Hopeless Romance (GL) - Chapter 49

Chapter 49

In China, there are many cities where you can see the sea. Ye Du had never been anywhere anyway, so she wasn’t picky and went along with Chen Pupu’s wishes. They avoided cities Pupu had already visited and finally settled on Xiamen; Pupu always felt the sea there was gentler than in Sanya.

The flight from Yunchuan to Xiamen took about three hours. As soon as the plane took off, Chen Pupu pulled out her eye mask and earplugs, ready to sleep. It was Ye Du’s first time flying, and she wasn’t quite adjusted to it. Moreover, as Pupu slept, her head eventually slumped onto Ye Du’s shoulder. Fearing that Pupu would be uncomfortable, Ye Du stayed awake the whole way, her mind preoccupied. By the time the flight attendants began serving meals, Ye Du found her left shoulder aching; when she handed Pupu a cup of water, her hand was so stiff she nearly dropped it.

Pupu led the way, taking the airport shuttle and then a taxi to reach the hotel. Although Ye Du wasn’t used to being looked after, she felt happy because this trip was for just the two of them. However, when the receptionist confirmed their room type, Ye Du felt her face go crimson. The phrase “You’ve booked one room with a king-sized bed for four nights, correct?” echoed in her mind. Even without travel experience, she knew exactly what a “king-sized bed” implied.

Inside the elevator, Pupu decided to explain: “Rooms with one big bed are a bit cheaper than twins.” The silence in the elevator only made Pupu’s slight guilt more obvious. Not knowing how to respond but feeling she had to, Ye Du simply hummed in acknowledgement. When the doors opened, she took Pupu’s suitcase. Pupu’s luggage was surprisingly heavy; she had packed so much that some of her things had ended up in Ye Du’s suitcase. Upon entering the room, Ye Du immediately began hanging up clothes and placing toiletries in the bathroom. Exhausted from the journey, Pupu collapsed onto the bed, watching Ye Du’s organized movements with a touch of embarrassment. Still too tired to move, she said coaxingly, “Ye Du, I’ll just lie down for a tiny bit before I get up to tidy.”

Ye Du smiled as she hung the clothes, letting her rest. After finishing her own side, she naturally opened Pupu’s suitcase. One look inside explained the weight. For a five-day trip, Ye Du estimated Pupu had brought about ten outfits, four pairs of shoes, plus hats and accessories. Unsure where to start, Ye Du simply arranged the clothes and shoes. When she stood up, she saw Pupu had already fallen asleep face-down on the bed. Ye Du marveled at how much she could sleep—on the plane, in the car, and now the hotel; it seemed Pupu had hardly been awake. Checking the time, Ye Du saw there were two hours before dinner—enough for Pupu to get a good nap. She drew the curtains and lay down on the other side of the bed.

When she woke up, Ye Du realized she had somehow moved closer to Pupu. Pupu’s fingertips were just barely touching the skin of her arm. That faint, ephemeral contact felt like a tiny claw scratching at her heart, jolting her awake. Moving with extreme caution to avoid waking Pupu, she tiptoed to the bathroom to wash her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, Ye Du felt a flicker of self-loathing. In this small, private space, she had to admit to her own “wickedness”: the moment she opened her eyes and saw Pupu’s familiar face so close, her first instinct had been to touch her, even to kiss her. She felt like a voyeur in the dark, coveting a treasure she couldn’t have.

By the time Ye Du emerged, Pupu was awake and sitting on the sofa playing with her phone. She greeted Ye Du with a bright smile, saying she was looking up the route to the restaurant. Ye Du handed her a bottle of water and sat on the sofa to wait. Although it was only June, Xiamen was already sweltering. Fortunately, the restaurant was in a mall where it was cooler. They caught a bus during rush hour; it was packed, with no seats left. Ye Du pulled Pupu into her spot so she could hold the handrail, while Ye Du stood beside her, bracing against the bus’s movements to maintain her balance.

The evening sun was still brilliant—a kind of brightness that the wind couldn’t blow away. Pupu, eager to see the sunset by the sea, hurried Ye Du toward the restaurant, hoping to finish dinner in time to catch the last of the light. Following the rule of trying local specialties in a new city, they each ordered a bowl of Shacha noodles, along with oyster omelets and wu xiang (fried five-spice rolls). Pupu frowned after the first bite of the oyster omelet; it was her first time tasting a sweet-and-sour omelet, and the texture of the oysters felt strange. She gave up after two bites. The other snacks didn’t quite suit her palate either. Ye Du tried to finish them to avoid waste, but as the saying goes, “a forced melon isn’t sweet.” They settled the bill with nearly half the food left, but thanks to the unappealing snacks, the meal was quick. Stepping out of the mall, they saw a sky of purple and pink bleeding into the sea. Pupu was ecstatic, urging Ye Du to hurry, but Ye Du, carrying her camera and bag, didn’t dare run for fear of bumping her equipment. Watching Pupu run ahead with small steps, her shoulder-length hair dancing in the sea breeze, her face partially obscured but even more charming, Ye Du couldn’t help but stop to snap a photo.

Looking down from the bridge, the tide surged onto the beach; looking up, the distant sea was a quiet, deep blue; further back, the mountains and clouds blurred together. As twilight faded into night, the colors of the sky and sea shifted and merged. Ye Du took several photos—some with Pupu in the frame, some of just the scenery. To Ye Du, it was a night of such beauty that she wished time would stop right there—for the sea to stop surging, the light to stop changing, and for the girl she loved to remain forever before her eyes, giving her love a chance to be conveyed. Even if time couldn’t stop, Ye Du was grateful for such a grand romance in her otherwise ordinary life.

“Ye Du, look! That star is so bright!” It wasn’t Pupu’s first time seeing the sea, yet she seemed more excited and happy than a first-timer. The passing pedestrians, the scattered stars, the wind messing up her hair—everything seemed wonderful to her.

“I don’t know its name, though,” Ye Du replied, following Pupu’s finger to the brilliant star. That was her first thought.

“You really have a thirst for knowledge! You should study astronomy in college, then you’ll know for sure.” Pupu leaned over the railing, stretching her body out as far as possible to catch the sea breeze. Fearing she might fall and knowing she couldn’t swim herself, Ye Du instinctively pulled her back. Pupu, too happy to mind, just smiled at her. As night deepened and the crowds thinned, Pupu stood out vividly against the backdrop of the wind, waves, and darkness. In Ye Du’s eyes, Pupu’s crescent-shaped smile held a light more radiant than the stars—the light Ye Du had always been chasing.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Seeing Ye Du dazed, Pupu leaned in closer to ask. Ye Du snapped back to reality. “I’m not studying astronomy. I want to major in English.” She managed to find her voice just in time. “That’s good. It feels like many jobs need English these days.” Pupu turned back toward the sea and added, “Ye Du, I checked on my phone today. R University is very far from Yunchuan.” Many times further than the distance from one side of this sea to the other.

Pupu’s slender silhouette seemed to blur in the wind. Ye Du stepped up beside her, looking out at the water, and said, “But the distance between us is very close.” A closeness that transcends thousands of miles of mountains and rivers. Hearing this, Pupu suddenly relaxed, leaning her head toward Ye Du’s side on her outstretched hand, as if trying to reach for something.

…

While drying her hair, Pupu added the task to the very top of her “53 most hated things” list. Her hair was thick and coarse, making the process take forever. At home, her mother, Qin Wei, usually helped; now she had to do it herself. Pupu was sluggishly drying it when Ye Du, already showered, came out to find her still sitting on the bed with the dryer. Ye Du had tied her own damp hair into a bun. Seeing Pupu getting frustrated with the hair dryer, she took it from her. “Don’t be mad at it; it can’t hear you anyway.” Ye Du began drying Pupu’s hair, constantly checking if the heat or pressure was okay, being as gentle as possible. Pupu had brought her usual peach-scented shampoo; the heat of the dryer intensified the fragrance, filling Ye Du’s senses.

“Ye Du, if you ever find you can’t go on with your studies, don’t worry—you’ve got this skill to fall back on.” Pupu highly praised the service; Ye Du was even gentler than her mother. “Sure, then you’ll have to be a regular customer,” Ye Du replied, patiently waiting for Pupu’s response while towel-drying her own dripping hair.

“Deal, but I expect a member’s discount. Oh, hurry and dry your own hair; it’s so uncomfortable when it’s wet.” Obediently, Ye Du went to the bathroom to finish her own hair. Having skipped haircuts during the final months of senior year, her hair now reached her shoulder blades and took a while to dry. Bored of waiting, Pupu peeked into the bathroom and, wanting to return the favor, took the dryer from Ye Du. Fortunately, Ye Du had already dried the roots; otherwise, Pupu, who only reached Ye Du’s shoulder, would have struggled. Pupu tried to persist, but a hated chore remains a hated chore. She eventually clicked off the dryer and sighed, “I really hate drying hair.”

Ye Du laughed helplessly. “It’s fine. I won’t charge you for drying your hair.” She took the small appliance back, and Pupu happily skipped back to bed. Pupu slept on the right side while Ye Du took the side near the door. They chatted for a long time before exhaustion finally forced them to sleep. Despite her tiredness, Ye Du stayed alert, trying not to get too close to Pupu to avoid any inappropriate movements, yet not wanting to stay too far away lest it look like she was pointedly avoiding her. After all, the bed was only so big. In this state of self-vigilance, Ye Du woke up several times, each time finding she had instinctively pulled Pupu into her arms. She would quickly let go, only to drift off and repeat the cycle. Eventually, she gave up on sleep, slipped out of bed, and sat by the window, staring blankly at the sound of the waves.

What Ye Du didn’t know was that Pupu was also awake. Having always slept alone, she was sensitive to Ye Du’s movements. When she felt the embrace from behind, she could clearly hear her own nervous heartbeat. The steady breathing contrasted sharply with her own racing heart, and the scent unique to Ye Du brushed against her skin like an invisible net, holding her still. When no further move was made, Pupu couldn’t tell if she felt relieved or disappointed, but it wasn’t quite how she had imagined it.

Watching Ye Du’s silhouette through squinted eyes, Pupu suddenly felt that watching the sea at night was, after all, a lonely thing.

According to Pupu’s original itinerary, they spent their days in a “leave early, return late” rhythm. They visited almost every landmark—Xiamen University, Gulangyu, Zhongshan Road; they missed nothing. Pupu’s philosophy was that you might only visit a place once in a lifetime, so you had to experience it thoroughly. It was summer, and the rainy season hadn’t arrived, so every day was sunny, and every sunset was uniquely beautiful. A shop owner had recommended watching the sunset at Baicheng Beach, and after going once, Pupu decided they should walk there every evening. Ye Du agreed, noting that it made them look more like locals than tourists.

Baicheng Beach was crowded, and the evening temperature was perfect. It was lively by the shore. Taking off their shoes, they could walk into the water; the sand felt sharp and slightly stinging, but when the waves hit, people were usually too busy cheering to worry about the pain. They would stay until the sky turned dark before gathering their things to find dinner. Sometimes, if the restaurant wasn’t too far, they would walk, following their phone maps through deep, narrow alleys. They passed convenience stores, stray cats, community sports fields, “Ah Mei’s Hair Salon,” various seafood stalls, and locals enjoying the cool air. Night by night, they walked through a part of Xiamen.

While finishing her second chicken wing, Pupu took a sip of Sprite and said to Ye Du, “Xiamen is so romantic. I don’t want to leave.”

“Let’s stay then. We’ll change the tickets—no, we’ll just refund them,” Ye Du joked, caught up in the mood as if she were drunk.

Pupu burst out laughing. “Then we’d have to find jobs, otherwise we won’t have money for food.”

“No problem. I can be a tutor. While I still remember high school and I’m still ‘smart,’ I can work hard and earn enough. I won’t let you go hungry,” Ye Du said seriously, as if it were a real plan.

“Then I can teach kids the piano. I’m not as smart as you, but I can earn us snack money.” Pupu gestured in the air as if playing an invisible piano. “But Ye Du, you’re not eighteen yet. Isn’t child labor illegal?” Ye Du was born in the latter half of the year, so although it wasn’t obvious, she was actually a few months younger than Pupu.

“Whatever, I’ll be an adult soon anyway.” Soon, she could earn her own money, have her own life, make her own decisions, and pursue the existence she had always craved.

“Then… a toast to our future!” The clear Sprite in the glass looked like white liquor. Perhaps dazed by the warm wind, they treated the soda like wine. They turned a quiet night into a celebration, the crisp clinking of glasses sparking laughter. In this chaotic joy, Ye Du found a sliver of clarity. She realized that Pupu meant more to her than she could ever say. Only Ye Du knew how much encouragement and hope this girl had given her. Life had many possibilities, and Pupu was the living proof of the most precious one: the happiness found in the ordinary.

“Thank you for giving me something to look forward to.” The words were too heavy; Ye Du didn’t dare say them out loud. She kept them in her heart, waiting for the day she could finally deliver them to the person who deserved to hear them.