Fang Zhaodi didn’t make it to August, passing away on the last day of July. Despite the barrage of calls from all the adults, Qiao Jinrui in Guangzhou kept saying he was too busy to return, enraging Qiao Lilong who, after the funeral, suddenly sat down and couldn’t stand up again. Everyone panicked and rushed him to Shunyun Central Hospital, but the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong, only advising less stress, fewer disturbances, and plenty of rest.
“I can’t manage both the farm work and housework alone,” Liu Yanfen told Qiao Lusheng and Li Fanghao directly. “We’ve always been the ones caring for the elderly, it’s time you contributed too. Who caused all this trouble in the family? Think about it with your conscience.”
Qiao Lusheng agreed without hesitation. After Liu Yanfen left, Qiao Qingyu heard Li Fanghao complain dissatisfied: “They contributed effort, but what about all the money we send every month? Doesn’t that count?”
“A family values harmony above all,” Qiao Lusheng’s tone brooked no argument. “You can’t calculate everything down to the last detail.”
“Then how should we contribute? Qingqing’s starting her final year, and in a few days, she’ll have make-up classes. If we don’t reopen the shop, what will we live on?”
“The shop has me and Qiao Huan, two people are enough,” Qiao Lusheng said, glancing at Qiao Qingyu. “Qingqing’s responsible now, not a child anymore, doesn’t need daily escorts.”
“Yes, yes, and you have me, Mom,” afraid they’d start fighting, Qiao Jinyu quickly interjected. “I haven’t started school yet, I can keep Grandfather company with you. Maybe in a few days when he’s feeling better, he’ll be able to stand up, right…”
And so it was decided. Two days later, under Li Fanghao’s countless reminders, Qiao Qingyu followed Qiao Lusheng onto the minibus back to Shunyun. Only after returning to Chaoyang New Village did she wake from her huge disbelief: Li Fanghao had let her go.
Qiao Lusheng had never really supervised her much. The day after arriving in Huanzhou, the day before make-up classes started, he retrieved her student bus pass from a drawer and returned it, gave her money to top up her meal card, and delivered many instructions at once, fulfilling Li Fanghao’s assigned task.
The downpour on the first day of make-up classes reminded Qiao Qingyu of that typhoon day when she first came to No. 2 Middle School, the day she first met Wang Mumu. She remembered that transparent umbrella curved to the elbow, appearing open but more closed off. She remembered those warm smiling eyes—Wang Mumu’s smile was the first genuine kindness she felt at No. 2 Middle School.
Sister Mumu must have received her Renmin University acceptance letter by now, wonder if she’s gone to Beijing?
The senior year building had already been cleared out. Qiao Qingyu was among the first to arrive, finding the still-empty Class 5 on the second floor. As soon as she entered, she saw Sun Yinglong with his back to her, writing eight large characters on the blackboard: “Pour out the fighting spirit, achieve dreams.”
After finishing, he tossed the chalk aside and, without turning around, asked in a strong voice: “Who’s first to arrive?”
“Me,” Qiao Qingyu stood from her seat, somewhat awkward, “Qiao Qingyu… Good morning, Teacher Sun.”
“Silent as ever, I knew it was you,” Sun Yinglong turned around laughing heartily. “How was your brief summer vacation?”
Qiao Qingyu didn’t know how to answer.
“Anyway,” Sun Yinglong said cheerfully, “your mother has already called me, saying since she won’t be around, to take special care of you.”
Qiao Qingyu let out a heavy “Oh.”
“Asked me to keep an eye on you. You’re in your final year now, and shouldn’t have any unnecessary social interactions. If anyone sends you letters, give them to her first, and she’ll pass them to you. But,” Sun Yinglong said while walking toward Qiao Qingyu, and she noticed he was holding an envelope, “honestly, I think she’s being overly cautious, seeing dangers where there are none… Who in class is more well-behaved than you? You’ll take good care of yourself, right?”
As he spoke, he placed the envelope on Qiao Qingyu’s desk: “There was a letter for you in the class mailbox, I brought it for you. Just read it yourself.”
Qiao Qingyu was surprised and touched, softly saying thank you.
“Many parents are more nervous than their children,” Sun Yinglong smiled. “Tell your mom to relax, or it might affect your exam performance instead.”
Chen Shen came in, followed closely by Guan Lan and Deng Meixi. Sun Yinglong turned back to the podium, and Qiao Qingyu sat down to open the letter. The envelope didn’t show the sender, but the handwriting was Wang Mumu’s. Wang Mumu had kept her word, writing so quickly, making Qiao Qingyu excited and satisfied.
Opening the letter, Qiao Qingyu lay on her desk and began reading earnestly.
“Dear Qingqing, I hope this letter finds you well.
By the time you read this, I’ll be in Beijing. I tried to find you but couldn’t—Mrs. Feng told me your whole family had gone back to South Qiao Village. I hope your grandmother is well… No, that’s not my most honest thought. Dr. Lin says avoiding painful parts of life doesn’t make them disappear, so what I want to say is that aging, illness, and death are normal parts of life. I hope your grandmother didn’t suffer too much at the end, hope you weren’t blamed by your family, and hope you won’t feel endless guilt over your grandmother’s passing. You told me she already had diabetes and high blood pressure, her health was poor, to begin with, so if she’s gone, please don’t take all the blame on yourself, okay?”
Okay, Qiao Qingyu whispered, feeling warmth surge in her heart.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you but couldn’t find the chance,” she read on, “partly due to my indecisiveness. But after my recent talk with Dr. Lin, I decided to tell you, hoping it won’t add to your burden, especially since you’re starting your final year.”
Reading this, Qiao Qingyu quietly took a breath.
“I once saw sleeping pill bottles in your home’s trash can. You wouldn’t have noticed because you wouldn’t recognize them, but I’m too familiar with sleeping pills, so I couldn’t be mistaken.”
Qiao Qingyu’s heart suddenly lifted.
“You probably don’t know, but the second day after my father was hospitalized, the morning after the college entrance exam, your mother came to visit us at the hospital. I happened to be away, and when I returned to the ward, I heard her talking with my mom, so I stood at the door eavesdropping. My mom was talking about suicide again, as she often does—I usually don’t think much of it, but I heard your mother strongly agreeing, saying very seriously that if it weren’t for you and your brother, she would have followed your sister long ago. I heard her say that when they transferred from Weiai Hospital to Provincial First Hospital, your sister was already failing but didn’t want treatment, and insisted on dying. Your mother had to hold a fruit knife to her own throat, threatening that they would die together before your sister stopped resisting. She said after your sister’s last breath, she almost jumped from the hospital window, but two nurses desperately held her back. She also said that in the years since your sister’s death, she often thought about leaving too, but you and your brother were too young to understand, so she couldn’t let go.”
Qiao Qingyu’s nose stung, the words before her gradually blurring.
“What worried me most was hearing her say death was better than living, like taking a long sleep,” the letter continued. “These were thoughts I once had. So I worry about her—I know what she told my mom wasn’t just empty comfort, but her true feelings.”
Qiao Qingyu’s chest heaved violently as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Qingqing,” Wang Mumu wrote next, “I think perhaps your mother, like me, is sick in her heart.”
Yes, Qiao Qingyu thought. After reading the final two lines, she closed the letter, feeling as if she’d fallen into a dark well, with a fear of never touching the bottom.
Now she understood why Li Fanghao, usually so sensitive, could sleep through her three or four-hour disappearances at night even while sharing a bed. She also understood why Li Fanghao’s breathing was always so steady and peaceful at night. It wasn’t from daily exhaustion, but because she took sleeping pills before bed.
Mom had been sick for a long time.
This must be why, in front of her grandparents and aunt and uncle, Mom desperately took all the blame for her mistakes. Her guilt ran deeper because she felt she hadn’t properly controlled her daughter.
Images flashed before Qiao Qingyu’s eyes: Li Fanghao’s desperate screams protecting her from Qiao Lilong’s whip, her humble resignation before Liu Yanfen’s cold face. Mom, she whispered, her nose unbearably stinging, tears falling from her eyes onto her hands—hot, scalding, like blood dripping from her heart—
The make-up classes ran from August 5th to the 25th, three weeks total, coinciding with Huanzhou’s hottest summer. Evening self-study wasn’t mandatory, about half the students would go home, but Qiao Qingyu was among those who stayed. The classroom’s air conditioning made it cooler than home, and—as Li Fanghao said—eating dinner at school was safer than being seen at the shop.
Qiao Qingyu loved the make-up class days spent entirely at school. Sun Yinglong had rearranged the seating, placing her at the innermost side, her desk right next to the clean, large windows. When thinking or relaxing, she would turn her head outside, her gaze unconsciously resting on the several camphor trees between the tennis courts, basketball courts, and track field.
They were young, straight, and lush, their green leaves dancing in the brutal sunlight, flourishing vigorously. They were undoubtedly the tallest trees on campus, standing out so prominently among the flat sports fields, yet Qiao Qingyu felt as if she’d just discovered them, falling in love at first sight.
In the past, she would have found time to walk under the trees, just to feel that overwhelming greenness, but not now. She was in her final year—no time left for leisurely pursuits.
During the make-up classes, the seat closest to the back door remained empty, reserved for Mingsheng, who hadn’t returned from America. This caused no ripples in Qiao Qingyu’s heart; if she felt anything, it was a slight relief—relief that he wasn’t there, as everyone in the class had become much less interesting, wearing the uniform mask of final-year students. The classroom was like stagnant water, but Qiao Qingyu preferred it this way.
Thanks to Wang Mumu’s letter, another layer of life’s fog had cleared. Now the thorns were more visible, but so was the path: she, Qiao Qingyu, could only guide Li Fanghao safely through this dark passage by staying focused, working diligently, being understanding, and never complaining.
Her heart had completely settled. Everything related to Mingsheng remained in July as life’s rhythm continued forward. Without Mingsheng, she thought more frequently of Qiao Baiyu, pondering Wang Mumu’s words in the letter. “Your sister was already failing but didn’t want treatment, and insisted on dying”—what did that mean? Was it because the AIDS-related condition had deteriorated beyond hope so she didn’t want to waste time and money, or had she originally planned to… Qiao Qingyu dared not think further.
She remembered her last time seeing Qiao Baiyu, during the summer vacation of 2005, in August, similarly scorched by the fierce sun. Back then, she shared a room with Qiao Baiyu in Shunyun, and Baiyu, who liked wearing light clothes, would constantly walk around the house with her porcelain-white arms and legs bare.
Their parents were busy in the shop downstairs every day, and Qiao Baiyu, about to enter university, paid no attention to Li Fanghao’s restrictions. She often wore super-short shorts or skirts, first earnestly instructing Qiao Qingyu as an elder sister to study hard, then casually throwing out an excuse like getting some fresh air before heading out.
Once, just after she hung up the phone, two boys who had arranged to meet her poked their heads into the living room, giving Qiao Qingyu, who was lying on the sofa reading, quite a fright.
“Your sister?” one boy grinned sleazily. “How old is she?”
Qiao Baiyu quickly rushed to the door: “Starting eighth grade this fall.”
“Eighth grade’s old enough, so cute! Why don’t we all…”
Before the boy could finish, Qiao Qingyu heard Qiao Baiyu say through gritted teeth: “Go to hell.”
Looking back, Qiao Baiyu had always kept their two worlds separated. “You need to study well, don’t be like me,” she would often say. Perhaps this was her sister’s silent love—it didn’t matter how polluted and dirty her world became, but her little sister’s world had to remain pure and bright.
Turning her head again, Qiao Qingyu gazed at those verdant camphor trees. The leaves danced in the wind, sunlight like flowing fragments of gold. Finding it a bit dazzling, she closed her eyes and saw Qiao Baiyu’s twelve-year-old face, lit red by firelight, pressed close to hers, beaming brightly.
Her heart grew warm.
I will study hard, she thought, turning back and gripping her pen tightly once more.