Return of the Antagonistic Lady Boss

Qian watched her as Bai Jin poured herself another glass; the drink going down was so bitter that she couldn’t tell whether it was his leftover tears or hers.

"If his dad really outlives us all, I’ll let that old man live long enough to watch us doing just fine."

"As a mutual friend of you two, there’s something I’m not really supposed to say, but as a doctor I still have to be objective: what you think of as ’forever’ might just be a mistaken obsession. After all, you two never even really started. Maybe you should put this feeling aside for now. The world has so many views you can’t afford to miss besides love. If in the end you find out he’s not suitable for you at all, after all that time slipping by, how many truly suitable people will you have missed?"

Once feelings rise to the level of marriage, they’re very much like kids buying a lucky bag.

There are all kinds of toys in a lucky bag; when you buy it, everyone does so with anticipation and fondness.

But once it’s opened, whether the toys inside are actually right for you—no one can say for sure.

Love is like an unopened lucky bag, full of expectation and affection, but marriage is what happens after you open it: you might like what’s inside, you might not.

Right now, Qiuqiu and Bai Jin are in that hazy stage before the bag is opened, a kind of tender liking that grows more stubborn the more it’s denied. But once they part and the years stretch on, who knows how long it will be before they meet again. When Qiuqiu’s father is finally gone and they can be together without scruples and open that lucky bag of feelings, if what’s inside turns out to be incompatibility and disappointment in each other, then what will all those years of waiting have meant?

Everyone hopes their feelings can blossom and bear fruit, and as a friend Qian also hopes her two friends can have a beautiful future.

Yet the future is something people can only change so much.

Even if they break through the shackle that is Qiuqiu’s father, along the way their not-mainstream, non-accepted love will have to endure how many storms? When feelings are repeatedly battered by reality, when what you give and what you receive are wildly out of balance and the hurt outweighs the joy, a relationship becomes unbearably heavy.

As a psychiatrist, Qian knew these words were too cruel, but she had to stay objective; that was her difficulty.

No matter whether other people’s worlds are joyous or tragic, Qian has to remain neutral and objective; the pleasant truths and the unpleasant ones all have to be laid out clearly.

"I don’t know whether I’ll miss out on someone else, but I don’t want to miss him. I’ve only been with him for barely a month, but the happiness of that month is something I haven’t had in the past twenty-plus years. For that, I’m willing to gamble. Even if one day we end up going our separate ways, I’ll have no regrets. Qian, you say waiting for him ten thousand years is a mistake—then I need to go through that mistake myself to know it’s wrong. The process itself is a kind of expectation for something beautiful. If I give up right away, it’s like Qiuqiu said: he doesn’t want to owe his father a grave, and I don’t want to owe myself a chance to love."

To like something with all your heart in the best years of your life—don’t say it’s a sacrifice made for anyone.

In the end, it’s just that you don’t want to let yourself down, that’s all.

Hearing this, Qian said nothing more; she raised her glass and clinked it against Bai Jin’s.

"Then I wish you good luck. Study well abroad. I can’t promise your waiting will ever see the flowers bloom, but if you don’t waste these years of study, even if you gain no love in the end, at least your career will reach a new height. Life isn’t only about love; it should hold many more pursuits. I’ll leave you with just one sentence: at any time, the one person you must not fail is yourself."

If you’re willing to wait, then wait.

If you’re not, turn around and leave without any psychological burden.

Don’t talk about not failing anyone; as long as you can face yourself, that is life.

Half a month later, Qiuqiu received a text from Bai Jin. It contained just two words: "See me off."

By then, his father had already had the surgery and was in recovery.

Without a second thought, Qiuqiu dashed out, sped all the way to the airport, got stuck in a bit of traffic, and arrived just as Bai Jin had finished checking in her luggage and was heading toward the security checkpoint.

He didn’t know if it was a coincidence, but Bai Jin was wearing a white dress that day too.

Qiuqiu spotted her back in the crowd at a glance.

White—white again.

How many times would pure white have to leave his life before he could see that destined rainbow?

Qiuqiu didn’t want to call out; he just wanted to quietly watch her leave. He wanted to open his mouth and call her name, but she turned first. Her gaze pierced through the crowd and landed on Qiuqiu standing outside with a single glance.

Years ago, Qiuqiu had once liked a girl named Jingjing. Back then he’d gone to see her off like this too; Jingjing had also been in a white dress. History seemed to be repeating itself, except that time Jingjing never once noticed Qiuqiu, but now Bai Jin turned back; she saw him in an instant.

He was still just as handsome, but the expression on his face was no longer sunny.

Life had forcibly shoved him into a certain position, forcing someone who should have been full of light to be stained with shadow.

In this moment, he was holding himself back, and so was she.

They stared at each other across the crowd, but there was nothing they could do.

Qiuqiu wanted to lift his hand and wave, to say "Safe travels."

But his arm felt as heavy as a thousand pounds; he couldn’t raise it. Even a simple "goodbye" stuck in his throat like a fishbone.

There is no parting heavier than this.

The space between them, the crowd separating them, felt like all the weight pressing on this love.

Qian’s analysis had been brutally objective: even ten, twenty years from now, this love would never be acknowledged by the mainstream. Perhaps many years later, they would still be used as a negative case of unhealthy feelings, criticized by others.

Qiuqiu didn’t care about the world’s gaze, but he couldn’t get past the hurdle of family.

The reason they chose to separate was, in the end, only to be able to live up to those few words—to be worthy of themselves. What else can truly break up two people in love, besides themselves?

Bai Jin etched Qiuqiu’s face deep into her heart, forced her tears back down, and gave him the brightest smile, then turned away, like flowers bursting into full bloom, beauty pushed to the extreme.

If they couldn’t stay together, she would leave him the best version of herself.

I love you.

She said it without sound. They were so far apart that there was no way Qiuqiu could hear it, but watching the shape of her lips, he seemed to hear this brave and righteous girl’s voice in his ear. This "I love you" was the love he’d longed for and never obtained all these years, as if it pierced straight through his soul and slammed into his heart.

Qiuqiu burst into tears right then. He wanted so much to shout back, "I love you too!"

But he couldn’t. Fate had already driven him to a point of no return. He could only shout it at the top of his lungs inside his own heart: I love you too!

Bai Jin boarded the plane with tears in her eyes, thinking she had succeeded.

Qian had said that once, there had been a very important girl in Qiuqiu’s heart, a girl in white who had lingered in his memory for many years. And today, she herself had stubbornly chosen the same outfit, using a replay of yesterday to say goodbye.

But it wasn’t the same. She, Bai Jin, was not Jingjing. Jingjing didn’t love Qiuqiu, but Bai Jin did, so much it hurt. She was determined to use this extreme way to wage war on fate, to wipe away that girl who’d once existed in Qiuqiu’s mind. Even if she had to leave Qiuqiu for a while, when she came back with her wings fully grown, no one would be able to leave any trace in Qiuqiu’s heart—no one but her.

This was the trump card Qian had given her.

Qian truly was uncanny and perceptive. That breathtaking smile of Bai Jin’s as she turned away, and that silent yet soul-shaking confession, stunned the flow of years in Qiuqiu’s heart. Whenever he was alone, what came to mind was that dazzling smile, and what replayed over and over in his head was her almost heroic confession.

Driving back, Qiuqiu saw the roadside blaze with blossoms, flowers blooming in gaudy profusion, pouring all their strength into opening at the height of the season. Suddenly he thought of his own love.

That was love, that was exactly love.

He thought of talking about everything under the sun with Bai Jin, of strolling the streets together, of decorating their room together. He thought and thought until tears streamed down his face.

It turns out the best kind of love is like flowers that have bloomed to the very edge of withering: once beauty reaches the limit, it begins to fade; once it has fully opened, it is already close to decline.

No one regrets those days of wild blooming. If in a lifetime you can meet a single kindred soul, that is enough; even losing them leaves nothing else to ask for.

He wished only that, in a foreign land, all would be well with her.

This beautiful summer of fringe-flowers was, after all, over.

Because the time he’d spent with her had been too stunning, in the year and more that followed, whenever Qiuqiu saw flowers in riotous bloom and heard cicadas crying in the summer heat, he would think of the day he saw her off: the flowers were just as lush. Whether the most beautiful summer would ever return—perhaps only time knew the answer.