Chapter Seventy-Two: She Is Lonelier Than Fireworks

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Chapter Seventy-Two: "She Is Lonelier Than Fireworks"

The car drove straight through the most bustling district of K City, going farther and farther until it finally stopped in an area surrounded by low, dilapidated buildings—a place that exists in every city in the world, home to the grassroots at the very bottom of urban society.

The road became pitted and uneven. One could imagine that, come a stretch of rainy weather, this place would be plagued by pooled water everywhere. The road narrowed until the stretch limousine could go no further and had to stop.

Here, a cluster of single-story houses made up winding little alleys, a rare sight in the city. Seen from above, the crisscrossing lanes would resemble a spider's web, dense and intricate.

Each family had its own small courtyard house. From the yards, the symphony of grassroots life spilled forth: the clatter of pots and pans, the wails of children, the noise before the communal water taps, the cries of wandering hawkers.

Chen Xiao and Cabbage followed Gong Gong through the maze of alleys, passing one courtyard after another. They saw housewives sitting on stools in front of their homes, laboriously scrubbing clothes in large wooden basins, others carrying spittoons or chamber pots. In places like this, dozens or even hundreds of households might share a single public restroom.

The air bore a strange mixture of scents—cooking oil smoke drifting from kitchens, cheap detergent, the dampness of the alleys, and the odor of the public toilets nearby—all blending into an indescribable, peculiar aroma.

Cabbage walked here with an expression of familiarity and warmth. She smiled at Chen Xiao, “You must never have been to places like this. I grew up in neighborhoods just like this.”

At the end of the alley stood a pair of double red wooden doors, their paint peeling to reveal the old, battered wood beneath. Outside, a jujube tree stretched its limbs; from its branches hung a string of brass bells that chimed in the faint breeze—yet the sound was no longer clear and bright, but harsh and strained by rust.

Before the weathered doors, Gong Gong paused, took a breath, and carefully adjusted his appearance before pushing the doors open. He turned back and offered Chen Xiao an embarrassed smile: “This is my first time meeting this elder as well…”

The courtyard was much like any other, with three tiled rooms facing a small open space where a money tree grew, its leaves clustered on the branches like little coins.

From inside came the voice of an old radio playing Beijing opera. Chen Xiao listened and recognized the aria as “Su San Leaves for Exile.”

The three of them stood in the yard for a moment until a wrinkled old woman emerged from the left wing, carrying a basin of dishwater, which she dumped carelessly under the tree. She glanced at them: “You’re here? Go inside, one at a time.” She pointed to the door at the back and center.

Gong Gong smiled and looked at Chen Xiao. “Why don’t you go first?”

Chen Xiao didn’t refuse. He strode forward, knocked, and entered.

The room was spacious, filled with old-fashioned rosewood furniture, the wear of years in every corner. Past the entryway, a portrait of the God of Wealth hung on the wall, the air tinged with sandalwood incense.

In the inner room, half-reclined in a chair, was a person.

A woman, her long hair unmistakable. She wore reading glasses, a cheongsam in a style long since faded from fashion. Beside her, an old radio, a teapot and a small plate of seeds on the table. She was absorbed in her newspaper.

Chen Xiao approached, but the woman didn’t speak, continuing to read. He said nothing either, waiting patiently.

Up close, he saw she was no longer young. Though her face retained a certain charm, age had etched lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her forehead was smooth, but her eyes, behind the glasses, held a depth as fathomless as a well.

The old house, the vintage furniture, the antiquated radio, and this aging woman—standing here, Chen Xiao suddenly felt an almost ethereal peace settle over his heart.

It was as if, inside these walls, the outside world ceased to exist, leaving only this tranquil calm between heaven and earth...

He stood in silence for two full minutes. At last, the woman seemed to finish her reading. With a sigh, she folded the paper, removed her glasses, rubbed her eyes wearily, and reached for her teacup.

Chen Xiao quickly stepped forward and poured tea into her empty cup.

The woman seemed to smile, though she still didn’t look at him. Her manner was serene and unhurried as she sipped her tea.

Undoubtedly, she must have been strikingly beautiful in her youth, for her eyes were still remarkably lovely. She wasn’t the sort whose features stunned at first glance; her mouth was a touch wide, her lips a bit thin, her forehead slightly broad, even her hands lacked the delicate slenderness admired in young women—her knuckles were somewhat large.

She stood to face him. Naturally, her figure couldn’t compare to a young girl’s; her hips were broader, her waist less slender… Yet somehow, this woman exuded a kind of elegance, a languid, alluring grace.

She wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense, yet the moment you saw her, you couldn’t help but think she was lovely—a kind of beauty that defied reason, as if every one of her details carried an inexpressible charm.

“My name is Fireworks,” the woman said, gazing at Chen Xiao, her lips curving into a smile. “A burst of beauty when lit, and nothing left but emptiness once gone—just like fireworks.”

At that moment, Chen Xiao recalled a line once written by Gu Long: “Lonelier than fireworks.”

Without a doubt, the woman before him was just such a person.

Her name was Fireworks… A woman lonelier than any firework.

...

“I know your name is Chen Xiao. There’s no need for introductions. I know everything about you—your background, your history, even your present troubles.” Fireworks gestured to a chair. “Sit.”

Normally steady, Chen Xiao found himself at a loss under the bright gaze of this woman. He nodded and took the seat opposite her. Fireworks smiled again. “You have ten minutes. There’s no need to be nervous. Here, you’re my guest, and I’ll answer any question you have—so long as it’s within ten minutes. Oh, and about your clothes—I’m sorry, that chair is so old, it should have been replaced long ago.”

What?

Chen Xiao froze. Suddenly, the chair beneath him gave a groan and collapsed. Fortunately, he reacted fast and stood up in time, but the broken armrest caught his sleeve and tore a long gash in it.

He stared in disbelief at the rip in his sleeve, recalling Fireworks’ last words. His scalp tingled.

“Young man, there’s no need to look at me like that.” Fireworks took another sip of tea, her smile gentle. “Oh, and don’t worry about the cup breaking—just be careful not to cut your fingers.”

Chen Xiao hesitated, turned slightly, and accidentally bumped into the side table, knocking a glass onto the floor. It shattered. Instinctively, he reached down to pick up the pieces; as his fingers closed on a shard, he winced—the glass had sliced him, and blood welled up from the cut.

He was stunned.

He looked up at Fireworks. “You…”

Fireworks smiled softly, still composed. “Didn’t you know who I was before you came?”

Chen Xiao’s eyes flickered from the broken chair, to the shattered cup, to the blood on his finger and the tear in his sleeve.

He swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Just now… Were all these things arranged by you? If I hadn’t sat in the chair, would it have broken? If it hadn’t broken, my sleeve wouldn’t have torn. If I hadn’t been embarrassed, I wouldn’t have turned and broken the cup, and I wouldn’t have cut my hand…”

Fireworks’ smile deepened, her eyes growing even more profound. “Do you really think so many coincidences can happen in this world?”

Her voice was serene and calm. “A single detail might be coincidence, but when a chain of coincidences connects… that’s inevitability.”

She paused, then smiled again. “Oh, by the way, could you do me a favor?”

“…What is it?”

“It’s nothing much.” Fireworks smiled. “When you leave later, could you lend a hand at the entrance of the alley?”

“The alley entrance? I don’t understand…” Chen Xiao was bewildered.

“That too is an inevitability,” Fireworks sighed, her expression distant. “In fact, I shouldn’t have mentioned it—if it’s inevitable, there’s no need for me to remind you.”

Chen Xiao was lost in confusion. But suddenly, a flash of inspiration struck him as he looked at this woman as beautiful as fireworks, and he blurted out, “Your ability—is it… to foresee the future?”

The light in Fireworks’ eyes seemed to dim. With a long, gentle sigh, she gazed at Chen Xiao, her expression tinged with melancholy.

“Someone like me would be called a ‘prophet’ or ‘seer’ abroad. Here, I suppose I’m just a fortune-teller, something of a charlatan.”

“You… can really predict the future?” Chen Xiao was moved. “What can you foresee?”

This time, Fireworks was silent for a long while. At last, she gave a two-word answer:

“Everything.”

...

“What’s the person inside really like?” Cabbage stood impatiently in the courtyard, glancing at Gong Gong.

Gong Gong smiled. “No need to be anxious, young lady. It’s best to calm yourself and think carefully about what question you’ll want answered when your turn comes.”

“A question?”

“Yes,” Gong Gong replied, his smile mysterious. “The person inside can answer any question you can imagine—whether it’s something that’s happened or something that hasn’t! Any question!”

“Any question? Even things that haven’t happened?” Cabbage’s eyes widened. “If I ask who my future husband is…?”

Her cheeks flushed pink as she stole a glance inside.

Gong Gong laughed. “That would be a simple question for the person inside—she’ll definitely give you the answer!” Then, kindly, he added, “But such a rare opportunity—I wouldn’t recommend using it on something like that. You might want to ask something more important…”

Cabbage fell silent, nervously studying her toes…

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