To Get Married - Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Manzhu sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought for a moment. It wasn’t long before Lu Yudong emerged from the bathroom.

She had changed into a pale pink gown. Stepping lightly toward the sofa, she placed her old clothes down, then took a few playful hops toward Manzhu. Grabbing the edges of her skirt, she spun in a circle, blinked her lively eyes, and stood perfectly still with a well-behaved expression, looking like she was waiting for a critique.

At eighteen, though the young girl’s features still held a trace of childishness, they had clearly matured. Her face was lean, her eyes and brows refined. Even without makeup, she was a true beauty in the making. With the right clothes on, she was a sight to behold.

Seeing her, Manzhu couldn’t help but let her beautiful eyes curve into a smile. “Truly beautiful.”

Lu Yudong was delighted. She walked to Manzhu’s side and tentatively picked up the next outfit. “Can I try them all?”

Seeing Yudong’s cautious manner, Manzhu couldn’t help but chuckle. “They are all yours to begin with.”

Yudong pursed her lips and smiled. She immediately kicked off her slippers, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the open curtains tightly shut. Once the room was dim, she hopped back down and said shyly, “It’s a bit slow for me to put these on alone. Sister, will you help me?”

“Alright,” Manzhu nodded with a smile.

With Manzhu’s help, Lu Yudong tried on the new clothes one by one. At first, she was a bit embarrassed, but as they went on, her inner “beauty-lover” took over. For every outfit, she stood before the full-length mirror and took a photo with her phone, covering her face.

By the time she reached the last outfit, Yudong sat beside Manzhu, organized her photos on her phone, and happily posted them to her Weibo.

Lu Yudong rarely used Weibo; she usually only logged in because Zhang Ziyun asked for a like. She didn’t have many followers—mostly just enthusiastic classmates. To be honest, she preferred writing in her diary over expressing her feelings in a place where others could see. But she was so happy today, her heart so full of joy, that she didn’t know who else to boast to or share with, yet she didn’t want to keep it to herself. So, she posted it.

Perhaps because the Gaokao had just ended and everyone was idle, she received two likes almost immediately. A comment soon appeared from a user whose nickname she hadn’t memoized.

Has Xiao Hong Slept Enough Today: Omg, did your sister give you all of these? I’m so jealous of this ‘God-tier’ sister. Can you ask if she needs another little sister?

Lu Xiao Dong Dong: Replying to @Has Xiao Hong Slept Enough Today: No vacancy! No vacancy! Having me is enough!

Has Xiao Hong Slept Enough Today: Replying to @Lu Xiao Dong Dong: Every single set looks so ethereal and pretty. I want to buy Hanfu too, but I don’t have the money, and I’m afraid my parents won’t allow it. The ones your sister got look so well-fitted! You’re already pretty; if you did your hair, you’d look even better.

Lu Yudong’s joy and the upward curve of her lips didn’t escape Manzhu’s eyes. Manzhu leaned over to look at the screen. Seeing someone praising her, she couldn’t help but ask, “Who is that?” It seemed there were sweet-talkers everywhere trying to flirt with her little girl.

“I don’t have them labeled; I don’t remember who it is,” Yudong said. She looked up at Manzhu expectantly. “Sister, will you do my hair then?” Growing up, she never learned to do anything besides ponytails or simple braids.

“Of course. I’ll do it for you every day,” Manzhu smiled and patted Yudong’s head.

Yudong nodded, then suddenly remembered something. “Sister, aren’t you going to the bar tonight?”

Summer days were long, but the sky outside was finally dimming. Usually, even on Saturdays after picking Yudong up, Manzhu would already be at the bar by this time.

“You just finished your exams; I want to spend more time with you,” Manzhu said, glancing at the clock. “I am a bit late, though. Should I head out?”

“Mhm!”

“Are you not coming with me today? You haven’t seen everyone in a long time, and they all miss you,” Manzhu said, gently taking Yudong’s hands. “You can just sit there and have a snack or a drink. Your Little Master is paying anyway. Now that the Gaokao is over, shouldn’t you have a glass or two?”

Manzhu knew that if she brought Yudong to Not An Old Friend, the two girls would inevitably meet. She hadn’t wanted this originally, but she didn’t want Yudong to go on their trip with a heavy heart. Things needed a resolution. Whether Yudong and Ziyun reconciled or cut ties completely, it was better than this stagnant state of hidden anxiety.

“I… am I allowed to drink again?” Yudong asked cautiously.

Yan Zhaomu’s cocktails were delicious. She had wanted to try them since middle school, and after finally tasting one on her eighteenth birthday, she had been eager to try more but was afraid Manzhu would be unhappy.

Manzhu nodded. “You always were. You’re an eighteen-year-old woman now.”

Yudong’s eyes lit up for a moment, then dimmed slightly. Manzhu pinched her cheek and said seriously, “I don’t know what you and Zhang Ziyun fought about, but knots in the heart should be untied, shouldn’t they? If you keep avoiding her, are you going to make your Uncle choose between you two?”

Lu Yudong stared at Manzhu in a daze for a long time before she realized what that meant. The people at the bar had watched her grow up. If she truly stopped going there to avoid Ziyun, Mu Chenshan might actually fire Ziyun. Ziyun loved that job and needed it—with her family’s current situation, she’d likely need a part-time job even in university. If she were driven away, she’d have to find work elsewhere where the conditions and pay wouldn’t be as good.

She didn’t want to avoid Ziyun forever; she was just afraid… afraid her answer that day had made Ziyun unhappy, and unsure of how to face a Ziyun who had stopped initiating contact.

Would Ziyun even want to see her? They were effectively avoiding each other.

After hesitating for a few seconds, Yudong finally nodded. She couldn’t hide forever. The people at the bar were like family, and she and Ziyun were going to the same university. They would see each other eventually; some problems had to be faced.

That night, she changed into light casual clothes and followed Manzhu to the bar. By the time they arrived, it was dark. Mu Chenshan hurried forward, grumbling, to hustle Manzhu—who was very late without notice—to her post.

Lu Yudong stood at the bar for a moment, then somewhat awkwardly greeted Yan Zhaomu and Zhang Ziyun.

Ziyun smiled as usual, stood up from her stool, and leaned over the counter. “Want something to drink?”

Yudong walked over, feeling flustered. She looked at Yan Zhaomu, then at Ziyun, and hesitated. “Just whatever? Something that doesn’t get me drunk easily.”

“The Gaokao is over, why stay sober?” Ziyun asked. “Why not let loose for once?”

Yudong shook her head, thinking it was better not to get drunk, or Manzhu would have to support her dizzy self all the way home again.

Ziyun thought for a moment. “A Bloody Mary, then. You won’t get drunk on that.”

“Okay,” Yudong said, sitting on a high stool. She looked at Yan Zhaomu. “Thank you, Little Master. I’ll have that.” She rested her chin in her hands and watched his hands move as he mixed the drink.

Two weeks was a length of time neither long nor short. Their lack of contact had been deliberate, yet seeing each other now, it didn’t feel impossible to talk. However, Ziyun had changed; she was less enthusiastic, carrying an subtle sense of distance.

Yudong even wondered: at this distance, if she just pretended she didn’t know anything, could they go back to being friends? Could they act like nothing happened?

But she hated that thought. She couldn’t know someone’s feelings and pretend to be oblivious while remaining intimate. In her heart, she felt things had to be cleared up. She had to tell Ziyun there was no possibility between them; otherwise, it would be a waste—a trampling of a sincere heart.

As she hesitated, Yan Zhaomu handed her the glass. The drink was blood-red, garnished with a lemon slice. Yudong took a small sip and looked up. “Little Master, can I talk to Zhang Ziyun alone for a bit?”

Yan Zhaomu nodded. Ziyun hesitated for a split second, then smiled and came out from behind the bar. She helped Yudong carry her drink to a quiet corner of the bar.

“What’s up?” Ziyun pushed the drink toward Yudong.

Yudong thought for a moment. “The question you asked me last time… I wanted to know, were you serious?”

“Last time? which question?”

Ziyun seemed to be searching her memory, but Yudong could tell she knew exactly what was being asked. She didn’t press her, just waited quietly. After a moment of silence, Ziyun nodded, then shook her head. “If I’m not mistaken, you mean the question I asked a few days before I took leave? You don’t have to take it to heart. Really.”

“Can I… can I really not take it to heart?” Yudong bit her lip and looked up. “I don’t want to hide anything from you. Regarding that question… I really can’t give you the answer you want.”

“I know who is in your heart,” Ziyun said softly.

Her tightly guarded secret was suddenly exposed. Yudong’s fingers began to fidget nervously under the table.

“Don’t worry, I won’t sell you out,” Ziyun said with a self-mocking laugh, sitting up straight. “I was just a bit stubborn at first, thinking that if I had more time, maybe your feelings would change… but I suddenly felt that I’m not worthy of having such thoughts anymore…”

Her tone was calm—so calm it was as if she had seen through the world. She didn’t sound like her old self at all. Yudong was speechless, her eyes stinging, but she swallowed the complex emotions.

Ziyun continued: “I’m quite a terrible person. I used to think I was great, but then I realized… for someone as unworthy of trust as me to have a friend like you is already very lucky. I shouldn’t ask for more.”

“Then… can we still be friends?” Yudong asked carefully.

“Yeah,” Ziyun smiled. “Have you been avoiding me lately?”

“No…” Yudong said guiltily.

“You have. It was so obvious the Boss asked me several times if we had fought.”

Yudong pouted. “What did you tell him?”

Ziyun shrugged. “The truth. We didn’t fight, did we?”

Seeing her relaxed tone, Yudong breathed a sigh of relief. “How have you been? Is Zhang Hao still bothering you?”

“Everything is fine. There’s no homework this summer, and it’s a long break, so I plan to find another part-time job during the day.”

“Make sure you rest,” Yudong said, feeling like she sounded like a nagging mother.

Ziyun didn’t mind. “What about you? Any plans for the summer? Will you come here often?”

“I’m going on a trip. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“With Sister Manzhu?”

Yudong’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded.

“Have fun,” Ziyun said, standing up. “It’s busy now; I should get back to work.”

“Mhm.” Yudong waved, picked up her glass, and walked toward the stage.

Perhaps because things were finally out in the open, Yudong’s mood was quite good for the rest of the night. She ordered four more drinks from the bar, all of them low-alcohol recommendations from Ziyun. Manzhu performed her sets and chatted with guests as usual.

Around 11 PM, Yudong was waiting for a drink when a slow song began. Ziyun looked toward the stage—though she couldn’t see it from the bar—and started humming along. She eventually laughed and looked at Yan Zhaomu, then at Yudong. “That song again. Has that guest been heartbroken for four years now?”

Yudong chuckled. “Stop it, you’re going to pierce their heart.”

Two years ago, Ziyun had joked about that guest. Yudong had said it was a song a regular always ordered, and Ziyun concluded that someone who spent so much money to hear that song must be heartbroken. Over time, that regular came less often, but whenever they did, they always ordered that song.

Two years had passed just like that. Time really did fly.

A few days after the Gaokao ended, the bar hired two temporary singers to rotate, allowing Manzhu to take her long-awaited leave.

Having lived in the mountains for so long, Manzhu knew almost nothing about cities outside of Yuanchuan. To prepare for the trip, she asked everyone at the bar for advice and searched for information online.

Speaking of technology, Manzhu’s phone usage was incredibly low. Aside from checking messages from Yudong at noon and night, she barely used it. Everyone at the bar knew a single charge on her phone could last an entire week. Because of this, her old flip phone outlived all its peers.

Two years ago, when the flip phone finally died, she wanted to buy the same model, but everyone convinced her to buy a smartphone. The day she got it, she finally learned how to use mobile payments, ceasing to be an “antique” who paid for everything in cash and needed help with online shopping. If she hadn’t, she’d have had to search for banks everywhere to withdraw cash during the trip.

The travel plan was eventually settled based on everyone’s suggestions. They were worried Manzhu and Yudong would get lost on their own. To prevent the two of them from accidentally “returning to the deep mountains” during their travels, Huanxi calculated the timing and booked them onto a series of tour groups—they could finish one tour and join the next.

When traveling with a tour group, it’s easy to be tricked into buying worthless things. Manzhu didn’t have much savings, and she was surprisingly easy to fool; if she heard someone praise an item, she wanted to buy it for Yudong.

For example, on their first flight, the cabin crew was promoting model airplanes. The flight attendant said, “This model is a limited-edition souvenir of our flight. The craftsmanship is exquisite; it looks great at home. Adults love it, and children love it even more.”

That one sentence made Manzhu open her wallet. The model cost nearly two hundred yuan on the plane. In reality, a similar one online was only a few dozen. But the impulsive “old snake of the mountains” couldn’t be stopped. When Yudong woke up from her nap, she found a small model airplane in front of her, making her between laughter and tears.

There were many such impulsive purchases. Some Yudong managed to block, others she couldn’t. At every stop, Yudong collected a variety of little gifts. Fortunately, they weren’t expensive, and some were quite pretty. Manzhu said she didn’t care about the money; whether expensive or cheap, each item was a souvenir of a place they had visited—full of memories, and thus meaningful.

Throughout the long holiday, they moved from group to group, visiting many places and experiencing different customs. They traveled from the south to the north. They saw waterfalls in the mountains, spent nights at bonfire parties in small villages, chased flocks of sheep on the grasslands, and rode camels in the desert, taking countless photos.

During this time, Manzhu combed her hair every morning. After playing all day, they would wash away their fatigue together at the tour’s accommodation.

Lu Yudong felt she had never been this happy. Because for this summer holiday, she was with Manzhu—from morning to night, every single moment.

And even more so because, in all those photos, they no longer looked like an adult and a child.

Yudong had worked hard to chase, hard to catch up, and finally—she had grown up.