In 1999, at the turn of the century, twenty-year-old Wen Wen, like almost all young people at that time, was full of vitality and hope, believing that things getting better was natural and inevitable, believing that every day of the new millennium would be bathed in sunshine.

At that time, Wen Wen felt she had inexhaustible energy and love. She loved her city, her family, the job she had just found at the cultural center, and the floral dress she bought for work. She loved “Princess Returning Pearl,” and also “Sex and the City.” She had loved each of the Four Heavenly Kings in turn, but at this moment she was crazy about Nicholas Tse, especially that explosive hit song of his that had swept the streets this year.

“Hey, I learned that song.”

“What?”

“‘Thank You for Your Love 1999,’ I learned it.” Young Yu Kaixuan held a popsicle in his mouth, sitting with his legs spread on the curb, nudging the person next to him with his elbow. “Let me sing it for you.”

Bright and spirited Wen Wen glanced at him, taking a sip from her orange soda in hand: “No need.”

But he suddenly hit a high note, clenching his fist like a microphone, facing the city center development under construction across the street, and began singing with a howl: “Don’t ask how many people I’ve loved, the person with me now…”

Wen Wen laughed. The tune had run off to grandma’s house.

“Sis! Brother-in-law! Mom’s calling you for dinner!”

A clear voice still carrying some childishness came from behind. Wen Wen stood up. The brilliant sunset of early autumn evening glared painfully into her eyes. She shielded them with her hand, looking carefully. She knew who it was, but as if using eyes from the future, she greedily stared for a long time, watching that eighteen-year-old girl who smiled like a sunflower.

Yu Kaixuan patted his bottom, walking toward the bathhouse behind them, casually: “What’s Mom making today?”

The girl answered: “Dumplings.”

“What filling?”

“Two kinds—chive and pickled cabbage.”

“Those are exactly my two favorite fillings!”

Wen Wen slowly came over: “Who told you to call him brother-in-law? He’s not the person I like. Don’t call him that in the future.”

“He told me to call him that.”

“Just because he told you to, you do it!” Wen Wen pinched her chubby cheek. “Xiao Ya, can you not just grow meat but also grow some sense?”

Wen Ya wore a tracksuit, swatting away Wen Wen’s hand, making a face at her sister, then dashed off to the small kitchen behind the bathhouse to help Mom peel garlic.

Wen Wen smiled, about to walk in when suddenly someone gently called her name from the roadside behind her.

“Xiao Wen.”

She knew who it was. She tousled her bangs, tidied her dress slightly, then turned around to look at her ambiguous romantic interest at the time, the fashionable handsome man she’d met in the cultural center library reading room, the poet Sun Yuwen who had some modest fame in provincial publications.

She deliberately copied him, also calling: “Xiao Wen.”

Then she turned her head slightly, seeing he hadn’t come alone today. Beside him was a thin, dark stranger with extremely high cheekbones. The man hunched his chest, head slightly bowed, his eyes carrying some timidity.

Sun Yuwen introduced him: “This is Brother Yong, from out of town, sort of my reader.”

When Sun Yuwen said that last sentence, he smiled, seeming uncertain. Brother Yong quickly added, with a hoarse southern accent: “Not sort of—he is. You’re my idol.”

Sun Yuwen seemed embarrassed, pursing his lips as he looked at Wen Wen: “Want to go roller skating? I’ll treat you to a hamburger.”

Hamburger.

Want to go?

But Mom made dumplings.

Young Wen Wen turned back, through the spotlessly clean glass window, seeing her family busy around the dining table in the bathhouse’s small kitchen. Mom placed freshly boiled dumplings on the folding table, Xiao Ya set out bowls and chopsticks, Dad pulled out a bottle of erguotou from the drawer, seeming about to drink. His newly accepted apprentice Yu Kaixuan quickly and deftly opened it for him.

Later, she recalled that warm scene and the foolish decision she was about to make countless times, always feeling that in some mysterious way, at that moment, that autumn evening, in a single thought, she personally destroyed everything she loved, pushing everyone in that picture toward an irreversible abyss.

Turning all the beautiful portrayals of the future into sorrowful metaphors.

“Sure.”

She lifted her floral dress hem, carrying shameful excitement, stepping into a swamp full of original sin under the golden-red autumn glow.

Wen Wen often thought that if she could meet her past self again, she would definitely slap herself hard several times at that moment. If that still didn’t work, she’d simply kill herself outright.

Among all the hatreds she held onto for the rest of her life, her resentment toward herself was actually no less than toward any enemy.

She had truly, genuinely thought about dying.

The case happened over three months later at the end of the year. By then, Wen Wen had already started dating Sun Yuwen and had also realized something was off about him. He was always mysterious, didn’t talk much, didn’t like sharing about himself. During that period, he became even stranger, mixing with Ding Yong all day, not only taking care of his room and board but also paying for all his expenses.

His creative energy suddenly became very vigorous, and his style changed dramatically. Although he wrote love poems, they carried a thick, fierce ruthlessness. They were not only published in traditional journals but also accumulated quite a few readers on the newly emerging internet.

Later, Wen Wen learned that Sun Yuwen wasn’t Ding Yong’s idol—quite the opposite, the wickedly sinful Ding Yong was his idol. Under the banner of artistic creation, Sun Yuwen was fanatically obsessed with Ding Yong’s perverted criminal psychology and methods, writing nauseating works stimulated by those deformed violent emotions.

What he was most proud of, and what later became most widely circulated, was a poem inspired at the scene where Wen Ya was murdered. Although he didn’t participate in carrying out the crime, he acquiesced, enabled, observed, and to some extent, even enjoyed it.

So a person like him, an accomplice with antisocial personality disorder, should have died. Why couldn’t he be sentenced to death? The law was unjust. This wasn’t fair.

If it were fair, you and me, both of us should have died together with poor innocent Xiao Ya and that demon who deserved to be executed a hundred times over.

But unexpectedly, the first one who couldn’t hold on was Mom.

After witnessing Wen Ya’s death, Wen Wen’s mother walked out of the house in a daze, saying she was going to catch the murderer, but staggering, whether intentionally or not, fell into an open manhole cover.

Wen Wen was the first to find Mom. The well wasn’t very deep. Bending down, she could see the familiar clothing. Without thinking, she immediately jumped down, seeing Mom’s head had struck the solidly frozen ice. Like Xiao Ya, the blood had already congealed. It was too late.

She looked up, watching the small patch of azure bright sky through the round manhole cover, heartbroken, in agony wishing for death.

It should have been me.

Wait for me.

It was after Yu Kaixuan and the police caught both those murderers—actually only less than a week later—when the dust settled, that she finally couldn’t hold on anymore. That thought had been circling in her mind for several days. It wasn’t an impulsive decision. She felt every day she lived was immensely sinful.

After thorough deliberation and preparation, she made dumplings for Dad in advance, found an excuse to trick Yu Kaixuan who was watching her into leaving, and when night fell, ate her fill, changed into new clothes, and went to Stone City’s newly completed tallest fifteen-story commercial building.

That’s right, Wen Wen hadn’t initially planned to jump into the river. She had another plan. Actually, she had prepared three plans at the time, none of which involved jumping into the river. But somehow, all three plans went wrong.

The commercial building was inexplicably under martial law, apparently because an elevator malfunction had injured someone. Many merchants were noisily demanding compensation around the area. She then wanted to go to an agricultural supply store to buy some pesticide. She had already found out the brand and dosage, but after going to several agricultural supply stores in succession, they were all closed. So lazy, they deserved not to make money. She went to the train station, thinking she’d just close her eyes and lie down on the tracks and it would be over. But she waited for two whole hours and nearly froze to death, and not a single train came.

Finally, she suddenly remembered a recent incident where a child skating fell into the river and nearly drowned. That river wasn’t far from the train station either. If even a child could fall in, she figured that as an adult, if she looked carefully, she could definitely find a place where the ice wasn’t solidly frozen.

On the way to the riverbank, Wen Wen cursed indignantly, refusing to accept that heaven was working against her everywhere, just wouldn’t let her have peace, wouldn’t even let her die. When she reached the riverbank, she cried again, muttering why won’t you let me die, who won’t let me die?

Then she stood by the river, about to walk onto the ice, looking at the distant sky, saying is it you, Xiao Ya? Is it you, Mom? Are you the ones not letting me die? If it’s you, can you tell me?

She first heard singing. Turning to look, she saw a few young people about a hundred meters away gathered around a bonfire, playing guitar and singing. They were singing that Nicholas Tse hit song.

Wen Wen snorted coldly, scoffing. Complete fucking nonsense. What love is there? There’s no love in 1999, and there won’t be any in the new millennium either.

She lifted her leg, stepping onto the ice surface thinly covered with snow, walking forward. But after just one step, she suddenly heard a faint crying sound, sobbing and whimpering like a kitten.

She paid no attention, continuing forward. The crying suddenly grew louder, getting louder and louder, wailing, resonant, surging like waves, like desperate cries for help, like urgent calls.

Wen Wen followed that heart-disturbing crying to search, and in a patch of wild grass nearby saw a blue floral cotton quilt. The crying came from inside. She went over, picked it up, lifted a corner of the quilt, and saw a baby girl.

The child looked less than a year old, with thick hair, a pair of bright black eyes, lips frozen purple, two patches of chapped red on her cheeks, crying until tears and snot covered her face. She was quite ugly, looking just like a dirty monkey.

Wen Wen looked around. No one else. She wiped the child’s face, then turned the quilt inside and out. Not only was there no information, but in the cold night of minus several dozen degrees, inside the child only wore an autumn shirt and pants set, not frozen to death counted as great fortune. She instantly understood—this nameless child had been abandoned here. Utterly unconscionable.

At first, she hadn’t intended to care about that pitiful child. Someone intent on death had no energy to bear another life. But she couldn’t bear to put her back either. That would be no different from murder. She waited in place for a while. Still seeing no one, she thought she’d carry her to near the bonfire, let those young people take care of her, and then continue with her plan.

But as Wen Wen held that baby girl weighing barely over ten pounds, just as she lifted her leg toward the bonfire, the child suddenly reached out a hand, grabbing a strand of her loose long hair, pulling hard, not letting go. Wen Wen felt pain, looking down, seeing her watery eyes as if they could speak.

For some reason, she didn’t dare meet the baby girl’s gaze, so she forcefully pried open her little hand and tucked it into the quilt. But after just two steps, her hand came out again. From who knows where came the strength—her little hand reached high, grabbing a handful of hair on Wen Wen’s shoulder, with a survival-like force, pulling hard.

What are you doing! Wen Wen scolded her. Scolding and scolding, she started crying.

Then she went to pry open that little hand again, prying and crying, but couldn’t pry it open no matter what. Finally, she just held that little hand, saying why are you so strong? Can you let go? I can’t take care of you. She also said why is your hand so cold? How long have you been freezing here? Are you hungry? You’re definitely not hungry. If you were hungry, where would you get the strength to pull my hair…

Then a teardrop fell, landing right in the child’s eye. She seemed to find it irritating, blinking hard. Wen Wen thought she was going to cry again, but the child suddenly giggled.

Wen Wen saw she looked much better when smiling, so she smiled too.

Then in her heart she said, okay, I won’t die, not dying today.

The baby girl seemed to sense something and suddenly let go of her hand.

It was at that moment, holding that child, that Wen Wen suddenly burst into wailing sobs. She cried her heart out, as if shouting out injustice, as if crying out hope. She looked around—seeing the vast river surface, the warm bonfire, the distant horizon, the bright moon and stars above. She didn’t understand—why was such a desperate and cruel night still so beautiful? Beautiful for whom to see?

Then she looked down at the child in her arms, watching for a long time, as if anxiously finding an answer.

She gradually calmed down, her gaze determined. No longer resisting fate’s painstaking arrangements, no longer disappointing heaven’s rare mercy toward the two of them, following her heart, making that decision. She said to the child in her arms, since no one wants you anymore, I want you, okay? I’ll be your mother, okay? Let’s both live, okay?

The child smiled.

Wen Wen felt a surge of warmth, even quite excited, saying, I don’t even know when you were born. Today is December 29, 1999, the day we met. Let’s commemorate it. Today will be your birthday, okay?

She smiled.

Wen Wen continued, what name to give you? This date has so many nines, let’s call you Jiu. Xiao Jiu. Let’s call you Xiao Jiu, okay?

Xiao Jiu, meeting her mother for the first time, blinked her big eyes, clear and bright, full of hope.

“Xiao Jiu.” Wen Wen called her.

“Xiao Jiu.” She lowered her head and kissed her again.

“Jiu, Mommy’s taking you home.”

Not far away by the bonfire, that song was still being sung.

Wen Wen raised her head, looking again at the distant sky.

She said nothing, only held her daughter tightly in her arms.

In a trance, it seemed all suffering, torment, life-and-death separations, and fateful errors all had their reason.

…

On the second night after Yu Jiuqi moved out of the house, Wen Wen still couldn’t sleep. Not knowing what time it was, she sat in Xiao Jiu’s empty room, looking at the pitch-black night outside the window, motionless.

She couldn’t cry anymore.

She just repeatedly recalled those words she said that day under the cold night light pillars. Word by word, sentence by sentence, like torture, stabbing knives into her own heart and lungs.

She didn’t understand—where did it go wrong?

Clearly at the beginning, although I was just a novice with no experience and no guidance, Xiao Jiu, I wanted to be a good mother.

After bringing you home, you had a high fever for several consecutive days. Stone City Hospital issued a critical condition notice. I carried you to Changchun, to Beijing.

You lived in the intensive care unit for five days because of infectious pneumonia. Those five days, I felt like I died many times.

Later when we came home, people from the Women’s Federation came looking, wanting to send you to an orphanage, saying I was unmarried and unqualified to raise you. So I went and married Yu Kaixuan.

He liked you very much, probably liked you even more than he liked me. I thought I found you a good father. Right?

You also liked this family built for you. Right?

But where did it go wrong?

Was it because Mommy wanted a divorce?

Was it because Mommy wanted to tie you to her side?

Was it because Mommy wouldn’t let you date that person’s son?

Was it because of my terrible personality and temper?

How could you say such things?

How could you only now start loving yourself?

I’ve been your mother for over twenty years. Did I deprive you of the right to love yourself?

But my original intention wasn’t like this.

On your first birthday, your dad and I threw you a grand birthday banquet. We rented a floor of a big restaurant, reserved several tables, sang to you, had you choose objects for the zhuazhou ceremony, received countless gifts. During the banquet, the host we hired asked us about our hopes for the child’s future. I was too embarrassed to say, so I had your dad say it, but your dad was also useless, just handed the microphone to me.

I remember, I said three things at the time.

First, I hope my daughter will be safe. Second, I hope my daughter will be happy. Third, I hope she will always be loved.

How ironic.

Looking at it now, Mom didn’t achieve any of them.

It’s my fault.

You are such a perfect daughter, while I am such a failed mother.

Perhaps just as fate once guided you and Mommy to meet, now it’s step by step pushing us apart.

As it should be.

I should accept it.

At this moment, Yu Jiuqi lay on the sofa in the apartment Sun Xi rented. She had bathed, her hair still damp with moisture spread out. The heating in the room was sufficient, so she only covered herself with a thin blanket, drowsy, half-asleep, half-awake.

The living room lights weren’t on, only the TV was on. The TV was playing a compilation of exciting programs from some satellite station’s New Year’s Eve gala. She had just randomly found something to play. She was afraid of falling asleep, after all, the person she was waiting for hadn’t come back yet, so she listened quietly.

The sound of the door opening creaked. Then he took off his shoes, changed shoes, removed his coat, tiptoed over, carrying the coolness from outside and wisps of alcohol remaining after socializing. Not much—he probably hadn’t gotten drunk.

The sofa was large. He first sat down by her feet, seeming to bend down to look at her, judging whether she was asleep, before slowly moving to behind her, lying on the inner side, pressing against her, then embracing her waist with his arms.

He leaned over, kissing her hair that spread behind her head smelling of cherry blossoms, not daring to touch her skin, afraid of chilling her.

“Sorry, Xu Tian was there today too, so it dragged on a bit.” His voice was gentle and hoarse.

“Mm.” She responded.

“Xu Tian said he wants to treat you to dinner next time.”

“Mm.”

The TV program changed. She suddenly stiffened, shrinking into the broad embrace behind her.

The coolness on his body had dissipated quite a bit, so he became bolder. One hand reached underneath to embrace her waist, the other hand touched her cheek. Two fingers supported it, gently applying force trying to turn her around. He propped himself up and leaned over, but before the kiss landed, his hand felt scalding hot.

His fingers brushed—it was tears sliding from the corner of her eye.

“What’s wrong?” He asked anxiously.

“Nothing.”

“Jiu?”

Xiao Jiu also found it inexplicable, wiping herself: “Maybe from listening to the song.”

Sun Xi frowned, raising his eyes to look at the TV.

It was from some year’s New Year’s Eve gala. Nicholas Tse, still robust and handsome in middle age, after many years, sang again that hit song that had swept the nation.

Thank You for Your Love 1999.