To Sweep Across Like Wildfire - Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Meng Chi walked briskly, yet composedly, back to Shen Qingruo’s room with the two bags of breakfast. Guessing that Xie Zhen hadn’t woken up either, she had brought an extra portion. Seeing that Shen Qingruo was still in the shower, she didn’t say much and left the hotel directly to head back to school.

After the morning sketching session ended, Meng Chi grabbed a quick bite at the cafeteria with her roommates. Instead of joining them back at the hotel for a nap, she wandered through various supermarkets nearby, searching for that specific brand of cigarette with the pale blue filter. She did her best to describe it to the shop assistants: slender, a pale blue filter with white patterns, a minty scent, and a mild tar smell.

Over an hour later, Meng Chi returned to the school-arranged hotel. Her roommates were still asleep. She tiptoed to the bathroom and emptied her backpack; a dozen or so packs of cigarettes piled up into a small mountain on the shelf.

She opened them one by one. Some outer packaging looked similar, but the actual product was worlds apart; others had the pale blue filter but smelled too harsh. She didn’t try smoking them, merely lighting them to observe the scent while holding them in her hand.

Eventually, she swept them all back into her bag. Not a single pack was the brand Shen Qingruo smoked.

Some shop assistants suggested searching online, mentioning it might be a niche foreign brand. After a fruitless search on the web, she held onto a final shred of hope. Based on her memory, she drew a sketch of the cigarette and posted it to her Weibo alt account, adding a description of its characteristics.

Meng Chi was rarely this active, but her consecutive posts over the last few days had garnered more engagement than usual. Coupled with yesterday’s retweet by a major art influencer, her followers had grown by hundreds and were still rising.

The comment section was livelier than ever. By evening, the post had over two hundred comments—nearly matching her total engagement from months ago. Meng Chi sifted through the information, and soon spotted a comment posted half an hour prior.

Green Tea Latte 70% Sugar: Whoa, I can’t believe I’m seeing this brand again! I thought it went extinct. Image

The image was a photo of a delicate hand—likely a girl’s—holding a cigarette. The resolution was blurry, but the pale blue filter with faint white patterns was unmistakable.

Meng Chi immediately sent a private message. A moment later, the user replied: “Wow! Sui-Da replied to me! That’s not me in the photo, it’s my girlfriend. Hang on, I’ll ask her; this used to be her favorite.”

A while later, another message came: “She says the name is ‘Sea Breeze.’ It’s a niche domestic brand that’s been around for years. It’s not really in stores anymore, but a few shops online still carry it.”

She thoughtfully included several purchase links.

The user added: “These shops sell the authentic ones. Sui-Da, are you looking for this for some new artistic inspiration?”

Meng Chi replied vaguely: “Something like that.”

In reality, she wanted to try it herself.

Meng Chi clicked the links. One look at the display image and she knew it was the one. The descriptions were sparse; her previous search terms like “mint,” “waves,” and “blue filter” weren’t in the metadata. There were only four simple words: “Sea Breeze Ladies Cigarettes.”

She placed an order immediately and replied to the user: “Thank you, this is the one.” She followed it up by sending a digital red envelope.

The other person declined it: “You’re too kind! I’m just happy to help. No need for the red envelope.”

The user continued: “Sui-Da, you posted quite late yesterday. Don’t push yourself too hard; health comes first! My girlfriend and I both love your art. By the way, the woman you’ve been drawing lately… what’s her name? Have you named her?”

The user assumed the character in her recent art was a fictional creation.

Meng Chi looked at the message, lost in thought. After a few seconds, her fingers brushed the keyboard, and a single letter slid out: “r.”

Before this, Meng Chi hadn’t considered a name. In that moment, she thought of many things: Shen Qingruo’s exquisite face, her seductive aura, her teasing tone, and her social media updates.

“Cool, Ms. r,” the user replied instantly. “As long as you’re well-rested, can I look forward to an update?”

“Yes, I’ll post it once it’s finished. Thank you again to you and your girlfriend. Without you, I don’t know how long I would have been searching for this.”

…

At ten that night, Meng Chi’s roommates were settled in bed on their phones. Meng Chi put away her textbooks and climbed into bed as well.

The school had booked twin rooms—two people per bed. Meng Chi’s bedmate was wearing headphones, shouting excitedly to the roommates in the other bed: “Boss! Cover me! I’m rushing the building across…”

Their dorm had been ranked by age since the start of the semester. Meng Chi was the youngest.

“Boss,” who had wanted to play a relaxing game of Candy Crush before bed, had been coerced into this tactical shooter. Her experience was so frustrating she was on the verge of uninstalling. “Stop rushing! You’re going to get us all killed again. Can we just hide for a bit?”

The second-oldest roommate, who was much calmer, glanced at Meng Chi. Seeing her lying there looking at her phone, she assumed she was studying. “Meng Chi, are we being too loud for you?”

“No,” Meng Chi said calmly, the screen light reflecting in her clear eyes. She scrolled slowly. “Go ahead.”

She was used to her roommates’ gaming outbursts. It reminded her of middle school when Jiang Sitian would get called a “primary schooler” in League of Legends and end up in tears.

Meng Chi browsed through her Moments, seeing her roommates’ posts from earlier that day. One post from her bedmate featured a photo of Longhu Park, with a small glimpse of Meng Chi’s profile in the corner.

The comments under the post were a mess of bickering and compliments about Meng Chi’s side profile. Meng Chi didn’t know what to say, so she just replied to each of them with a string of ellipses: “…”

She scrolled through her feed but saw no updates from rr. She clicked into her profile specifically; there was nothing new today. It was unlike her usual habit. Maybe she’s too busy, Meng Chi thought.

On a whim, she went back to her roommate’s post and saved the photo of herself.

Twenty minutes later, the three roommates ended their game in a huff. “Boss” uninstalled the game entirely. “Tonight was supposed to be peaceful,” she groaned.

The bedmate, the “instigator” of the gaming session, lay down sheepishly and checked her feed. She noticed something. “Meng Chi? You haven’t posted in forever. Why the sudden update today?”

The second roommate saw it too. “Wait, this photo looks familiar… Hey, isn’t this the one you posted earlier?”

“It is,” the bedmate said, squinting. “The scenery all looks the same, I didn’t notice at first.”

Meng Chi remained expressionless. “It’s been a while, so I just posted something.”

“Oh.” The roommates didn’t think much of it, liked the post, and moved on.

Meng Chi indeed rarely posted. She felt there was nothing worth saying. But shortly after, likes and comments began to pour in. Close classmates complimented her looks or asked about university life. Acquaintances just left a like.

After replying to a few people, Meng Chi felt a bit dejected, thinking her behavior was quite boring. Just as she was about to delete the post, a familiar avatar popped up.

rr liked the post and commented: “Middle of the night and still not sleeping?”

rr followed up: “Is this Longhu Park?”

“Yes,” Meng Chi replied.

If her roommate had looked over at that moment, she would have seen the previously listless Meng Chi suddenly glowing with a different kind of energy.

After a moment, rr replied: “The kid is truly beautiful.”

Shen Qingruo had been working since her client meeting until late at night. She had only paused to drink some water and stretch her aching body. Xie Zhen, who was resting nearby, had spotted Meng Chi’s post first and pointed out the profile in the corner. “That’s a superior side profile right there.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingruo looked closely, feeling a sense of shared pride. “Of course it is.” She then opened her own phone to leave the comment.

Meng Chi stared at the screen, reading the comment over and over.

Does everyone do this? she wondered. Post a seemingly meaningless update on social media just to ensure one specific person sees it?

She had thought Shen Qingruo might ignore it. She had hoped, but hadn’t expected a reply.

Meng Chi took a deep breath, opened the chat window for rr, held down the voice message button, and sent:

“What are you doing?”