During the past few years of studying abroad, Fu Tingli fell in love with road trips.

On one planned drive along California’s Highway 1, a barefoot woman darted out in front of her car, startling away the passing birds.

The woman had jet-black hair and bright eyes, with deeply defined features. Even her hair seemed to be bathed in the molten golden sunlight. With just one glance, she shattered her life into fragments. Calmly, she spoke:

“Please, take me to find someone.”

For three days and three nights, they journeyed together, sharing sorrow and delusions, drinking ice-cold soda in the red twilight, kissing recklessly in the open car. The woman placed Fu Tingli’s hand on the flying bird tattoo at her waist and left with a sigh. At the end of the journey, Fu Tingli sculpted a flying bird like the one on the woman’s waist, but lacking in detail, it remained forever incomplete.

After her family declared bankruptcy, Fu Tingli returned home in disarray and managed to sell the car that had once carried fleeting birds and sunsets for a good price.

Suddenly, she saw a massive screen outside the mall.

The woman on the screen bore dignity through her eyes, a rich tapestry woven with grace, charm, and a subtle undercurrent of sensuality. She was a famous Chinese actress, Kong Liyuan.

——And also the owner of that incomplete flying bird sculpture.

A high school classmate found an opportunity for Fu Tingli: to serve as a sculpture consultant for a newly launched film project, and to act as a hand double for the lead actress, who happened to be Kong Liyuan. She was in a trance for a while, and called out “Ms. Kong” appropriately.

Kong Liyuan raised her eyes and held her icy hand. “Ms. Fu’s hands are freezing.”

That day, everyone saw Kong Liyuan hand a pair of cashmere gloves to the film crew’s sculpture consultant. Yet, no one knew they had once shared an old summer dream in California. It was much later that Fu Tingli realized: the fact she had mentioned in California how she especially feared the cold—she had remembered it all along.

After the film project ended, Fu Tingli returned to her cheap and damp rental. Kong Liyuan, leaning against her door, reeked of alcohol. She pressed her hand on the fragile remains of the flying bird on her waist once again, her breathing uneven.

“Your sculpture… won’t you continue it?”

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