Entranceway.
I had my shoes on, ready to head out, but Rinka stood planted in front of me, hands on her hips, her brows drawn together like I was giving her a headache.

“Uh… Lingmeng-chan, are you really going out like this?”

I nodded, firm and resolute.

“If I’m not dressed like this, I’m not going.”

“But that disguise of yours stands out just as much! People who don’t know you might think you’re some celebrity, and next thing you know, we’ve got paparazzi trailing us.”

I was wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a baseball cap — basically dressed like a fugitive. It clashed horribly with the sleek black dress I had on, but I had my reasons.

Honestly, one big reason I hate going out is that too many people in this urban village know my face. I’ve lived here since I was a kid, and the neighbours are way too familiar. If someone spotted me like this — especially someone like Aunt Zhao, who knows my mom — they might assume I’ve developed a thing for crossdressing, and that’d be a hard misunderstanding to clear up.

“Well, if you really don’t care about people staring at you funny, I guess I won’t say anything else.”

Since it was Rinka’s idea to go shopping, she reluctantly let my odd getup slide.

We had originally planned to take a taxi straight to the Tianping Commercial District, but taxis were rare in the village. We had to walk out to the main road Mifeng Street just to catch a glimpse of a few — and even then, none were free.

“We’re already this far. Let’s just walk the rest of the way. It’s not even that hot.”

Fei gave her suggestion after seeing Rinka waving for a cab for ages without success. And before Rinka or I could respond, she was already striding along the riverside road. Rinka and I exchanged a glance — and had no choice but to follow her lead.

It wasn’t hot, compared to the summer days before, but staying out in the sun for long still made my temperature rise. The mask trapped my breath and bounced the heat right back into my face — some of it even snuck down my neck. It was uncomfortable.

And the black dress I wore only made things worse, absorbing heat like a sponge. I could feel sweat trickling down my chest — it itched like ants crawling across my skin. The high collar only made it harder to scratch, so all I could do was awkwardly rub through the fabric. No relief.

We walked ten minutes along the treeless riverside road. Skyscrapers began rising up across the river, and the bridge loomed just ahead. Fei, who had been walking in front, suddenly slowed down. When I looked again, she had already fallen behind us.

I sneaked a glance and saw her gazing toward the underside of the bridge.

Was she reminiscing?

“How about we go check out the old spot?” I suggested.

There wasn’t much of value left there anymore, maybe just Old Feng’s food cart. Not that the cart itself was worth much.

Fei nodded silently, then stepped over the short guardrail and made her way down the rocky riverbank. Her pace quickened again — like someone eager to return home.

The space beneath the bridge hadn’t changed. Two small buildings nestled up against a pillar bore a sign: Bridge Maintenance Office. Between them stood a food cart covered in oilcloth, now thick with dust. The river’s humidity had clumped the dust into crusty layers.

Still, the bridge’s shade made the spot surprisingly cool. A soft breeze drifted in from the water.

“This is where Sis Fei used to live?” Rinka muttered, stunned. “This is just…”

She must’ve heard bits and pieces from Fei herself before, but this was her first time seeing it. She stopped short of finishing her sentence, frowning like the whole thing was hard to accept.

“If Grandma hadn’t meddled with your marriage with Aunt Huaying, you wouldn’t have had to live like this, right? …Ugh, this water’s disgusting!”

Rinka had tried using the outdoor tap to rinse her hands, only to get a yellowish trickle instead. The iron pipe must’ve rusted inside.

Fei didn’t enter the two small buildings — maybe she didn’t bring the key. She just went over to the cart and untied the ropes holding down the oilcloth. She shook her head at Rinka’s comment.

“If I couldn’t give Huaying a good life, if staying with me meant hardship for little Jing… then your grandmother taking her away was probably for the best.”

She said it like it was all her own fault.

That’s one of Fei’s flaws — she never blames anyone. Even when she first told us her story, she never pointed fingers. She’s just too honest.

“But they never found out who planted the poisonous salt, right? Isn’t there a chance the old hag — I mean, the school principal — had someone frame you just to force a divorce?”

Rinka immediately shut me down.

“No way. Grandma would never do something like that.”

Fei nodded in agreement. “If she really wanted us divorced, she wouldn’t need to go so far as to cause a death.”

“You’ve never even met my grandma, Lingmeng-chan! That kind of accusation’s way out of line.”

As another suffering victim in the boys' campus, I found it hard to feel positively toward the old woman — but since she was Rinka’s grandmother, I gave in.

“Sorry.”

Fei sighed, helpless. “She became that way because her husband abandoned her. That’s why she hates men.”

“Abandoned her?”

“They say he just disappeared one day. Gone without a trace.”

Wait, so her husband’s sudden disappearance left her emotionally scarred?

That’s eerily similar to what happened with my own dad…

One woman ended up hating all men. My dad? He became afraid of all women. It’s hard not to draw a connection. If I hadn’t seen my mom’s photo, I’d almost wonder if he and that old lady were secretly in some cross generation affair…

Rinka once told me her grandparents had already divorced before she was born.

I used to think her grandpa couldn’t stand her grandma’s personality — but if Fei’s version is true, then maybe he’s the real root of her twisted bitterness.

“Sis Fei, have you ever met Rinka’s grandpa? What kind of person was he?”

“No, I only know what Huaying told me.”

“I see…”

Fei tilted her head. “Lingmeng, why are you so curious about this?”

“My mom disappeared when I was really little — before I was even old enough to remember. I’m just wondering if the two cases might be connected somehow.”

Her disappearance isn’t exactly a secret. Everyone in the village knows. I’d already told Rinka, so I figured I might as well let Fei in on it too. She fell silent for a moment, thoughtful.

“I’ll ask Huaying for you tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Fei suddenly lifted the oilcloth.

Rinka and I both instinctively took a step back — a thick, rotten stench hit us, strong enough to get even through my mask. There shouldn’t be any food left inside, so it had to be mold from the cart itself.

“This cart’s done for,” I said flatly.

“Yeah, shame,” Fei said, genuinely disappointed. She covered it back up. “I’ll have to throw it away later.”

In the summer heat, down by the damp riverside, with all the wood in that cart? Of course it would mold. Now it was just a big, useless piece of junk. The bowls and utensils inside were probably still usable, but asking to keep those felt too miserly, so I held my tongue.

Rinka pinched her nose. “Sis Fei, are you still planning to be a chef?”

“Of course!” For once, her voice lifted with some energy.

“I’m going to open a restaurant someday — right here. I’ll rent out these two buildings, fix them up, and set up some tables by the river.”

It still sounded like nothing more than a better food stall, and I couldn’t tell if she’d really thought it through or if it was just a spur-of-the-moment dream. Still… it didn’t seem impossible.

The bridge underpass might look shabby now, but just across the river was the bustling Tianping Commercial District. If she actually opened a restaurant here, foot traffic wouldn’t be a problem. With Old Feng’s cooking and Fei’s charm now, it might really take off.

I found myself staring at her, a little dazed.

We’d only come under the bridge on a whim — our real destination was still across the river. But I didn’t mind the detour. After all, I got to witness something beautiful:

Fei, smiling without holding back.

It was as fleeting as a blooming night flower — but just as unforgettable.