A Friend I've Loved for a Long Time - Chapter 1

Yun City, July.

At an art gallery in the suburbs, twenty kilometers from the city center, a solo photography exhibition was underway.

“Why do you think ‘Yun Li Wu Zhi’ opened her exhibition all the way out here? Don’t artists usually rely on exhibitions to build their reputation? In the middle of nowhere like this, it’s not as good as being downtown. Aside from those who truly love her work, how many people are willing to come this far?”

“If she wanted fame, there are plenty of ways. In my opinion, she opened this exhibition purely because she felt like it. And I actually disagree with you—I think this ‘middle of nowhere’ suits today’s theme perfectly.”

The person rebutting pointed a finger toward the text above the center of the exhibition, then continued, “‘Cicadas Chanting in Midsummer.’ Isn’t the area filled with the sound of cicadas? Could you hear them this clearly in the city center?”

The onlookers held their breath and, indeed, heard a rhythmic, melodic chorus of cicadas. The skeptic nodded in agreement but then remembered something and frowned. “But where is Yun Li Wu Zhi herself? I came just to see her, but she hasn’t even shown her face these past few days.”

The group fell silent.

Yun Li Wu Zhi became famous four years ago for a series of aurora photos. At the height of the short-video boom, someone lacking originality had reposted her work without permission, gaining a massive following and profiting from it.

But the truth eventually came out. The incident ended with the plagiarizing blogger apologizing and leaving the internet, while a massive wave of followers flocked to the original creator. Throughout it all, Yun Li Wu Zhi never said a single word—neither to the unethical reposter nor to the sudden influx of fans.

Over the years, her account updated steadily. Those who initially followed her out of curiosity were gradually won over by the world captured through her lens: war-torn slums, treacherous canyons, the mysterious aurora… As fans put it, they were “seeing the world through her camera.”

Later, someone discovered that she had won international photography awards as far back as seven years ago. The accolades under the name “Yun Li Wu Zhi” were countless, yet she remained incredibly low-profile. Consequently, the news of her solo exhibition last month had caused quite a stir.

Rumors swirled that she was “fishing for fame” or that the end goal of any big influencer was just a money grab. Unexpectedly, her exhibition was not only free of charge but also located in the sparsely populated suburbs. It wasn’t for money or fame; it was a silent slap to the face of the rumor-mongers.

The exhibition, themed “Cicadas Chanting in Midsummer,” was a three-day event. Today was the final day.

“Maybe… she just doesn’t want to be disturbed,” someone in the crowd whispered after a moment of silence.

At that moment, the subject of their discussion was walking right behind them with her head down. She adjusted the brim of her cap, hiding her delicate face.

Seeing her approach, her assistant, Xiao Bai, waved excitedly. Just as she was about to call out, she saw the woman place a finger to her lips in a “shhh” gesture.

Xiao Bai immediately lowered her hand, pressed her lips together, and walked aside to continue introducing the exhibit to visitors as if nothing had happened.

Once the crowd dispersed, Xiao Bai slipped into the lounge. She immediately saw Yun Zhi sitting with her back to the door.

Wearing a blue-and-white print short-sleeved shirt and a knee-length pleated skirt, Yun Zhi had set her baseball cap aside, revealing her long hair. Her left hand supported her chin as she tilted her head slightly, her right fingertip tapping the phone screen restlessly. She looked distracted, as if waiting for a message.

“Sister Yun Zhi?” Xiao Bai knocked before entering, then walked over to remind her, “The exhibition ends in one hour.”

Yun Zhi tilted her chin slightly and gave a casual “Mm.”

Despite her relaxed tone, Xiao Bai could tell from the constant tapping on the screen that she was in a bad mood. Recalling what Yun Zhi had said that morning, Xiao Bai asked softly, “Is Nan Qiao still coming today?”

At the mention of Nan Qiao’s name, Yun Zhi’s finger paused for a fraction of a second, but she didn’t answer.

Xiao Bai checked her watch and hesitated. “Should I contact the coordinator to extend the time?”

The venue rental had strict procedures. According to the contract, three days meant three days—not a minute more.

“No need,” Yun Zhi said, looking down.

As Yun Zhi spoke, Xiao Bai caught a glimpse of a message on the phone screen:

[Sorry Zhizhi, I got delayed on the road. Can you wait an hour for me?]

The exhibition had been open for three days. Nan Qiao was in Yun City, yet she had delayed until the very last hour and was still asking Yun Zhi to wait. To Xiao Bai, if she had really wanted to come, she wouldn’t have waited until now.

Xiao Bai had been Yun Zhi’s assistant for three years and knew exactly how much Yun Zhi cared for Nan Qiao. In contrast, Nan Qiao was always either late or a no-show. Xiao Bai was used to seeing Yun Zhi’s lonely back as she waited for her friend, and the thought made her feel indignant.

“This Nan Qiao never keeps her word. Two days ago she said she’d come yesterday; yesterday she said today; and today she asks you to wait longer. When she had her painting exhibition, you were the first one there and even promoted it on your account. But now she…”

Halfway through, Xiao Bai felt she was overstepping. No matter how much Nan Qiao stood her up, Nan Qiao was still Yun Zhi’s best friend. If she kept talking, Yun Zhi might get angry.

Instead of a response, a phone ringtone filled the room. Seeing the name on the screen, Xiao Bai felt the awkwardness of being caught talking behind someone’s back.

Yun Zhi didn’t notice the assistant’s mood; she hadn’t even processed the words Xiao Bai just spoke. As the call came in, a flash of complex emotion crossed her eyes. She waited until the ringtone was almost finished before picking up.

Immediately, a charming female voice came through the speaker.

“My dear Zhizhi, are you mad? I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be there in an hour, okay? Just wait a little longer, I’m really busy with something today.”

“Zhizhi—dear Zhizhi, don’t be mad anymore.”

Nan Qiao coaxed her, her voice dripping with practiced charm. She knew Yun Zhi was soft-hearted; as long as she apologized with the right attitude, any anger would vanish.

Sure enough, after hearing the apology, Yun Zhi’s resolve softened. She answered softly, “I’m not mad.”

“You say you’re not mad, then why did you tell me not to come? Do you not want to see me?”

“No… it’s just that the venue time is almost up. Even if you come now, the exhibition will be over.” Since they had met, Yun Zhi could never win an argument against her. She didn’t like escalating conflict and tended to avoid heavy topics, leaving a way out for the other person.

Especially when that person was the one she loved.

“I’m so sorry. I promised you so long ago, but work kept dragging on until now.”

Nan Qiao’s voice grew smaller, her guilt sounding more and more apparent. This made Yun Zhi feel bad instead. She smiled and said, “It’s okay. It’s just one exhibition.”

“Zhizhi, even if I might miss the exhibition, I can still spend your birthday with you. Wait for me there, okay? I’m coming to pick you up, and then we’ll go home and celebrate your birthday together.”

Yun Zhi wanted to say she could go back herself—it was an hour’s drive back to the city, making the round trip nearly three hours—but she was cut off by Nan Qiao asking, “Are you still angry?”

After hanging up, Yun Zhi sat in silence for a moment. Her mood was no longer as dark as before. When she looked up, she found Xiao Bai staring at her. Caught, Xiao Bai blinked and pointed toward the window. “It’s getting cold. I’ll close the window.”

The silence continued. Xiao Bai’s movements slowed as she looked out the window. The sky was darkening. The wind was picking up and the temperature was dropping; it was hard to tell if the gloom was from the evening or an approaching storm.

“Looks like a heavy rain is coming. Didn’t the forecast say ‘cloudy turning to clear’?” Xiao Bai muttered.

Yun Zhi looked out and checked her weather app. Sure enough, there was a heavy rain alert. Although the road to the city was mostly flat, there were low-lying areas. With rain and heavy fog, the driving conditions would be dangerous.

Yun Zhi sent a message to Nan Qiao telling her the road was dangerous and she shouldn’t come, but the reply was: [Already on the way.]

“Sister Yun Zhi, are you two really not dating?” Xiao Bai asked, her back to Yun Zhi. Her hand on the curtain slowed down even more. Her voice was cautious, as if it were just a casual question.

When she didn’t get an answer for a long time, Xiao Bai finished drawing the curtains, turned around, and sat on the sofa nearby. She tried to laugh it off. “I was just asking. Hahaha, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Did I do something to give people that impression?” Yun Zhi snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her.

Xiao Bai wasn’t the first to ask. Even their mutual friends asked the same thing from time to time. Although Yun Zhi loved Nan Qiao, she didn’t care for using such misunderstandings to make people believe they were a couple.

“No, no. I just remembered when you were unhappy before and Nan Qiao was coaxing you—it looked a lot like someone哄ing a girlfriend. Plus, she gives you gifts all the time. It just feels like you’re very intimate,” Xiao Bai finally blurted out, letting out a breath of relief.

“We’ve known each other for many years. Just good friends,” Yun Zhi replied softly, looking down.

From university until now, almost everyone they met asked the same questions.

—Are you two dating?

—Nan Qiao is your girlfriend, right? She definitely likes you, otherwise why would she be so good to you?

—Is Nan Qiao your girlfriend? Why are you so good to her?

Everyone thought they were dating, but only the two of them knew the truth: they were just very close friends.

As for the reason, Yun Zhi didn’t know either.

In the thirteen years she had been friends with her, Yun Zhi had confessed many times. Every time, she was rejected. The reasons were always about “friendship.”

—Don’t be like this. We still need to be friends.

—Isn’t being friends good enough?

Having heard it enough, Yun Zhi stopped obsessing over the label. She assumed Nan Qiao just didn’t want to be in a relationship. They maintained an “ambiguous” status in the eyes of outsiders until two years ago.

When it was time to leave, Yun Zhi didn’t ride with the rest of the studio staff. Following Nan Qiao’s instructions, she found a place to sit and wait.

By the time she reached an abandoned bus stop, a light drizzle had started. Yun Zhi adjusted her cap and touched the camera hanging around her neck. She placed her unopened umbrella on the bus stop bench and used a tissue to wipe a few stray droplets off the edge of her camera.

Once it was clean, she took a photo of the sky. She sat on the bench, scrolling through the photos she had taken over the past few days.

Ten minutes passed. There was no word from Nan Qiao.

The rain grew heavier, creating ripples in the puddles on the ground. Yun Zhi aimed her camera at the sky and the puddles, snapping away to kill time. Because of the dim light and the fog, the photos weren’t great, but it passed the time.

She squinted her left eye, looking through the viewfinder at the world through the rain and mist. As she panned the lens up and down, her gaze suddenly froze. She looked up from the viewfinder.

A tall woman holding an umbrella and a bouquet of “Light Blue” (Broken Ice Blue) roses had suddenly entered the frame, walking slowly toward her. The woman wore a long red dress. She was tall, slender, and wore exquisite makeup.

In this grey, muffled world, the woman was the only splash of color. When Yun Zhi caught the shot, her heart skipped a beat, and she pressed the shutter several times in quick succession.

She had just captured some incredible shots.

Yun Zhi panned her camera away as if nothing had happened and silently turned it off, but her gaze instinctively drifted toward the other end of the bench.

The woman slowly folded her umbrella and set it aside. She sat on the bench, still cradling the blue roses. She tilted her head slightly; her features were cold and elegant, and her pressed red lips gave her an air of aloofness and distance.

Yun Zhi looked back at her camera, reviewing the candid shots she just took, then glanced back at the woman.

The woman was looking down at the flowers in her arms, her expression and gaze much softer now. Yun Zhi’s mind wandered—she thought that if the woman were holding a bouquet of fiery red roses, it might suit her even better.

After a moment, Yun Zhi snapped back to reality. Remembering what she wanted to do, she hesitated, wondering how to speak politely without being intrusive.

After a bit of internal debate, Yun Zhi finally turned toward her and spoke in a warm, polite voice: “Hello, miss?”

She saw the woman’s fingers, which were stroking the bouquet, pause. A moment later, the woman looked up at her. Her gaze was even gentler than before, and the corners of her lips curved slightly.

“Hello.”