Summer had arrived—it had arrived long ago. Li Fanghao removed the glass panes between the windows, cleaned the old window screens, hung new dark green curtains, and instructed Qiao Qingyu to keep the windows open from now on to prevent stuffiness.
The electric fan hummed continuously, intertwining with the cicada songs from the riverside, day and night. Early in the morning, sunlight pierced through the gap beneath the curtains to illuminate her bedside, and when Qiao Qingyu opened her eyes, she was met with a dazzling white. Sitting at her desk doing homework, waves of heat rushed in, making her restless—the room was far more unbearable than last year.
She finally had the freedom to look out the window. On the first day, she saw the mother of the tenant opposite scolding her mischievous little boy while picking vegetables. On the second day, she glimpsed Wang Mumu’s mother’s busy figure in the kitchen, placing items one by one into a large cardboard box.
On the third day, before sunrise, she was awakened by the “backing up” warning from a truck downstairs. Startled, she drew back the curtains, and as soon as she poked her head out, her eyes met Wang Mumu’s upward gaze.
Wang Mumu was moving away.
Qiao Qingyu hurriedly changed into track pants, grabbed a jacket, and rushed downstairs.
The truck had already been positioned, and Wang Mumu ran over from behind the cab, her face wearing a warm yet sad smile that made Qiao Qingyu want to cry.
“Sister Mumu…”
“I came looking for you yesterday afternoon, but you weren’t home,” Wang Mumu said with a smile. “I went to the shop to find you, and your mother said you’d gone to visit relatives.”
Qiao Qingyu nodded. It was true—yesterday afternoon, Qiao Lusheng had specially made time to take her to visit Cousin Chen who lived in the west of the city, a distant relative they rarely saw, but without whose connections in the Education Bureau, Qiao Qingyu would never have been able to transfer to No. 2 Middle School.
“I planned to come find you again in the evening, but I was tired and fell asleep,” Wang Mumu smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to avoid you, to not say goodbye.”
Hearing that she had fallen asleep made Qiao Qingyu feel relieved. She nodded vigorously, noticing the black cloth armband fastened to Wang Mumu’s long sleeve.
“My father passed away, you know,” Wang Mumu sighed softly. “Just when we thought everything was getting better, he suddenly couldn’t hold on anymore.”
“Sister Mumu…”
“It’s okay, I’ve been running around these past few days, between the hospital, funeral home, and cemetery, plus moving—I’ve been too busy to grieve, which makes it all seem less scary…”
“Why are you moving away so urgently,” Qiao Qingyu asked, confused. “Where are you going?”
“This house isn’t ours anymore,” Wang Mumu said gently. “Rent is due on the fifth of each month, yesterday was the deadline. If we stay longer, we’ll have to pay for another month.”
“So where will you go?” Qiao Qingyu asked again.
“Asheng’s family has an empty house we can use temporarily,” Wang Mumu bit her lip. “I got into Renmin University, and once the acceptance letter arrives, I’ll go to Beijing with my mom.”
“Together meaning?”
“My father’s gone, I can’t bear to leave her alone here. Wherever I go, I’ll take my mom with me.”
“Will you ever come back?”
The sun had risen, its pale golden light falling on Wang Mumu’s face, making her appear both warm and translucent. She smiled, as if she hadn’t heard the question, and instead pulled a book from her backpack and placed it in Qiao Qingyu’s hands. The book was titled “The Girl at the Window,” with a yellowed quality similar to “Norwegian Wood” that Qiao Qingyu had once pulled from Mingsheng’s grandfather’s shelf—very old, with a 1980s feel.
“Found it while packing yesterday,” Wang Mumu smiled. “Borrowed it from grandfather’s house years ago, forgot to return it. Could you return it to Asheng for me?”
“Why don’t you return it yourself?”
“He’s gone to America,” Wang Mumu smiled warmly, knowingly pressing Qiao Qingyu’s arm. “By the time he returns, I’ll be in Beijing. I can’t go to his parents just for this old book—they’re busy people, and they don’t know me well.”
“But…”
“There’s a gift inside, look at it when you get home,” Wang Mumu suddenly leaned in mysteriously. “Don’t let your mother find it.”
Her solemn tone made Qiao Qingyu’s heart flutter with anxiety.
“We’ll see each other again, won’t we, Sister Mumu?”
“You have QQ, right?” Wang Mumu took out her phone. “What’s your number?”
Qiao Qingyu gave it to her, then added: “I rarely use QQ though.”
“I know,” Wang Mumu put away her phone with a smile. “Then I’ll write to you.”
“My mom reads my letters…” Qiao Qingyu murmured, her voice full of despair. “Sister Mumu, you’ll come back to Huanzhou, won’t you?”
“Silly, of course,” Wang Mumu smiled, stepping forward to hug her gently. “Work hard in your final year.”
The driver honked, and Wang Mumu let go. The truck left Qiao Qingyu behind as her tears welled up, the vehicle quickly blurring into a tiny black dot in her vision. After a long while, she turned around, letting the golden sunlight beat against her face as she slowly walked toward the river.
By the canal path, Qiao Qingyu found a bench to sit on, diagonally facing that five-hundred-year-old camphor tree that remained as lush as when it was first born. The Girl at the Window, she read aloud, opening the book in her hands.
As soon as she opened it, she saw the “gift” Wang Mumu had mentioned—a photograph cut in half.
It was Mingsheng at about eight or nine years old, full of vigor, his hair windblown like a bird’s nest, smiling with absolute confidence, his eyes clear as morning dew. Skinny arms and legs, wearing short sleeves and shorts, his left arm bearing the conspicuous two red stripes of a Young Pioneers team leader.
The other half that had been cut away must have been Sister Mumu, right?
She took herself away and left Mingsheng to me. No, not left to me, just left behind. No, let go—let go of childhood memories, childhood intimacy. She just let go of the obsession in her heart, it has nothing to do with me, right?
Sunlight filtered through the swaying camphor leaves, dancing before Qiao Qingyu’s eyes, making her feel dizzy. I should go home, she told herself, tucking the photo back into the book and standing up—
Summer was stifling, summer was lonely. Life had hit the reset button; across the balcony were completely unfamiliar neighbors, and Li Fanghao came home at irregular times to check on her. Qiao Qingyu’s hair was now at an awkward length, just long enough to rest on her neck but not long enough to tie up completely. Li Fanghao felt uncomfortable for her and offered to take her to get it cut shorter, but she refused.
“A calm mind brings natural coolness,” she repeated Li Fanghao’s frequent teaching. “I don’t feel hot.”
“You’ll have to cut it anyway when you start your final year.”
“I don’t want my hair to be shorter than the boys’ when I’m in university.”
“Hair grows back anyway, and yours grows so fast.”
“People who are truly focused don’t care about hair length,” Qiao Qingyu argued. “Cutting it would create psychological pressure—I’m fine as I am.”
Li Fanghao’s gaze was piercing.
“You said it yourself,” she spoke, her tone threatening. “If your test scores drop, we’re cutting your hair.”
Qiao Qingyu bit her lip: “Fine.”
In her heart, she knew everything she’d just said was a lie. She had read the book Wang Mumu had entrusted to her—it was a Japanese author’s childhood memories, full of love and emotion—and had safely stored it in her school bag. But that half photograph, she hid here and tucked there, never finding a safe place for it, wishing she could wear her long-sleeved school uniform every day to hide it in its wide sleeves.
Her heart had probably been disturbed by this photograph, her longing for Mingsheng growing wild, to the point where his figure occupied her mind at all times, no matter what she was doing. When doing homework or reading, he would quietly retreat to one side but never disappear; during any moment of mental relaxation—eating, walking, brushing teeth, before sleep—he would automatically step forward, sometimes clear, sometimes hazy, completely dominating her mental world.
It was truly torturous.
Get rid of it, end it. Qiao Qingyu remembered what Mingsheng had first said to her in the tree. I must get rid of it too, she thought, truly end it, not his so-called kind of “ending.”
How to achieve this? She had no clue. She felt as if she had fallen into a swamp—the more she struggled, the deeper she sank. Qiao Jinyu, who was also often at home during summer break, noticed her strange behavior and worriedly asked what was wrong.
“This room is too hot,” Qiao Qingyu gazed absently out the window, her sight falling on the white-tinged blue sky fractured by wire mesh.
Qiao Jinyu agreed and used this to lobby Li Fanghao for air conditioning, but Li Fanghao refused, though she too had noticed Qiao Qingyu’s distraction. She said this neighborhood wasn’t good, too mixed, and with the rent about to expire, they might as well move.
But Qiao Lusheng firmly opposed moving, saying he’d had enough of changing places all his life. They often argued at night, and during the day, the stubborn Li Fanghao would go out alone under the blazing sun to look for houses and shop spaces. She had no time to check on them, and fresh freedom descended from the sky, beckoning Qiao Qingyu from outside the window.
But Qiao Qingyu had no desire to go out.
She sat at her desk with unusual determination, doing exercises, practicing calligraphy, reading books, and when melancholy struck, she would open the computer and type out everything racing through her mind—youth, friendship, her sister.
Love, freedom, loneliness.
Is it better to live in pain and struggle, or die content and at peace?
Home.
Fortunately, Li Fanghao didn’t know how to check computer documents, but even so, Qiao Qingyu hadn’t typed a single word about Mingsheng. She told herself she was trying to forget him, though her actions mocked her self-deception—sitting here choosing words carefully, wasn’t he, standing at the blackboard staring at her anonymous writing, her only audience in mind?
She didn’t want to move. Mingsheng was gone, Wang Mumu was gone too, and she felt that if she left, Chaoyang New Village would truly grow old. Growing old wasn’t scary; forgetting the past was scary. She feared that an aged Chaoyang New Village would forget everything that had happened here.
Thank goodness for the computer, Qiao Qingyu thought gratefully. It was freedom in another dimension.
After a week of such days, one afternoon, Li Fanghao suddenly appeared at home again, her face heavy with anxiety.
“We need to go back to South Qiao Village,” she said solemnly to Qiao Qingyu and Qiao Jinyu. “Your grandmother doesn’t have many days left.”
The moving plans were thus cut short, and half a month later, the Qiao Family Handmade Noodle Shop reopened, with the current shop space and residence lease renewed for another year—
During those two weeks back in South Qiao Village, because Qiao Qingyu was mentally prepared, nothing that happened surprised her. They had to stay with their uncle, and Liu Yanfen’s cold words were reasonable. Qiao Lusheng brought Qiao Jinyu before grandfather Qiao Lilong to promise they would tear down and rebuild the old house to bring glory to their ancestors, while Qiao Qingyu helped Li Fanghao care for Fang Zhaodi, who had been bedridden for half a year and was now barely alive, while also handling most of the housework. At night, she still lay on the same bed she had slept in half a year ago, listening to Li Fanghao’s steady breathing beside her.
This time, Qiao Qingyu never got out of bed in the middle of the night.
Through Liu Yanfen’s constant scolding, Qiao Qingyu learned that Qiao Jinrui had not only quit his civil service job but also sold his new house in Huanzhou, taking the money south to Guangzhou supposedly to do business, disappearing like a ghost with barely one phone call a month. “If Xiaorui can’t live well, neither can Qingqing and Xiaoyu,” Liu Yanfen viciously told Li Fanghao. “If our family can’t live well, neither can yours! Look at Qingqing, growing more like Baiyu every day, so coquettish! A girl with such an unyielding personality—what good end could she come to!”
“Sister-in-law, please don’t be angry,” Li Fanghao kept her head down, her trembling voice showing her humility. “Whatever Qingqing owes you, I’ll repay. The child has reformed, please don’t curse her…”
Every word Liu Yanfen spoke was filled with resentment. Qiao Qingyu, knowing she was in the wrong, never argued back, but in her heart, she treated the words like garbage. Li Fanghao’s inability to lift her head pained her, and Qiao Lusheng’s complete obedience to Qiao Lilong displeased her. She felt guilty about Grandmother Fang Zhaodi’s bedridden state, her whole body heavy as if wearing invisible shackles of sin. Familiar anger and powerlessness struck her simultaneously—this was the usual feeling in South Qiao Village.
Finally, she steeled herself and thought, the attachments her parents couldn’t let go of, she could. Once she was completely independent, she would never return.
The only good thing was that she could freely go out in South Qiao Village. Given others’ watchful eyes, Li Fanghao no longer confined her—everyone thought the village, with its many familiar faces, was much safer than the city. However, Qiao Qingyu would deliberately avoid those half-familiar people in the village.
When she wanted to go out, she would take a book and walk into the mountains, find a shady rock by the reservoir, and sit down to read for two hours. Sometimes she would wander through the mountains and fields, the summer verdancy enveloping her, making her feel peaceful. Once, as she was walking, she suddenly realized the small path she was on led to Qiao Baiyu’s grave. She stopped, then resolutely turned away.
This tombstone had no photo of Qiao Baiyu, and moreover—Qiao Qingyu was unusually certain—Qiao Baiyu was in Anling Cemetery. The reason was simple: her mother, who had desperately pushed herself to get into a good university in search of a better life, would never have been willing to leave her sister in this isolated, desolate mountain.