged the silver drain stopper and filled the basin halfway to hand-wash her shirts.

            

A cigarette tucked between her lips, unlit, just resting there.

She looked up at herself in the mirror. A Thai-style spaghetti-strap top, firm skin dyed a golden honey-brown. The undertone was still pale, just appearing richer, more sensual.

The outer corners of her eyes tilted upward naturally without makeup. Her lips were full and slightly pouting, lending this face a certain softness—keeping it from descending into mere garish beauty.

            

So hot.

The prefab unit’s electrical circuits couldn’t handle the strain; the washroom had no air conditioning. Cheng Xiang had just showered, and now another thin layer of sweat beaded across her skin.

Someone knocked. “Excuse me…”

            

Cheng Xiang turned. An unfamiliar female producer stood there, an 「Intern」 badge hanging around her neck.

“Someone ordered delivery.” She lifted the paper bag in her hand.

The kraft paper was wrinkled around a distinctive shape—clearly a bottle.

            

Cheng Xiang gestured with her chin. “You’re going the wrong way. The dorms are at the other end of the hall.”

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

The intern was about to hurry off when the clear sound of high heels echoed from the doorway.

            

Cheng Xiang stood in the washroom, head lowered as she scrubbed her shirt, listening to Tao Tianran’s cool voice: “I ordered it. Thanks for bringing it.”

“No problem.” The intern, mission accomplished, zipped away.

Tao Tianran picked up the kraft paper bag and was about to leave.

            

“Wait.” Cheng Xiang called out from the washroom.

Earlier, after dinner—before turning in her personal phone and receiving the one provided by the production team—she’d asked her editor for two minutes, ducking into a corner to make a call.

“Hello.” Yu Yuluo’s cheerful voice came through. “You’re back?”

            

“Mm, but I got pulled into filming a show.”

“What show?”

Cheng Xiang explained briefly.

            

“What about the coconut rolls with pork floss and crispy rice and pork jerky and seaweed you brought me?!”

“In my suitcase.” Cheng Xiang’s tone was heavy with grief. “Let me tell you something.”

“Mm?” Yu Yuluo sounded nervous.

            

“The food here is just okay. After two weeks of filming, the snacks I brought you probably won’t have much left.”

Yu Yuluo let out a wail.

Cheng Xiang leaned against the corner, smiling. Once upon a time, before she could understand sad love songs, she and Qin Ziqiao had run wild through the hutongs², catching crickets, drinking bottled yogurt with their round bellies, happiness so simple.

            

“Let me ask you something.”

“What?”

“What kind of person am I?” Cheng Xiang tapped her fingertip against the wall twice.

            

“What do you mean?”

“In your eyes, what kind of person am I?” Cheng Xiang reminded her. “Answer carefully—your snacks can still be saved.”

“Someone who doesn’t care about anything, I guess.” Yu Yuluo hummed and hedged. “Pretty annoying.”

            

Cheng Xiang laughed once. The producer came to hurry her along, and the call ended.

Now Cheng Xiang called out to Tao Tianran: “The hair tie on your wrist.”

Tao Tianran stood at the washroom entrance, kraft paper bag in hand.

            

“If you have a spare,” Cheng Xiang lifted her hand, using the back of her hand that wasn’t covered in foam to scratch her nose, “could I borrow it?”

Tao Tianran glanced at her and walked in.

Cheng Xiang’s spine tensed for an instant, then she told herself to relax.

            

She had imagined a more unrestrained life, a more leisurely life. Tao Tianran was just Tao Tianran—not the spell that could make her lift her head in a crowd.

Tao Tianran walked to her side, raising her slender wrist.

Cheng Xiang lifted her own hand. “They’re covered in foam. If you don’t mind, could you tie it for me?”

            

Tao Tianran slipped the hair tie from her wrist, set the kraft paper bag aside, the loosened opening revealing a wine bottle.

At dinner, Tao Tianran hadn’t drunk much of the white wine meant to warm the atmosphere.

Back in her room, she’d ordered a bottle of red wine for herself.

            

If she were a gemstone, she’d be an aquamarine³—both clear and hard. Compared to her, diamonds seemed bland. Her base color was a deep blue: sky reflected in it became sky, sea reflected in it became sea, deep affection reflected in it became deep affection. Her allure was hidden deep, giving people the illusion that they could unlock her.

Cheng Xiang lowered her head, gazing at the foam in the sink.

She could feel Tao Tianran’s hand lifting near the back of her neck. Even coldness was a scorching temperature.

            

Cheng Xiang pressed her lips together.

If she could master Yu Yusheng’s overflowing sensuality.

Master Yu Yusheng’s exceptional talent.

            

Why couldn’t she master Yu Yusheng’s indifference, and live an easier life?

Her hair was half-dry. Tao Tianran reached out and gathered it—that thick mass, more than one hand could hold. The hair tie looped around, just two turns and it was secure. Tao Tianran was careful the entire time, never touching a fraction of an inch of her skin.

Cheng Xiang lowered her head, feeling the pores on the back of her neck open, as if someone had implanted a thin metal wire there.

            

Until Tao Tianran’s hand withdrew.

Cheng Xiang turned, smiling faintly. “Thanks.”

Tao Tianran lifted the kraft paper bag, shook her head by way of answer, and walked out.

            

Cheng Xiang watched her retreating figure.

It had always been like this.

Always like this. She acted indifferent; she struggled in secret.

            

That was why there was so much unwillingness.

---

When Cheng Xiang returned to the dormitory, Zou Tian was already asleep.

Cheng Xiang moved quietly, still going into the bathroom to lock the door and change into pajamas before slipping under the thin quilt.

            

The prefab units were built in the suburbs. Lying on her side in midsummer, she could hear insects chirping.

Faint sounds only accentuated a certain silence. Cheng Xiang heard light footsteps in the next room.

She lay with her eyes open, listening as the footsteps approached and retreated, wandering to the terrace that faced a shallow reed marsh. After a while, they returned—Tao Tianran lightly getting into bed, leaning against the headboard. She could almost feel the weight of that slender figure.

            

Between them was only the thin wooden board of the prefab wall.

Cheng Xiang hadn’t expected that such a distance would feel closer than sharing a room.

She lay with her eyes open. The insects at the marsh formed a kind of rhythmic white noise. Before she fell asleep, she never heard when Tao Tianran finally lay down.

            

She dreamed.

She dreamed that Tao Tianran sat just like that against the headboard, wearing a moon-white silk slip dress that clung to her slight curves, one hand dangling over the edge of the bed holding a wine glass, the liquid tilting as if about to spill.

A sensuality she had never witnessed in reality.

            

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The next day was group discussion, with each designer’s editor following to film.

Cheng Xiang and Tao Tianran sat in a small conference room. Cheng Xiang propped her chin in one hand, her posture lazy and low, thick curls spilling onto the table.

She’d asked the producer and learned the show had post-production retouching, so she hadn’t bothered with much foundation—just eyeliner and lipstick.

            

Tao Tianran was the same. Her skin had always been so fine it showed no pores, just a restrained earth-toned lipstick.

The black hair tie from last night was now on Cheng Xiang’s wrist.

She’d gotten a new one, looped around her own slender wrist.

            

Cheng Xiang lowered her lashes and smiled. The production team hadn’t provided digital drawing tablets, so Tao Tianran still had her Montblanc fountain pen⁴ at her side. Cheng Xiang picked up a pencil provided by the production team. “When we talk about ‘First Meeting,’ everyone has innocent associations, right?”

Tao Tianran looked up at her.

“Actually, no.” Cheng Xiang waggled the pencil in her hand, tilting her head. “Teacher Tao, I see you like this every day—but can I say I’ve truly seen you?”

            

“True first meeting is the moment two people see each other naked.”

Tao Tianran’s thin eyelids lifted slightly. “Continue.”

Cheng Xiang turned to ask the producer: “Can this air?”

            

The producer clicked her tongue. “You—just, phrase it more subtly. Follow Little Green River⁵ standards.”

Cheng Xiang curved her lips. The producer felt a little dizzy.

Cheng Xiang and Tao Tianran’s “seeing each other naked” happened after Tao Tianran came to her place for New Year’s Eve dinner.

            

That day, in their small rented apartment, Tao Tianran was in the shower.

She’d stripped and slipped in. “Um—the property management said—”

Tao Tianran glanced at her, not understanding why she was bringing up property management now.

            

“Property management said the water’s getting cut off soon.”

“Oh.” Tao Tianran lowered her chin. “You forgot to tell me in advance?”

“Mm…I forgot.”

            

How could such a beautiful body exist in the world.

Cheng Xiang always felt that Nüwa⁶ must deliberately sculpt small imperfections into every human form. But Tao Tianran seemed like a careless creation made while the goddess dozed—cheek propped in her palm, casually dotting the brush across Tao Tianran’s back and face.

Those ink-dark moles transformed from flaws into restrained allure.

            

Tao Tianran’s entire frame was slender—long hands and feet, a waist equally long and fine, her belly flat. Yet the curves that should stand out stood out anyway, softly drooping.

Cheng Xiang thought: Unfair.

She looked down at herself. Ha!

            

Tao Tianran was lifting her arms to wash her hair, not particularly bothered by the intrusion. Water rushed down. Tao Tianran closed her eyes, sweeping her black hair back, like a mermaid emerging from the water.

Cheng Xiang, feeling like a thief, pumped some body wash and smeared it into her hair.

She could feel Tao Tianran open her eyes, watching her from under the spray.

            

In the cramped shower stall, steam filled the air. Two people standing left little room to move. Tao Tianran stood behind her, calling: “Xiao Xiang.”

Cheng Xiang had already realized she’d used the wrong product. Water rinsed down, skin turning slippery.

“Mm.” She stood in the steam, voice soft.

            

Tao Tianran lifted her hand and lightly touched her back. The same spot where, that day in the siheyuan⁷ bedroom, she’d unhooked Tao Tianran’s clasp.

Cheng Xiang suddenly asked: “Tao Tianran.”

“Mm.”

            

“Do you remember what pattern the curtains in my room were?”

Tao Tianran pulled Cheng Xiang into her arms. She was taller, looking down from an angle at Cheng Xiang’s water-soaked face, thick lashes misted over.

Both of them were thin. But the feel was different—Tao Tianran was cool and hard, bones distinct; Cheng Xiang was lighter, softer, slender when gathered close.

            

Cheng Xiang gripped Tao Tianran’s wrist, guiding it somewhere.

Tao Tianran paused. “You said…”

Cheng Xiang made a soft sound.

            

“You’re the gong⁸?”

“…I wouldn’t dare.”

She only dared to melt into Tao Tianran’s arms, lips slightly parted, tilting her head to look at Tao Tianran’s profile, one hand pressed against the bathroom glass, leaving a print in the steam.

            

“Tao Tianran.”

“Mm.”

“Tao Tianran.”

            

“Mm?”

Cheng Xiang’s heels slipped inside her sandals, legs too soft to stand, holding onto Tao Tianran’s arm where it wrapped around her waist.

She wanted to ask, “Do you remember the pattern of my curtains?”

            

Wanted to ask, “Do you know a dragonfly occasionally flies past our window?”

Wanted to ask, “Did you see the tiny pale red mole on my ear?”

Did you see me. Did you pass through me. Did you focus on me. Did you enter me.

            

Cheng Xiang felt herself crying. Luckily, under the shower, the cascading water washed away her tears, flowing together into her slightly parted lips.

And now, Cheng Xiang sat in the camera-rigged conference room.

She said: “True first meeting isn’t purity—it’s desire. It’s greed, anger, obsession, craving. It’s a bottomless pit of wanting. It’s devouring the other person whole. It’s knowing full well it’s all an illusion, and still reaching out to grasp.”

            

She spoke these words with Tao Tianran sitting right across from her.

A long silence filled the conference room.

Then Tao Tianran raised her slender wrist—one light tap, two, fingertips against her palm, applauding softly for her. In her eyes, an emotion dark and unreadable.

            

Cheng Xiang lowered her head and smiled.

Perhaps by the time you finally truly see me.

I will no longer be me.

            

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And so Cheng Xiang and Tao Tianran settled on this round’s design.

The first two rounds didn’t require finished pieces—just hand-drawn sketches, which the production team would have rendered into 3D models.

The line art was Tao Tianran’s. Some people needed only one navy-blue fountain pen to rewrite miracles buried in the earth’s crust for hundreds of millions of years.

            

For easier understanding, Cheng Xiang used watercolors to gradually color the lines.

Jewelry designers were cool like that—pinning a small flat brush between her fingers, dotting on crimson. For filming purposes, a floor mirror stood in the conference room. Cheng Xiang caught a glimpse of herself: waist slack and curved, thick hair bound at the back of her head with the hair tie Tao Tianran had given her, posture relaxed.

Unlike when she used to draw comics, wearing oversized home T-shirts and shorts, hunched miserably over the computer, constantly suspecting she was developing frozen shoulder.

            

Ah, but that wasn’t right either. It wasn’t that comic artists weren’t cool—it was that she, a mediocrity, wasn’t cool.

When the color sketch was done, the producer came over to look, rubbing her chin with studied inscrutability: “These two red dots are… hey now, that won’t work. I understand it’s art, but this won’t pass review.”

Cheng Xiang froze.

            

Then she shouted in exasperation: “Those are Medusa’s blood-red eyes!”

The producer patted her chest in relief. “Good, good.”

It wasn’t that Cheng Xiang didn’t know streaming shows had to pass review. The concrete design she and Tao Tianran had finally settled on was Medusa.

            

Crushed diamonds pieced together into winding snake-hair, two rubies dotting the blood-colored eyes that turned all who looked to stone. You gazed at her, and you sacrificed your soul.

Almost without surprise, every judge gave near-perfect scores.

When filming ended, the designers walked out together. Cheng Xiang walked behind Tao Tianran, able to hear the hushed whispers—how exquisite Tao Tianran’s line work was, how those hands must have been made by some divine craftsman.

            

Cheng Xiang thought: How those hands were made, the old her knew better than anyone.

Tao Tianran suddenly turned.

Cheng Xiang’s face was paling with old memories, her footsteps faltering. “What?”

            

“Have you ever been in love?” Tao Tianran asked.

Cheng Xiang smiled.

She slid the hair tie from the back of her head, letting her seaweed-thick curls tumble loose, slipping the band onto her own wrist. “I have.”

            

“So you’ve had someone you loved very much?”

“Teacher Tao is very curious about me?”

Tao Tianran paused. “Perhaps because you have such thoughts about ‘First Meeting.'”

            

Cheng Xiang’s long lashes lifted and fell.

She nodded. “Yes. I had someone I loved very much.”

“Where did she go?”

            

“She disappeared.” Cheng Xiang curved her lips after these three words, walking forward with languid grace.

It wasn’t that the person she loved had disappeared.

It was that the person who once loved without reservation—the one who had known how to love—had vanished into the winter’s first snow, sky-filling and blinding.

            

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At the end of Round One, the theme for Round Two was announced: “Elopement.”

Cheng Xiang thought: The production team really knows how to have fun.

Back at the dormitory area, the two shirts she’d kept had gotten her through the last couple of days. She messaged her editor to ask when the dry-cleaned clothes would be back.

            

Half an hour later, the editor replied with profuse apologies—the dry cleaner had had an unexpected breakdown. She’d contact the production team to send over some brand-sponsored clothes.

Cheng Xiang said, “That works too.”

But what arrived was all trendy styles—gauzy, delicate fabrics. Cheng Xiang tried them on, sighed, and took them off.

            

Eldest Miss Yu’s feline beauty turned cloying in dresses like these, failing to highlight her distinctive features. She needed clothes like Yu Yusheng’s own wardrobe—professionally tailored pieces with strong design sensibility—to accentuate her slightly full lips, her always-languid thick lashes.

Like a pinch of salt on the tip of a strawberry.

Left with no choice, Cheng Xiang gathered her shirts and headed for the washroom again.

            

Better to wash these shirts and wear them another round. Since she’d ended up in Eldest Miss Yu’s body and enjoyed quite a few of the perks, she couldn’t live her life too carelessly—right?

Cheng Xiang gazed at that beautiful, unfamiliar face in the mirror.

She lifted her hand, fingertip lightly touching the glass. Two trails of water traced down her cheeks.

            

She smiled, and the person in the mirror smiled back. She raised an eyebrow, and the person in the mirror raised one too.

She couldn’t help wondering: Why had she ended up in Eldest Miss Yu’s body?

And where had the original Yu Yusheng gone?

            

Her thoughts were still tangled when light footsteps sounded at the door.

Cheng Xiang lowered her head, scrubbing the shirt in her hands. Habit was terrifying—the heart wanted to forget, but the ears remembered.

She knew the person approaching was Tao Tianran.

            

Tao Tianran stood at the entrance by the washroom mirror, not coming further in, blow-drying her long hair.

Cheng Xiang glanced at herself in the mirror again. “Teacher Tao.”

“Mm.” The whir of the dryer didn’t stop.

            

“Someone like you probably hasn’t been in love, right?”

The dryer’s hum echoed through the empty washroom like a summer night’s insect wings.

“I have.” Tao Tianran stood angled away from Cheng Xiang, flying black hair screening her face.

            

“Oh?” Cheng Xiang lifted her tone slightly. “Then did you love that person very much?”

Her heart crumpled inward, striking against the walls of her chest.

After a long while, the dryer’s sound stopped.

            

Tao Tianran hung it back on the wall and turned to her. “Are you interested in me too?”

Cheng Xiang’s mouth opened.

Tao Tianran saw she wasn’t answering, and walked away.

            

Cheng Xiang lowered her lashes.

She didn’t ask further.

Perhaps because a coward was afraid to hear the real answer.

            

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Back in the dormitory, Zou Tian hadn’t fallen asleep yet. She was propped against the headboard, flipping through an art book, and said to Cheng Xiang: “This heat is really something.”

Cheng Xiang curved her lips. “It is.”

Zou Tian swept her palm back and forth in front of her face like a fan. “Don’t know if it’s just these prefab rooms—so stuffy.”

            

Cheng Xiang: “Could also be that it’s about to rain.”

Zou Tian was from the south. She set down the magazine, pillowing her head on one hand to ask Cheng Xiang: “What’s a summer rainstorm like in the north? You probably wouldn’t believe it—I’ve traveled all over Europe, but this is my first time in Beicheng.”

Cheng Xiang picked up her towel, about to go shower. “You know that feeling when you turn on a showerhead? Splattering down on your skin—that’s the vibe.”

            

Zou Tian laughed.

Cheng Xiang joined her with a twitch of her lips. “I wanted to describe it more romantically, too.”

Zou Tian waved her hand repeatedly. “No, no—you described it perfectly.”

            

When Cheng Xiang came out after her shower, Zou Tian was already asleep, leaving only a night light for her.

Cheng Xiang got into bed and switched off the light. That night, she didn’t hear the soft pad of Tao Tianran’s slippers—didn’t know whether she’d gone to sleep.

She lay with her eyes open, thinking: The showerhead description wasn’t unromantic. But that was a romance that belonged to her alone.

            

In the steam-filled, cramped shower stall, a rainstorm like midsummer broke.

Soaking her. Swallowing her. Melting her. Burning her.

Her back pressed against Tao Tianran’s chest, surrendering her soul to another person.

            

Tao Tianran’s lips at her ear: “Is this okay?”

One hand pressed against the bathroom glass, leaving a water-streaked palm print: “Deeper.”

Enter deeper into me. Explore me. Control me. And then, love me.

            

Cheng Xiang’s lips curled in self-mockery.

But to this day, hidden inside another person’s body, she didn’t even have the courage to hear a real answer from Tao Tianran.

Suddenly.

            

Cheng Xiang’s focus sharpened.

The marsh still had its insect chorus. She had to listen very carefully to hear, through the thin wooden board separating them, someone’s faint sigh, drawing out a long breath.

Cheng Xiang’s first thought was that Tao Tianran’s stomach hurt.

            

She’d ordered such a large bottle of wine.

She lifted her hand to rub the small knot between her brows—then realized she might have guessed wrong.

Because that continuous breathing continued, very soft, soft and restrained. If she and Tao Tianran hadn’t been head-to-head with only a wooden board between them, and if she hadn’t been wide awake without a trace of sleep, she never could have heard it.

            

Cheng Xiang glanced at the other bed. Zou Tian was sound asleep.

She held her breath, eyes open, listening all the while to Tao Tianran’s movements on the other side.

Tao Tianran was…?

            

Until it went quiet over there, a brief blank—then she heard Tao Tianran lightly rise, slippered feet walking toward the terrace.

Cheng Xiang pressed her lips together, raising one palm to press against that thin wooden board.

Just like many years ago, when she pressed against the bathroom glass, all steam and haze.

            

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