The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 3
by Little PandaThe Past
She was the one who brought up the breakup first.
[When some people leave,
Their back is like an ungraspable mist,
And the sound of the door closing is like a gunshot.]
Absurd.
Cheng Xiang sat with her head bowed at the dining table, thinking: completely and utterly absurd.
How on earth had she transmigrated?
And to run into Tao Tianran before she had even sorted everything out. The Tao Tianran she had missed every single day before she died, yet hadn’t seen in over a year.
Thinking this, she quietly stole a glance at Tao Tianran.
Tao Tianran was very sharp. She paused the porcelain spoon she was using to drink her soup, lifting her eyelids to look over. Her gaze was very cold.
Cheng Xiang abruptly withdrew her eyes.
She was wondering: did Cheng Xiang exist in this world?
If Cheng Xiang had just passed away yesterday, would Tao Tianran be coming home with a man for dinner so nonchalantly?
Was there no Cheng Xiang at all? Or did Tao Tianran simply not know that Cheng Xiang had passed away?
Cheng Xiang couldn’t help but look up again, her lips parting slightly.
Tao Tianran was looking at her.
She ultimately lowered her head back down.
What could she ask? Ask Tao Tianran: Do you have an ex-girlfriend? Did your ex-girlfriend pass away?
That would be even more absurd.
Cheng Xiang decided to adopt her old strategy from playing ‘eating chicken1‘ video games: when the situation is unclear, go prone in the tall grass and wretchedly develop2—translated to this dinner party, that meant: eat more, speak less.
A fresh sea cucumber was so savory it felt like it could snatch a person’s tongue right out. So this was what sea cucumber braised in superior broth tasted like. Cheng Xiang felt a bit embarrassed realizing she had never eaten sea cucumber in her previous life.
Sob, what a loss.
And the Yu family was truly extravagant. They were having Chinese cuisine today, but the hot dishes were being served by the housekeeper one by one in the order of a formal course meal. Just now, a dish of steamed sea bass was brought out, layered with crisp, tender bean sprouts to add a fresh fragrance.
The housekeeper knew Tao Tianran was an esteemed guest invited by the Eldest Young Master, so she carried the long platter and placed it directly in front of her.
Cheng Xiang had been wrestling with a metapenaeus prawn. At this moment, she pulled a tissue to wipe her hands, then incredibly naturally picked up the long platter and moved it in front of herself.
Only after setting it down did she realize that everyone at the table was looking at her.
Cheng Xiang’s heart gave a jolt—Mother of god, I was too careless.
It was all Tao Tianran’s fault! Was it because she had been gaslighted by Tao Tianran too severely in the past? Whenever she sat down to eat with Tao Tianran, she always felt like Tao Tianran was Empress Dowager Cixi3 and she was a lowly palace maid. She would hurriedly swap over the dishes Tao Tianran liked, and hurriedly whisk away the ones she didn’t.
But a person like Tao Tianran truly resembled an elegantly educated noblewoman from ancient times.
When Cheng Xiang first started eating meals with her, she had muttered to herself constantly:
How was this person not a picky eater in the slightest? No matter what the dinner gathering was, she only picked from the few plates immediately in front of her, and she distributed her favors equally4—taking one bite from each dish before looping back around to do it again.
Later, when Cheng Xiang watched historical costume dramas, she discovered that only the Emperor ate like this: only taking three bites of any dish and never showing favoritism. How miserable.
Cheng Xiang had once asked Tao Tianran, “What do you like to eat?”
She said, “It’s all fine.”
“Then there must be things you don’t like, right?” Cheng Xiang counted on her fingers. “I have plenty of things I’m not willing to eat. Eggplant, loofah… As for fish, I only eat the sashimi kind in Japanese cuisine. I won’t touch steamed fish. I got a fish bone stuck in my throat when I was little, and my mom took me to the hospital saying I might need surgery. It almost scared me to death. I don’t eat offal either, I think it looks ugly…”
Saying this, she crinkled her nose and laughed. “Turns out I’m such a picky eater! If I hadn’t told you, I wouldn’t have even realized it myself.”
Tao Tianran merely replied with a flat, “I’m not a picky eater.”
How could there be anyone who truly wasn’t a picky eater? Cheng Xiang refused to believe it.
While eating with Tao Tianran, she quietly observed—she found that while Tao Tianran really did ‘distribute her favors equally’ when picking food, whenever a dish of stir-fried bean sprouts was served, her pale, delicate fingers would hesitate for half a second as she reached out with her chopsticks, her straight shoulders tensing ever so slightly.
Then Cheng Xiang knew: Oh, so Tao Tianran doesn’t like eating bean sprouts.
She tilted her nose up with a tiny bit of smugness: she was probably the only person in the whole world who knew Tao Tianran didn’t like eating bean sprouts.
They could just avoid ordering stir-fried bean sprouts, but bean sprouts were a side ingredient in many dishes.
Even now, she remembered the first time she moved the bean sprouts away from Tao Tianran. Tao Tianran had slightly lifted the tail of her brow, revealing a hint of surprise.
Sigh, otherwise why would the internet term be ‘memory kill5‘? Memories were a knife, and every single cut was fatal.
After reuniting, she could feign composure and stuff her face, drowning all her feelings in exaggerated sighs over the deliciousness of a sea cucumber.
But her body seemed to have a muscle memory of its own, incredibly consciously swapping that plate of fish covered in bean sprouts away from Tao Tianran.
Cheng Xiang held the long platter, slowly letting out a breath.
She ultimately raised her head and looked at Tao Tianran.
What was the point? Even if she deliberately avoided looking at Tao Tianran after their reunion, the moment her gaze touched those clear, cold, and charming eyes, it would flow away like water, slipping down to fall silently onto the soft tablecloth. And when her lightly trembling eyelashes splashed that gaze back up, it would only land on the folds of Tao Tianran’s shirt cuffs.
A heart, too, wrinkled slightly along with them.
But what was the point? The subconscious actions of her body were all reminding her: she had never forgotten this person.
Before she died in the car crash, on her shattered phone screen, the timer since her breakup with TTR had been frozen at 【400 days】. Four hundred days had passed, and it turned out she had never forgotten this person.
Perhaps her gaze was a bit too blankly direct, because Tao Tianran looked at her and asked, “What is it?”
She pursed her lips, then pursed them again. Her eyelashes were trembling lightly, but her lips settled into calm. She finally spoke: “It’s nothing.”
What could she say? How should she say it?
Those sentences that didn’t even form a coherent structure in my own heart, the indescribable regrets. They were formless and shapeless, scattered across the willow catkins of spring and the winds of summer, scattered whenever I looked at the clouds on the horizon or the rain outside the window, scattered even when I heard an absurd term like ‘heavenly troops and generals6‘.
Minute by minute, second by second, denying me peace.
Tao Tianran merely lowered her smooth eyelashes, as if she hadn’t taken her “It’s nothing” to heart either.
Zhuwei rapped the tip of her chopsticks against Cheng Xiang’s wrist. Cheng Xiang let out an “Aow!”
She looked at Zhuwei. “What is it?”
Zhuwei said, “Why are you so impolite?”
Cheng Xiang blinked twice, abruptly pinching her earlobes with both hands—she belatedly realized that she had just bare-handedly picked up a long platter straight out of the steamer. It was really hot!
This was a move she had learned from Director Ma: when burned, touch your ears.
Tao Tianran cast a glance at her.
When she looked back, Tao Tianran naturally withdrew her gaze again. Looking a fraction absentminded, she fiddled with the pinky ring on her right hand.
Cheng Xiang felt a bit of a sour ache in her heart—in the past, she was the one who cooked in their home. Sometimes, to get Tao Tianran’s attention, she would deliberately bring the dishes out without wearing oven mitts, then exaggeratedly pinch her earlobes and hop around saying, “So hot, so hot, so hot!”
At those times, Tao Tianran was usually typing on her phone single-handedly, acting as if she didn’t care at all.
Except, the look Tao Tianran gave her just now seemed to hold some deeper meaning.
Zhuwei asked, “The fish was specifically steamed for Miss Tao. Why did you take it away?”
“Huh?” Cheng Xiang was a bit embarrassed. “I wanted to eat it?”
Yu Yuluo shot her a sidelong glance. “Aren’t you the one who never eats steamed fish? You’re afraid of the bones.”
“Haha.” Cheng Xiang laughed dryly. “Hahaha.”
To think that this Eldest Miss Yu’s picky eating habits were actually quite similar to Cheng Xiang’s own. Now this was truly awkward. Cheng Xiang finally understood why those protagonists in transmigration stories always tried to speak as little as possible.
The more you speak, the more mistakes you make! An eternal truth.
Tao Tianran chimed in, “It’s fine. Just leave it there.”
Her face was so clear and cold, calling to mind the description in Dream of the Red Chamber7 of Lin Daiyu as the Crimson Pearl Flower by the Stone of Three Lives. Tao Tianran wasn’t that fragile; she was simply cold. The sorrowful rains and dews of the mortal realm could not fall upon her.
For the rest of the meal, Cheng Xiang didn’t say another word.
Yu Yuce saw Tao Tianran to the door. Cheng Xiang cast a glance at her back as she put on her suit jacket.
Did you know? Many people’s backs carry emotion. When Cheng Xiang used to practice sketching, she had drawn many backs—they were either sad, or reluctant to leave, or clinging to attachments. But Tao Tianran’s wasn’t. Her back held no emotion.
Later, Cheng Xiang realized that it was because Tao Tianran had never truly let anyone into her heart.
With a bang, the door closed.
When Yu Yuce turned back to the living room, he saw Cheng Xiang staring at the door that had just shut.
Yu Yuce asked her, “What are you spacing out for?”
Cheng Xiang’s gaze remained fixed on the door. A half-second later, just before Yu Yuce’s expression could turn doubtful, she pulled her gaze back and smiled.
It was nothing really.
It’s just, who said the person who brings up the breakup first definitely gets the better end of the deal?
She was the one who had brought up the breakup first, and she was also the one sitting curled up on the sofa, wrapping her pajamas around her knees. That tiny rented apartment was the one she had leased with her very first paycheck; it was only fifty square meters. She sat blankly on the sofa watching an old-school sitcom on the TV, where Manager Tong shook her abacus beads and cried out, “My god!8“
Cheng Xiang giggled, listening to the sound of Tao Tianran packing her suitcase nearby.
Tao Tianran dragged her suitcase over and said, “I’m leaving.”
Cheng Xiang stared at the TV. “Mm.”
Only when Tao Tianran reached the door did she turn her head to look at her back.
Tao Tianran didn’t notice her gaze. The movement of her closing the door was very crisp and clean.
The smile from watching the sitcom still lingered at the corners of Cheng Xiang’s lips, curving them upward.
Did you know? It turns out that expensive doors and cheap doors don’t even sound the same when they close. For example, when Tao Tianran left the Yu family home today, the slowly, dully closing door sounded like an old accordion.
Yet she vividly remembered the day Tao Tianran left the rented apartment—the sound of the door closing was like a sharp gun, firing a bang right into a person’s heart.
Cheng Xiang, curled up on the sofa, lowered her head to look at her own chest.
How strange.
So it turns out that when a massive hole is gouged out of a person’s heart, it doesn’t show on the surface.
She realized that the original owner of the body she had transmigrated into, Yu Yusheng, was a woman of charming, amorous grace. For example, she found that she now liked to narrow her eyes when she smiled, her slender fingers casually tossing her thick, chestnut curls.
Resting one hand on the back of the sofa, letting her waist slump in a languidly charming posture, she didn’t answer Yu Yuce’s question about why she was spacing out. Instead, she smiled and asked, “Do you still remember 《My Own Swordsman》?”
“Hm?” Yu Yuce was a bit surprised.
Cheng Xiang curved her charming, teasing eyes and spoke in an exaggerated Shaanxi dialect impression: “My god!”
“…” Yu Yuce frowned. “Do you have a fever?”
Cheng Xiang cast a sidelong glance at him, rubbing the sofa with her resting hand a couple of times. Looking at Yu Yuce, who was just about to leave, she said, “Say.”
Yu Yuce turned back. “Just how much do you not want to call me ge?”
“You,” Cheng Xiang asked, “how far have things progressed between you and Tao Tianran?”
Yu Yuce stared fixedly at Cheng Xiang.
He didn’t spend much time with this meimei of his, but he fancied that he understood her. This meimei of his had eyes like a cat’s, a deep amber, just like her soft, seemingly boneless figure—languid, supercilious, and indifferent.
But right now, the gaze she directed at him was like a dagger—sharp and unflinching, even though a lazy smile still hung on the corners of her lips.
“They haven’t progressed anywhere to speak of,” Yu Yuce said. “It’s just started. I’m pursuing her.”
“Oh.” Cheng Xiang nodded. Her fingertips twirled the curled ends of her hair, her smile growing even more languid.
As if the momentary sharpness from just now had merely been Yu Yuce’s illusion.
The author has something to say:
Manually thanking the little angel 【Yaoji】 for the 9 Deep Water Torpedoes! As generous as always!
Look, everyone~ the tone is really happy, right?
Footnotes
- Modern Chinese gaming slang. 'Eating chicken' (chījī) refers to battle royale video games like PUBG, originating from the victory phrase 'Winner Winner Chicken Dinner.'
- 'Obscene development' (wěisuǒ fāyù) is gaming slang meaning to avoid conflict, lay low, and safely gather resources until you are strong enough to fight.
- Empress Dowager Cixi (1835–1908) was the de facto ruler of the Qing Dynasty for nearly 50 years. Comparing someone to her implies they are an imperious, unapproachable figure of absolute authority.
- A Chinese idiom, 'yǔlù jūnzhān', meaning to distribute one's favors equally. It traditionally refers to an Emperor ensuring he visits his various consorts evenly without showing favoritism to any single one.
- An internet slang term, 'huíyì shā', originating from anime and manga fandoms, referring to a sudden, highly emotional flashback that 'kills' the audience with nostalgic or tragic feelings.
- In Chinese mythology, the 'tiānbīng tiānjiàng' or troops of Heaven. Here, Cheng Xiang is using it to represent an utterly absurd or out-of-nowhere concept.
- A reference to the classic Chinese novel 'Dream of the Red Chamber' (Hónglóu Mèng). The tragic heroine Lin Daiyu is the reincarnation of the fragile Crimson Pearl Flower, which grew beside the Stone of Three Lives in the heavenly realm.
- The iconic catchphrase ('é dī shén ya') of the innkeeper, Manager Tong, from the classic 2006 Chinese television sitcom 'My Own Swordsman,' spoken in a heavily exaggerated Shaanxi dialect.
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