The Alley Was Always This Long – Chapter 88
by Little PandaSide Story 2
Who between the two of them has cultivated1 a higher daoxing2?
[Running forward for so many years, only to find myself still standing on the school playground’s red rubber track,
going in circles with time, going in circles with myself.]
Come on! Cheng Xiang was getting upset.
She had been working here for two years! Tao Tianran had been here for one day! How could the Principal side with an outsider?
The Principal said earnestly: “Miss Tao, thank you so much for your donation. The children’s new batch of extracurricular books is now taken care of.”
Tao Tianran asked: “Will there be picture books?”
“There will be!” The Principal pulled Cheng Xiang over and pushed her in front of Tao Tianran: “Ask Little Teacher Cheng3—every time we purchase extracurricular books, she personally selects the picture books, right?”
Ouch, the Principal’s grip was strong. She shoved Cheng Xiang so hard she nearly collided with Tao Tianran. Tao Tianran looked at her, her long lashes flickering briefly.
Cheng Xiang quickly steadied herself.
Tao Tianran’s hand rose halfway, then lowered again without a trace.
Everyone was standing there, but no one noticed the small gesture. No one noticed Tao Tianran’s slightly raised hand, or how—under the warm yellow light that had just flickered on—the flutter of butterfly wings transitioned from Tao Tianran’s lashes to Cheng Xiang’s.
Cheng Xiang raised a hand to rub the tip of her nose: “Ah, oh, yeah.”
Tao Tianran asked: “Why do you select picture books?”
Weren’t you the one who asked for picture books? Why are you asking me?
“Just,” Cheng Xiang scuffed the tip of her shoe against the ground: “They’re pretty. What other reason could there be?”
Tao Tianran gave a soft “Mm.”
“Then, Little Teacher Cheng,” the Principal smiled again: “Take Miss Tao back to the dormitory. Miss Tao will be observing at the school for a few days.”
“Ah?” Cheng Xiang said: “Oh.”
“Oh, and take Miss Tao for a walk around the school first. We won’t have time this afternoon.”
What was there to see, this late at night?
But walking back to the dormitory with Tao Tianran and her colleagues, chatting pleasantly all the while—she couldn’t do that.
She muttered under her breath as she led Tao Tianran toward the playground.
The Principal and colleagues all headed back to the dormitory; only the two of them went the opposite direction.
The air turned sharply cold. Cheng Xiang kept her hands in her down jacket pockets and sniffled, her runny nose almost dripping. This wasn’t a particularly romantic scene, but school campuses were all the same—in the deep of night, they grew quiet, settling the day’s thoughts like bookmarks pressed into a red rubber running track.
You think you’re running forward, but you’re going in circles, never reaching anywhere, tripped up once more by the past.
Tao Tianran, wrapped in the down jacket, followed behind Cheng Xiang at an unhurried pace.
In summer, it was small bugs striking the lamp covers; in winter, it was the dust of old memories, swirling around in circles.
Tao Tianran asked from behind her: “What are you muttering about?”
“Insults about you,” Cheng Xiang said: “Of course I can’t let you hear them clearly.”
After walking a bit further, Cheng Xiang suddenly stopped.
Tao Tianran stopped as well.
Cheng Xiang abruptly turned around, ducked her head, and strode quickly toward the dormitory: “It’s freezing, this late at night—why did the Principal ask me to show you around now? You must have used your chao nengli4 to win her over. What’s going on, Tao Tianran? How are you so rich?”
Tao Tianran said: “It’s passable.”
Ha! Cheng Xiang was so exasperated she laughed again.
But there was nothing wrong with what she’d said, right? She couldn’t even find a foothold for her fufei5.
She walked with her head down, hands in the pockets of her long down jacket.
She didn’t like the campus at night.
Too quiet, too still.
Tao Tianran followed behind her, walking slowly, as if returning to her seventeen-year-old self. That day, after the school-organized movie had ended, Qin Ziqiao had slipped away early to buy a novel. She moved among the crowd of students, picking out Tao Tianran’s footsteps from the chaotic tangle of steps behind her.
Do-mi-la, do-mi-la.
Cheng Xiang wasn’t someone with a great sense of melody. Qin Ziqiao sometimes said she sang off-key. She liked to draw, so she saw the world in blocks of color, but Tao Tianran’s footsteps behind her became a melody, a minuet.
That night Cheng Xiang looked up at the sky. The night sky in the city wasn’t pretty—you couldn’t see a single star. She wished it would rain, the soft pitter-patter masking all the thoughts she never spoke aloud.
But what were the odds it would just happen to rain? She wasn’t some idol drama heroine.
Cheng Xiang walked slowly in her oversized school uniform. Chatting classmates gradually passed her by—talking about the latest anime, talking about whichever celebrity was trending, complaining about how their parents had signed them up for yet another tutoring class and it was so annoying.
Talking about which university they wanted to get into. What job they wanted to do. They were 17 then, and the future felt as distant as something that would never arrive.
But among the classmates who passed Cheng Xiang, there was no Tao Tianran.
The summer night breeze was gentle, brushing Cheng Xiang’s mid-length hair across her lips. She pressed her lips together.
She didn’t know why Tao Tianran walked as slowly as she did. She didn’t dare look back, either.
She just kept walking, step by step, listening to Tao Tianran’s footsteps behind her.
Just like now.
She was walking slowly on the rubber track with her hands in her pockets, listening to Tao Tianran’s footsteps behind her.
She suddenly wanted to ask: “Tao Tianran, that night after the movie ended, why did you walk so slowly?”
She laughed at herself for the thought.
Seventeen—she was 27 now. Ten years ago. Who else would remember besides her?
But why, ten years later, was she still walking slowly on a red rubber track with Tao Tianran? No one else was around, as if all the bustle and drama had already dispersed.
Under the wash of time, only they remained.
Cheng Xiang sniffled again, and heard Tao Tianran say from behind her: “That night’s movie—was it any good?”
Cheng Xiang’s lashes fluttered rapidly, the way they did just before tears fell.
But what was this—she didn’t even want to cry.
She just walked quickly toward the dormitory, her mind a jumbled mess: How were they going to sleep tonight? If she made Tao Tianran sleep on the floor, Tao Tianran’s back was bad from all those hours hunched over design drafts.
But she herself spent hours hunched over drawing comics! Her back was bad too!
Cheng Xiang kicked a small stone by the roadside in frustration.
Let Tao Tianran sleep on the floor! Why shouldn’t Tao Tianran sleep on the floor!
She didn’t know what her heart had been straining against since the first moment she saw Tao Tianran.
But making Tao Tianran sleep on the floor beneath her narrow bed made her feel guilty too. Would she dream? She didn’t know. After a long day’s work she slept like a log. But maybe she would dream, like in eleventh grade, calling out Tao Tianran’s name: “Hey Tao Tianran.”
“Hey, Tao Tianran…”
The dream would flow down along the bedsheets, flowing over Tao Tianran sleeping beneath her bed.
Tao Tianran called to her from behind: “This way.”
“Hm?” Cheng Xiang pulled a hand from her down jacket pocket and pointed toward the dormitory: “But the dormitory is that way.”
“Mm, the Principal opened a storage room for me. There’s a folding bed inside.”
“Ah, oh.” Cheng Xiang stuffed her hand back in her pocket, scuffed the ground with her toe, then suddenly looked up: “Then you were messing with me in front of the Principal, acting like you were really going to sleep in my bed.”
“Can’t I joke?”
“No.” Cheng Xiang said, exasperated.
She pushed open the storage room door and went in. The school was kept clean by the teachers everywhere; there was a faint dusty smell, not at all pungent—just like very, very old time.
Cheng Xiang glanced at the stainless steel shelves—cardboard boxes stocked with reserve cans of beef and beans. Another box of workbooks, another of watercolor pens.
Tao Tianran unfolded the folding bed.
Cheng Xiang leaned against the doorframe, hands still in her pockets: “You’re not going to ask me to lend you clean bedding, are you?”
Tao Tianran walked toward her, trailing a waft of cool, subtle fragrance.
Cheng Xiang’s shoulders stiffened, her body instinctively shrinking back: “…What?”
“Close the door.”
“Why close the door?” Cheng Xiang’s face was full of wariness.
“It’s cold.”
“Ah? Oh.” Cheng Xiang rubbed the tip of her nose sheepishly and stepped aside from the doorway. That night wind was pretty cold, huh.
The cool fragrance drifting off Tao Tianran brushed past her as Tao Tianran reached out a long, slender arm and closed the door.
Cheng Xiang shifted another step toward the wall, thoroughly uncomfortable.
The entire small storage room became a sealed space. It wasn’t even because of the fragrance on Tao Tianran—the dusty smell in the room slightly blurred Tao Tianran’s scent. It was just a certain presence Tao Tianran carried.
Tao Tianran walked to her suitcase, bent down, and pulled out a clean set of bedding.
Well, she came prepared. Cheng Xiang watched her make the bed from the corner of her eye.
Then Tao Tianran sat down on the edge of the bed and looked quietly at Cheng Xiang.
Cheng Xiang realized: what was she still standing here for?
She said immediately: “Well, you should get to sleep early. I’m going.”
Tao Tianran bent over the suitcase and pulled out something else.
Cheng Xiang glanced from the corner of her eye.
A bar of chocolate.
Tao Tianran even unwrapped it, the rich aroma wafting out.
Cheng Xiang asked deliberately: “You didn’t get full at dinner?”
Actually, based on Tao Tianran’s appetite, Cheng Xiang figured she was about full.
And if she was full, she should naturally share the chocolate with Cheng Xiang, right? Perfectly normal! Any adult would understand.
Tao Tianran said: “I’m full.”
She just held the chocolate without bringing it to her mouth, without offering it to Cheng Xiang. She could have at least broken off half for her!
Cheng Xiang grumbled inwardly: What was wrong with this person?
Tao Tianran thought the Cheng Xiang standing before her now looked very much like a cat staring longingly at catnip.
Her lashes fluttering, her gaze darting about expressively.
Twenty-seven already, Cheng Xiang.
Back in high school, Tao Tianran used to think that seventeen-year-old Cheng Xiang was as vivid and alive as a little creature who’d roll over and show her belly to the world at any moment. She really wondered what Cheng Xiang would be like in the future—say, 27-year-old Cheng Xiang.
Now, 27-year-old Cheng Xiang stood before her, just as vivid, just as alive, lashes fluttering just as softly.
Tao Tianran suddenly thought that maybe all those loops in the past were truly just a dream.
Just as Cheng Xiang had said.
Because she was someone excessively detached, excessively oblivious, she had lost her girl.
This was simply a story where Cheng Xiang had broken up with her and grown cold toward her. She wandered in circles, searching and searching, thinking she was turning through many spacetimes when actually she was turning through her own inner demons—as if she had to pass through life and death to understand what she truly cared about.
She looked up at Cheng Xiang.
Was that a dream? But all the pain, all the despair was real.
It didn’t matter. All she cared about was sitting here right now, looking at Cheng Xiang.
The storage room’s wiring had a persistent fault that was never fixed—the overhead light didn’t work. The only light was a desk lamp beside Tao Tianran’s folding bed, casting a dim yellow glow.
This person really wasn’t going to give her any? Cheng Xiang stared at the chocolate bar between Tao Tianran’s fingers.
She asked deliberately: “What’s your problem, Tao Tianran?”
“Hm?”
“Do you know what kind of place you’ve come to? How can you hog the food? You didn’t just bring one bar of chocolate, did you? You didn’t even bring some for the kids. Aren’t you super rich?”
Cheng Xiang knew Tao Tianran was never a stingy person. She just didn’t have that wire in her brain—lots of things didn’t occur to her because she didn’t care about them herself.
To her surprise, Tao Tianran bent over again and actually pulled out a large bag of chocolate from the suitcase.
Ha, Cheng Xiang walked over with a show of nonchalance. With this big bag here, who cared about the single bar in Tao Tianran’s hand.
She took the bag of chocolate and said deliberately: “These are all for the kids? Nice.”
Tao Tianran nodded: “Mm.”
This—Cheng Xiang silently bit the tip of her tongue mid-sentence. You shouldn’t dig pits for yourself. The moment she said the whole bag was for the kids, her moral standards shot right up.
Even though she hadn’t eaten enough, could she steal from the kids’ chocolate? You couldn’t do that, Xiangzi6.
Cheng Xiang, filled with regret, hugged the bag of chocolate and turned to leave.
“Hey.” Tao Tianran stopped her.
“What?” Cheng Xiang looked back.
Tao Tianran held out the chocolate in her hand: “Want it?”
Cheng Xiang thought to herself: So you do know to give me some.
Her pride very much wanted her to say no.
But the moment she opened her mouth, the words bypassed her brain entirely: “Yes.”
Tao Tianran lifted the corner of her lips ever so slightly.
Cheng Xiang immediately: “You smiled, didn’t you? Did you just smile?”
“No.”
“You did smile.”
“No.”
Cheng Xiang took the chocolate and turned to leave again.
“Hey.”
“What now?”
“Finish it before you go.”
“…Why?” Cheng Xiang thought, I’m not a chibo7 host.
Tao Tianran glanced at the window, divided into four blue-painted panes: “The wind is a bit strong.”
Cheng Xiang didn’t know whether Tao Tianran was answering her question about why she should stay, or whether the night wind rattling against the window frame had simply prompted the remark.
So what if the wind was a bit strong.
She’d seen people afraid of thunder, afraid of hailstones, but never someone afraid of a little wind.
Tao Tianran’s gaze returned to Cheng Xiang: “Finish it before you go.”
Did that sound like a plea?
Not quite. But Tao Tianran’s tone struck something in Cheng Xiang’s heart.
Cheng Xiang set the large bag of chocolate on the stainless steel shelf and raised the single bar in her hand.
Was chocolate the right food for the moment? A touch of sweetness on the tongue, then an aftertaste of bittersweet acid curling around the root of the tongue.
Cheng Xiang’s lashes lowered, her tongue rolling the taste along the base of her teeth.
It had always been like this.
She stood in the dark, looking at Tao Tianran sitting in a pool of light.
Tao Tianran said to her: “Come sit over here.”
“No need.” Cheng Xiang didn’t know what she was being stubborn about: “I’ll leave after I finish.”
Tao Tianran stood up and walked to her.
Cheng Xiang kept her head down, her tongue pressing the bitten piece of chocolate gently against her teeth, dissolving it.
Tao Tianran lowered her head, the fresh fragrance of her breath spreading out: “Go sit down and eat. Eat slowly.”
“You keep telling me to go sit over there.” Cheng Xiang said: “What are you going to do.”
“I’m not going to do anything.” Tao Tianran said: “But if you keep standing there, I’m going to come hold your hand right now.”
Cheng Xiang pressed her lips together, lifted her lashes, and shot a quick glance at Tao Tianran.
She walked over and sat down by the folding bed.
Tao Tianran followed and sat down beside her.
Their knees were very close, but not touching.
If they both looked up at the same time, face to face, they’d be at a distance where their eyes meeting could lead to a kiss.
But they didn’t.
Tao Tianran just sat with her head down in the glow of the dim desk lamp, gently pinching her own fingers, over and over.
Cheng Xiang slowly chewed the chocolate.
When she finished, Tao Tianran lifted her lashes: “You’ve got chocolate on the corner of your mouth.”
“Ha.” Cheng Xiang said: “Am I supposed to believe you?”
Tao Tianran gave a very light laugh.
Cheng Xiang stood up and clapped her hands once. There were no chocolate crumbs on her fingers and she didn’t know why she’d clapped: “I’m going.”
Tao Tianran stood with her and walked her to the door.
As she opened the door to leave: “Xiao Xiang.”
“Hm?” Cheng Xiang looked back.
“Since I’ve come, you know what I mean, right?”
The night wind outside swirled past, lifting Cheng Xiang’s ponytail along with Tao Tianran’s long hair. Cheng Xiang stared at a thin crack in the concrete ground: “You’re always like this.”
“Like what?” Tao Tianran pushed the door shut: “Finish what you’re saying before you go.”
The room returned to a sealed space, submerged in memories.
The desk lamp’s light behind them couldn’t reach the door. They were standing in near darkness.
In the past, at times like this, Cheng Xiang would never have dared say anything. So many of her feelings for Tao Tianran—she didn’t dare say them in daylight, and even less in the dark. In daylight she feared disturbing others; after dark she feared disturbing herself.
But now she said: “You’re always like this.”
She lifted her eyes: “Always saying nothing, expressing nothing, hoping people can read everything from a face that never shows anything…”
Before Cheng Xiang could finish, Tao Tianran said: “I came to find you.”
Cheng Xiang paused.
“I went to many places looking for you.” Tao Tianran said: “I thought you’d gone to Yun Province. I searched almost the entire province.”
Cheng Xiang curled her lip: “You really believed that if you owed me a tangyoubing8, you’d find me, Tao Tianran?”
“Actually, I didn’t believe it.”
“Then what made you think you’d find me?”
“No particular reason.” Tao Tianran shook her head: “I would just keep looking. If heaven favored me.”
Ha—Tao Tianran, someone so rational and self-possessed, saying something like “if heaven favored me.”
“Does heaven favor you?” Cheng Xiang looked at Tao Tianran.
Tao Tianran fell silent for a long while, then nodded once: “It does.”
For some reason Cheng Xiang suddenly felt like crying.
The way Tao Tianran said “It does” wasn’t because she had a good family background, outstanding looks, or stunning talent. She just looked at the corner of Cheng Xiang’s lips and smiled softly.
Cheng Xiang lifted her tongue and licked the spot—there really was a bit of chocolate there.
A faint bittersweet taste came through. Cheng Xiang looked at Tao Tianran, her eyes gradually growing red.
Tao Tianran raised her hand. Cheng Xiang flinched back. But Tao Tianran’s hand didn’t reach toward her reddening eyes—she just gently wiped the corner of her lips, right where Cheng Xiang’s tongue had just grazed.
Then her hand fell away.
She said: “Thank you.”
“Thank you for what.” Cheng Xiang said quickly, as if afraid that if she were a beat slower the words wouldn’t make it out in time: “I didn’t say I was going to reconcile with you.”
Cheng Xiang pulled the door open and left immediately.
She walked briskly for a stretch, then stopped in the wind that swept through the dark night, suddenly thinking: Tao Tianran wasn’t necessarily thanking her, either.
Tao Tianran’s tone just now sounded like she was thanking all regrets—at least there was still a chance to make amends.
Time cannot be chased down. We run forward with all our might, reaching back to grab the regrets that have fallen far behind us.
Eating sweets before bed really did make you sleep well.
Cheng Xiang woke up the next day, sat up in bed, and felt refreshed.
Wait, did she brush her teeth after eating chocolate last night? She must have, right?
She tried hard to recall. Oh, she did, she did—she remembered the taste of white peach-flavored toothpaste foam in her mouth.
She climbed out of bed and folded her pillow and blanket, humming a little tune.
Her dormmate, a female teacher, teased her: “Good mood, Little Teacher Cheng?”
“Ah, not bad.” That was the power of sweets.
But the moment she stepped out of the dormitory and caught sight of Tao Tianran, her whole demeanor soured—she even clasped her hands behind her back.
It made her angry, okay! Maybe she’d gotten so used to being wronged by Tao Tianran before that now just seeing Tao Tianran made her angry!
Cheng Xiang ignored Tao Tianran, grabbed her lesson plan, and headed for the classroom.
When the kids were drawing, Cheng Xiang glanced outside—what was Tao Tianran doing?
Shooting a movie poster? Sure, the sunlight was nice today, but the wind was strong too, right? Tao Tianran wouldn’t even find an office to sit in—she just sat down at one of the small stone tables on the playground, facing her computer.
Cheng Xiang was truly fuming watching her.
During the break she walked over and rapped her knuckles on the table in front of Tao Tianran.
So imposing, Xiangzi—like a Dean of Students.
Tao Tianran looked up, and Cheng Xiang straightened her back.
“Ahem, what are you doing sitting here? Think you’re shooting a movie poster?”
“The light is good here.”
Tao Tianran turned her computer screen toward Cheng Xiang. The photos of green mountains and blue sky she’d just taken were already uploaded, and she was organizing them as future design material.
“Even if the scenery’s nice, couldn’t you wear a hat? You’re very tall, you know that? Sitting here like a lighthouse, the wind just blows straight at you.”
“You didn’t lend me a hat.”
Cheng Xiang snapped: “Is that hood on your down jacket a burlap sack?”
Tao Tianran’s lips twitched slightly.
Well now, Cheng Xiang narrowed her eyes. She dared raise her voice at Tao Tianran, and Tao Tianran could fire back with a joke—who between the two of them had cultivated a higher daoxing?
Tao Tianran’s slender fingers flipped the fur-trimmed hood up over her head.
Actually, Cheng Xiang always thought the fur-trimmed hood looked a bit tacky, but on Tao Tianran it looked like a fox spirit9—no, a fox immortal.
Cheng Xiang was unhappy again. How was it that she got unhappy so easily around Tao Tianran!
She walked toward the classroom, and a group of students immediately swarmed her.
“Teacher Cheng, Teacher Cheng, who was that talking to you?”
“Don’t worry about who she is.”
“She’s so pretty.”
Oh ho, Cheng Xiang was amused: “She’s got a hat on and you can still tell she’s pretty? I’m not wearing a hat—can you tell I’m pretty?”
“You… you’re just okay!”
Hey! Cheng Xiang laughed and patted the little girl’s shoulder. She had a good temper, and the students weren’t afraid to joke around with her.
“What’s she to you? She keeps talking to you, only to you.”
“She’s not anything to me… just someone I know.” As she spoke, Cheng Xiang felt a shadow fall over her.
She turned around—Tao Tianran was standing right behind her.
Cheng Xiang’s shoulder twitched.
She raised a hand to touch the tip of her nose—this absolutely wasn’t because she felt guilty! Her nose just happened to itch. What did she have to feel guilty about? What had she said wrong?
Footnotes
- A term from Chinese spiritual traditions meaning to undergo spiritual or martial training, used metaphorically here to describe personal growth or behavioral change.
- A Daoist/Buddhist term denoting one's depth of spiritual attainment or skill, used metaphorically to compare who has changed or matured more.
- An affectionate form of address combining 'xiao' (little/young) with the professional title 'Teacher Cheng,' commonly used for a younger or junior teacher.
- Internet slang humorously treating wealth as a superpower, as if money could solve anything like a supernatural ability.
- Literally 'belly criticism' — to silently criticize or complain in one's heart without speaking aloud.
- A casual Chinese nickname pattern that adds the suffix '-zi' to a character of the given name, typically used among friends and peers.
- Internet slang for a 'mukbang' — a live-streamed or recorded video of someone eating, popular in online culture.
- A traditional sweet fried pastry popular in northern China, made of dough fried in oil and glazed with sugar.
- In Chinese folklore, a fox spirit (hulijing) is often depicted as a seductress or trickster; a fox immortal (huxian) is a more elevated, divine being. The correction from the former to the latter conveys both admiration and self-censorship.
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