TPIL - 9

Qi Xiaochuan didn’t respond.

The secretary walked ahead, standing between them. Before Qi Xiaochuan could even take out his membership card, he was already greeted by name and entered with satisfaction.

As previously described, the lighting in the store was just right—bright but not harsh on the eyes. The faint scent of incense wafted through the air, not too overpowering, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed black tea.

Qi Xiaochuan pulled out the umbrella he had received last time and discreetly hung it on the railing by the entrance before silently following inside.

They chose a seat by the wall. The cushions on the chairs were handwoven, with peach, blue, and off-white patterns interwoven—not monotonous at all, and exquisitely crafted.

While Qi Xiaochuan glanced around to examine the hand-painted wall clock, the secretary approached carrying a tray with black tea, cream scones, and slices of cake. The shop wasn’t empty; there was another group of female students nearby. Children giggled softly, their whispers punctuated by frequent glances toward this corner.

The secretary took a sip of tea and teased awkwardly, “Sure enough, it’s quite strange for two grown men to come here to do handicrafts.”

Qi Xiaochuan was flipping through an embroidery pattern book. Hearing this, he looked up and scanned the room without restraint, causing the young girls to hurriedly avert their gazes. He said nothing, continuing with his task as if nothing had happened.

“Does the boss mind?” he asked.

“No,” Qi Xiaochuan replied indifferently. He never wasted any leisure time on trivial matters. “It doesn’t matter if kids say something unintentionally.”

The secretary hadn’t been modest about his embroidery skills—they were as unrelated to craftsmanship as using chickens to plow fields. To make matters worse, he had chosen an especially difficult pattern, stubbornly insisting on creating a full embroidery of his lover’s photograph. Qi Xiaochuan immediately searched for a factory-made custom photo embroidery on Taobao for him, which cost 35 yuan after applying a coupon, with free nationwide shipping.

“Boss Qi,” the secretary raised his head, emboldened by the post-work hours to be slightly disrespectful, “don’t you think your life is incredibly boring?”

“Say that again,” Qi Xiaochuan lifted his head. He swore he wasn’t threatening—he genuinely hadn’t heard clearly—but his habitual ferocious tone made it sound like he was about to murder someone and eat them.

Fortunately, the secretary had guts and continued fearlessly: “You’ve basically been working nonstop recently. When you’re not working, you just go home and sleep. What did you do during your last vacation? Oh, right—the Tai Chi tournament where you argued with the organizers over whether prize money should be taxed. That was two years ago. As your subordinate, I’m still quite worried about my boss’s mental state.”

Qi Xiaochuan gave a hollow smile and retorted, “I’m not giving you a raise.” With that, he snatched the barely started embroidery from the secretary and began working on it himself.

The embroidery base had already been prepared; it only needed further processing based on the original design. Qi Xiaochuan worked on it for a while, occasionally glancing at the instruction manual. He then pulled out his phone, skillfully navigating to a screenshot of an e-book tutorial he had saved, enlarging it for reference. His expertise was undeniable.

The secretary, with buttery hands from eating bread, wiped them with a napkin and asked, “Wow, what’s that?”

“Yoko Kojima,” Qi Xiaochuan paused, expecting the other person to figure it out on their own. After waiting a long time without a response, he sneered at the secretary and calmly explained, “Her ribbon embroidery tutorials are excellent and can inspire many ideas. Adding some will enrich it significantly.”

The secretary struggled to conceal his panic and asked, “Boss, honestly, have you encountered anything troubling recently?”

Qi Xiaochuan shot him a glare and coolly remarked, “The stitching here is fine—it’s easy to work with.”

The secretary chuckled, cupping his face. Before he could say anything, another voice joined the conversation: “Thank you!”

Luo Andi appeared, and in an instant, Qi Xiaochuan became uncomfortable. He shifted his body, accidentally stitching in the wrong place, and frantically tried to fix it without making his movements too obvious.

Luo Andi said, “Your hands are so skilled.”

She smiled, her expression as clear and romantic as ever, like clusters of cherry blossoms blooming luxuriantly in spring, transforming into a radiant yet pure scene.

Qi Xiaochuan didn’t respond. The secretary, accustomed to smoothing things over for his “socially awkward” boss, chimed in with a few polite remarks.

He said, “This cushion is beautiful.”

“Is it?” Luo Andi covered her mouth lightly, her gesture natural and unforced. “Would you like to try making one next time?”

“Can this be made? Are there other courses?”

She wore the store’s uniform, its colors soft, with the skirt reaching knee-length. Whether worn or observed, it didn’t impose any burden. “There are many options. According to the schedule, the next class should be needle felting.”

“Needle felting? What’s that?”

Qi Xiaochuan threaded his needle, his brows furrowing deeper, hoping they would end the conversation soon.

Luo Andi explained, “It’s the process of poking wool with needles until it felts and takes the shape of a craft.”

“What? You can do that? Does the wool feel pain?”

“Hahaha, hopefully not. Let’s hope not.”

For some reason, the secretary’s voice sounded particularly grating and noisy that day.

Qi Xiaochuan suddenly tapped the table.

The teacup trembled with a crisp sound, and they both turned to look at him. He said, “Can you be quiet?”

Luo Andi still smiled, unfazed, and nodded slightly. “Of course. I’m very sorry for disturbing you. Do you need help with anything?”

Unexpectedly, Qi Xiaochuan didn’t hide his lack of expertise. He handed her the embroidery directly, sliding his finger across the diagram and pointing. “There’s something wrong here…”

“Mm,” Luo Andi leaned down to add lines, her soft hair falling like the translucent wings of a dragonfly, swaying silently. “Let me handle it.”

When concentrating, she had a habit of pursing her lips slightly—quickly and subtly, almost imperceptibly. It was such a simple gesture. Long ago, Qi Xiaochuan had complained about it: “Are you a wind instrument player?” She finished effortlessly, her hands moving deftly as if born for this task. Tilting his gaze, he found himself staring at her temple, his covert observation exposed. He quickly averted his eyes, but she focused intently on him instead.

“Sir,” Luo Andi said, “you look so unhappy.”

A curse—a powerful one at that. Qi Xiaochuan was caught off guard: “What?”

The secretary, who had gone outside to answer a call, rushed back just in time to break the awkward moment. “I’ll head back first. Something came up with my girlfriend.”

“Eh?” Luo Andi’s attention shifted. She picked up the briefcase on the seat and handed it to him. “What happened? Take it easy—don’t forget anything. Do you need help calling a taxi?”

He hurriedly replied, drinking the remaining tea in one gulp before leaving: “No, it’s fine.”

Qi Xiaochuan also stood up: “What happened?”

“Her mother is pregnant.”

“What?”

“Yes, her mother is pregnant again. My girlfriend’s mother. She’s furious—crying, throwing tantrums, and threatening suicide. Her parents are over fifty and having a second child…” The secretary explained as he walked out.

Left behind, Qi Xiaochuan and Luo Andi didn’t exchange glances but simultaneously fell silent.

What else was said afterward? Qi Xiaochuan couldn’t remember. He only knew that Luo Andi returned to the counter, and he continued embroidering, focusing deeply on the face of a woman he had never met. It wasn’t a small project, but he was fully absorbed. He didn’t notice the subtle changes in the light until his teacup was refilled. After staring at the needlework for so long, his vision blurred, and when he looked up, he couldn’t see her face clearly for a moment. Luo Andi said, “Don’t forget to rest too.”

She truly hadn’t changed at all.

Luo Andi, who smiled carefree even during farewells; Luo Andi, who couldn’t leave anyone uncared for; Luo Andi, who had disappeared without a trace for so many years.

Judging that it wouldn’t be completed at this pace, Qi Xiaochuan placed the unfinished handicraft back in its spot and got up to settle the bill.

Luo Andi handled the cash register with practiced ease. She didn’t wear nail polish, and her fingers were smooth without any dead skin. Her slender fingertips accentuated her knuckles, and her lowered gaze made her eyelashes stand out prominently.

Qi Xiaochuan stared at her, but his thoughts drifted back to many years ago.

Suddenly, Luo Andi extended her hand toward him.

Unsure of what she intended, he hesitated, looking at her uncertainly. She didn’t withdraw her hand but instead gazed at him with that clean, innocent look.

Qi Xiaochuan felt abruptly flustered. It was that long-forgotten sense of confusion—he hadn’t felt it in a long time, that feeling of not knowing what to do. It was something he’d only experienced as a child.

He could lower his head, obediently bowing to her, and kiss the back of her hand.

But the outcome was unexpected. Luo Andi blinked, neither offended nor amused, and politely responded, “Um, here’s your receipt.”

He froze, suddenly realizing what he had overlooked. She hadn’t simply extended her hand; between her thumb and palm lay a grayish piece of paper, blending seamlessly with the gray tablecloth.

At that moment, no words could describe Qi Xiaochuan’s feelings—humiliation, embarrassment, awkwardness. It was as if he had slipped violently on ice, and under everyone’s watchful eyes. Unable to determine whether the heat rising to his cheeks stemmed from anger or shame, he found himself speechless, his throat blocked.

Qi Xiaochuan took the receipt, said nothing, and resolutely prepared to step into the storm outside.

However, before he could leave, Luo Andi spoke: “Is… is that Xiaoxiao?”

Qi Xiaochuan hoped she wouldn’t recognize him. If possible, he wished he could be buried in the Mariana Trench, deep enough to remain undiscovered even during the apocalypse or an alien invasion.

Luo Andi smiled and said with certainty, “It’s Xiaoxiao, isn’t it?”

This time, her tone was much more confident, filled with joy as she approached. Reflected in her eyes, he looked utterly foolish, every word and action unbearably awkward.

“Ahem,” Qi Xiaochuan dryly greeted, “Hello.”

“I wondered why I had such a dream last night. Turns out it’s because I’d meet Xiaoxiao today.” Luo Andi’s smile revealed heartbreakingly sweet dimples. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you at first. You’ve really changed so much.”

The change wasn’t an excuse. Reflecting belatedly, Qi Xiaochuan realized others around him had mentioned similar things.

In the past, he had been a standard pauper, splitting a single yuan into two halves to spend. He bought two advertising shirts for twenty yuan each, rotating them endlessly. Even in college, during a university marathon, he wore his high school uniform, prompting the organizing committee to repeatedly announce over the loudspeaker, “The charity scholarship venue is elsewhere; this is the marathon.” Though his participation was indeed for a year’s worth of meal tickets. Ironically, even after becoming wealthy, his external upgrades amounted to buying twelve twenty-yuan advertising shirts at once instead of two. When friends complained, he argued confidently, “Isn’t that ten more shirts? What more do you want?”

But that was only in private. For business discussions, formal attire was often necessary, as many business partners wouldn’t deal with someone who didn’t look successful. Reluctantly, he had to tidy up his appearance. Over time, he occasionally dressed impeccably, though he remained unaware of his good looks. The only activity where he maintained his austere habits was getting a ten-yuan haircut from the old man under the bridge.

So, he had truly changed.

“There are some things that haven’t changed,” Luo Andi said with a smile. “What about me? Have I changed a lot? Back then, we were still children, not fully grown. Now we’ve become mature.”

Qi Xiaochuan didn’t know how to respond. Absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against his palm, he muttered, “Uh, yes.”

“Oh, that reminds me…” Luo Andi began, but another employee descended the stairs, wearing the same uniform. The young woman said, “I’m here to take over your shift.” “Okay,” Luo Andi replied, stepping out from behind the cash register. As she emerged, Qi Xiaochuan felt something amiss in his chest—restlessness, or perhaps nervousness.

He said, “You’re off work?”

“Mm,” she smiled.

“Then…” Qi Xiaochuan didn’t know how he managed to say this. “Would you like to have dinner together?”

He inexplicably felt like a condemned man walking willingly to the gallows.