Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

In the end, the two of them bought their first pair of earrings on the basement floor of that commercial building. The studs were made of silver, each set with a tiny, slightly rough black cubic zirconia. Hidden deep in the ear, they were barely noticeable unless you looked very closely—just as An Jiujing had said, it was like hiding a hole in a place no one could see.

One pair of earrings—An Jiujing and Chi Tuo each took one.

That day, Chi Tuo dipped into his long-saved secret stash of money. Part of it had already been used for Zhang Rou’s medication and treatments, and today, he carried the rest on him and spent the whole afternoon insisting on paying for everything.

At first, An Jiujing still tried to transfer money to him through her phone. But Chi Tuo was so serious and persistent about paying that she eventually gave in. The two of them spent the afternoon playing at the arcade on the fifth floor of the mall, and when they left, An Jiujing had her arms full of six identical white geese that had been clawed out of the prize machines.

There were only two animals An Jiujing liked—both represented in the cartoon profile pic she used: a fluffy little goose wearing cat ears. She liked cats because they were beautiful, and she liked geese because she loved eating Cantonese-style roast goose.

But even though the claw machines had tons of cat plushies, Chi Tuo ignored them completely and clawed out six identical geese—for her. They were lined up in a perfect row.

Then he pointed at them and said, “Goose goose goose. Goose goose goose.”

An Jiujing grabbed the necks of the six big geese and glared at him speechlessly. “If you weren’t about to leave home for a foreign land, I’d really smack you.”

After blowing off steam all afternoon, Chi Tuo was in a much better mood. He bought two cups of milk tea from a shop next to the arcade, giving An Jiujing’s an extra milk foam topping. While they waited for their drinks, he poked at the beaks of the plush geese with his finger.

His left ear was now entirely red, pulsing with his heartbeat in pain—but he felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

“I made an outline for you,” he said, handing her the milk tea. The two of them sat on the rooftop terrace of the mall’s fifth floor. It was past six, the setting sun casting golden light across their faces.

“Your current grades are good enough to pass the arts college entrance exam, but once you start filming, you probably won’t have much time to study. So I highlighted all the important points in each subject and bought you some extra workbooks. If you’re bored on set, you can pull them out and do a few problems.”

An Jiujing took a sip of milk tea. “I haven’t even auditioned yet. We don’t even know how it’ll go.”

“You’ll definitely get the part,” Chi Tuo said, as if it were obvious. “Actually, landing a role in Director Yang Zhengyi’s film as your debut is a really high starting point. Once you’re famous, you’ll probably feel even less comfortable than when you were doing commercials.”

The audition hadn’t even started yet, and he was already worrying about what would happen after she became famous.

“So what do I do?” An Jiujing asked seriously, playing along.

“Learn to get used to it,” Chi Tuo replied matter-of-factly. “Actors need attention. In a commercial society, not all directors are like Yang Zhengyi—able to secure funding without relying on star power. You’ll have to get used to seeing your face on big screens and billboards.”

“And used to strangers criticizing my looks, acting, even my personal life behind my back,” An Jiujing added.

“You can sue for that,” Chi Tuo said. “Especially if it’s slander.”

An Jiujing tilted her head to look at him. “You won’t have graduated by the time I’m famous. Who do I ask to help me sue people?”

Chi Tuo choked for a moment, then shot back, “If you’re already famous enough for rumors to be flying, you should have a legal team by then.”

An Jiujing sighed. “Still not the same as having someone on your side.”

Chi Tuo sighed too. “You’ll have to make do with me for now. I’ll graduate as fast as I can.”

An Jiujing smiled softly.

She swung her legs, took another sip of milk tea, and for a moment, the future really did feel like something that could be reached with ease.

“What about you?” she asked him. “Won’t it be hard taking university entrance exams in Singapore?”

“Not really,” Chi Tuo replied. “There’s no high school in Singapore. I think I could go straight for the A-Levels and apply to university.”

“You’ll have to take exams and take care of your mom. Can you handle it?” An Jiujing asked.

“My mom gets really anxious when she sees me now… so we’ll probably hire a professional caregiver,” Chi Tuo said. “My uncle’s rich. He’ll cover my tuition and living expenses while I’m in Singapore, and he’ll also pay for my mom’s medical and caregiving costs.”“When I graduate and start working, I’ll pay him back at student loan interest rates,” he said. “I’ve already discussed all this with my uncle. I’ll write him an IOU each year, covering tuition and living expenses.”

“Singapore offers generous scholarships. I might even break even while I’m still in college,” he added.

An Jiujing was surprised. “Your uncle agreed to you being that calculative with him?”

She’d met Chi Tuo’s uncle, Zhang Chenglin, briefly these past two days when visiting Zhang Rou in the hospital. Her impression was that although he’d gone abroad at a young age, deep down he was quite traditional. Over the years, he’d been the one covering his mother’s medical bills while Chi Tuo’s mom did the caregiving. The siblings had a close relationship.

Some traditional elders would feel uncomfortable if the younger generation insisted on such clear-cut accounting.

“He wasn’t too happy at first, but I insisted,” Chi Tuo said. “A favor too big can turn into resentment. It’s enough that I acknowledge his help—I can’t let him lose too much.”

An Jiujing looked at his profile and nodded.

He had always been the one to think everything through. The one who charged ahead impulsively had always been her.

The sun in the west was almost brushing the edge of the city skyline. The golden light around them slowly turned to a fiery orange. An Jiujing stared at it quietly for a long time, then decided to continue the fantasy they’d been building earlier: “So if I get famous and you’re busy in college, and we’re both caught up with our lives… how will we stay in touch?”

“No need to reply instantly,” Chi Tuo said. “We can just talk whenever. Say what we want, and reply when we see it.”

An Jiujing asked again, “What if I really need to talk to you urgently?”

“Call me,” Chi Tuo answered.

“What if I feel really awful?” she continued.

“Video call,” he said.

“What if… I start dating someone and forget about my friends?” she teased.

“…”

Chi Tuo decided to bring them both back to reality. “When’s your mom’s court hearing with An Huaimin?”

“The month after next, I think,” An Jiujing said. “The lawyer said I’ll be 18 by then, so custody won’t be an issue. That makes things a little simpler.”

“Until the verdict is out, you’re still living in that house?” he asked.

“Probably.” An Jiujing hadn’t thought that far ahead—her mind was still stuck on the fact that her parents were going through a divorce. She hadn’t processed what came after.

“If the case drags on and An Huaimin keeps making a scene, you should consider moving somewhere else for now,” Chi Tuo said. “If you pass the audition, you could just stay in Baigang City for a while.”

“You need to make sure the asset separation is clean—especially if you pass the audition. When it comes time to sign contracts and get paid, make sure all the payments go directly into your account. Don’t let your mom handle it, or it could be considered marital property,” he reminded her. “An Huaimin’s entire mind is on that son of his now. When you get popular, be prepared for him to come bother you.”

An Jiujing stared at him, mouth slightly open. After a while, she sighed. “You’re really thinking far ahead.”

Chi Tuo turned to look at her seriously and said solemnly, “Think further ahead, and make sure to put a period at the end of things when you act. If you’re ever unsure, talk to me.”

He said, “Wait for me to come back.”

That night, they talked for a long time, made many dreams about the future. Chi Tuo repeated everything he could think of to remind her. He even finished a cup of milk tea that he usually found too sweet.

The sunset that day was beautiful. After it dipped below the horizon, the sky bloomed with brilliant fiery clouds. While most people rushed to the rooftop to take pictures, An Jiujing and Chi Tuo quietly headed downstairs at the most dazzling moment.

That evening, An Jiujing had to go home. Chi Tuo had to head to the hospital to be with Zhang Rou. They each got on a different bus going opposite ways.

Sitting on the bus, An Jiujing looked out the window at Chi Tuo waiting on the opposite side of the road. Suddenly, a wave of unease swept over her. The dreams they’d built beneath the sunset—she didn’t know how much she could really accomplish. She didn’t know how much Chi Tuo could accomplish either.

She felt a little afraid.She was afraid.

Afraid that she and Chi Tuo would end up like so many others—close friends in youth who eventually became strangers, one turning left, the other right.

But after Chi Tuo got on his bus, he sent her a message. He said: “It’s okay, don’t be scared. I’ll always be here.”

An Jiujing saved that message and locked her phone.

Early Thursday morning, before the sun had fully risen, An Jiujing was shaken awake by a frantic Wang Shanshan.

Wang Shanshan hadn’t slept all night. Her face was haggard as she stood in the kitchen juicing a bitter vegetable-fruit concoction. When she saw her daughter sleepily get up and try to open the fridge for breakfast, she smacked her hand away.

“This morning you’re only allowed to drink juice,” Wang Shanshan’s voice was hoarse. “I asked around. You have to fast. Otherwise, your face will be puffy during the audition.”

An Jiujing rubbed the back of her hand. “I already drank veggie juice last night.”

She was on the verge of fainting from hunger.

“Just hold out for one day,” Wang Shanshan said, handing her the juice. “Drink it all in one go. And don’t put on any makeup when you wash up—once we get to Baigang City, I’ve arranged for someone to do your styling.”

An Jiujing muttered, “…Don’t waste money on stuff like that. Lin Luo’s character shouldn’t wear makeup anyway.”

Wang Shanshan was exasperated: “How many actors have you seen actually go bare-faced when they say they are?!”

An Jiujing shut up.

Wang Shanshan had recently been like a powder keg—one spark and she exploded, and her entire body was the fuse.

Sure enough, even An Jiujing’s timely silence didn’t stop the explosion. Wang Shanshan began one of her emotional meltdowns—something that would happen several times that day.

She slammed the not-quite-clean juicer onto the counter.

An Jiujing silently took a step back.

“Can you take things more seriously?” Wang Shanshan snapped. “I told you, you need to lose another ten pounds for this audition. Go weigh yourself. You went out with Chi Tuo yesterday and snuck milk tea again, didn’t you?”

Yes, yes she did—and even asked for extra cream topping.

In her heart, An Jiujing crossed her arms indignantly.

“Can’t you stop being so naïve? Don’t you understand our family’s situation?” Wang Shanshan’s eyes reddened quickly. “We have no one to rely on. No connections, no resources. This audition—we’re getting in cold. I still haven’t even gotten Director Yang Zhengyi’s contact number. I have no idea how many other girls you’re competing against.”

“Opportunities like this—there might only be one in your whole life.”

“Do you know how important this is? If you can land a role in Director Yang Zhengyi’s film, if you can seize this chance, your starting point will be completely different.”

“For a family like ours, with zero connections, you have to start high if you want to keep moving forward.”

Wang Shanshan began spiraling.

“There are tons of pretty girls in this world. Your looks might stand out in Wangcheng, but put you in the whole of China? Come on.”

She started belittling her daughter.

The next step was always belittling herself—how her child had been born under a bad star, how fate had saddled her with this kind of family, and so on.

At first, An Jiujing used to feel hurt by these words. But now that it was happening four or five times a day, she’d grown numb. All she could think about was how disgusting the juice tasted. While brushing her teeth, she casually sent Chi Tuo a sticker: “I’m about to head out.”At the same time, Chi Tuo, who had spent the night at the hospital, had just brought Zhang Rou her breakfast. He carried his own cup to the public restroom on the same floor to wash up, and when he returned to the ward, he saw Zhang Rou wiping away tears again.

His uncle had arranged a private room for his mother. She could have been discharged long ago, but they were afraid that if she stayed home alone, she might spiral and try to find Chi Dingbang again. At least in the hospital, there were doctors and nurses around to keep an eye on her.

“Stop crying,” Chi Tuo added some pork floss into Zhang Rou’s rice porridge. “Eat something first.”

Zhang Rou had woken up early that morning saying she had dreamt of Grandma. Chi Tuo didn’t know how to comfort her. After thinking for a while, he took out the photos An Jiujing had sent him of her feeding the stray cats and started flipping through them for Zhang Rou to see.

An Jiujing’s photography style was all about soft focus—none of the cats were actually in focus—but you could still barely make out the little name tags around their necks. They were made from leftover fabric scraps, hand-stitched with names by Grandma.

“Cats Grandma used to feed,” Chi Tuo told Zhang Rou. “A couple days ago I contacted a local stray cat rescue group. Those cats are all being fed now, and the kittens have already been adopted.”

That, of course, wasn’t the truth.

The reality was that after his grandmother passed, the stray cats she'd fed couldn’t find a steady food source nearby and dispersed. Only one or two old cats could still be found. The rescue group had taken them in, yes, but had also said that if no adopters came forward, they might have to consider euthanasia in the end.

Reality was harsh—but his mother couldn’t handle any more harshness right now.

While Zhang Rou was distracted staring blankly at the pictures on Chi Tuo’s phone, he quickly finished his breakfast in a few bites.

He still had to go to school today to handle paperwork. In the afternoon, his mother’s attending physician had scheduled a meeting with him and his uncle. An Jiujing was flying to Baigang City for her audition today—he should know the results by tonight.

Chi Tuo’s phone buzzed.

Zhang Rou paused her scrolling and handed the phone back to him. “Jiujing messaged you.”

Chi Tuo glanced at it and passed it back to her. “She’s going to Baigang City today for the audition.”

Zhang Rou didn’t say anything.

Chi Tuo knew this wasn’t good. Before the tears could well up in her eyes again, he spoke first, reassuring her: “Mom, I really do want to go to Singapore.”

Zhang Rou’s lips trembled as she looked at him.

“The education quality there is definitely better than in Wangcheng. NUS Law ranks number one in Asia on the QS rankings.”

He held Zhang Rou’s hand, speaking with soft, patient reassurance. He truly wanted to leave this small city, Wangcheng. He wanted to go out and see the world. He’d finally gotten this chance—a chance that Zhang Rou herself had given him.

He wasn’t afraid of leaving home, wasn’t afraid of the completely different education system over there, and wasn’t afraid of the unknown.

This young man had hidden away all his emotions, as well as that invisible hole in his heart.