Running away from the Love-Brain

Pineapple Bubbles

Chi Buyu's eating preferences were as enigmatic as her personality—just like how she would wear a skirt in the lingering cold of winter.

To Cui Xijin, it was equally perplexing.

Chi Buyu never ate animal feet because she thought they looked ugly, and she found it especially awkward to gnaw on them in front of others. "No way, that's so gross," she'd say, wrinkling her nose.

When eating rice, she always liked to dig a little hole in the middle, sometimes picking up only a few grains with her chopsticks. She'd say, "Ran Yan often calls me a little chick pecking at rice, but I don't see it that way." Cui Xijin didn't think so either; to her, Chi Buyu looked more like a chipmunk digging a tunnel—if the rice mound were bigger, maybe she could dig out a whole tunnel during one meal. In a way, it was quite impressive.

She ate shrimp but only the ones that had been peeled. If she had to peel them herself, she would awkwardly poke at them with a fork, scrunch up her face, and then decide not to eat them.

Her appetite was small. She would eat just a little and then say she was full, resting her face in her hands or blinking wide-eyed at you while you ate, her gaze almost expectant.

Yet most of the time, she could still manage to eat a bowl of freshly served coconut ice cream, buttery rolls, or yogurt parfait—foods that Cui Xijin found overly indulgent. And she'd always flash three fingers in a conspiratorial gesture, whispering, "Actually, everyone has three stomachs: one for meals, one for dessert, and do you know what the third one is for?"

The first time Cui Xijin heard this, she thought Chi Buyu was joking, but after thinking it over for a while, she still couldn't figure out her logic. In the end, she gave up and cautiously poked her fork into her own plate, skeptically asking, "What's the third one for?"

And then, in a flash, Chi Buyu would stab a piece of mango from Cui Xijin's plate, pop it into her mouth with puffed cheeks, and boldly declare, "The third one is for other people's food!"

That was Chi Buyu's theory of three stomachs.

Also, every time they passed by a milk tea or drink shop after a meal, Chi Buyu would skip inside, her heels clicking or sneakers squeaking, clutching a different handbag every day. Her appearance was ever-changing—sometimes she'd wear a custom cheongsam with high heels, looking all grown-up, and other times she'd don her own design from a new-age cheongsam collection, full of energy and exclaiming how young she must look.

But the truth was, whether she was fifteen or twenty-six, no matter what she wore, what shoes she walked in, what bag she carried, or how she styled her hair...

She always looked like Chi Buyu.

Last year, when Cui Xijin was on a business trip to Hong Kong, they bumped into each other, and Cui Xijin reluctantly agreed to another meal with Chi Buyu. After dinner, as they passed a late-night café, Chi Buyu, not at all delicate, kicked off her broken-heeled shoes and walked barefoot into the place. The narrow, crowded street rustled in the wind, and the hem of her black dress fluttered like a summer bird.

Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she turned around, her mascara-smeared face grinning as she solemnly revised her theory: "Wrong! Actually, everyone has four stomachs."

Carrying her broken-heeled shoes, Cui Xijin followed behind, muttering, "Maybe you're a cow."

Chi Buyu liked sweet things—sweet dumplings, sweet tofu pudding, sweet mooncakes, sweet tangyuan. In this, at least, she and Cui Xijin were in agreement. But even Chi Buyu's stir-fried eggs with tomatoes had to be sweet, which, to Cui Xijin, was just as bad as eating savory dumplings or salty tofu pudding—a choice she found utterly unacceptable.