◎You’re only interested in my abs?◎
Li Xia was starting to hate this sense of uncertainty.
Taking advantage of the weekend, she drove out to the suburbs with Li Chun. The place where they’d buried Bread was a small grove behind a temple in the western suburbs, not far from their old home. Li Xia said it was quiet there, with good feng shui—perfect for an early reincarnation into a better family. The night before, Li Chun had folded some little gold ingots, and Li Xia had bought some small apples and freeze-dried treats.
By the time they reached the little mound of earth, it was already noon. Weeds had overgrown the area, so Li Chun started clearing them away by hand. Back when they’d buried Bread, Li Xia had scattered flower seeds in the soil. She hadn’t expected that with the abundant summer rains and a sunny spot, tiny sprouts would already be poking through after just a month.
“It’s like Bread’s way of breathing from under the soil,” Li Xia said, touching the tip of a leaf.
She remembered the days right after Bread had passed. She’d still go through the motions in her room, acting them out with nothing there. She’d get up in the morning, refill the food dish, pour kibble. She’d curl up on the sofa and pat the spot beside her, or bend down as if to scoop it up, or let her hand dangle at her side to stroke its fur—as if that’s how it was supposed to be. But in reality, all those natural, habitual actions were performed for thin air.
Li Xia sniffled and forced her tears back down.
Seeing her get emotional from the sight, Li Chun arranged the offerings and said, “Pets really are temporary joys, sis. Do you think there’s anything in this world that’s permanently happy?”
Li Xia said there wasn’t.
Pets grew old and sick and died. Relationships ended in breakups.
“Haven’t you heard that phrase? Sadness is the price of love,” Li Xia replied.
“But what if you really like it?”
“Then it depends on your tolerance.”
Li Chun wanted to argue but held her tongue. She figured people formed their worldviews at certain stages of life, and changing them on the spot was tough. So she changed the subject. “Sis, didn’t you save a bunch of Bread’s fur back then? I saw online that you can make a realistic felt doll from a pet’s fur. It looks just like them, so they can stay with you forever.”
Li Xia stared solemnly at the mound for a moment before snapping back. “There’s something like that? Sounds nice.”
“I just sent it to your phone on the way. Didn’t you see?” Li Chun asked.
“Oh,” Li Xia said flatly. “I didn’t turn on mobile data.”
“Why not?”
Li Xia lowered her head to wipe down the little apples she’d brought. “Withdrawal.”
“From your phone?”
“No. From men.”
Or more precisely, from ambiguity.
Li Xia felt like this needed to come to a head.
She knew full well that after this brief detox period of ambiguity over the next day or two, it wouldn’t be long—just a few days—before she and F faded out of each other’s worlds.
F was sharp and rational; he wouldn’t drag things out or cling desperately. All she had to do was unilaterally rein in her urge to share.
Once they cut off contact completely, she could face Zhao Xiaolan with a clear conscience and sort herself out.
Before heading back, Li Xia gathered some stones and arranged them in a circle. She adjusted them over and over, brushing off the dirt again and again, as if nothing satisfied her. Her heart felt hollow, and before she could even stand, the tears fell. Li Chun stood behind her, turning her head to wipe away her own tears. Her attachment to Bread was no less than Li Xia’s, but with more time at school, she’d spent less time with it—and Bread had been Li Xia’s to bring home in the first place.
She had to keep her own sadness in check to spare her sister more pain.
It was that same day.
F sent a few messages, and Li Xia took ages to reply curtly. He followed up right away: 【Wrapped up shooting early today. I found a subtitled version of that Éric Rohmer film you wanted to see.】
【Want to watch together?】
Li Xia: 【No, got work.】
F: 【It’s Sunday.】
Li Xia: 【Oh, overtime.】
A long silence followed. Li Xia turned off her screen and went back to the latest anime episode.
Soon, her phone lit up again.
F: 【Teacher Lizi, you’ve been dodging me lately.】
Li Xia wanted to say, This isn’t dodging—it’s cutting sunk costs. Online chats, different countries—it’s all so ephemeral. You like playing these flirty games? Play them solo. Even if you flirt till the end of time, sis is out.
The words were on the tip of her tongue when playfulness struck: 【Is chatting with me fun?】
F: 【Yeah, makes me happy.】
Li Xia: 【You know, basic happiness is free. Super happiness costs extra.】
F: 【What kind of cost?】
Without hesitation, Li Xia pulled out her canned line: 【The happiness before was a free upgrade on my end. Sorry, your trial period’s over.】
【How do I renew?】
Renew?
Li Xia racked her brain, but nothing good came to mind. It was just damp wood trying to spark—delaying the inevitable sadness a bit. She tossed off a vague reply about showing sincerity and set her phone aside.
As for what “sincerity” meant, she had no idea.
With that, there seemed to be no more to say.
But twenty minutes later, F’s tone hesitant:
【Is it because I didn’t agree to show you my abs?】
…
?
…
Li Xia burst out laughing at the out-of-left-field question. She did a carp flip to sit up and paced her bedroom a couple steps.
She neither confirmed nor denied: 【You agreeing now?】
After a while, F’s words seemed laced with shy vibes:
【I… I’m really not that comfortable with it.】
The carrot was dangling right at her lips—Li Xia wasn’t letting it go. Same line as before: 【Back muscles work too.】
F: 【Don’t think I’ve ever taken any.】
…
Li Xia wanted to say, Come on, man, that’s no fun.
Li Xia: 【You can take some now.】
F: 【I actually don’t get it.】
Li Xia: 【?】
F: 【You’re only interested in my abs?】
Li Xia paused, deadpan: 【Food, sex, nature—can’t I?】
Two minutes of silence from his end: 【You can.】
He didn’t send more, and Li Xia didn’t wait.
Over the next two or three days, as expected, their back-and-forth chats dwindled, turning dry and polite. F still asked what she was up to, still said goodnight. Sometimes on the road, Li Xia would stop, gaze at the contrails streaking the sky, watching the white lines fade from thick to thin.
Like an itch being drawn thread by thread from her heart—a nagging addiction.
–
Li Xia figured her emotional control was decent; she rarely let life’s downsides bleed into work. When Bread had met its end, she’d only taken a few hours off, then returned to the stage, hosting events with smiles and banter.
Quitting a guy she’d known for a few weeks? Piece of cake.
Monday, she attacked work with gusto. Tuesday, the boss chewed her out for high proofreading error rates—needed to drop to one in a hundred thousand or no bonus this month. Li Xia gritted her teeth and took it.
By Wednesday, she’d groveled through the thirtieth round of cover design talks with the president, who finally approved the first version.
…
Li Xia scratched her head and left the office. She shut the door and laughed. People really did laugh when they were speechless. The next second, she steeled herself and relayed the news to the designer.
Great. He hit her back with a string of ellipses.
Li Xia stared at those six black dots and let out a dazed breath.
It was in these gaps of words that people caught a sliver of relief.
With work errors piling up, the deputy editor hounding her deadlines, and manuscripts stacked like mountains, Li Xia couldn’t slack. Before she could recover from the darkest moment, her boss pinged her on WeChat: something urgent.
She went in and learned it was about a business trip.
“There’s a marketing expert training at Nanlin Art Center this Saturday and Sunday. You’re representing the company.”
“Nanlin?”
“Problem?”
Li Xia stood there, silent.
“Chu Xiaowen’s in her pregnancy leave and can’t travel. There’s a book event next Tuesday—you cover that too.”
“Where?”
“Same place.”
Nanlin again.
Li Xia instinctively recoiled. This deputy editor always dumped trips on people like herding ducks—duties all mixed up, and this wasn’t even her lane. As the saying went, one incompetent general exhausted the troops. Everyone grumbled and made excuses.
Li Xia cut straight to it. “Marketing’s always been Editor Xu’s domain. Isn’t sending me to the training a mismatch?”
“What’s mismatched?”
Li Xia started to explain.
“Don’t push back on work. The training’s good for your growth. You’re the youngest here—Editor Xu’s got elders above and kids below, can’t get away. Chu Xiaowen’s late-term pregnancy. You’re young, single, no ties—hop on a plane, no problem. What’s wrong with that?”
The words made Li Xia’s chest tighten.
Young people weren’t human?
No ties? Was she an orphan?
“Sorry, can’t go.”
Li Xia pressed her lips thin. “A trip that long would wreck my work schedule next week.”
Forget work—even weekly reports would have to be written on the road. No overtime pay for the weekend, rushing back Sunday night. Why bother? At least weekdays offered some buffer.
The boss’s face darkened a shade. “Then figure it out.”
Li Xia didn’t budge. “Can’t. No cloning spell. If it’s subbing for Chu Xiaowen, maybe. But the marketing seminar? Find someone else.”
“Who taught you to bargain?” The incompetent one’s rage boiled over, voice rising. “No negotiation—this is it. Files incoming. Out!”
…
Back at her desk, Li Xia furiously tapped away at the Merit Wooden Fish on her phone. This refusal wasn’t rebellion or picking a fight with the boss.
It was the destination.
After starting her job at the publishing house, the business trip that left the deepest impression on Li Xia was the one to Nanlin. That day, she not only got caught in the rain but also received a message that would haunt her with guilt forever upon leaving the client’s home—her grandfather hadn’t held on long enough for her to return. The old man had passed away without even seeing her one last time. She hadn’t seen him either.
Li Xia had long forgotten how she made it back to Beijing. In a fit of childish superstition, she began to think of Nanlin as a cursed place. She knew it was beautiful and renowned, but to her, it was nothing but miserable and heartbreaking. Whenever friends invited her to visit Nanlin afterward, she always agreed with empty words.
Besides, Li Xia felt her current state wasn’t suited for long trips. She was like a high plateau with thin air—others had to exert themselves just to approach, and she herself had little capacity to let anyone in.
She needed to find something to cheer herself up, Li Xia thought.
After punching out at the end of her shift and fleeing the office, she craved the candied skewers from the auntie at the gate. She picked one with strawberries and yam beans. She’d only taken two steps, the sugary coating still melting in her mouth, when a familiar little figure darted into view—the corgi that always wandered near the company.
Li Xia froze in her tracks.
She sidled closer, pulled a sausage from her bag, tore off the wrapper, and placed it on the ground to lure it over. The little dog recognized her and trotted up on its stubby legs, tail wagging. Now that she was close, Li Xia could see its fur hadn’t been washed in ages and was matted with black cockleburs. She found it endearing and gently plucked a few off with her fingers.
Was it a stray?
Or a lost pup? Abandoned by its owner?
Li Xia glanced around as she stood. No one was watching.
She looked down at it. The dog was eating with its head lowered, devouring the sausage with relish, completely unguarded. Bread used to be the same way—never wary of strangers. As Li Xia watched, a sudden thought bubbled up.
—If it’s a stray, it wouldn’t be so bad to take it home, right?
—Or maybe adopt it?
They had such a connection. She’d give it a bath, dress it up in cute outfits, buy it tons of toys, make nutritious meals. She’d take such good care of it. The sprite-like creature paced before her, and thinking of the future filled Li Xia with excitement. Would bringing it home unannounced startle Zhao Xiaolan? No time to worry about that—Zhao Xiaolan would understand. The more she thought, the more urgent it felt, her mind inflating like a balloon, carrying her away in a bubbly haze.
With no cardboard box in sight, Li Xia generously opened her tote bag and set it down by the dog’s paws. Tentatively, she coaxed, “How about… you make do with this for now?”
She nudged it gently.
Startled, perhaps, the dog paused and then bolted away.
Li Xia resorted to her food lure again, planning to coax it into the bag. She was fully focused on the task when a shout in local dialect rang out from nearby. Li Xia didn’t understand it and wondered what it meant. The next instant, the dog shot off toward the voice like a bullet. She stood there dazed, then turned. The dog trailed after an old man pushing a two-wheeled cart loaded with tomatoes and carrots. He lifted his chin from afar, seeming to say something.
Oh no.
Li Xia panicked, hiding her bag behind her back and spinning away. Her cheeks burned as she glanced down at the empty tote, realizing the absurdity of what she’d almost done in her impulse.
She’d nearly dognapped someone else’s pet!
Li Xia startled herself.
She slapped her own face and hurried down the street, mortified.
So it had an owner after all. Li Xia felt a mix of relief and sadness. It took ten minutes to calm her roiling emotions. The one thing that could bring her joy didn’t belong to her.
With a deep, fearful realization, she understood that nothing in her life seemed to stick.
Pets. Family.
Even the stirrings of her heart.
She was always trying to grasp something, anything, to prove life could be controlled.
And she always failed.
Looking back on the incident, it felt like a total rout, a cowardly escape.
Her phone buzzed—a business trip file from her boss, packed with dates, locations, and reminders. Two documents, different destinations. Li Xia didn’t want to deal with it. She skimmed once and turned it off.
She turned the corner at the intersection. Across the street, a vibrant row of shops bustled amid the evening crowds, but her gaze snagged on the lit-up lottery parlor.
Oncoming traffic shattered her line of sight.
Li Xia looked away.
Her high plateau had been drenched in rain before, and now someone had set it ablaze. No flames in sight, just choking gray smoke of thirst rising.
Li Xia felt restless inside.
She hurried home, eager to grab her skateboard first thing. The moment she stepped on it and steered, she could claim the wind’s freedom from every direction. She quickened her pace.
When she walked in, Zhao Xiaolan was in the middle of a deep clean. The sofa had been shoved aside. Li Xia asked what she was looking for, and Zhao Xiaolan said she’d lost a crochet hook.
“Oh.”
Li Xia set down her bag and went straight for the skateboard.
“Xia Xia, your mom’s back is acting up—help me look,” Qu Shuxin called to her.
The sofa was against the corner. Li Xia grabbed a tool, got on her knees, and groped around underneath. After a while with no luck on the hook, she swept her hand broadly. With a forceful swipe, something tumbled out in a clatter.
When she stood and looked, Li Xia froze for a second.
It was the pink bouncy ball.
Caked in dust, its surface marred by old bite marks and punctured with countless deep and shallow holes from sharp teeth—proof its little owner had once existed.
In her daze, Li Xia picked it up and clutched it in her hand.
—This was Bread’s favorite toy. It used to pester Li Xia to play every day. Until one day the ball rolled off somewhere. When Li Xia noticed, she crawled on the floor, checked under the bed and cabinets and sofa—searched everywhere, but never found it. So she bought a new one. Bread showed little interest in the replacement. It barked a couple times, as if displeased, but no one paid much mind.
…
Her fingers traced the ball’s ridges and dents, the texture seeping through her body. Li Xia went numb all over, her throat tightening as if gripped by her past careless self, leaving her at a loss.
“Give it to me, Xia Xia. Hand it over—I’ll put it away.”
Zhao Xiaolan straightened up from the vacuum cleaner and approached.
For a few seconds, Li Xia stared without blinking or speaking. Zhao Xiaolan reached for it, but Li Xia didn’t let go. She gripped the ball, turned, and tossed it into the trash bin by the sofa.
“Hey—don’t!”
Zhao Xiaolan cried out to stop her, but it was too late. The little ball brushed the plastic liner and sank down with a soft thud. Like the final weight of Bread.
“Why throw it away?”
Zhao Xiaolan’s eyes were full of worry. Seeing her daughter’s poor expression, she could only ask gently.
“What’s the point of keeping it?”
Before Zhao Xiaolan could respond, Li Xia lifted the bin lid, bent down, swiftly tied off the bag, hauled it to the door in one smooth motion, then grabbed her skateboard with her free hand and pushed the door open.
Without looking back, she said, “I’m heading out for a bit.”