The sound of the heels “clack! clack! clack!” faded away outside the door. Lai Hui withdrew her foot from the edge of the toilet, the exhaust fan weakly humming. Her cheeks felt a cool sensation; she wiped her face, and her palm was wet with tears. Turning to unlock the metal latch on the door, she thought about how much she cried. This was something Zhou Yushun had said. In the first month with him, she had cried herself to sleep every night until the day Xie Jiayi found her. From then on, she didn’t cry anymore, she dared not cry; from then on, she only smiled at Zhou Yushun, with a fawning smile.
“Your eyes look like two black butterflies!” Lai Hui looked up, seeing a clear, oval face in the mirror with bright, smiling eyes. The woman behind her—herself—had smudged eyeshadow, truly resembling two black butterflies about to take flight. Lai Hui chuckled, stepping up to the mirror to touch up her makeup. “Your metaphor is quite vivid!”
“I get that a lot, probably because of my profession!” The girl smoothed back her short bangs with a wet hand, looking candidly at Lai Hui. “Writing requires a rich imagination!”
“Oh?” Lai Hui paused her makeup application, looking at the girl through the mirror. “What kind of things do you imagine?”
“For instance, seeing you come out of the restroom, I imagine you were once a woman who loved vanity, meeting your unforgettable first love at a party. He was once a poor boy; after years apart, he now stands before you in a suit, so you hide in the bathroom, reminiscing about the sweetness of the past, shedding silent tears…” The girl tilted her head, creating a deep dimple with her finger. “Maybe you even smoked a long, slim cigarette in there…”
“I don’t smoke!” Lai Hui interrupted the girl’s imagination, packing away her makeup. “You must not be a bestselling author!”
“Well, I’m working on it!” The girl smiled warmly at her. “Nice to meet you, I’m Xiao Yu!”
“So, you’re the romance novelist who swindles many young girls out of their tears and money?” Lai Hui’s face flushed slightly; the girl’s books topped the sales charts every year, and here she was, assuming they didn’t sell well.
