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This isn’t the first time a dead girl has walked into the diner, but it sure as hell is the first time a girl who didn’t know she was dead walks in. She’s with her friend, and they’re both chatting and laughing, one live girl and one dead girl, both looking like they’re barely out of high school, probably not even of legal drinking age.
It’s not easy to tell a new ghost from a live person, but there’s something about the way they take up their space in the world – a sort of thinness, a lack of strength, and even, yes, transparency in the right kind of light from the right sort of angle. Those who aren’t looking for something wrong can be forgiven for not noticing. The newer they are, the harder it is to tell.
Zhao Yunlan stares at them for a moment through the misty glass of the display counter and through the rows of pie slices, before someone raps their knuckles sharply on the counter, and he looks up.
Zhu Hong is there, red lipstick redder than blood, and snake-slitted eyes narrowed at him. “Hey, you,” she grumbles. “Aren’t they a little young, you shameless human?”
Zhao Yunlan gives her a flat look as he sets another tower of paper cups beside the fresh-looking coffee machine. “How about you have a look, Hong-jie, see if you can spot what I spotted.”
She is about to snap something at him, but she thinks better and levels her unblinking stare at the two girls who choose the table by the window, right across from the counter. Her eyes widen, and her head snaps back to Zhao Yunlan. “…One of them isn’t alive,” she says. “Haven’t either of them realized yet?”
“Seems not,” Zhao Yunlan says with a shrug. “You having the usual? Raw burger, no ketchup?”
Zhu Hong nods, then looks almost shy, tucking some of her sleek bob behind her ear. “But… Well, maybe you can cook the meat a little bit. Like… Like a normal human girl.” Under the layer of pale foundation on her cheeks, the hint of scales is still visible in the dim light and harsh shadow.
A little perturbed by this sudden turnaround, Zhao Yunlan stares at her. “Uh, okay?” he says, then scribbles ‘Hong-jie – medium rare?’ down on the piece of paper and puts it on the kitchen wall, where Lin Jing is cussing and cooking among the smoke and steam, his hair standing on end from the humidity like some sort of Super-Saiyan.
When he turns back to Zhu Hong, she’s staring at him again. “So, what are you going to do about it?” she asks flatly.
“About what? The dead girl?” Zhao Yunlan shrugs. “It’s none of my business – they usually figure it out by themselves, don’t they?” He tucks his notepad into the front of his apron and goes out from behind the counter to take the girls’ orders.
Zhu Hong follows him. “They usually figure it out quickly! Something’s wrong here – the girl's so young she barely believes she can die,” she hisses at him, too-long, too-sharp teeth glinting in the neon lights.
Zhao Yunlan rolls his eyes at her. “Fine, fine, I’ll deal with it – I was planning to deal with it, but now that you’re bugging me, I want to do it even less.”
Zhu Hong’s lips thin, and she sticks her forked tongue out at him. “You’re mean.” But then she smiles slightly. “I’m glad. You’re a good human, Lao Zhao.”
Zhao Yunlan snorts, but the corner of his mouth turns up. “Alright, alright, alright – don't try to sugar it up for me, I know you're being smug.” Zhu Hong leaves him, slithering away to bother Da Qing who drinks his second cup of milk, and Zhao Yunlan continues on to the girls’ table.
The two girls are animatedly chatting, talking about their plans, dreams that only one of them will live out the way she plans, saying things that start with, “When I start college with you,” and, “When I get out of this small town and go downstate to Dragon City…”
Unable to keep from wincing, Zhao Yunlan realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than he thought, and his shift is just starting. He has the whole night ahead of him. He puts on an easy grin and slides into a pause in their conversation. “Evening, ladies,” he says, “You ready to order?”
“Yep!” the dead one says.
The younger, live one smiles up at him. “Um, I’d like a slice of cherry pie, please,” she says.
They look similar enough to be sisters, but don’t act like sisters do – too happy to be spending time together and not quite as relaxed as close family members – just two good friends, probably on their first night past their parents’ curfew, and overly excited about it – in the same Zhao Yunlan was, years ago.
“A cappucino!” the dead one says. “And cherry pie for me too, thanks.”
They both giggle again, then look straight at him with round, blinking eyes. Zhao Yunlan almost sighs out loud. Not to mention that he wishes he was young enough to be able to drink coffee at night; the dead can’t eat. It’ll be as good a way for her to find out as any – and less painful than most. “Alright, is that all?”
“Yes, please,” the dead one says. She has good manners, saying her ‘pleases’ and ‘thank-yous’ like a kid who hasn’t got out much, to be able to practice speaking to people, but knows to be polite to adults. When she shifts slightly in her seat, the headlights of a passing car outside are faintly visible through her shoulder.
“Yes, please,” echoes the live one. This kid is slightly shyer, and she only meets his eyes for a second, with a slight smile.
Zhao Yunlan smiles back at them, scribbles down their order, and goes to get the still-warm pie slices from the kitchen. Lin Jing now seems to be slightly more in control of the situation, but his glasses are fogged over on one side, his hair is still sticking up, and there’s a soot-stain on his cheek.
“Is Sha Ya here yet?” he asks eagerly when he sees Zhao Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan rolls his eyes. “No, but if she saw you right now, she’d probably give up on the idea of dating you there and then.”
Lin Jing looks at his warped reflection in a pot, and sighs. “And I’m usually such a beautiful man, too…” he sighs. “You know, they call me ‘The Prince of Cooking’.”
“Who calls you that?” Zhao Yunlan asks absentmindedly, as he puts the plates with the pie slices on a tray and lands a good-looking dollop of whip-cream on them. “You call you that. It doesn’t count.”
Lin Jing makes a face at him as Zhao Yunlan leaves the kitchen to make the coffee. But when he looks up to assess the situation in the diner again, he grins, despite himself. Besides Da Qing and Zhu Hong arguing about something at the corner table facing the parking lot, there’s another familiar face, lingering by the door and making the whole diner feel like the air conditioning’s been turned up a notch.
“Professor Shen!” he calls. “Nice to see you again!” Ever since that first night, Professor Shen has been here unfailingly – every time Zhao Yunlan’s running the night shift, he’s there, drinking his coffee, sometimes grading, sometimes reading antique books, and always indulging Zhao Yunlan in long conversations that last until dawn when he always allows Zhao Yunlan to see him in his true form, without what he calls the 'glamor'.
Zhao Yunlan argues that Professor Shen looks glamorous either ways, and then grins shamelessly as Professor Shen looks away for a moment, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up in a flustered motion. Zhao Yunlan has fallen, and he's fallen hard – and he's going to make sure Professor Shen knows it.
Professor Shen nods at him, smiles, gives a little wave, then goes to sit down at the table next to the two girls.
Zhao Yunlan places the girls’ orders in front of them, but only the live one picks at hers – they are deep in conversation again.
Sighing, Zhao Yunlan sidles over to Professor Shen. “Long time no see,” he says, winking.
“It has been two days, has it not?” The good professor looks genuinely confused.
“Well, Professor Shen, every day between our meetings feels like an eternity.” Zhao Yunlan winks again, and Professor Shen looks like he’s trying hard not to roll his eyes.
“Ah,” Professor Shen says, glancing away. “Well. Hm. I-”
Taking pity on the poor night-visitor and his brightening cheeks, Zhao Yunlan says, “Alright, then, may I take your order?”
“Just black coffee,” Professor Shen says.
Zhao Yunlan grins. “Coming right up.”
As he goes to the counter again to make that coffee, Zhao Yunlan keeps an eye on the two girls. Other customers get up to leave, a group of truckers and a hitcher, and soon enough it’s only Da Qing, Zhu Hong, Professor Shen, and the two girls left.
Professor Shen takes his coffee with a smile, and as with everything, Zhao Yunlan is unsure whether the slight brush of cold fingertips against his own is calculated or accidental. When Zhao Yunlan smiles back at this winter-night-cold visitor, he wonders if his lips will be just as icy.
And then there comes a soft cry, and the dead girl’s eyes are wide, and even more transparent than before.
Zhao Yunlan watches as she tries to pick up her fork, but can’t, and then watches as her hand passes harmlessly through the table and out the other side. The live girl has her hands over her mouth, and her eyes are wide with horror.
Zhao Yunlan sighs, decides that he’s not getting paid enough for this, and then tells Professor Shen, “Just a moment,” about to go over and try to explain to a kid that she’s dead.
But the dead girl runs out before he reaches their table, and her friend runs after her. “…Ruomei-jie-jie, wait!” she pleads.
Zhao Yunlan cusses loudly and runs after them too. A newly-dead girl can do a lot of damage if she doesn't know what she's doing, and especially if she's upset. Not on his watch.
The dead girl glows faintly in the dark, enough to light her way forward. The live girl doesn’t, and once they run out of the faint pool of light that the parking lot has to offer, the live girl can’t see where she’s going, trips on a tree root, and falls.
The dead girl keeps running on, into the woods. She leaves behind a glowing trail of glowing ghost-tears – so as long as she keeps crying, Zhao Yunlan will be able to follow her. He leaves her for now – she'll stop running eventually, even dead girls get tired of running.
He crouches down by the fallen live girl, looks into her tear-filled eyes, and helps her up quickly. “You go back to the diner, kid,” he says. “Get a cup of hot tea, on the house. Sit down and wait there. I’ll bring her back.” To say goodbye.
The girl nods numbly and begins the trip back, limping slightly. He watches to make sure she makes it to the parking lot, then sets off at a dead sprint into the woods, following the glowing trail of tears the poor dead girl is leaving behind.
He finally finds her taking a curve out of the woods again, by the side of the highway, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, and her head buried in her arms.
Getting his breath back, he strolls loudly over to her – live, crunching steps over twigs and leaves, ample warning – and throws himself down to sprawl on the cold, dry grass beside her, watching the occasional car or truck go by with a roaring engine, rushing wind, and flash of headlights.
“…Damn it, kid, you run way too fast,” he huffs, giving her a sideways look. “Listen to people’s words a bit, before you take off like that, ah?”
At first she ignores him, but after a while, she looks over at him. “Why… Why’m I like this?” she asks, sniffling. She’s even more transparent than before, and the woods are the shadows in her hair, and the road is the texture of her sweatshirt.
“There’s no easy way to say this, kid,” Zhao Yunlan says with a wince. “You’re dead.”
She nods softly, then looks down and bites her lip. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Zhao Yunlan says. “You, uh, you still got stuff unfinished in this world, so you’ve remained as a ghost, I guess.” he shrugs. “That’s the watered-down, fairy-tale explanation, at least. The truth, you’ve got to figure out for yourself. Usually, your kind move on if they come to terms with how they’ve died. But there are always exceptions. So who knows.”
She nods again, but doesn’t move from where she sits. She’s stopped crying now, but she stares emptily across the highway, to the other side where the woods continue.
“So, what’s your name?” Zhao Yunlan asks. She’s human – since humans are the only ones to leave pieces of themselves behind when they die, after all – that sort of thing is alright to ask.
“Lu Ruomei,” she says. “Nice to meet you.” It’s the sort of mundane, automatic response that really gets Zhao Yunlan, and he sighs, trying not to think about how young this kid is, and how she's not going to be able to get any older.
“Zhao Yunlan,” he offers. “Let’s get back to the diner, okay? Your friend is probably worried about you.”
Lu Ruomei stands, but she laughs, bitterly. “And what am I gonna tell her? That I’m alright?”
Zhao Yunlan rolls his eyes. “Are you? No, you’re going to tell her the truth." There isn't any use sugarcoating it, neither for the dead girl nor for the live girl. "Tell her how it is. That you’re dead, that you’ve got dead-people-stuff to do, and that she’s gotta go on living, because that’s what living people do.”
Lu Ruomei nods. “Alright, then,” she says, and sniffs. “Okay.” She looks up at him and smiles a little. “Thanks.”
“For what?” scoffs Zhao Yunlan. “Come on, hurry up, kid, let’s go back. You might not feel the cold, but I'm freezing my ass off out here.”
They walk down that strip of grass between the woods and the highway that doesn’t belong to either, Zhao Yunlan in front, and the glowing dead girl shuffling along beside but a little behind him. She seems to be taking her time, looking in every-which direction – as if finally seeing more than she did when she was alive. "…I do feel cold, actually," she says quietly, only halfway to him. "But that's it. There's nothing… More. I couldn’t taste the pie at all."
Zhao Yunlan supposes that people have a different sort of appreciation for things that are taken away from them. If you aren’t allowed something, it looks all the more sweet for it. "Well, all the more reason to get back, hey?"
The diner parking lot appears out of the gloom in front of them, and when they reach the door, Zhao Yunlan holds it open for Lu Ruomei, who looks hesitant, glancing up at Zhao Yunlan, as if for directions. He shrugs expressively at her, as if to say, ‘What the hell do you want me to do, kid? This is your call.’
“Li Qian’s crying…” Lu Ruomei whispers, like feathers on water.
Inside the diner, there is a sight the likes of which makes Zhao Yunlan fall even more for the night-visitor professor. The live girl, Li Qian, sits at the front-window-table, shoulders slumped, and eyes swollen. She holds a handkerchief with the embroidered character ‘Shen’ like a lifeline, even though there is a napkin dispenser right near her elbow.
There is a torn hole in the knee of her jeans, but the skin beneath seems whole and clean – and Zhao Yunlan supposes that healing a minor wound is about as easy as fixing a coffee machine.
Professor Shen sits across from her, smiling sympathetically. He pours her a cup of tea and slides it across the table to her. “…-will bring her back, to say goodbye, at least,” he is saying.
“But… Why’s she saying goodbye? I don’t want her to go,” Li Qian whispers, taking the teacup with both hands as if to take its warmth for herself.
“Perhaps you will see her again,” Professor Shen says gently. “Humans we love have their ways of finding their way back to us. We can wait. Or go looking for them.”
By Zhao Yunlan’s side, Lu Ruomei seems to come to a decision. “…Li Qian!" she calls, running inside, to her friend.
"Ruomei-jie-jie!"
Zhao Yunlan notices how Luo Ruomei’s feet don’t quite touch the ground, or how when she hugs the live girl, Li Qian’s hands go right through Lu Ruomei’s shoulders. He exchanges glances with Professor Shen, and the professor nods.
“Thank you,” mouths Zhao Yunlan at him.
A faint smile appears on Professor Shen’s lips and he shakes his head, modest to a fault.
At the corner table, Zhu Hong and Da Qing stare unblinkingly at the unfolding scene. They watch as the two girls break away from their hug, as they say their goodbyes, and as finally, Lu Ruomei shuts her eyes that are full of glowing tears, and smiles.
Her body becomes more and more transparent, yet somehow brighter, until she fades from sight completely with a gentle flicker of light, leaving Li Qian wiping her tears away and staring at the place on the linoleum floor where a dead girl once stood.
“…I guess she died when she got hit by that car,” Li Qian says softly, staring down at the floor.
Zhao Yunlan raises his eyebrows and keeps himself from saying something insensitive like, 'Well, that would explain it,' or, 'No shit, kiddo,' or, ‘How the hell did you miss that?!’
"I- I saw her get hit, but she said it was fine. That the car didn’t touch her. That she must’ve tripped and fell. The car kept going, after all. And she looked fine, so I believed her.” She bites her lip. “We… I- I was gonna go to college with her – she said she’d look after me…”
Professor Shen looks down also. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. "That will be a promise you two won't be able to keep."
Zhao Yunlan nods, finally understanding what must’ve happened. “She must have not noticed she died, herself,” he says. “That’s what happens to some of the young ones. It’s not resentment that keeps them in this world – it’s denial.”
/
Zhu Hong offers to take Li Qian home, because she’s the only one besides Lin Jing to have a car (Zhao Yunlan has a motorcycle), and their shifts aren’t over yet. Zhao Yunlan watches as Li Qian carefully gets into the car with Zhu Hong, as Zhu Hong roots around in the glove compartment and finally pulls out a packet of snacks that would be edible to humans – and then says something that makes Li Qian smile shyly.
Zhu Hong smiles quickly back.
They pull onto the highway and drive away, taillights fading into the dark. Nodding with satisfaction, Zhao Yunlan turns away, only to find Professor Shen watching him.
Da Qing is in the kitchen, arguing with Lin Jing about something, their conversation muffled by the door, and the main diner area is empty but for Professor Shen and Zhao Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan makes Professor Shen's coffee in silence, and only raises his eyebrows when Professor Shen slides a packet of bills over the table. "You know, Professor Shen," he says, "Not that I'm complaining, but the coffee prices are right there on the menu. I don't want you to stop visiting just because you've run out of human currency."
Professor Shen smiles slightly. "Human currency is not a problem," he says.
Musing on how he's got himself a fairy godmother (or would that be a fairy sugar daddy?), Zhao Yunlan settles back against the counter.
“You did a kind thing, there,” Professor Shen says.
Zhao Yunlan’s first instinct is to scoff. “If Hong-jie hadn’t annoyed me into it-”
Professor Shen silences him with a look. “You are a good man, Kunlun,” he says.
The name always feels wrong when applied to him, something about the way Professor Shen says it, like he already knows everything about the person who holds that name, like he cares inordinately about that person – like that name holds memories for him. “Uh, thanks,” Zhao Yunlan says with a quick, slightly awkward smile. “It was sweet of you to take care of the live kid, too.”
Professor Shen nods in satisfaction at the acceptance of the compliment on Zhao Yunlan’s end, but like the adorable hypocrite he is, looks embarrassed at Zhao Yunlan’s words. “Ah, that is- It was not a difficult thing.” He glances away, and then back at Zhao Yunlan. “I am glad to have been of assistance.”
Zhao Yunlan sighs, sitting up onto the counter and swinging his legs, pulling a lollipop out of the pocket of his apron and unwrapping it. “When I took this job on, I had no idea what I was getting into.”
“Yet, you continue,” Professor Shen says.
“Yep. I need the money, I get to stick it to my dad, and, well, I mean – it’s not so bad. I got to meet you, after all.” Zhao Yunlan puts the lollipop in his mouth and grins around it at Professor Shen.
Professor Shen smiles a genuinely happy smile and ducks his head a little, as if he can’t look at Zhao Yunlan for too long. “I will stay here until dawn again.”
/
Zhu Hong prides herself on being someone who is good at dealing with humans. Sometimes, she even wishes she were human when she sees Zhao Yunlan’s bright grin, even if it’s pointed at someone else. Who is that Professor Shen? a thought at the back of her mind whispers. He’s not only one of us, there’s something else…
But Li Qian is a type of human that Zhu Hong doesn’t exactly know how to deal with. She’s not sharp-tongued and witty, nor tricky and deceptive – just quiet and mildly curious.
Zhu Hong is caught between wanting to rile her up and wanting to comfort her – rile her up to see her true colors, to distract her from the quiet way she bears her pain – and comfort her because losing a friend, losing an important person, no matter how temporary human death is; such a thing is painful.
Ever since they’ve pulled out of the parking lot, they’ve been quiet – Li Qian’s eyes downcast, and Zhu Hong’s eyes on the road, occasionally flicking over to the front passenger seat. Li Qian has finished the small bag of potato chips, the packet crinkles in her lap when she shifts a little bit in her seat, and there are small granules of salt on her left thumb and forefinger.
The way she ate chips was oddly delicate, Zhu Hong remembers. Li Qian's eyes are still swollen and red, but the tear tracks have been wiped away, and no new tears are rising.
The silence drives Zhu Hong mad – no-one she ever spends time with is this quiet, and Zhu Hong herself can’t be persuaded to be quiet for any extended period of time, her metaphorically sharp, literally forked tongue always having words on the tip of it.
Li Qian is looking at her with eyes that are too intense for such a young human. They’re dark, and serious, and sad – and Zhu Hong thinks that perhaps seeing her friend’s ghost leave wasn’t the first hardship she’s undergone.
“What are you looking at?” Zhu Hong says, not intending to sound so combative, but the words have already left her mouth, and she doesn’t take them back.
“N-nothing,” Li Qian says quickly, sitting up straighter in the seat and looking straight ahead onto the dark road.
“You were staring,” Zhu Hong says, trying to sound more gentle. “I don’t look right to you? Not like a human?” As soon as she says this, she regrets it – it makes her sound insecure, like she’s trying too hard. Her hands become tighter around the wheel and she shuts her mouth with a snap. Asking strangers this kind of thing-
“I’ve never seen someone like you before,” Li Qian admits quietly. “You’re too beautiful to be human,” she adds, and there is not even a hint of self-consciousness – just like anything else she says, flat and clear, like she’s stating some obvious fact.
Zhu Hong doesn’t know what to say to that, at all. If she was a human girl with hot blood running inside her, she thinks suddenly, she would be blushing red now. She glances over at Li Qian.
The girl had been looking at her earlier, examining her with a frank curiosity – but now is simply staring ahead, at the road. “That Professor Shen wasn’t human either, was he?” she wonders out loud.
“Why? He was too beautiful?” snorts Zhu Hong.
“There’s that,” shrugs Li Qian. “But he just seems… Too old and sad. And he talked about humans like he wasn’t one.”
“Yeah, he’s not,” Zhu Hong says. “But that doesn’t bother Zhao Yunlan,” she mutters.
“Why should it?” Li Qian wonders. “He seems nice.”
Zhu Hong, once more, doesn’t know what to say.
There is about a minute more of silent driving, slowly driving Zhu Hong crazy, until she can’t bear it and breaks the silence again. “…So,” Zhu Hong says finally, searching for a vague, safe topic of conversation. “What are you gonna do when you get home?”
“Sleep, probably,” says Li Qian. “And… If I can’t, I’ll study.”
“Huh,” Zhu Hong says. “Nobody’s gonna be worried that you’re out this late?”
Li Qian raises her eyebrows. “I’m eighteen years old.”
Zhu Hong snorts. “And I’m two hundred and twenty-four. So?”
“Is…” Li Qian frowns, “Is that sarcasm, or is that really…?” She trails off, looking more carefully at Zhu Hong, who tries to suppress a shit-eating grin. Li Qian, however, sees this, and smiles on her own. “…You look very good for your age,” she says finally, and this time, there is intent behind her words.
It’s so unexpected from this quiet little human, that Zhu Hong laughs out loud – and it’s not the human sound she’s perfected over years of practice; it’s a shaking, hissing sound that comes involuntarily – soon joined by a quiet huff of laughter from Li Qian.