Music variety show starts

In a daze, another year passed.

This year’s cold snap lingered, even at winter’s end. A light snow fell, plunging S City back into biting chill.

The door opened, warm air rushing out. A woman in thick winter clothes entered, setting a plastic bag full of items aside. The cat curled on the sofa opened its eyes, meowing as it scampered over.

“Fat Cat,” a familiar, long-unheard gentle voice called.

The Maine Coon tried to nuzzle but flinched at Liu Tingsong’s chill, its fur puffing as it let out anxious meows.

Liu laughed, crouching to cup the cat’s face with icy hands.

“Meow!” Fat Cat shivered, nearly swiping at her.

Amused by her own mischief, Liu waited for her chill to fade, then stood slowly, shedding her coat, slipping into fuzzy slippers, and heading to the living room with the cat circling her ankles.

The house hadn’t changed much since Xu Fengluan left, but its style felt bleak, despite the constant floor heating.

Kitchen clatter sounded briefly. Liu returned with warmed milk, curling into the sofa. The Maine Coon leapt into her lap, and she draped half a blanket over it.

Silence settled briefly.

Liu habitually opened a chat window, staring at the unresponsive interface. She tapped the avatar, revisiting unchanged posts, even rewatching two old updates. She checked other social media, but only one New Year’s video had been posted—snow mountains and glaciers, no sign of a person. Fans flooded the comments, howling about Xu’s negligence, demanding content, joking she’d become a travel vlogger, nearly unfollowing.

Xu never replied, as if only signaling she was alive.

Liu stared, her downcast eyes reflecting endless glaciers, shimmering with mist or something else, faintly blue.

The cat meowed, rubbing its head into her palm, begging for pets.

Snapping back, Liu’s thumb slid, switching to Xu’s practice videos. As a song played, she finally petted the cat.

Unaccustomed, it turned toward the door at the familiar voice, as if expecting someone.

—Buzz, buzz.

A sudden vibration broke the calm. Liu answered instantly.

“Camille,” she said.

Ever enthusiastic, Camille called out, “Darling, I met your little lover.”

Liu’s heart seized. She sat up, rapid-fire, “How is she? What did you say? What did she ask?”

Three questions in a breath, coughing from the rush.

Camille, unsure how to react, sighed, “You care too much, Liu.”

Hearing the caution, Liu shook her head. “Is she okay?”

“She looks good. Asked a lot about you.”

Liu paused, her eyes darkening with complex emotions. Tugging her lips, she said softly, “She can know anything she wants. You…”

Taking a deep breath, her trembling eyelids betrayed her. A seasoned woman, taught by pain, finally learned honesty, but no one was there to hear her confessions.

Suppressing her emotions, she feigned calm. “Please, tell her everything you know.”

She almost slipped into old habits, wanting to warn Camille not to exaggerate. These months weren’t that hard—just a bit more troublesome than usual, not truly agonizing.

But the words caught. If she chose honesty, why soften the truth? Even if it hurt, it was just pain—she wouldn’t return…

Her grip tightened on the blanket, tears welling again.

She had so much to tell Xu. Her voice was back, and she was diligently training, even adding an extra hour today, shedding past stiffness.

She wanted to say Fat Cat learned a backflip—not perfect, more like a gas tank wriggling, but cute.

She wanted to say their collab song was done, their only public track, poised to soar. Everyone who heard it thought it’d be a hit; Liu hoped so too.

She wanted to say she was changing, less dependent on Xu. But then she’d miss her again, dreaming of her night after night, always ending in pain, never whole.

Too much to say.

Liu sent a carefully prepared video instead, meant for Xu but restrained, fearing it’d scare or annoy her.

She opened her mouth, managing only, “Tell her.”

Camille didn’t speak, saying, “I snuck a photo. Wanna see?”

“Yes,” Liu replied, no hesitation.

Camille laughed, sending a photo prepped in the chat.

“She looks good, Liu.”

In the photo, Xu’s hair was dyed black, loosely tied with a band after a trim, still long. She was thinner, not frail but lean, her wheatish skin and lingering plateau flush enhancing her striking features, exuding wild beauty.

Yet she hid that face in a heavy scarf, her green eyes sparkling like diamonds under the light.

Liu inhaled, trying to suppress her emotions, but tears fell, splashing the screen.

The abandoner became the abandoned. A few months felt unbearable—how much worse was five years?

She finally felt Xu’s despair, the hopeless wait, knowing the other was out there but too afraid to approach, scraping for scraps of news from others.

Tears fell again, splashing.

In the photo, Xu stood unaware, gazing into a bakery’s glass window.

“She’d do random things out of nowhere. I thought it was a hobby—everyone gets obsessed sometimes.”

“Later, I realized it was all about you.”

“Obsessive, crazy.”

“Like when you said in a birthday interview that cake frosting is too sweet—she bought a bakery, made cakes for three months, tossing failures and successes alike.”

“She didn’t let others try, barely tasted them herself, and stopped once satisfied.”

“One year, for your birthday, she made cakes for half a month, all tied to you. I told her to send them.”

“But she sat in the bakery all night.”

Xu stared through the window, imagining a poised woman before a mountain of cakes, clutching an address, too timid to act.

“There’s a pet shop up ahead.”

“We were eating dessert here, and she spotted Fat Cat. She was scared to adopt, never having had a pet.”

“No matter how I urged, she only dared stand outside.”

“Then you posted a video—silver hair, green eyes, just like the cat. What I couldn’t convince her to do, you did without even being there.”

“Further on is a theater. She’d go often, buy two tickets, but come alone, year after year.”

Xu stood, gazing at the theater’s faint outline.

But Camille turned her toward an old European-style attic, built last century, a wilted flowerpot by the window.

“Come, that’s where Liu rented.”

Xu followed, staring at unfamiliar surroundings, picturing Liu there. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Though she’d imagined it countless times, standing there felt surreal.

They reached the steps.

Camille stopped abruptly. “Is this street long?”

Xu paused, shaking her head.

How could it be? Unlike sprawling modern commercial streets, this old-century lane was short, crammed by greedy merchants, bookshelves in shops reaching ceilings, squeezing every inch.

“This was Liu’s five years.”

“Except for mandatory therapy, she never left.”

“She trapped herself here, a prisoner in her own cage, following her own rules.”

“She punished herself while away from you.”

Camille gave her a deep look, offering a chance to back out. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Want to know more?”

Xu nodded, no hesitation despite the daze of learning Liu’s past.

“Then come.”

Camille led her upstairs, unlocking the door with Liu’s key but staying outside, gesturing. “Please.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Compared to S City’s house, this was tiny, barely Xu’s living room size. A single bed sat in the center, with only a cat bed and litter box in the corner…

And Xu Fengluan.

Posters and photos plastered the walls. Blocked from Burning Meteor’s circle, Liu had obsessively gathered every scrap of Xu’s life, pasting it in this small room.

The street was her prison; this was her safe house, where she locked herself in.

“There’s a room over there. Take a look.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

“It’s…” Camille paused. “You’ll understand.”

Xu didn’t ask, her chaotic mind unable to question. She pushed forward, opening the carefully closed door.

She was engulfed by a mountain of gifts.

A boutique crystal ball, a limited-edition bass, a hand-knitted scarf, a coat Xu mentioned in an interview, a skateboard she’d casually told Liu about…

This room was a treasure trove, filled with everything Xu wanted or mentioned.

The setting sun poured in, orange light flooding the flat through the small balcony, like an endless tide. Xu was submerged, sinking to the ocean floor.

After what felt like ages—perhaps three cigarettes’ time for Camille outside—Xu emerged.

She said, “Can you still get theater tickets?”

“I want two.”

That night, Liu Tingsong and Burning Meteor’s long-awaited collab song dropped.

Fans and listeners flooded in, the response exceeding expectations, topping charts for a while, sparking heated discussion. A few criticisms were drowned by praise.

The only complaint was Xu’s part—separate recordings felt stiff, but it didn’t overshadow the song’s success, looping endlessly on playlists.

Summer arrived, and a live music competition show launched, inviting top singers.

The broadcast drew countless viewers, bullet comments flooding the screen.

Xu Fengluan stood below, gazing at the woman center stage.