Old Snow Never Melts

At twenty-six, Qiu Yiran used all her savings to buy a taxi, working day and night to pick up passengers. Yet most would turn away the moment they saw the disability sign in her car. When asked why she didn’t try another job, she rubbed her numb, aching left leg and smiled good-naturedly, "I’ve tried others before." At twenty-four, Li Wuhui made her debut on the runway, skyrocketing to fame as the opening model. Dominating fashion weeks worldwide, she became the undisputed "runway queen." Her mixed-race features, hauntingly mesmerizing, graced magazine covers across the globe—no one in the fashion industry didn’t know her name. For a long time, their lives never crossed. Occasionally, while driving her taxi, Qiu Yiran would catch a glimpse of Li Wuhui’s enchanting face on a magazine stand and spare it an extra glance. But then—one day, out of nowhere—something strange started happening. A few nights every month, a woman, dead drunk, would pelt pebbles at the already broken, unrepaired window of Qiu’s rental place. Deep in the night, the sharp clatter of stones would ring out. Peering down from the window, Qiu would always see the woman’s wind-tousled hair, indifferent gaze, and pale, bloodless lips. Strikingly beautiful—a fierce, untamed kind of beauty. It was Li Wuhui. Qiu Yiran tried shutting her ears and ignoring it, but she couldn’t resist. Eventually, she’d grab an old coat, hobble downstairs with her cane, pick up the high heels and purse the woman had tossed aside, and help her into the taxi. Her local friends, unfamiliar with the fashion world, would ask who the woman was. After meticulously cleaning the taxi and ushering Li Wuhui inside, Qiu would limp through puddles, smiling faintly. "Something like a friend… the kind you’ve broken up with."