Chapter 73

Chapter 73

The car was just entering a tunnel when the light suddenly dimmed.

Very suddenly.

An Ye’s smile faded in that instant.

Chi Tuo’s voice saying “An Jiujiu” seemed to flip a switch in her emotions. Her fingers stiffened uncontrollably as she pressed the hang-up button.

The emotion in Chi Tuo’s words was too intense; that kind of uncontrollable feeling, she didn’t know how to respond to it and just wanted to escape.

In that moment, she felt a strong unease.

Lately, she often recalled her psychological consultations with Doctor Yang—casual fifty-minute chats, only twice so far. The second time she cried hard, just because she remembered when she was little taking photos for print, and the little girl who worked with her got an ice cream after, but she didn’t. Because she had gained a little weight that summer, and her mom made her diet.

Doctor Yang asked her what kind of ice cream it was, told her to close her eyes and recall what her state was then.

She thought the vague memory of so many years suddenly gained color—the noisy crowd, the little girl her age holding that ice cream, green, with colorful chocolate candy pieces on it.

Then she cried.

During those fifty minutes, she kept murmuring about that ice cream.

At first, she explained she actually didn’t like that flavor; she just felt wronged—why did others get things she didn’t? Both worked hard during the photoshoot; why could she only drink plain warm water afterward, the kind of warm water she hated the most?

Doctor Yang was a very good listener and didn’t interrupt her.

So after feeling wronged, she began talking about herself—about how she had been a greedy eater since childhood, easily gained weight, naturally had a big frame, and had been dieting half her life to look good on camera.

Then Doctor Yang asked if she could go back to that time, what would she want to say or do for that little girl who didn’t get the ice cream?

An Ye thought she would say she wanted to buy a much better ice cream than that green one for the little girl.

But after hesitating, what she actually said was: “Forget it, she’ll get fat. Her body type isn’t suited for such high-calorie things.”

She was too easily tempted, and once a gate was opened, it took much more effort to close it again.

Doctor Yang was silent for a moment, then asked why she felt she was so easily tempted.

An Ye answered she didn’t know, it had been that way since she was little. She felt she was worse than others from the start, lacking self-control.

In the second session, Doctor Yang asked her to carefully reflect on this conversation afterward, to think about why she felt from childhood that she was worse than others, so much so that she couldn’t even have that green ice cream.

This feeling was very unfamiliar to her.

Doctor Yang’s non-threatening casual talk cracked open the emotional shell she had carefully sealed for so long. He encouraged her to feel herself, not from the perspective of acting, but from her own perspective—to look at little An Jiujiu, the fourteen-year-old girl who, after shooting hundreds of outfits in the hot summer, still couldn’t eat ice cream.

At twenty-eight, she still felt that little girl truly didn’t deserve that ice cream.

But she had remembered it for fourteen years, crying uncontrollably as if the tears would never stop.

Once that emotional shell was broken, her sensitivity to many feelings suddenly and inexplicably increased.

Last night, when she told Chi Tuo she’d try, she wasn’t that uneasy yet. She had drunk, and Chi Tuo’s reflex arc was still wandering somewhere far away. Although they had crossed that line, their relationship was still close friends—no change meant no unease.

After a night passed, she sobered up and almost had a live broadcast accident. After calming down, suddenly hearing Chi Tuo laughing on the phone with a tone he never used before, saying, “An Jiujiu, I miss you,”

she instantly thought of that high-calorie green ice cream.She really shouldn’t have said “try it.”

Such strong, full emotions—she didn’t have them inside. What could she use to respond?

The overwhelming, intensely personal “Why me?” emotion belonging to An Jiujiu was awakened by Chi Tuo’s call of her name.

An Ye clenched her phone, hiding her slightly trembling fingertips.

“How much per square meter is Chi Lu’s neighborhood?” Qi Wei clicked her tongue as she entered the elevator. “The security here is almost as strict as your previous neighborhood.”

An Ye looked like she was staring down at her phone, only absentmindedly murmuring “Mm” in response.

“Pretty expensive,” Lan Yifang said softly with swollen eyelids. “Last time I moved some stuff here and checked the real estate agency by the entrance...”

Lan Yifang was still that earnest kid. After confirming that the failure to contact the expert this time was mainly because of Huan Zhou, she got a bit of idle curiosity.

Qi Wei gave Lan Yifang a slightly amused glance.

An Ye was also snapped back to attention by Lan Yifang’s curious habit of checking real estate prices while moving things.

Chi Tuo had sent her quite a few messages, but she hadn’t dared to open them.

Just now she had hung up the phone without explanation; he’d probably start nagging from why she hung up, all the way to whether she planned to deny everything.

She felt like she had slipped back to the state five years ago when she didn’t want to contact Chi Tuo. Clearly, her mental state wasn’t right—not like five years ago when she wrapped herself up, but now, after the psychologist had cracked open her wounds, she was afraid of the pain. This contradiction left her feeling numb.

Fortunately, Qi Wei wasn’t one to pry.

She was sharp; she’d already sensed An Ye’s off state right after the call ended in the car and hadn’t asked about Chi Tuo afterward, not even about work.

She just kept teasing Lan Yifang.

An Ye leaned against the elevator wall, listening to Qi Wei help Lan Yifang figure out how long she’d need to save her current salary to buy a house in this neighborhood.

This harmless, everyday chat calmed her down, though she still didn’t want to open her phone to see Chi Tuo’s messages.

Her phone hadn’t vibrated for a while—probably because Chi Tuo, unable to guess what she was thinking, gave up.

She thought, as expected, she still couldn’t do it. With her current mental state, trying to break through would just hurt others.

“Or…” The elevator arrived, but Qi Wei didn’t leave. “How about we meet tomorrow? Since there’s no plan to suppress the trending topic now, maybe clarify that you’re not secretly married, and just release a statement that you and Chi Lu are friends and work partners?”

An Ye looked at Qi Wei.

Lan Yifang was already about to use her key card to open the door but stopped, staring at them both with a confused expression.

“Then I’ll call you tomorrow.” An Ye didn’t refuse.

Lan Yifang opened her mouth: “…Then I…”

“You come with me to the agency to look at houses.” Qi Wei pulled Lan Yifang back into the elevator, and before the door closed, she looked at An Ye and hesitated for a moment before saying, “Teacher An, don’t overthink it.”

An Ye smiled.

Qi Wei added, “Really, it’s better to be a bit dull like Xiao Lan.”

Lan Yifang looked bewildered.An Ye really smiled this time and waved at them.

She seemed to have once been quite dull; Chi Tuo used to say she was like the little figure drawn in a Chinese textbook—like an old guy, even bald.

She never expected that such a dull person would keep remembering that green ice cream she didn’t deserve to eat.

An Ye went into the house.

Chi Tuo’s place was somewhat similar to her big flat—both were fully renovated homes with almost no soft furnishings, looking very clean but lacking warmth; not a home.

Old Bai was at the door acting spoiled, sticking his butt out and rubbing against her with his blue eyes blinking.

An Ye squatted down, hugged Old Bai, and buried her face in his belly.

The pressure of playing A Lin, the pressure of contract termination, the pressure from Wang Shanshan—all suddenly became tangible weight at that moment, pressing down so much she could hardly stand.

She never expected she would break down at this moment, when she thought everything was over, and even yesterday had tentatively wanted to take a step forward—then suddenly collapsed.

She couldn’t cry.

Her fingers trembled.

That feeling of not being able to move forward but unable to bear the grievances inside made her whole body shake.

Old Bai was held still for a long time, unable to move, but understandingly didn’t leave. Instead, he cautiously licked An Ye’s face with his rough tongue.

One person and one cat just sat there by the entrance.

At that moment, An Ye felt very clearly that the string she had been holding onto had snapped. The emotions she had sealed up with so much effort surged up like an uncontrollable tsunami, overwhelming her.

She heard her breathing gradually becoming heavy. Old Bai finally couldn’t take it and, struggling, ran away. An Ye kept holding him, wondering if she had really gone crazy.

Just when she thought everything was getting better, when she was finally ready to think about the future, she suddenly completely lost her mind.

Just as Wang Shanshan wished, from then on her income would come from the crazy actress’s therapy videos at Ninth Hospital, earning tips by playing the victim.

She was almost out of breath.

The door was pushed.

She was sitting pressed against the door, so the push didn’t move the door but moved her a little.

Then it was pushed again.

An Ye looked up blankly, watching herself being pushed little by little like an object to the corner by the security door. Someone came in.

It was Chi Tuo.

He entered without a word, squatted down silently, and silently hugged her into his arms.

Her trembling fingers grabbed Chi Tuo’s black suit; the familiar color and texture made her feel relaxed for a moment.

But also more afraid.

Chi Tuo asked nothing, just patted her back slowly like comforting a kitten.

After a long time, An Ye hoarsely said, “I’m sorry.”

I inexplicably hung up on you, inexplicably blocked the door.Chi Tuo answered her, “It’s okay.”

The intense emotion in his voice that he couldn’t hide was gone, leaving only the familiar gentleness, which made An Ye feel safe.

So she was quiet for a second, then said, “Don’t call me An Jiujui. I don’t want to be her.”

And don’t give me green ice cream anymore, I’ll be scared.

Her voice trembled.

This time Chi Tuo didn’t answer, just rubbed her head.

An Ye repeated, “Don’t call me An Jiujui.”

Chi Tuo sighed and said, “But An Jiujui is the only motivation that keeps me going.”

An Ye stiffened.

“I liked An Jiujui a lot since I was little.” He kissed her hair, his voice soft and gentle. “When she was little, she was very loyal. Back in kindergarten, the chubby kid next door made fun of me for being poor, saying my clothes were too small and my family wouldn’t buy me new ones. It was An Jiujui who stood up for me.”

“That beautiful girl bit really hard—like a bandit bully—she took the chubby kid’s clothes off and bit his arm, then told me, ‘Your clothes are small because you’re growing fast. You grow like sugarcane; after you sleep, your clothes get small. Unlike the chubby kid—he’s growing the wrong way and won’t get taller.’”

An Ye’s fingers twitched, thinking, ah, I thought he was a sugarcane spirit when I was little.

“Later, An Jiujui shot a commercial.” Chi Tuo gently squeezed the slightly loosened fingers in his palm. “I was pretty scared then. She was so good, so dazzling. I kept thinking, how can someone as dull as me stay friends with her?”

“I could only keep my grades top-notch, work hard to practice fighting, and try to get interested in what An Jiujui liked—so she’d get into the habit of coming to me whenever she had a problem.”

An Ye stared blankly, looking up at Chi Tuo.

From this angle, she could see the curve of his chin, and the faint bitter smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Later, An Jiujui became An Ye. I could only watch her on TV, watch her hold trophies and nod at the camera, saying thank you.”

“She was so beautiful, so dazzling I couldn’t even open my eyes.”

“I was really scared then, thinking it was really over. She was too far away, unreachable.”

“At that time, I wasn’t doing well. My graduate school applications weren’t going smoothly, I didn’t get the scholarship I planned for, and all my savings went to paying off my uncle’s debts. I was almost unable to afford a plane ticket back home.”

“She disappeared too—didn’t answer calls, didn’t reply to texts or emails. I could only hang out in fan groups, living off those half-true photos and messages.”

“To be honest, without those messages, I might have dropped out.” Chi Tuo smiled. “When I was little, I thought too simply, thinking learning kung fu would protect An Jiujui, and learning law would protect An Ye. I had to find something to keep her from leaving me, to make her depend on me.”

“But when I really grew up, I realized many things can’t be done just by wanting them. I doubted myself a lot, especially after seeing An Ye sign with Huan Zhou. I thought, she can be independent now, she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“But after she settled down, she still sent me red envelopes on birthdays and New Year, and even a Dragon Boat Festival greeting.”

An Ye sighed softly, finally relaxing a bit, shifting from resting her head on his chest to leaning into his embrace.

Chi Tuo kept using the third person, this somewhat self-deceptive narrative style surprisingly made An Ye feel comfortable.

“You probably don’t know what those 200-yuan red envelopes mean to me,” Chi Tuo said. “Without those faint connections, I might not have graduated, nor reached where I am today.”

So, An Jiujui really means a lot to me.

That An Jiujui who easily shows emotions, who argues with him righteously and never softens first.

I really miss her.