The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 83

Repayment

December 17

[The lover’s excessive clarity, the beloved’s complete ignorance.]

            

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“This child is so stubborn.” That was what Tao Tianran’s mother had sobbed to Third Aunt: “My leg was scalded like this, and she didn’t even ask how I was.”

Back then, Tao Tianran and her mother had just moved into the Tao family mansion. Her mother had been making soup for her husband when the clay pot lid fell and scalded her calf.

“Send her to the temple. Let the masters perform rites.” Third Aunt sipped bird’s nest soup, her eyes full of mocking disdain for the property agent who’d tried so hard to please Tao Tianran’s father.

            

Tao Tianran never knew whether her mother genuinely didn’t understand Third Aunt’s sarcasm, or if it was her own brand of wisdom.

Her mother didn’t send her to the temple for rites. Instead, she enrolled Tao Tianran in a psychological training camp.

“My daughter doesn’t even know how to smile,” she told people.

            

The two-week camp gathered children deemed “difficult” by their families, held deep in the mountains of Gangdao.

Among those children, Tao Tianran stood out for her unnatural quietness.

One morning, the camp instructor couldn’t find Tao Tianran anywhere. She was finally discovered by a drainage ditch. The instructor gasped softly: “Did you scald this snail to death?”

            

Twelve-year-old Tao Tianran stood beside the ditch. That morning, while helping staff carry out used hot water from the kitchen, she’d noticed a snail in the gutter.

Suddenly she remembered her maternal grandmother—that shrewd, thin old woman with her hair in a low bun—casually dumping a basin of boiling water into a similar ditch years ago.

Just before the staff member poured out the water, Tao Tianran warned: “There’s a snail there.”

            

“It’s just a snail,” the staffer replied dismissively, already tipping the basin.

In that moment, Tao Tianran felt something strange.

Watching the snail shed its shell and struggle, did she feel deep sorrow? Not really.

            

Little Tao Tianran thought to herself: perhaps everyone grows numb after living long enough, and she’d already become that way prematurely.

She’d always known a huge piece was missing inside her.

Tenderness, softness, kindness—words like these felt foreign to her.

            

Now, Yu Yusheng stood beside her on the rooftop. Through wind-whipped strands of hair, Tao Tianran stared at Yu Yusheng’s face, fingers curling tight inside her coat pockets.

The ant-like pedestrians below looked even smaller than that snail in the ditch.

“Teacher Tao, are you alright?” Yu Yusheng asked.

            

Tao Tianran gave a quick nod. Without saying goodbye, she ducked toward the stairwell.

She didn’t wait for the elevator.

Stumbling down emergency stairs in her heels, she spiraled downward floor after floor until she burst outside. Gasping for air like she’d been suffocating, she hid her trembling hands inside her coat. Then she felt something soft brush her ankle.

            

A stray cat circled her cold ankles, its tail warm against her skin.

I wonder if Xiao Xiang fed you while waiting for me here, Tao Tianran thought.

She crouched down, scratching the cat lightly with her fingertips.

            

The calico rolled onto its back, exposing its soft belly.

Hesitating briefly, Tao Tianran reached out to keep scratching.

How could such creatures exist? she wondered. Utterly defenseless against the world, always revealing their weakest spots.

            

Just like Cheng Xiang.

Tao Tianran had to admit—the dark thought had flickered through her mind. Did she really need to save Yu Yusheng? If she didn’t, maybe this timeline could last forever. Even if it was just an illusion, a mirage of flowers in a mirror and the moon in the water¹, she’d happily drown in it forever.

The cat arched its neck, letting out a lazy meow before sweeping its tail across Tao Tianran’s ankle again.

            

Tao Tianran pressed her lips together.

Why couldn’t she just walk away?

Not for herself, but because the person she loved was someone who’d crouch to feed stray cats—someone with round, bright eyes and a soft, fuzzy nape.

            

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December 17.

Tao Tianran drove to the entrance of Cheng Xiang’s alley early that morning. She locked the car and walked in.

Cheng Xiang’s parents had left for another anti-fraud seminar, leaving the house empty. Arriving just past seven, Tao Tianran watched Cheng Xiang run to answer the door in pajamas and slippers.

            

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Cheng Xiang stifled a yawn. “So early?”

Fresh from bed, she radiated warmth. Her hair stuck up in sleep-mussed tufts, the cheap Taobao pajamas’ bear print slightly blurred. Tao Tianran opened her coat and wrapped Cheng Xiang inside.

Still drowsy, Cheng Xiang smiled and loosely looped her arms around Tao Tianran’s waist, steering them toward the bedroom while tilting her chin up. “Why’d you come so early?”

            

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I’ll go brush my teeth.” Entering the bedroom, Cheng Xiang leaned against the wall by the door, letting out a soft yawn.

“No.” Tao Tianran hung her coat over a chair, its fabric carrying the chill of morning frost. Cheng Xiang glanced through the curtain gap, as if checking for snow.

            

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tao Tianran kicked off her heels. “Sleep a bit longer.”

“Okay.” Cheng Xiang shuffled over slowly.

Tao Tianran removed her trousers, draping them over the chair too before slipping under the covers.

            

Cheng Xiang’s lingering warmth and soft fragrance filled the quilt. As Cheng Xiang climbed in, Tao Tianran reached to pull her close, but Cheng Xiang rolled away, cocooning herself in blankets. “No—you’re freezing.”

Tao Tianran withdrew her hand without a word.

Then she turned her back to Cheng Xiang, facing the wall.

            

Cheng Xiang chuckled softly and poked Tao Tianran’s spine. “Mad?”

“No.”

Cheng Xiang waited until her own warmth returned before unfolding an arm over Tao Tianran’s slender back, resting her forehead against the ridge of Tao Tianran’s spine.

            

Tao Tianran’s shoulders tensed, then gradually relaxed.

“You smell so good.” Cheng Xiang nuzzled her forehead against Tao Tianran’s back.

Silent tears welled in Tao Tianran’s eyes, soaking into Cheng Xiang’s cotton pillowcase. She stared fixedly at the white wall, unblinking.

            

“Are you actually upset?” Cheng Xiang asked, arms still wrapped around her.

It took Tao Tianran a moment to steady her voice. “No.”

“Good.” Cheng Xiang had stayed up late drawing comics. Her eyelids grew heavy, body slackening against Tao Tianran’s back as she drifted off.

            

Tao Tianran lay awake, listening to the sounds outside the window. Snow must be falling—this year’s first snow.

The sky hung in a reassuring gray, as if time had frozen here. Tao Tianran didn’t know how long Cheng Xiang slept; she only listened to the rhythm of Cheng Xiang’s breathing against her back.

When Cheng Xiang woke, Tao Tianran closed her eyes.

            

Cheng Xiang carefully slid her arm out from under Tao Tianran, pausing midway to check if she’d stirred. Satisfied, she finished extracting herself.

Throwing on a thick cotton jacket, she went into the siheyuan courtyard to wash up. Tao Tianran opened her eyes, hearing water splash outside.

Another tear escaped. She wiped it away fiercely, as if battling herself.

            

Why cry? Like mourning an ending that hadn’t happened yet.

Cheng Xiang returned, hanging up her jacket with a hiss at the cold. She placed a ceramic bowl on the nightstand—Tao Tianran caught the sweet, warm scent of egg-wrapped mochi behind her.

Cheng Xiang’s Haicheng-born father occasionally made this southern breakfast, dusted with sugar crystals that crunched between teeth.

            

Cheng Xiang glanced at Tao Tianran’s still form, assuming she slept, then settled at the desk to draw.

Only then did Tao Tianran slowly turn over in bed.

She watched Cheng Xiang’s back quietly.

            

Just like she’d watched it countless times during their sophomore year, when Cheng Xiang sat in front of her after transferring schools. Cheng Xiang fidgeted constantly in class—sharpening math pencils during Chinese, organizing English newspapers during math, muttering under her breath while staring out windows during English.

Once, Tao Tianran clearly heard her reciting classical text: “The Marquis of Jin and the Earl of Qin besieged Zheng, for its discourtesy to Jin and its duplicity toward Chu…”

Cheng Xiang would pass worksheets back to her, sometimes slipping in a note: 「jttqhh—ha, I meant today’s weather is great, Tao Tianran :）」 with an old-fashioned smiley face.

            

She’d take homework from Tao Tianran too, winking as she left a plum candy on Tao Tianran’s desk before stacking her own workbook on top to pass forward.

“Tao Tianran, surprise math quiz today.”

“Tao Tianran, Chinese recitation check tomorrow morning.”

            

“Tao Tianran, English study hall is math tonight.”

She announced every detail Tao Tianran might need, whether she did or not.

Her summer uniform dress hung loose on her frame, making her ankles look especially slender when she bounced into the classroom. Sometimes, during play-fights with Qin Ziqiao, she’d lift her eyes and dart a glance toward Tao Tianran.

            

She wasn’t always chattering. During lunch breaks, she’d occasionally sit quietly by the window, sucking on a lollipop, cheek propped on her hand. Sometimes Tao Tianran would look up, certain Cheng Xiang was about to turn toward her—but she never did. Her lashes just fluttered as she watched the blue sky outside.

Now, stretching at her desk, Cheng Xiang turned and found Tao Tianran watching her.

“You’re awake.” She lowered her arms, smiling. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

            

“Mmm.” Tao Tianran’s voice sounded lazy.

Cheng Xiang nodded at the nightstand. “Egg mochi. Mom made it before leaving. I reheated it earlier—might be cold now.”

“It was super sweet originally—I scraped some sugar off for you.” She perched on the bed edge, hands pressing into the mattress. “Want some?”

            

“Later.” Tao Tianran propped her head on one arm.

Her shirt collar had come undone while sleeping, revealing a bra strap and the deep curve of her cleavage. Strands of black hair fell against her cheek, radiating languid ease.

Cheng Xiang’s thoughts wandered. She swung her legs lightly, slipper tips brushing the floor.

            

“Hey.” Tao Tianran poked Cheng Xiang’s waist.

“Stop! That tickles!” Cheng Xiang laughed, grabbing her finger. “What?”

“Let’s stay in all day.” Tao Tianran’s voice held a sleepy rasp. “Just like this.”

            

“Tao Tianran, are you… being cute?”

A pause. Then, low in Cantonese: “Yeah.”

Cheng Xiang released her finger, laughing—and got poked again.

            

“Hey!” Cheng Xiang collapsed onto the bed, catching Tao Tianran’s wrist to stop further attacks. Hair stuck to her lashes as she turned her head, grinning at Tao Tianran. “Back when I was a sophomore…”

“Yeah?”

“Everyone was dating then, you know?” She swung their joined hands lightly. “I never liked anyone. I actually wondered if I was broken—if I’d never like anyone.”

            

Her smile widened at Tao Tianran. “What if we’d met in high school? What would that’ve been like?”

“What do you think?”

“You’d have ignored me.” Cheng Xiang puffed her cheeks. “I was such an idiot back then.”

            

“How?”

“Hard to explain. Felt like I was daydreaming through life. Qiaozi and I tried our first cigarette sophomore year. Got drunk for the first time then too. All that fake-deep teenage stuff. But you?” She also propped her head on one arm, hooking her pinky with Tao Tianran’s. “You’d have been school beauty. People would’ve lined up to chase you. Would you have paid attention to any of them?”

“No.”

            

“Then you definitely wouldn’t have noticed me. I was wallpaper.” Cheng Xiang played with Tao Tianran’s fingers. “I’d have crushed on you, obviously. But even if I followed you around, you wouldn’t look back. After graduation…” She frowned slightly, genuinely worried now. “We’d just vanish into separate lives.”

Tao Tianran shook her head. “Wouldn’t happen.”

“You know that?”

            

“Yeah. I know.”

Cheng Xiang laughed and lay back, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. She imagined phoenix tree branches stark against the gray sky above them. “Almost makes me believe you.”

Tao Tianran leaned down and brushed a kiss against her lips.

            

Cheng Xiang’s eyes sparkled. She lifted her right hand, showing Tao Tianran her pinky. “This ring’s a little loose. I take it off when I shower so I won’t lose it.”

Snow still hadn’t fallen, but the sky pressed down heavily. They ordered Jincheng beef noodles for lunch—Cheng Xiang insisted a nearby place made the best.

After eating, they propped themselves against the headboard to watch an animated film.

            

“Bet you’d never guess they’re a spy family,” Cheng Xiang commented. “Wait—you haven’t seen the series. Can you follow?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it?”

            

Tao Tianran shrugged lazily. “It’s fine.”

“Shouldn’t you pretend to love it because your girlfriend’s an artist?”

Tao Tianran tilted her head onto Cheng Xiang’s shoulder.

            

I’m totally the top here! Cheng Xiang sat up straighter, smug.

By mid-afternoon, the room had darkened. They watched the screen’s glow in comfortable silence, not holding hands—but when Cheng Xiang stretched her foot sideways under the quilt, her toes bumped Tao Tianran’s pinky toe.

Two-thirds through the film, Cheng Xiang whispered: “It’s snowing.”

            

“How can you tell?”

“Look.”

Tao Tianran rested her chin on Cheng Xiang’s shoulder and turned toward the window.

            

Real snow fell.

The sky remained London-fog gray. Over the siheyuan wall, half a streetlamp’s glow peeked through. Flecks of white dashed against the glass and vanished.

“Tao Tianran—first snow this year.”

            

“Any special meaning?”

“Nope. Want me to make one up?”

Tao Tianran shot her a look.

            

Cheng Xiang laughed, shoulders shaking.

Near the film’s end, Cheng Xiang fell asleep—she’d seen it before, and the cozy afternoon begged for naps. Tao Tianran watched her breathing even out before lifting her head from Cheng Xiang’s shoulder.

She leaned against the headboard, slowly sinking into the quilt. When her head finally touched the pillow, she turned on her side, smacked her lips, and nudged the blanket up to her shoulders. Tao Tianran covered her properly.

            

While credits rolled, snow thickened outside. Tao Tianran picked up her phone, idly scrolling through social media. Yu Yusheng—off duty today—had posted pasta photos. Qiao Zhiji’s slippers sat in the corner of one shot.

Tao Tianran set the phone down.

She gazed at Cheng Xiang sleeping beside her.

            

Sleep through the whole day. What heavy truck could crash through these walls? Soon, she might drift off too—the warm room perfect for dozing. She’d wake to find the dangerous day passed.

Slowly, drowsiness tugged at her.

Cheng Xiang’s phone rang. Tao Tianran flinched.

            

“Hello?” Cheng Xiang fumbled for her phone groggily.

Tao Tianran shut her eyes briefly before checking her own phone: 5:07 p.m. Forty minutes until Cheng Xiang’s usual accident time.

“What? How bad?” Cheng Xiang bolted upright, scrambling for jeans. Hanging up, she turned to Tao Tianran: “Dad’s at the hospital—heart attack. Mom’s freaking out.”

            

Calmly, Tao Tianran slid out of bed. “I’ll drive you.”

She didn’t know where this calm came from. Maybe extreme tension masqueraded as stillness.

Now she knew: hiding indoors wouldn’t work.

            

Even if she forcibly stopped Cheng Xiang from leaving, something else would happen.

She pulled on her coat, squeezing Cheng Xiang’s hand hard before they left.

In her rush, Cheng Xiang yanked the door open—knocking over the felt board on her desk. Tao Tianran glanced back at the fallen sketch pinned there:

            

「I want to embrace this world recklessly.」

Cheng Xiang didn’t notice, already shoving her arms into a down jacket while answering Ma Xintong’s call. “Snow’s messing up taxis—a friend’s driving me. Focus on Dad.”

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Tao Tianran drove her to the hospital.

            

Cheng Xiang stared silently out the window.

First-snow traffic choked the roads—red brake lights everywhere, impatient horns blaring. Tao Tianran gripped the wheel tightly, driving with extreme caution.

Staring at the sea of red taillights, Cheng Xiang said hoarsely: “I’d trade anything for Dad to be okay.”

            

Tao Tianran kept her eyes on the road.

After a long silence, her dry lips parted: “Don’t say things like that.”

“Huh?” Cheng Xiang turned.

            

“You won’t need to trade anything.”

“What won’t happen?”

“You won’t need to trade anything.” Tao Tianran curled her lips in a faint smile at her.

            

Parking near the hospital, Cheng Xiang rushed out—scarf forgotten, pale neck exposed above her sweater collar. Tao Tianran walked close, tugging the collar higher while scanning their surroundings.

Hospital entrances stayed chaotic even in snow. Vendors sold roasted sweet potatoes and boiled corn; a delivery truck idled near a convenience store.

Tao Tianran fixed her eyes on that truck, one hand ready to yank Cheng Xiang back.

            

Cheng Xiang didn’t notice, phone pressed to her ear as she hurried. “Almost there—just crossing the street now! Stop crying, Ma—”

Tao Tianran’s gaze snapped elsewhere.

An ambulance pulled up behind the truck. Qiao Zhiji leaped out—face bloodless, lips pressed into lawyerly composure.

            

On the stretcher…

Tao Tianran saw Yu Yusheng’s face. Once vivid and lovely, now paper-white and hollowed.

Qiao Zhiji rushed inside with the medics. She found the sleeping pills after all, Tao Tianran thought. Despite Qiao Zhiji’s vigilance, she’d gotten them. And now the delivery truck by the convenience store lurched toward Cheng Xiang.

            

Tao Tianran jerked Cheng Xiang back instantly.

She didn’t panic. She’d researched countless trucks—looking for “xxybzd” on grilles—but after so many loops, she knew inevitability when she saw it. Only one thought filled her eerily calm mind: Here it comes again.

In that split-second as Tao Tianran shoved her aside, Cheng Xiang’s eyes widened.

            

Human senses sharpen at life’s edges. For milliseconds, she registered the scratched paint, the black plastic around the headlight, the graffiti: “xxybzd.”

The busy hospital entrance ignored the near-disaster. Vendors kept selling, people carried takeout inside, a girl walked oddly along the roadside, almost skipping.

Under pigeon-gray skies, the year’s first snow fell silently, dusting the white crosswalk.

            

Tao Tianran’s final thought was of their breakup day: Cheng Xiang curled on the sofa, fake-laughing at a sitcom while Tao Tianran wheeled her suitcase out.

“Tao Tianran.” Cheng Xiang’s voice was soft.

Tao Tianran kept her back to the room.

            

Cheng Xiang’s smile stayed pasted on, matching the TV laughter. “If I ever like someone again, I want to be a fool who knows nothing.”

No more understanding trees’ sorrow.

No more decoding love songs.

            

No more pretending laughter during KTV ballads.

No more faking cheerfulness together just to avoid admitting: She just doesn’t love me enough.

Just. Not enough. How could four characters hold such cruelty?

            

Even the prepositions cut deep.

Tao Tianran hadn’t known how to respond. Her life shifted segments without goodbyes, so she’d wheeled her suitcase out silently.

The apartment door slammed like a gunshot—piercing Cheng Xiang’s spine, tearing through Tao Tianran’s heart.

            

Watching the sitcom, Cheng Xiang kept grinning like a clown.

Later, Tao Tianran would replay that moment—

If we restart, let Xiao Xiang be the one who knows nothing.

            

Let me understand. Let me remember. Let me relive it all. Wasn’t this repayment? Repaying every smile and tear Cheng Xiang had ever shed?

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