Lin Yingtao lay feverish, a cooling patch on her forehead. She drifted in and out of consciousness, wrapped tightly in a blanket, occasionally tilting her head to escape the heavy headache.
Someone held her, supporting her head to give her water. She felt as if she had returned to the Qunshan Workers’ Hospital of her past. Green curtains swayed in the light, and many nurse sisters walked through the ward, caring for her. Her father held her while her mother smiled, saying, “Yingtao, look what Uncle Yu brought you—canned peaches!”
Lin Yingtao’s eyes suddenly flew open. She was awake but saw no tempting peaches on a spoon.
A low, grey ceiling pressed down above her. Water stains in the corner caused the wallpaper to curl. Yingtao squinted, looking towards the window on her left. Dark blue curtains were drawn, with sunlight peeking through the gaps.
She rested on an uncomfortable pillow, too high for her liking, smelling of disinfectant. A large blanket enveloped her, covering her neck and shoulders. Yingtao had sweated profusely; as she tried to turn her neck, her cheek rubbed against her sweat-soaked hair. This tiny, squalid room felt like a prison, with the door seeming uncomfortably close to the bed where she lay.
Yingtao’s hand emerged from the blanket, gently rubbing her eyes.
By the bedside, she noticed a folding table. On it lay an open medicine box, torn packaging from cooling patches, disposable paper cups, and a tied plastic bag containing takeout food.
As Yingtao tried to sit up, she thought she glimpsed Jiang Qiaoxi—that little boy sitting with his back to her, perched on the edge of her small bed, focused intently on his advanced math problems.
She stared at him, eyes wide.
The young man sat on the floor by the bed, his back to her, neck bent as if asleep.
Yingtao lifted the blanket, feeling weak and heavy-headed. Looking down, she saw her wrinkled, sweat-soaked shirt and dirty short skirt. She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to get out of bed, only to find no slippers on the floor—just her white sneakers, removed and placed beside the bed.
She crouched down next to the young man, studying his face closely. Through gaps in his hair, she could see the faint scar on his forehead.
“Jiang Qiaoxi?” she asked softly.
Jiang Qiaoxi’s head jerked forward, and his eyes suddenly opened as if awakened by a spell. He turned to look at the bed but found Yingtao instead.
She suddenly leaned in, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
“Jiang Qiaoxi…”
His hands were stiff, perhaps from exhaustion after a day and night, or from sitting awkwardly, or from carrying Yingtao up eleven floors the day before. Slowly, he reached out to embrace her waist. Lowering his head, his numb cheek brushed against her hair, the tickling sensation gradually restoring feeling.
“Yingtao,” he whispered, still not fully awake.
Her back trembled in his arms. It had been years since he’d held her. Yingtao had grown into a 20-year-old woman, even her sweat seeming to carry a different fragrance.
Suddenly remembering he hadn’t shaved, Jiang Qiaoxi’s stubbly chin accidentally scratched Yingtao’s soft, feverish cheek. She instinctively turned away but buried her face deeper into his shoulder.
Closing his eyes, he tightened his hold on her waist, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He took a deep breath.
“Jiang Qiaoxi, where are we?” she asked, still clinging to him.
“My rented room,” he replied.
“Why is it so small?” she wondered.
“It just is,” he said with a chuckle.
Yingtao rested her chin on his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his neck.
“When did you come back?” she asked.
“After eleven last night,” Jiang Qiaoxi answered.
“Why so late?” she pressed.
“It’s… always this late,” he explained.
For Jiang Qiaoxi, the concept of “home” had never truly existed. The house in the provincial capital was stern and cold, his mother’s rigidly organized training camp. The home in Qunshan was desolate and dilapidated, often facing only his father’s numb expression or rooms filled with choking smoke.
This cheap, cramped rental, barely able to fit a bed, fulfilled all the purposes of “home” for Jiang Qiaoxi.
Yet he knew that “home” shouldn’t be just this.
At this moment, sitting on the floor of his rented room, holding the aggrieved Yingtao in his arms, Jiang Qiaoxi felt, for the first time, reluctant to leave this ugly, dark cave. He lowered his head, selfishly tightening his embrace.
“Yingtao, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whispered, the words escaping involuntarily. Yesterday, seeing Yingtao sitting downstairs in the dark Hong Kong night, feverish and waiting for him, he had silently cursed himself.
Her hands still on his shoulders, Yingtao mumbled, “You must have so many apologies to make to me…” Suddenly, her body went limp, as if strength had left her. Jiang Qiaoxi quickly supported her.
“Yingtao?”
She wasn’t sure if it was the fever or hunger making her dizzy—she hadn’t eaten since getting off the plane yesterday.
She heard Jiang Qiaoxi say, “I bought Siu Mai, baozi, shrimp dumplings, and both pork liver and fish congee. What would you like to eat?”
In her daze, Yingtao thought she wanted to try everything.
“What kind of filling is in the baozi?” she asked softly, glancing at the table.
Jiang Qiaoxi, who had been deeply worried, couldn’t help but smile at her question. The microwave was in the shared kitchen outside the rental room. He quickly went out and returned, sitting cross-legged in front of Yingtao. He tore open a steamed bun, revealing the shrimp, pork, and vegetable filling as steam escaped. Yingtao took the paper holding the bun and ate a few bites. Then she looked up at Jiang Qiaoxi, sipping the fish congee he offered on a spoon.
She began to cough, reaching for the disposable cup filled with hot water from Jiang Qiaoxi’s black thermos. Yingtao raised her eyes, studying his face closely.
Jiang Qiaoxi, hands on her waist, suddenly lifted her. Yingtao hadn’t known he was so strong.
“Your arms have gotten bigger,” she said out of nowhere.
“Have they?” he responded.
Yingtao was placed back on the bed—Jiang Qiaoxi’s bed. He replaced her cooling patch and wrapped her in the blanket like a dumpling, her head resting on the slightly too-high pillow. She looked up at Jiang Qiaoxi standing by the bed, her cheeks flushed with fever.
“Will you leave?” she suddenly asked.
“What?” Jiang Qiaoxi questioned.
Yingtao’s mind was foggy. She didn’t know how to clearly express her fear that Jiang Qiaoxi might sneak away while she slept.
She had so much to tell him—her longing, her grievances.
“I’ve taken the day off,” Jiang Qiaoxi said, bending down to look at her. “Get some good rest.”
The light in the small room disappeared as Jiang Qiaoxi drew the curtains tightly and turned off the lamp. He closed the door from outside.
Yingtao’s eyelids drooped. She still worried Jiang Qiaoxi might walk out the door and vanish again, but she couldn’t fight off sleep.
Jiang Qiaoxi went downstairs; the elevator was still under repair. Last night, he had been so busy buying supplies that he’d left Yingtao’s suitcase and backpack in the first-floor management office.
Reaching the fifth floor, his phone rang. It was Uncle Lin calling.
Jiang Qiaoxi had been out of contact with the “Qunshan construction site” for three years. He always thought he could resist all temptations, even believing he could take good care of Yingtao and safely send her back to her originally happy and peaceful life. He neither needed nor wanted to cause them any more trouble.
But last night, Uncle Lin Haifeng had said, “Qiaoxi, give me your phone number. Uncle wants to call you often from now on.”
Jiang Qiaoxi had hesitated, finding it particularly difficult to refuse Uncle Lin.
Uncle Lin had added, “Your aunt wants to talk to you too. She’s so worried about Yingtao that she can’t sleep. Please talk to her.”
Jiang Qiaoxi had given his number to Uncle Lin’s family, after all, Yingtao was still feverish in Hong Kong.
“Her fever broke once around midnight but came back around five,” Jiang Qiaoxi informed Uncle Lin. “I’ll take her to the hospital this afternoon.”
“Is it convenient to see a doctor in Hong Kong? Are there many people?” Uncle Lin asked.
“It’s fine, I’ve already made an appointment,” Jiang Qiaoxi assured him.
Lin Yingtao had brought a small suitcase, probably filled with clothes and shoes. Jiang Qiaoxi lifted it easily. He carried the suitcase and backpack back to the eleventh floor. His bare rental room suddenly looked strange with a girl’s backpack and a suitcase covered in Disney stickers.
Yingtao was still asleep, a small mound under the blanket, curled up on his bed. Jiang Qiaoxi peeked in from the doorway, then gently closed the door.
He sat on the long bench outside, taking money from his pocket. This was what he had gotten from his sister-in-law at the hospital last night after taking an overnight bus. He counted it, realizing it probably wasn’t enough.
Lin Yingtao awoke to Cantonese voices outside. Opening her eyes, she turned to see Jiang Qiaoxi’s hand on the doorknob, his watch peeking out. He accepted a stack of Hong Kong dollars from someone outside, pocketing it without counting. “Thank you,” he said.
“I’ll submit the assignment on Tuesday,” a man outside said in English, his tone slightly childish. “Babe, how much have you written?”
Jiang Qiaoxi chuckled. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow. I’m busy today.”
“You’ll explain it to me carefully, right? Otherwise, the professor will question my abilities and ethics again,” the man continued. “Is it a girlfriend? Borrowing money for an abortion? Hong Kong’s strict; Shenzhen might be better for that.”
Jiang Qiaoxi sighed, “She has a fever.”
The man left. Jiang Qiaoxi entered to find Yingtao awake, sitting up with disheveled hair. He turned on the light.
“Let’s eat something,” he said, sitting on the narrow bed. Yingtao drew up her legs as he felt her forehead. “The fever seems to have broken. I’ll take you to the hospital after you eat.”
Yingtao shook her head at the mention of “hospital.” “I don’t need to go. I’ll be fine after more sleep,” she protested.
“What if it’s the flu?” Jiang Qiaoxi countered.
Yingtao hesitated, “It shouldn’t be…”
Jiang Qiaoxi poured fish congee from a thermos into a small bowl for her. Yingtao noticed a private hospital logo on the flask. She looked up, realizing these hands that once only held pens for writing and solving math problems now cared for her like an adult’s.
“Put on a jacket. Let’s go now,” he said.
Yingtao held the bowl, looking down at her wrinkled clothes. Her hair was messy and unkempt; she didn’t want to go out like this.
Jiang Qiaoxi opened the shared bathroom door, turning on the light. After adjusting the water temperature, he returned for his toiletries.
“You won’t faint in there, right?” he asked, showing her how to operate the hot water. He looked down at her concernedly.
Yingtao, clutching clean clothes and wearing Jiang Qiaoxi’s oversized slippers, shook her head. Her large eyes, half-open, looked at him wearily.
“I’ll be right outside,” he assured her. “Call if you need anything.” He closed the door from outside.
Yingtao surveyed the dim bathroom, thinking about Jiang Qiaoxi’s life in Hong Kong. The tiles were yellowed, the floor uneven, but clean without other students’ trash or hair. She hung her bag of clothes and towel, then tried the door, finding it opened easily.
Jiang Qiaoxi sat on a blue bench outside, head down as if ready to sleep again. He looked up, meeting Yingtao’s eyes. “The lock’s broken,” he explained apologetically. “There’s a curtain inside. Don’t worry, I’m out here.”
Yingtao closed the door, found the curtain with Mong Kok street scenes, and drew it across. She began unbuttoning her shirt, carefully removing her cherry pendant and wrapping it in the shirt before placing it in her bag. She untied her skirt, examining it—bought specially to meet Jiang Qiaoxi, she wondered if it could be cleaned, making a mental note to ask her mother.
Outside, Jiang Qiaoxi sat idly. He could have studied, but his mind was unsettled from lack of sleep. The thin door barely muffled the sounds of water hitting tiles, shampoo bottles opening and closing, and Yingtao washing her hair.
He closed his eyes briefly, then looked up at his reflection in the mirror opposite.
Yingtao, having just washed her hair, heard a can being shaken outside, followed by the buzz of an electric razor—reminiscent of her father shaving at home.
She changed into fresh underwear and a Duffy Bear T-shirt, tucking it into her skirt as Meng Lijun had taught her to appear slimmer and taller. Wringing out her wet hair, she opened the bathroom door to find Jiang Qiaoxi freshly shaven, looking almost like his high school self.
Back in the room, Yingtao carefully applied the lotion her cousin had given her while Jiang Qiaoxi brought in a hairdryer left by the landlord’s ex-girlfriend. He smiled at the array of toiletries in her suitcase.
Yingtao handed over her travel documents. Jiang Qiaoxi took her hand, leading her downstairs to the subway.
Unprepared for Hong Kong’s intense air conditioning, Yingtao wore Jiang Qiaoxi’s oversized white sports jacket over her T-shirt. On the subway, he sat beside her, noticing her knees pressed together under her skirt.
He squeezed her hand gently.
Passing a mall, he suggested, “Let’s buy longer pants so you don’t catch a cold.”
Yingtao refused, tugging his hand, “No, I don’t want to…”
At the private hospital—Yingtao’s first visit to such a place—they completed registration and various tests. She sipped warm water provided by a nurse while sitting next to Jiang Qiaoxi.
The doctor was kind and patient, answering Jiang Qiaoxi’s questions in Cantonese. “Your girlfriend’s fever has broken. It seems to be just a common cold, nothing serious,” he explained. “We don’t do blood tests unless necessary. Just rest at home.”
Jiang Qiaoxi went to pay, returning with a paper package containing four different colored medicine bottles, enough for three days. Yingtao sat alone in the waiting room, surrounded by unfamiliar patients and nurses speaking Cantonese and occasionally English.
She stood quickly upon seeing Jiang Qiaoxi, eager to leave with him.
On the bus ride back to the apartment, Lin Yingtao’s mother called. Sitting next to Jiang Qiaoxi, Yingtao spoke softly into the phone: “I’ve just left the hospital… It’s nothing, just a common cold. My fever’s gone… The subway was too cold, I sweated and then caught a chill, that’s probably why I got a fever…”
Her mother scolded her anxiously: “Look at you, getting sick just going to Hong Kong. What if Qiaoxi wasn’t there? I told you to pack more warm clothes, but you wouldn’t listen—”
Yingtao, gazing out the window, interrupted, “I can’t hear you, Mom. I have to hang up.”
Her mother asked, “Did you not stay at the hotel your cousin booked for you?”
Yingtao paused, “I forgot…”
Her mother sighed, “And did your cousin give you 100,000 yuan? Yingtao, how could you accept that? Even if your aunt loves you, you shouldn’t just take it!”
Yingtao was even more confused, “What… huh?”