The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 37

Left Behind

“If even pineapple cans can expire.”

「Every day we are together,
I am saying goodbye to you.」

            

---

One week later, the Kunpu company annual party.

Because Yi Yu was heading abroad soon, this year’s annual party was held exceptionally early.

The company had performed well this year, and Yi Yu was no longer satisfied with tossing cash around a KTV room while belting out 《Love Until Death》¹. Since there were no celebrities she fancied inviting this year, she simply booked out a massive dance floor and decided to throw a retro-themed ball.

            

She had specifically instructed Tao Tianran: “You’re the top beauty in my hands. Please dress up properly, okay?”

Tao Tianran did not reply.

Yi Yu let out a snort through her nose. “You think I don’t know you? You’ll definitely be lazy and just show up in a dress shirt and suit pants.”

            

On the night of the annual party, Tao Tianran arrived a little late.

Yi Yu was wearing a pair of over-the-knee high-heeled boots. Already slightly tipsy, she was just preparing to climb onto the coffee table holding the champagne tower to commence her great money-throwing enterprise.

Her assistant called out to her, “Big Boss.”

            

Yi Yu forced her drunk eyes wide open to look toward the entrance, and then her mouth dropped into an ‘O’ shape.

The person walking in was Tao Tianran.

She wore an ink-black velvet evening gown that made her look like an extremely ascetic nun from the Middle Ages. The velvet wrapped high around her slender neck, reaching all the way up to her chin. Her makeup was incredibly light, with the two small moles on her thin eyelids acting as the only accents to her features. Her long, straight black hair was gathered into a low bun at the back of her head.

            

Aside from this, for the very first time, she had applied a dark, heavy coat of lipstick.

It was an extremely dark, almost decaying berry shade with a hint of red wine undertones. It made her skin look overly pale, bordering on ashen, yet it gave her a bizarre, haunting beauty—like a swan’s elegy.

The front of her gown could almost be considered severe, but when someone greeted her and she turned around—

            

“Wow…” Yi Yu gasped softly.

The snow-white expanse of her back featured a massive cutout, revealing her gaunt spine. It looked almost like a desolate, freezing snowfield—”a vast expanse of pure white².”

But near her waist hollow³, a small crimson mole was exposed.

            

It looked as though some careless maiden from a bygone era had dropped a spot of rouge, or an ancient poet singing of the moon had coughed up a drop of heart’s blood. It possessed a magnificent, startling, soul-stirring beauty.

No one dared to ask her to dance.

She stood alone by the edge of the dance floor, her snow-white back leaning against the wall, watching the night’s extravagant revelry.

            

Only Yi Yu walked over to her.

“Look at you, you poor little thing.” Yi Yu raised a hand toward her. “I’ll take pity on you and dance with you for a song.”

Tao Tianran glanced at her and shook her head.

            

For someone whose makeup was usually so light it was practically non-existent, suddenly wearing such heavily pigmented lip gloss produced a striking effect. Yi Yu stared at those lips; the color was so rich it looked as though she were waiting for someone to kiss it all away.

Tao Tianran suddenly spoke up. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

            

Tao Tianran paused, her gaze sweeping over the elegantly dressed crowd on the dance floor. “Shianne.”

“Now you remember to ask?” Yi Yu let out a sudden, inexplicable cold laugh. “She resigned a week ago.”

Tao Tianran turned her head, her eyes landing on Yi Yu for the first time that night. “She resigned?”

            

“Just assume she did,” Yi Yu said. “Anyway, my guess is she’s avoiding you. What are you going to do about it?”

Yi Yu was no fool. She could tell there was something rather subtle going on between these two.

Tao Tianran’s gaze returned to the dance floor.

            

“What can I do,” she murmured between parted lips.

---

After the annual party ended, Tao Tianran paid a visit to a psychological clinic.

She stated very directly, “I think there is something wrong with my mind.”

            

The therapist was taken aback.

People who came for counseling rarely spoke like this. Just as drunk people never willingly admit they are drunk.

The woman sitting across from him had a face that radiated a chilled aloofness. Her thin lips were drawn into a straight line; she looked like someone who possessed extreme emotional stability.

            

She was dressed professionally as well, in a crisp white dress shirt and suit pants. Only, her right hand rested on her knee, her thumb repeatedly flicking the pinky ring on her little finger.

“Why do you feel that way?” the therapist asked.

“Because I keep mistaking one person for someone else,” she answered.

            

“Mistaking who for whom?” The therapist kept his pen poised.

“A colleague of mine. For…” She paused. “My ex-girlfriend.”

“If we analyze this using psychological theory, it is a classic case of transference⁴,” the therapist said, waving his pen slightly. “Where is your ex-girlfriend now?”

            

The woman sitting across from him remained silent for a long time.

Her eyelashes were quite long, though not particularly thick. The consulting room featured a massive floor-to-ceiling window, and the approaching winter sunlight poured in, filtering through her distinct eyelashes and dusting her perpetually cold face.

Her thin lips parted slightly. “She passed away.”

            

Tao Tianran found it hard to describe the exact tone of voice she had used to say those three words.

Ever since Director Ma had called her, that reality had never truly taken shape in her mind. She constantly avoided thinking about it, until it eventually formed a scab she dared not touch.

On the surface, it looked like a thin, healed crust, but underneath, it was already a festering, bloody mess.

            

Why had Yu Yusheng chosen to leave of her own accord?

Should she just stop thinking about it? She was already teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown. The calmer she appeared on the outside, the worse it actually was. Shouldn’t she try to save herself?

How could Yu Yusheng possibly be Cheng Xiang? Did that even make sense?

            

Tao Tianran, she told herself, no matter what, Yu Yusheng is already gone. You need to sever this delusion.

She received a prescription for some nerve-soothing medication from the psychological clinic. While driving back to the office, she stopped at a red light and realized she was once again obsessively rubbing that small pinky ring.

She reached over, wanting to take it off.

            

But she discovered that after wearing it for so long, it was incredibly difficult to remove.

When she walked into the office, her assistant came up to greet her, informing her to get ready for a meeting immediately. She gave a curt “Mn,” set her bag down, and headed into the restroom.

She lathered her right hand with hand soap, but no matter how hard she pulled, the ring clamped around her little finger refused to budge.

            

It was time for the meeting. Tao Tianran stepped into the conference room. Her impeccably tailored shirt accentuated her sharp, right-angled shoulders, and her long, straight black hair half-concealed her lightly made-up, exquisite face.

She pulled out her swivel chair, took a seat, and habitually gripped her Montblanc fountain pen. “Let’s begin.”

A colleague sitting nearby cast a subtle glance at her right hand; her little finger was visibly red and swollen.

            

Once the meeting concluded, the colleague asked, “Teacher Tao, what happened to your hand?”

Tao Tianran paused. “It’s nothing.”

After the meeting, she had to pass through the public work area to get back to her private office.

            

Tao Tianran shot a glance at Yu Yusheng’s empty seat. The sight brought back a memory of Cheng Xiang in their third year of high school, when she had come looking for her, wailing and crying about having a tooth pulled.

At the time, Tao Tianran had taken a week off school because of a cold, leaving her own seat in the classroom empty for quite a while.

Only many, many years later, standing in an office where everyone hurried about their business, with the harsh white spotlights beating down directly onto the back of her neck, did she realize something. She hadn’t had a tooth pulled, yet she found herself gently probing her gums with her tongue.

            

The most painful part of having a tooth pulled was that it left an empty, vacant hole in your gums. Because you couldn’t resist constantly seeking it out and probing it with your tongue, it was utterly impossible to ignore.

Tao Tianran called her assistant over and pushed her upcoming schedule back by two hours.

She drove to the hospital.

            

She had comprehensive insurance at a private international hospital, so she easily got an appointment in the surgery department. Sitting in the consulting room, she told the doctor that her ring wouldn’t come off.

She asked the doctor, “Did I get fat?”

The doctor laughed.

            

He found it a bit amusing that this stunning woman, who carried such an intimidating aura, would say something so slightly ridiculous.

“Miss Tao, it’s not that you’ve gotten fat. It’s just that you’ve worn the ring for too long. As people age, their bone structure undergoes subtle changes. Rings, bracelets—it’s very common to be unable to take them off after wearing them for a long time.” The doctor smiled and joked with her, “That’s why people say that if you wear a piece of jewelry long enough, it becomes a part of your body, right?”

Tao Tianran took a deep breath and held it.

            

She asked the doctor, “Then what should I do?”

“If you really want to take it off, we can just cut the ring. If you force it, you’ll injure your finger,” the doctor asked. “Would you like to do that, Miss Tao? Our hospital can handle it.”

Tao Tianran’s lips parted slightly.

            

Finally, she said, “No.”

She returned to the company with a ring she couldn’t take off and a red, swollen finger.

After finishing her day’s work, she returned home—still with a ring she couldn’t take off and a red, swollen finger.

            

Would ignoring this ring make everything alright?

Just like how she had moved away from her grandmother’s house with the narrow ditch outside, ignoring her grandmother’s figure standing in the sunset, watching her leave.

Just like how she had moved away from her home on the sloped street, ignoring her childhood playmate hiding quietly in the corner.

            

She began taking those nerve-soothing medications. At first, she strictly swallowed them with water, but later, she found it didn’t really matter if she washed them down with alcohol instead.

Was she getting any better?

But the doctor had said that a ring worn for long enough had already become a part of her body.

            

Right around this time, she received an invitation to the Attached Seventh High School class reunion.

Tao Tianran never attended class reunions. She had never believed there was any need to gather and reminisce over a phase of life that had already concluded.

But this time, she went.

            

She remembered that when Cheng Xiang was in high school, her popularity had been exceptionally good.

“Xiangzi, Xiangzi, let me copy your English worksheet.”

“Xiangzi, Xiangzi, we’re short one person for badminton, hurry up and come play.”

            

“Xiangzi, Xiangzi, I’m going on a date, but I told my mom I was at your place doing homework. Cover for me, yeah?”

They had always called out to her with such eager warmth: “Xiangzi, Xiangzi.”

Yet Tao Tianran also clearly remembered that on the day of Cheng Xiang’s funeral, not a single one of those eagerly calling classmates had shown up.

            

Tao Tianran went to the reunion.

The table was laden with lobster, abalone, and sea cucumber, glistening with a rich greasiness. Amid the clinking of glasses and the chatter, her gaze swept over one formerly familiar face after another.

Did any of them remember Cheng Xiang? No.

            

She picked up her red wine glass and tilted her head back to down it, drawing her pale neck into a long, slender line. No one dared to strike up a conversation with her. The round Lazy Susan on the table spun incessantly. The people chatting, joking, and throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders—all those faces blurred together with the spinning of the glass turntable.

Truth be told, when you drink too much wine, it stops tasting good. Even the roots of your teeth start to ache with a tart acidity.

And it was at this very class reunion that she ran into Yu Yusheng.

            

Yu Yusheng even brought up Cheng Xiang.

She claimed that Cheng Xiang had made money investing with her. Tao Tianran had vaguely curled the corners of her lips. What kind of utter nonsense was that?

Someone like Xiao Xiang, doing investments?

            

Tao Tianran took another gulp of wine and let her burning eyelids flutter shut.

Before the reunion was even over, Yu Yusheng grabbed her handbag and left straight away. Tao Tianran hadn’t called out to stop her, nor had she asked why Yu Yusheng had suddenly resigned.

Did she dare to ask? Did she dare to face the answer?

            

If Yu Yusheng completely denied her suspicions, how was she supposed to face the days to come?

It was only by continually washing down those nerve-soothing pills with alcohol that she was finally able to fall asleep.

That was until the day the snow began to fall. Perhaps she had just been drinking too much lately, and her stomach was burning fiercely. All of a sudden, Tao Tianran wanted to eat a bowl of liangpi.

            

She drove to that market.

Getting out of the car, she pulled her overcoat tight and stood at the entrance of the market for a long time.

The market’s entrance was an arched gate welded from aluminum tubing. It bore four bright gold characters reading ‘Yimin Market’, but after years of exposure to the sun and wind, the metal had grown dull and no longer gleamed.

            

Inside the market were rows of stalls built from white ceramic tiles. However, because there were too many vendors for the indoor space to digest, they had spilled out into the street. Stalls lined both sides of the entrance, displaying goods in bamboo baskets or on red-and-white striped plastic tarps.

Vendors selling oranges. Vendors selling plucked chickens. Vendors selling white radishes still caked in dirt.

The stalls stretched all the way down the street, stopping abruptly right before the zebra crossing.

            

Tao Tianran stood with both hands shoved into her overcoat pockets, her gaze falling upon the zebra crossing.

The zebra crossing was old too, having grown just as dull and grey as the metal archway, no longer a pristine white.

People carrying canvas shopping bags stepped over it.

            

People pushing baby strollers stepped over it.

Countless feet—wearing snow boots, sneakers, all sorts of shoes—stepped over it.

Tao Tianran lifted her own slender ankle, clad in a high heel, and an overwhelming sense of absurdity welled up in her heart.

            

Clearly, that winter, a girl had collapsed right here in a pool of blood.

Why was it that the bloodstains could be so casually buried by the relentless march of daily life, as if nothing had ever happened?

Suddenly, someone shoved Tao Tianran hard on the shoulder.

            

Tao Tianran instinctively stumbled a step backward to catch her balance. She had assumed it was just a pedestrian bumping into her by accident, but when she looked up, she saw Qin Ziqiao’s red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ve never picked a fight with you to your face, because I knew Xiao Xiang wouldn’t be able to bear it,” Qin Ziqiao growled at her. “But how dare you come here? How dare you… come here on the anniversary of Xiao Xiang’s death…”

Qin Ziqiao began to weep softly, lifting the sleeve of her coat to cover her eyes.

            

She wasn’t crying just because of Tao Tianran, but also for herself.

On the anniversary of Cheng Xiang’s death, she was too afraid to visit the cemetery to sweep her grave, and she didn’t even dare to go see Cheng Xiang’s parents. She only dared to come to this vegetable market to buy a bowl of liangpi.

Fuck, what kind of world is this?

            

Unable to interrogate herself, she could only interrogate Tao Tianran. Reaching out, she shoved Tao Tianran on the shoulder again. “Not only did you not show up to her funeral, but have you ever gone to sweep her grave since?! Have you gone even once?!”

Is that it? Tao Tianran thought to herself. Is the reason I came to this market today because it’s Xiao Xiang’s death anniversary?

Her mind was already growing hazy.

            

Bystanders were already turning their heads to stare at the two of them.

Tao Tianran turned and walked away without a word.

Qin Ziqiao chased after her, grabbing the sleeve of her exquisite overcoat. “Say something! Why wouldn’t you even fight with her? On the day Xiao Xiang initiated the breakup, why weren’t you even willing to fight with her?!”

            

Tao Tianran wrenched her arm free from Qin Ziqiao’s grasp and hurried away on her high heels.

She never should have come to some vegetable market.

She never should have run into Qin Ziqiao.

            

A tombstone. Cheng Xiang.

Her brain simply couldn’t forge a connection between those two things. The Cheng Xiang who always vividly blinked her fuzzy eyelashes, the Cheng Xiang who always scrunched up her nose when she smiled, the Cheng Xiang who always reached out to this world with soft, gentle feelers.

But that night, Qin Ziqiao sent Tao Tianran a text message: 【Do you remember the gifts she always used to ask you for?】

            

Tao Tianran had already taken a shower. Wrapped in a bathrobe, holding a glass of whiskey between her fingers, she sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the sofa.

Her head felt somewhat heavy. She raised her cold, pale fingertips to press against her temples, her yet-to-be-dried hair brushing against her hand.

She remembered that Cheng Xiang had been someone who absolutely loved celebrating holidays.

            

Cheng Xiang had once said, “I love spending every single holiday with you so much, Tao Tianran! I even want to spend Qingming Festival⁵ with you.”

“But the omens for that one are bad, so never mind, hehehe.”

Tao Tianran had asked, “Why do you like celebrating holidays so much?”

            

“Because I can receive gifts! Gifts from you.”

After Cheng Xiang started working, Tao Tianran had gifted her an expensive bag. It was a luxury monogram BB bag that young girls all loved.

But Cheng Xiang hadn’t liked it. She had pouted and said, “Why did you buy me this? What a waste of money.”

            

“You can carry it to work.”

“It’s not like I’d ever use it for work,” Cheng Xiang clicked her tongue. “You know my company’s office building—the hallways constantly smell like stir-fried pork with green peppers.”

She had carefully packed the luxury bag away, hiding it in the deepest recesses of her closet. Later, a pair of very expensive black red-bottom high heels that Tao Tianran bought her ended up hidden in that exact same spot.

            

Whenever a holiday rolled around, the gifts she explicitly asked Tao Tianran for were always very cheap, and very strange.

One Qixi Festival⁶, Tao Tianran was in Qiong Province meeting a client. Cheng Xiang asked her to bring back a seashell from the beach.

One Children’s Day, Cheng Xiang dragged her out to buy snowman-shaped ice cream, and then made her pick up a weirdly shaped stone from under a tree as her present.

            

Once, on Arbor Day of all things, Cheng Xiang had her drive them to the flower and bird market just to buy a potted cactus.

And while passing by the reptile and amphibian section, Cheng Xiang had whipped out a thick Beicheng accent to ask the vendor, “How much are you sellin’ this turtle for, boss?”

She had privately poked Tao Tianran in the waist, whispering, “Don’t say anything. If they hear you speaking standard Mandarin, they’ll definitely rip us off.”

            

The boss quoted Cheng Xiang a price.

Cheng Xiang peered closely at the turtle resting in the incubator. “What kind of turtle is this?”

“Brazilian turtle.”

            

“How many years can it live?”

“Around thirty-something years.”

Cheng Xiang was dumbfounded. “Doesn’t everyone say turtles can live for a hundred years?”

            

The boss, a classic Beicheng smooth-talker, let out a chuckle. “Girl, Du Fu also wrote ‘Its torrent dashes down three thousand feet from high, as if the Silver River fell from the azure sky,’ but that waterfall wasn’t actually three thousand feet long, now was it?”

Tao Tianran corrected from the side, “Li Bai wrote that.”

Cheng Xiang immediately poked Tao Tianran in the waist again, shooting her a subtle glare. I told you not to speak.

            

“Alright, alright, it was one of those ancient poet fellas anyway.”

Cheng Xiang pointed to another turtle with a red pattern on its shell. “What about this one?”

“Flame turtle.”

            

“How long does it live?”

“Also around thirty-something years.”

Cheng Xiang’s brow furrowed slightly. “Do you have any that live a little longer?”

            

“Yeah, this one here.” The boss pointed to a turtle nearby.

“Why is its neck crooked like that?” Cheng Xiang leaned against the glass of the incubator to inspect it.

“It’s a West African turtle. Their signature feature is a crooked neck.”

            

“That’s hilarious,” Cheng Xiang said, breaking into a bright smile. “So how long can it live?”

“Quite a long time. About fifty-something years.”

Cheng Xiang was still smiling, but her brows knit together again. She raised a hand to rub her forehead, her expression turning slightly conflicted. “That’s not very long either. Modern people have long lifespans. It’ll die before I’m even dead.”

            

She grabbed Tao Tianran’s hand. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Tao Tianran asked, “You’re not buying it?”

“Not buying it, not buying it. Raising a turtle is too troublesome. You have to change the water regularly, arrange little stones for it, and I always feel like they smell a little bit. You probably wouldn’t like that, right?”

            

Tao Tianran said, “I don’t mind.”

Cheng Xiang flashed a wide grin. “Well, I’m not buying it anyway.”

A long, long time later, sitting on the rug, Tao Tianran recalled this incident and carefully parsed through everything Cheng Xiang had said back then.

            

She realized something.

Stones. Seashells. Cacti.

These were all things that could be preserved for a very, very long time.

            

But because a turtle could only live for fifty years at most, Cheng Xiang had refused to raise it.

Tao Tianran stumbled as she pushed herself up to her feet. Her knee accidentally knocked over the wine glass she had set on the floor. The amber liquid spilled into the exorbitantly expensive cashmere rug, but she paid it no mind.

She walked all the way to the courtyard. Many plants were arranged on the flower stands. In the past, this garden had been tended by Cheng Xiang. She had planted many cacti and evergreens. Tao Tianran never had to maintain them; only occasionally, when the housekeeping service came by, would they be given a little water.

            

And yet, they had survived eternally, remaining a vibrant, lush green regardless of the changing seasons.

Suddenly, Tao Tianran felt a sharp surge of acid rising in her stomach. She hurried into the bathroom. Supporting herself with one hand against the marble vanity, she leaned over the sink and dry-heaved twice, but nothing came up.

When she lifted her face, she stared at herself in the mirror. The corners of her eyes were tinged with red. The veins on her right hand, pressed hard against the edge of the marble, bulged slightly. The ring on her little finger was still there.

            

Thank goodness it was still there.

Tao Tianran made her way to the storage room.

In the past, Cheng Xiang was always scolding her: “When I went to your place to water your flowers for you, I saw that your fridge was completely empty—” She would click her tongue twice, her tone sounding exactly as if Director Ma had possessed her. “Are you trying to starve yourself to death or what?”

            

Tao Tianran had replied, “I don’t live there.”

“Even so, you still need to eat the occasional time you stay over!”

Back then, Tao Tianran lived in the rental apartment with Cheng Xiang and flat-out refused to return to this house.

            

Cheng Xiang hadn’t stubbornly stuffed her fridge with eggs or milk or anything of the sort.

But right now, as Tao Tianran stepped into the storage room…

The open wooden shelves were packed to the brim with toilet paper, boxes of tissues, and sanitary pads.

            

She remembered a time when they were eating out with Qin Ziqiao, having grilled chicken wings at a shop tucked away in a hutong.

Cheng Xiang had ordered non-spicy ones for Tao Tianran, while she and Qin Ziqiao had ordered the ‘abnormal spicy’ flavor, slurping and hissing from the heat as they ate.

Cheng Xiang was wearing a white, puffy bread-loaf jacket that day. Her small face was soft and pale, with only a speck of chili powder dusting the corners of her lips, and the tip of her nose flushed slightly red.

            

“Oh no,” she suddenly whispered. “My stomach hurts a little.”

Qin Ziqiao asked, “Are you getting diarrhea?”

Cheng Xiang immediately reached over and smacked her.

            

Qin Ziqiao let out a protesting “Hey.”

Cheng Xiang set down her half-eaten chicken wing and stood up. “I’m going to the restroom.”

Tao Tianran lowered her eyes, glancing at the chicken wing Cheng Xiang had left on the stainless steel plate. The way Cheng Xiang gnawed on chicken wings was just like a fancy mouse—leaving uneven, jagged bite marks all along the edges.

            

As soon as she left, the small square table suddenly fell completely silent.

Qin Ziqiao: …

Tao Tianran: …

            

Qin Ziqiao twirled the bare bamboo skewer of a chicken wing on the table, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Tao Tianran fiddled with the ends of her hair, then pulled her own phone out of her overcoat pocket.

She tapped into Weibo. There was nothing much to look at. She hit refresh, read two posts, and hit refresh again.

Neither of them were particularly talkative people; they had only gathered together because of Cheng Xiang.

            

It was entirely unlike when Cheng Xiang was sitting there—always chattering away, keeping things lively and bustling.

Soon, Cheng Xiang came jogging back, lowering her voice to whisper, “It’s my time of the month. Do you guys have a pad?”

Tao Tianran slipped a slender hand into her bag.

            

Qin Ziqiao shot Cheng Xiang a look. “Consider yourself lucky.” She fished a sanitary pad out of her pocket and shoved it into Cheng Xiang’s hand.

“Thanks!” Cheng Xiang went jogging off again.

Tao Tianran slowly withdrew her hand from her bag.

            

A short while later, Cheng Xiang returned. She plopped back down onto her little plastic stool and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness I didn’t stain my pants.”

“Oh right,” she asked suddenly. “Do sanitary pads have an expiration date?”

Qin Ziqiao froze, then picked up a bare bamboo skewer and jabbed it toward her. “Are you implying I gave you an expired one?!”

            

“No, no, no, no.” Cheng Xiang laughed and dodged, leaning her weight against Tao Tianran. “I was just asking.”

That winter, the 《Chungking Express》⁷ had been re-released in theaters.

As the three of them walked out of the barbecue shop in the alley, Cheng Xiang linked her arm through Tao Tianran’s, stacking both of her palms over Tao Tianran’s hand and blowing puffs of white mist onto them.

            

“Are you cold?” she asked Tao Tianran.

Tao Tianran shook her head.

Cheng Xiang squeezed Tao Tianran’s slender arm through her overcoat. “You’re dressed so thinly.”

            

Tao Tianran lifted her gaze to the night sky. It was a dark, murky ink-blue. Delicate snowflakes drifted down, only clearly visible as they passed under the warm, dim glow of the streetlamps. Billowing clouds of smoke, thick with the scent of charcoal and roasting meat, drifted out from behind the barbecue shop’s red wood-framed glass doors. High upon a commercial building in the distance hung a massive promotional poster for 《Chungking Express》.

Cheng Xiang asked Tao Tianran, “Have you ever seen it?”

“No.”

            

“Wow, seriously? Isn’t Director Wong a Hong Kong film director?”

“Shasha walnut paste⁸.”

“Shasha… walnut paste?” Cheng Xiang looked utterly bewildered.

            

“It’s a dessert snack. Also from Hong Kong. I haven’t eaten that either,” Tao Tianran deadpanned.

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Cheng Xiang, still clinging to Tao Tianran’s arm, whipped her head around to ask Qin Ziqiao, “She was actually making a joke! Did you catch that?!”

Qin Ziqiao maintained a completely deadpan expression. “No.”

            

Cheng Xiang turned back to look at Tao Tianran. “There’s a classic line in the movie that goes like this: if even canned pineapples…”

Qin Ziqiao corrected, “It’s ‘pineapple cans,’ isn’t it?”

“Don’t interrupt!” Cheng Xiang glared at Qin Ziqiao. “Hmm, though I think it actually was pineapple cans. The movie says, if even pineapple cans⁹ can expire, is there anything in this world that doesn’t expire?”

            

Cheng Xiang lifted her eyes toward the snow-filled night sky, her delicate eyebrows bending into a smile. “Of course I know everything expires.”

In the present, Tao Tianran stood in her home’s storage room.

One by one, she checked the manufacturing dates on those rolls of toilet paper, boxes of tissues, and sanitary pads. The dates were all frozen in November of four years ago.

            

That was the last time Cheng Xiang had ever come to her house. She had bought many, many boxes, filling the shelves of her storage room to the brim.

“Why buy so much?”

“It was super cheap in the livestream! You’d be a fool not to take advantage of the deal.” Cheng Xiang’s thin arms hoisted the boxes onto the shelves. “Look, I even bought a ton of compressed biscuits.”

            

“…Compressed biscuits?”

Cheng Xiang stood up straight and planted her hands on her hips. “What kind of tone is that, Tao Tianran? Let me tell you, if the end of the world suddenly hits or a zombie outbreak happens, you’ll be thanking me.”

Later, of course, the end of the world never came. Nor did a zombie outbreak.

            

The only major event that happened was Cheng Xiang collapsing on that grey zebra crossing.

Tao Tianran flipped over the packages of compressed biscuits to check their dates. They were also manufactured in November of that year.

That meant Cheng Xiang had gone into those livestreams and specifically asked about the manufacturing dates for the toilet paper, tissues, sanitary pads, and compressed biscuits, ensuring she bought the absolute freshest batches available.

            

Not long after that, Cheng Xiang had abruptly initiated their breakup.

The shelf life for toilet paper, tissues, and sanitary pads was five years. Because Tao Tianran occasionally restocked some herself, the ones Cheng Xiang had bought back then still hadn’t been fully used up to this day.

The shelf life for the compressed biscuits was three years. By now, they had already expired and could no longer be eaten.

            

Tao Tianran leaned back against the storage shelf.

Cheng Xiang certainly knew that everything expires.

But just like the streetlamp in the residential complex she had specifically asked people to look after…

            

She only hoped that her heartfelt intentions would accompany Tao Tianran for as long as possible.

If a turtle could really live for a hundred years, she would have raised one for Tao Tianran too.

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