TPIL - 4

What on earth was he doing?

Seated at a round table covered with a white cotton lace-edged tablecloth, surrounded by three middle-aged women he had never met before, Qi Xiaochuan held an embroidery hoop, smelled the strong aroma of scented tea, and compared the pattern printed on glossy paper. As he held the needle, an earnest question escaped his lips: “What on earth am I doing?”

The female staff member had already greeted them earlier, but she couldn’t help but hover nearby now, especially paying close attention to today’s—and perhaps the past half-month’s—only male customer.

Male customers weren’t entirely unheard of in craft stores, but they were rare. Moreover, most of them came accompanied by female friends or family members. Someone like Qi Xiaochuan, who walked in alone, was practically a national treasure. On top of that, his down-to-earth, highly practical attire stood out like a sore thumb here. He wore a black jacket over a gray high-necked sweater. If not for his youthful and handsome face, he might have been mistaken for someone from the nearby senior activity center asking if they sold camel milk powder or cordyceps slices as soon as he entered.

As luck would have it, the staff member happened to be a single young woman. Unable to contain her curiosity, she approached him eagerly, only to find the male customer currently stitching lilacs looking profoundly miserable. Even when pricking his finger with the needle, he remained unfazed, silently accepting a band-aid and immediately returning to his work without uttering a word.

After wiping away the bead of blood with a tissue, Qi Xiaochuan recalled a subordinate at the company predicting a “bloody disaster” days ago. He felt an overwhelming urge to call the man right then and ask him to divine the second half of the year’s prospects, followed by drafting a project risk mitigation plan and profitability analysis.

It’s worth noting that while Luo Andi could be blamed for landing him in this predicament, it wasn’t exactly her fault either.

Half an hour earlier, outside this very craft store, Qi Xiaochuan had spontaneously asked strangers if he could join their class, only to be politely rejected. However, the person hadn’t been unkind; instead, they kindly informed him about trial lessons. Thus, through a twist of fate, he ended up joining their embroidery group.

But as the female clerk behind the counter recorded their details, Qi Xiaochuan’s heart sank like a frog falling into a vat of milk. The sweetness of the milk masked the fact that sinking meant certain death—a complex swirl of emotions. Purely because he realized the person wasn’t Luo Andi.

Not only was she not Luo Andi, but the difference in appearance was so stark there was no chance of mistaking them.

Had he perhaps drunk coffee made from damp beans, leading to food poisoning and hallucinations?

The interior of the craft shop was meticulously decorated, evoking words like “softness” and “blurry.” Its warm tones, relaxing instrumental music, materials predominantly cotton or solid wood, and subtle yet pleasant fragrances created an atmosphere where ordinary people might indeed find solace.

Unfortunately, Qi Xiaochuan clearly fell outside the category of “ordinary people” once again.

The more relaxed the environment, the more uncomfortable he felt. He had always thought this way. A tranquil setting only heightened his sense of impending danger, as though clown heads were lurking everywhere ready to pop out and startle him. With suspicion brimming in his eyes, he scrutinized his surroundings.

The female staff member tidied shelves near them, unaware she had become something akin to Sima Zhao. The housewives attending the lesson exchanged knowing smiles but refrained from commenting, carrying on with their own conversations.

Finally, she sauntered over to Qi Xiaochuan’s side: “Do you need some help?”

Despite moving soundlessly, Qi Xiaochuan still wasn’t startled. Ignoring her concern, he placed the embroidery hoop carelessly on the table like the world’s most ill-mannered person and stood up, his brow furrowed deeply, his face radiating displeasure.

The staff member quickly interjected: “The smoking room is on the second floor—”

“I’m done,” he replied succinctly, speaking rapidly and decisively, cutting off her sentence mid-air.

“Oh, alright… Eh?” Both the staff member and the other women crafting nearby turned their gazes toward him in unison.

Qi Xiaochuan’s abandoned embroidery hoop lay directly on the table. They gathered around, and the first to speak was the housewife who had earlier been on the phone with her companion: “Wow! Young man! You really don’t show your true colors! Which factory did you come from?”

When asked about his workplace, he merely continued frowning. Even the seasoned staff member was taken aback, stammering in admiration: “Who taught you padded embroidery?”

“Isn’t it written in that book?” He gestured toward the embroidery instruction book he had randomly picked from the shelf.

“Even so, mastering it without guidance is impressive.”

“Yes, yes!”

“You’re incredibly skilled.”

Despite the onslaught of praise, Qi Xiaochuan remained utterly unmoved. Logically speaking, anyone being complimented should feel somewhat mollified, but he was an exception—an anti-social anomaly who defied all expectations. His expression remained as grim as someone burdened with eight million yuan in debt.

“Would you like it framed? Or perhaps made into a handkerchief?” the staff member asked.

Qi Xiaochuan looked at her with the same bewildered expression one might reserve for a patient, bluntly asking: “What?”

“You have to take it home, right?”

“Why?” He genuinely didn’t understand, as though questioning the sanity of those who came here specifically to spend money on crafts. In reality, others came for leisure and relaxation, whereas wasting time without deriving any comfort truly marked someone as a monumental fool. And this colossal fool was still asking, “Do I really have to take it home?”

He didn’t rush to leave, however.

Qi Xiaochuan washed his hands. With no customers around, the second floor lights were off. While drying his hands, he noticed the employee information on the wall. The third photo in the second row depicted a woman smiling at the camera. Though perhaps phrased delicately, he had never imagined her reaching this age. In his mind, Luo Andi had always been a child, wearing dresses and intricate hairstyles, playing princess games.

That day, he found himself inexplicably heading home.

His residence was the only expenditure in recent years that matched his income. Nevertheless, even within his circle, collaborators hadn’t spared him mockery. The garden was fully paid for and maintained by professionals, cleanliness upheld regularly, preserving the bare minimum dignity. The interior lacked any personal style, resembling a villa hotel.

Later, the partner’s daughter received a special birthday gift from Qi Xiaochuan, who was currently in retail. This entrepreneur, whose wealth rivaled—or surpassed—her father’s during his youth, gifted her an embroidered handkerchief that looked like something costing 1.5 yuan in Yiwu’s wholesale market. She promptly tossed it into the trash bin.

Qi Xiaochuan remained oblivious, and even if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared beyond muttering a few curses—it was, after all, his first and last embroidery piece.

He received contact from the craft store on the Sabbath of that weekend.

When registering for the trial lesson, Qi Xiaochuan had left his work number but hadn’t provided his name. When they called, his secretary answered. Ordinarily, such trivial matters would be handled discreetly, but during lunchtime, the secretary casually mentioned as gossip: “You went to that craft store? They called.”

Qi Xiaochuan was eating takeout satay noodles at the time, failing to bite through a noodle, so he only spoke after finishing: “What?”

“Next time, should we go together? Although two grown men might be mistaken for a couple. I haven’t mentioned this before, but despite appearances, I loved the show Art Attack when I was in elementary school… Has President Qi seen it? No way, surely everyone has heard of the Little Dragon Club?”

Qi Xiaochuan restrained his temper: “What did that store call for?”

Though he hadn’t left his name, his heart still fluttered nervously for a moment. The frog tried jumping out of the milk cup again. He heard the secretary, slurping wontons, reply: “You left your jacket there.”

The frog sank back into the milk, silent forever.

He finished work at ten in the evening, but the craft store was already closed. At six in the morning, when he arrived at the office, the store hadn’t opened yet. After delaying for several days, Qi Xiaochuan didn’t ask anyone for help. Instead, he contacted them beforehand and went to retrieve it himself one evening after work.

Parking by the roadside, rain poured outside. He quickened his pace into the store, shaking off water droplets from his trench coat. Glancing around the interior, he saw no one.

Hesitating between waiting briefly or leaving, the staff member he’d met last time finally arrived, handing over his neatly folded jacket with both hands crossed and a radiant smile. He had worn this jacket for years. Qi Xiaochuan thanked her briefly, lingered not a moment longer, and turned to leave.

The rain seemed heavier. He glanced upward, hearing the staff discussing shift changes behind him.

Qi Xiaochuan walked out.

The sound of splashing water mingled with a voice calling out: “Wait! Wait a moment!” The voice was clumsy and unguarded. An umbrella bumped his neck, startling him momentarily before it hovered above his head like a cloud replacing the gray sky. Irritation welled up inside him.

Qi Xiaochuan rubbed his neck and turned around. There stood Luo Andi, holding the umbrella mostly outside herself, her hair soaked by the rain, wearing the craft store’s uniform, smiling at him.

“It’s raining,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Let’s walk under the umbrella.”