Chapter 32: Apologies Are Futile

Next door, Shi Ying had returned to the house, but his gaze remained fixed on the balcony.

Gritting his teeth, he walked back to the dining table and tossed the rice back into the plastic bag.

Shi Ying probably wasn’t destined to have a proper meal. Tonight, feeling down, he had deliberately driven around the city to the hardest-to-park area just to pick up something he wanted to eat, hoping to comfort his weary soul. Banshan’s climate was dry and bitterly cold in winter, with few southerners settling here long-term. After searching the entire city, this was the only authentic roast meat shop he could find. Their honey-glazed char siu was limited daily—if you came late, you’d miss out. And yet, he ended up feeding Cheng Simin’s dog the most expensive items from the meal.

As for her? She didn’t even greet him when she saw him. Instead, her eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped like she’d seen a ghost.

His outfit was all black, but he wasn’t cosplaying as a hellish messenger—how could she be so startled? At the very least, she could’ve smiled at him.

Her smiles weren’t exactly rare, either. While dancing in the square, she swayed her willowy waist and flirted with the elderly men watching, flashing her bright white teeth without a care. Did she not worry that their excitement might trigger high blood pressure or heart attacks, leaving them dead on the spot?

The more Shi Ying thought about Cheng Simin’s shocked expression, the angrier he became. She was so generous and warm toward strangers but stingy with him.

Stepping over his newly purchased furniture, he grabbed the car keys from the table. His stomach was both angry and hungry, and he decided to drive out again to find somewhere to eat dinner.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a text notification.

He still wore an irritated expression, but his actions were honest. He froze in place, holding the phone up reverently to check the screen. To his relief, it was indeed Cheng Simin.

But Cheng Simin didn’t apologize, thank him, or send a smiling emoji. Below the previous message, she simply asked dryly, “Did you feed him anything?”

With brows furrowed like they could crush a fly, Shi Ying, suppressing a growing stomachache, replied curtly, “What? Afraid I poisoned your dog? What do you think of me? If I hadn’t fed him, he’d still be howling and pawing at the railing. First, the neighbors would’ve complained about the noise and called the police. Second, I was worried he might fall. People who own cats usually seal their balconies. Sure, dogs can’t jump that high, but shouldn’t you take some responsibility for his safety? When you go square dancing, don’t you bring your daughter along? Didn’t you say you’d always love her? What happened? Did the puppy get in the way of your social life? Not long ago, you said buying a sofa and giving you bunk beds made me kindhearted. Now you turn on me faster than flipping a book? Was my help on the high-speed train all for nothing?”

In one breath, Shi Ying typed over a hundred words. Though it seemed like an outpouring of anger and straightforward emotion, beneath it lay tender sentiments expressed indirectly.

On the other side, Cheng Simin didn’t grasp this deeper meaning. Whether someone likes animals or not can’t be faked. She knew Shi Ying liked her dog too, and feeding Beibei must have been an act of kindness. She just wanted to ask if Shi Ying had given his own dinner to Beibei.

All this avoidance was ultimately meaningless—they couldn’t avoid each other forever. The main issue was: she really didn’t want to wake up early anymore. She didn’t even have a job, yet she was getting up at dawn. Why bother? Avoidance felt good temporarily, but it was useless in the end. It was better to face the problem head-on and clear the air.

However, figuring out how to talk to Shi Ying was delicate work. He was adept at being relentless when he had the upper hand.

Looking at Shi Ying’s mini-essay, Cheng Simin’s face filled with worry. She nibbled on the hangnails of her fingers.

For the first time in her life, her usual charm and sweet talk seemed to lose their effectiveness. After fumbling with her phone for a while, Cheng Simin realized she was at a loss for how to make him happy. Like a fool, she only managed to type two words: “Not that…”

A sound came from the hallway, and Cheng Simin immediately moved to the door, peeking through the peephole.

Seeing Shi Ying locking his door while holding his coat, she steeled herself, opened the door, and called out, “Shi Ying!”

Shi Ying’s fingers left the doorknob, his gaze landing on her face. He calmly put on his coat, his expression almost devoid of emotion.

At this moment, Cheng Simin was afraid of him. Especially after unintentionally doing something hurtful, she avoided eye contact, quietly shifting her gaze to a small silver embroidery on his chest.

The embroidery was exquisite, and she traced it with her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just asking if you gave your dinner to him.”

“Mm.” Shi Ying didn’t open his mouth fully, replying as if ventriloquizing.

Cheng Simin slapped her thigh, feigning a tone of belated camaraderie. “Oh! So you’re the one who sold me the furniture? That old man—I mean, your grandfather—looked so familiar. Such a big deal, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I had no idea. Thank you so much.”

“Oh.” This time, Shi Ying slightly parted his lips, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

Cheng Simin’s gaze wavered. After expressing gratitude came the apology. “And what did you mean about the high-speed train incident? Sigh, sorry, I really don’t remember.”

“If you don’t remember, then it’s fine. In a law-abiding society, what can I do to you?” Shi Ying’s words were firm. Cheng Simin’s attempt to melt his icy demeanor was slow to take effect, so she reluctantly forced a smile, her eyes betraying reluctant flattery. Shi Ying had a knack for playing hard to get. He could appear warm-hearted beyond compare, but his coldness was ingrained—it didn’t need much acting to feel genuine.

From childhood, they had shared moments of playful camaraderie. Cheng Simin glanced at him, finding his deliberate aloofness unbearable. She wanted to grab a brick and hit him but feared her eyes would reveal her hostility. So, she turned her head away again.

“So… do you not have dinner tonight?”

“Mm.”

“And now you’re going out…”

“To eat.”

“Hey.” Her forced smile was futile. Their conversation was awkward, leaving Cheng Simin feeling uneasy. Biting her lip, her gaze dropped again, eventually resting on his pant legs. Shi Ying’s legs were long. Even in loose-fitting trousers designed to hide his figure, the straight and elongated shadows of his legs stretched onto her shoes.

A long time ago, she had stared at his legs from this angle before. Shi Ying’s attitude today wasn’t much different from back then.

It was also on that day that their relationship changed from best friends to sworn enemies.

In 2012, a year before Shi Ying transferred from Banshan Middle School, rumors about the upcoming renovation of the farmers’ market spread frequently. Panic ensued, and many vendors banded together to protest at the management office, demanding refunds and compensation.

Among the loudest protesters were Cheng Wei and Chen Xiaofen. Their business had been thriving, and just a month earlier, they had rented an additional fruit stall across the way, which was in a better location. If the rumors were true, their losses would be immense.

Cutting off someone’s livelihood was akin to killing their parents. Cheng Wei and Chen Xiaofen were like ants on a hot pan, scrambling to plot with other vendors in the market. They ran their business during the day and held meetings at night. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, they carried petitions written in blood and banners to the market management office and the housing authority, threatening suicide.

Neglecting their daughter, Cheng Simin, who was left to fend for herself, became addicted to watching people play basketball outside the movie theater after dark.

Throughout the summer vacation, without school, her days were inverted. She slept during the day and woke up in the evening to move around.

Meal times passed silently at home. The only sign of life was the leftover porridge and noodles on the coffee table next to the TV, remnants of breakfast before her parents left in the morning.

Pouring the bubbly leftovers into the yellowed squat toilet, Cheng Simin spent half an hour washing pots, cleaning dishes, and tidying up the house. She used diluted sulfuric acid to scrub the stains from the toilet, then retrieved a watermelon from the plastic sack next to the shoe rack in the living room.

Twenty kilometers outside Banshan, in the Gobi Desert, selenium-rich watermelons were abundant. After summer began, farmers wearing headscarves often set up grass huts by the roadside to sell them from hand-pulled carts.

These melons, grown without scientific methods, were often misshapen and varied in size, unfit for the farmers’ market stalls. But they were cheap—two mao per jin—and every summer, Chen Xiaofen would buy a hundred jin for twenty yuan, bringing them home to last the family through the season.

Placing the watermelon on a cloth, Cheng Simin cut it in half with one swift motion. She scooped out the center piece of flesh with a spoon and popped it into her mouth.

Too lazy to spit out the seeds, she dug into the melon with her spoon. As the juice accumulated, she took the other half to the fridge for her parents and retrieved half an oil pancake, soaking it in the watermelon juice before chewing.

This was the teenage girl’s first meal of the day—and her only one.

Soon, the streetlights below lit up. Moving quickly, she put on her shoes and dashed downstairs, not forgetting to return to toss the watermelon rinds into the garbage station before closing the door.

The basketball court was unusually lively because a young, unfamiliar face had arrived half an hour earlier.

The game, previously lackluster, became fiercely competitive with Shi Ying’s arrival. Among those playing pickup basketball were both members of society and students on break. Most were older than Shi Ying, but he wasn’t intimidated. With his height skyrocketing and treating the ball like a toy, he sank three-pointers nine out of ten times.

As usual, Cheng Simin sat on the high steps in front of the movie theater, her face toward the basketball hoop but her gaze wandering. Sometimes she admired the abs revealed when players removed their shirts; other times, she eyed the thick gold chains worn by rollerblading teens.

When halftime arrived, her vacant stare landed on a couple kissing outside the theater. Then, still sweaty, Shi Ying climbed the steps with two bottles of water, blocking her view with one to snap her out of it.

“For the past two weeks, you’ve been hanging around here every night? Have you finished your homework?”

Bored out of her mind, Cheng Simin scrunched up her nose and pushed his bottle aside. The couple, trying to avoid suspicion, had already walked away arm in arm. Disappointed, she unscrewed the cap and said, “No, have you? If you’re done, let me copy it.”

Every winter and summer vacation, Shi Ying traveled with his parents. This year, their destination was Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand. Previously, Cheng Simin would pester Shi Ying upon his return, eager to hear stories about the outside world.

Tiananmen Square, Grape Valley, West Lake, and Mogao Caves—any place mentioned in textbooks, Shi Ying had visited.

But this year, he went abroad to three countries she’d never heard of. Unable to imagine them, she didn’t feel the same longing.

“I haven’t done it either. I came back earlier today to see if you wanted to do homework together, but no one answered your home phone.”

“Oh, I was asleep and didn’t hear it. How did you know I’d be here tonight?” Nearby, the old man renting roller skates was loudly chatting with a group of fashionably dressed men and women. When Cheng Simin saw the girl with bangs leading the group, her eyes lit up.

Following her gaze to the lamppost, Shi Ying saw a group of middle school dropouts who were now part of the local delinquent scene. Each of them wore earrings, smoked cigarettes, and carried an air of indifference. There was nothing particularly special about them, so Shi Ying quickly withdrew his gaze and turned back to Cheng Simin. “I heard it from your math class representative. He said that a few nights ago, he came here with his cousin to watch a movie. After the movie ended at around eleven, he saw you sitting on the steps watching people play basketball.”

“Cheng Simin, is basketball really that interesting? Why are you staying out so late?” Back when Class 3 and Class 4 combined for physical education classes, Shi Ying often joined the boys in playing basketball during free time. Cheng Simin, however, always used her period as an excuse to sit under the shade of a tree, listening to her MP3 player. She stayed lost in her own world, head bobbing along to the music, never once looking up.

“It’s not that interesting,” Cheng Simin replied. Her lingering here wasn’t because she particularly enjoyed basketball games. But during the holidays, this small patch of land in front of the movie theater was her only way to pass the time.

After starting middle school, her parents had long canceled the cable TV service at home. The remote control was covered in a thick layer of grease, and the only free channel they could access endlessly looped a few annoying songs she had memorized by heart.

It was pitiful, really. Despite Cheng Simin’s talkative and outgoing nature, full of enthusiasm for making friends, she had no one else besides Shi Ying throughout her upbringing. Even then, their friendship was confined to school days. During vacations, Shi Ying always had his own things to do, unlike her—alone and unoccupied.

There was no doubt about it: even wild children felt lonely. Even fifteen-year-old Cheng Simin, slow to mature, couldn’t escape that feeling.

Her barren heart seemed to harbor a growing black hole, craving some unnamed dark matter to fill it.

But Shi Ying had arrived just in time. Cheng Simin finally had the chance to do something she’d wanted to do for a long while but hadn’t been able to pull off.

Putting down her bottle of mineral water, she forced a radiant smile and eagerly grabbed hold of Shi Ying’s jersey. Without warning, she pleaded, “Shi Ying, do you have money on you? Can you rent me roller skates for an hour? I’ll pay you back when school starts.”

________________________________________

The request caught Shi Ying off guard. He paused, staring at Cheng Simin’s hopeful expression, her fingers gripping his jersey tightly. For a moment, he considered refusing—after all, roller skating wasn’t exactly his forte—but then he noticed the sincerity in her eyes. It wasn’t just about the activity itself; it was clear she needed this small escape from her otherwise monotonous life.

“Fine,” he relented, fishing out his wallet. “But don’t blame me if you fall and scrape your knees.”

Cheng Simin beamed, her whole face lighting up like the neon lights flickering above the movie theater entrance. She released his jersey and clapped her hands together excitedly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Watching her run off toward the skate rental booth, Shi Ying shook his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Despite her quirks, there was something endearing about Cheng Simin’s unfiltered enthusiasm. It reminded him of simpler times before life became complicated—before responsibilities weighed heavily on his shoulders.

As Cheng Simin strapped on the rented roller skates, wobbling slightly as she tried to find her balance, Shi Ying leaned against the wall, arms crossed, observing her progress. At first, she struggled, nearly toppling over several times. But soon enough, she found a rhythm, gliding awkwardly yet determinedly across the pavement.

Her laughter echoed through the night, drawing curious glances from passersby. For someone who usually kept to herself, Cheng Simin seemed transformed in that moment—free, carefree, and completely immersed in the joy of the experience.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” Shi Ying called out teasingly, pushing himself off the wall to join her.

Cheng Simin slowed down, turning to face him with a triumphant grin. “Told you I could handle it! Now, are you going to show me how it’s done properly?”

“I’m not the one who needs practice,” he shot back, though his tone lacked any real bite. Still, he stepped onto the makeshift skating area, effortlessly demonstrating smooth turns and graceful movements.

For a brief period, the tension between them dissolved. They laughed, teased, and shared lighthearted moments under the dim glow of the streetlights. It was easy to forget their earlier disagreements and focus solely on the present.

But as the hour drew to a close, reality began creeping back in. Cheng Simin returned the skates, reluctantly stepping out of the borrowed shoes and back into her worn sneakers. The magic of the evening lingered, but so did the unresolved issues hanging over their heads.

“So…” Cheng Simin started hesitantly as they walked side by side toward their respective homes. “About earlier… I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

Shi Ying glanced at her sideways, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t.”

She frowned, unsure whether to believe him. “Okay, well… thanks again for tonight. And for feeding Beibei. I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied nonchalantly, though his voice softened ever so slightly. “Just don’t disappear on me again.”

Cheng Simin nodded, relief washing over her. “Deal.”

They parted ways at the entrance to their building, each retreating to their own apartments. As Cheng Simin closed her door behind her, she leaned against it, exhaling deeply. Tonight hadn’t solved everything, but it was a start—a tentative step toward repairing the cracks in their relationship.

Meanwhile, Shi Ying stood on his balcony, gazing out at the city skyline. His thoughts drifted back to the past—their childhood memories, the gradual drift apart, and the recent misunderstandings. Despite everything, he couldn’t deny the lingering connection they shared.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late to bridge the gap.