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Li Kuiyi wanted to read the entire magazine at once, yet couldn’t bear to rush through it. She only nibbled her way through a little less than half, saving the rest to read before bed that evening. She didn’t quite know why, but there was always something more settled and deeply comforting about reading at night — her whole heart lying perfectly flat.

She set the magazine on the bedside table, turned around, opened her schoolbag, and took out her holiday homework. She had just sat down at her desk, pen in hand and ready to write, when the bedroom door was suddenly pushed open.

Li Kuiyi looked up. It was her little brother. He stood in the doorway with a lollipop in his mouth, speaking with muffled indistinctness: “Sis, Dad says there’s a New Year’s fun fair in the park. He wants Mum to take you and me — you going?”

“What New Year’s fun fair?” Li Kuiyi, caught off guard by this sudden invitation, froze and didn’t quite follow.

Xu Manhua heard from outside and explained: “A New Year’s garden party — it’s inside Lvshui Park.” Then she urged them along: “If you want to go, hurry up and get ready. Don’t dawdle. Li Zhuoyi, come here quickly and let me change your clothes.”

Her brother immediately darted away from the doorway. Li Kuiyi sat in her chair in a bit of a trance, turning it over in her mind for quite a while before slowly rising and changing out of her loungewear. She rummaged through her wardrobe back and forth and finally put on that brick-red round-neck sweater with the little elephant pattern.

Xu Manhua drove the siblings over. When they arrived at Lvshui Park, Li Jianye was already waiting at the garden party entrance, holding several admission tickets — he said a friend who was one of the organizers had given them to him. On the back of each ticket, there were spaces for stamps. Collect stamps from six different activities and you could exchange them at the final stop for a prize.

Inside the park, everything had been beautifully decorated. Colorful lights dotted the evergreen trees and shrubs, while bright clusters of flower garlands adorned the display stands in cheerful, festive profusion. Many families had come to take part, and they pressed together near the photo booth, having family portraits taken.

Li Kuiyi’s family joined the crowd for a photo too. When it was done, they received a print that they shook back and forth until the image began to emerge.

The instant photo wasn’t especially sharp. Li Kuiyi, Xu Manhua, and Li Jianye — the three taller figures — all came out slightly overexposed, their faces washed out and unclear. Only her little brother was visible, showing his gap-toothed smile, fingers flashing a peace sign, shouting “cheese.”

Xu Manhua picked up the photo and glanced at it with disdain. “That young man taking photos wasn’t very professional.” She handed the photo casually to Li Kuiyi.

Li Kuiyi pinched the corner of the photo and held it up close for a careful look. No matter how she squinted or adjusted the angle, the faces remained blurry. A faint gloom came over her; she tucked the photo into her pocket.

The stalls further in offered all sorts of activities to welcome the new year — making tanghulu, plant printing, DIY paper lanterns — the kinds of things children love. Her little brother, who adored anything sweet, let out a delighted yelp and charged like the wind toward the tanghulu-making stall. Xu Manhua and Li Jianye exchanged a glance, laughing as she scolded him affectionately: “That little troublemaker.”

Li Jianye turned and noticed Li Kuiyi lagging behind. Looking puzzled, he said: “Go on and play.”

“Oh.”

Li Kuiyi walked over, sat on the small stool in front of the stall, and began threading fruit onto bamboo skewers, then rolling them in the boiling sugar syrup. It was an objectively fun activity, yet somehow she couldn’t find much joy in it — though she thought that if this garden party were held at school, she would probably have enjoyed it quite a bit.

She participated in all the subsequent activities and completed each one well, successfully collecting all six stamps and exchanging them for a handheld game console.

Dinner was also at the garden party — a buffet. After filling herself up, Li Kuiyi went and got herself an ice cream cone. Xu Manhua caught sight of her and shot her a look. “It’s the dead of winter — why are you eating something that cold? Just asking for trouble.”

Li Kuiyi took a small lick of the ice cream and broke into an unexpectedly cheerful laugh.

She couldn’t quite explain her own state of mind. Before coming to the garden party, she had felt a kind of anticipation — a vague hope that something might shift or change. But strangely, nothing had happened: she and Xu Manhua hadn’t argued, no one had done anything to disappoint her, and yet she had let go of the anticipation entirely.

She seemed to have accepted certain things with a peculiar calm.

Li Kuiyi bowed her head and looked at the little golden elephant knitted into her sweater. Good, she thought. You no longer have to carry my fantasies.

They got home just after seven that evening. Li Kuiyi bathed early and got into bed, picked up the magazine from the bedside table, and began to read. In the stillness of the night, the only sounds were the joking voices of her parents and little brother from the room next door — yet she seemed not to hear any of it, curled up against the headboard, wholly absorbed in the pages.

After some time, she shifted her neck slightly and felt an immediate ache. She realized she had been holding the same position for far too long. She reached for her phone and checked the time — two hours had passed.

Li Kuiyi rubbed her neck, adjusted her posture, and was just about to turn off her phone when a call suddenly came in.

An unknown number.

She didn’t have the habit of answering calls from numbers she didn’t know, so she left it ringing until it hung up. To her surprise, the same number called right back.

This time of night, calling twice in a row — could there be some emergency? Li Kuiyi hesitated, then pressed her finger against the screen with a little unease, and answered, lowering her voice: “Hello?”

The voice that came through the phone was that infernal He Youyuan — and he sounded displeased: “Why did it take you so long to answer?”

Sir, do you know you nearly gave me a heart attack?

“It’s so late — why are you calling me?” Li Kuiyi stopped being polite and demanded, “And how do you even know my phone number?”

“I’m coming to find you in a bit. Can you come down?”

Sir, do you have any idea what time it is?

“No,” Li Kuiyi refused. “I’m already in bed.”

“You can get out of bed,” He Youyuan said matter-of-factly.

Li Kuiyi was speechless. “What do you even want?”

“I want to see you,” he said.

Like a punch landing in cotton, Li Kuiyi suddenly found herself too flustered to speak. He really was something — saying things like that without the slightest embarrassment.

“Will you come or not?” he asked softly.

“This is the last time!” Li Kuiyi snapped, then immediately cut the call and buried her face in the blanket, already regretting not having refused him firmly and righteously.

Well, whatever. She’d agreed, so she’d agreed. Next time he pulled another one of his out-of-nowhere stunts, she definitely wasn’t playing along.

Seven or eight minutes later, a message from He Youyuan arrived: “I’m at your compound entrance. What building are you in?”

Li Kuiyi: Building 19.

He Youyuan: OK

Li Kuiyi muttered curses under her breath while getting up and digging out a long padded coat to wrap around herself.

She grabbed her phone and keys, crept out of the apartment without a sound, and quietly pulled the door shut behind her.

Downstairs, she spotted a dark figure — someone leaning beside what looked like a mountain bike. She turned on her phone’s flashlight and shone it at him: it was indeed He Youyuan.

Li Kuiyi walked up to him and asked without ceremony: “What on earth do you want?”

He Youyuan said nothing, just smiled at her, looking at her face for a moment. Then he raised the item in his hand and gave it a little shake. “I brought you something to eat.”

Li Kuiyi looked closer — he was holding an insulated lunch box.

Good heavens. Who on earth drags someone out of bed in the middle of the night just to give them food?

She pursed her lips. “You’d better have a full imperial feast in that thing.”

He laughed again with that languid ease, his shoulders shaking. After a pause, he set the bike to the side and said: “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

In the corner of the compound, there was a small leisure area with a table and chairs, where many older residents played chess during the day. Li Kuiyi led him there and sat down on a small stone stool. He Youyuan opened the insulated lunch box, and a rich, savory aroma wafted out.

“What is it?” Li Kuiyi caught the smell and actually felt like trying some.

“Shrimp balls,” He Youyuan said. “My grandfather just fried them — they’re still crispy. I thought they were really good and wanted to bring some for you.”

“Shrimp balls? Never heard of them.”

“I think they’re a Cantonese Chaoshan snack. My grandfather’s been retired and has spent all his time experimenting with foods from different regions. You should try one.”

Li Kuiyi picked one up and put it in her mouth. The outside was crispy and fragrant, while the inside was chewy — she could taste large pieces of shrimp and bits of water chestnut. The layers of texture were wonderfully complex.

She nodded sincerely. “They’re delicious.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her sideways. “Regretting coming down?”

Li Kuiyi deliberately ignored his smug expression and harrumphed: “I’m not regretting it because the shrimp balls are good — not because of you.”

“Right, not because of me.” He made a show of sighing and pushed the lunch box closer to her. “Eat, eat.”

Even though she was already full from dinner, Li Kuiyi still ate well over a dozen large shrimp balls in one go. He Youyuan picked up a few too, and before long, the lunch box held only a sparse layer at the bottom.

“I can’t eat any more.” Li Kuiyi shook her head as the fullness hit her belatedly.

She stood up and walked over to the exercise equipment nearby, draping herself over one of the horizontal bars to relieve the bloated, stuffed feeling.

He Youyuan came over too, stood in front of her, and asked: “Are you cold? Do you want to zip up your jacket?”

“I’m not cold. Just ate — I’m warm.”

He Youyuan lowered his eyes and noticed that under her padded coat she was wearing a thin fuzzy set of pajamas, with a large cat-face printed on the chest.

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Li Kuiyi, Li Kuiyi — you walk around with that prickly, couldn’t-care-less expression on the outside, and you wear cat-face pajamas in private, is that right?

“What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t say, just kept a smile at the corners of his mouth, and came to stand beside her, draping himself over the exercise bar alongside her.

A moment of silence.

A night breeze drifted past now and then, but rather than being cold, it eased a little of the restless warmth in the air.

Li Kuiyi found the temperature very comfortable and, following a natural train of thought, remarked: “I saw in the weather forecast that after the New Year, the temperature is going to drop a lot — spring will actually be the coldest time.”

“Mm. Don’t know if there’ll be heavy snowfall this year.”

They both suddenly thought of last year’s first snowfall — vast and hushed — the one they had watched together.

Looking back on it now, they felt a small pang of regret: how had they managed to bicker and argue through such a perfect moment?

Now would actually be a lovely time to watch snow together, Li Kuiyi thought — but the air was dry, and there was no sign whatsoever of snow coming.

“Do you want to hear a song?” He Youyuan asked.

She rested over the bar and turned her face toward him, her heart quietly still.

“Which song?”

He didn’t answer. He rested his arms over the bar too, looked back at her, and gently opened his mouth. His voice was very low, very quiet — he was singing a perfectly fitting song, Red Bean.

/We haven’t had the chance to fully feel /The season when snowflakes bloom /If we could tremble together, we’d better understand /What tenderness means

……

No accompaniment — only the young man’s low, mellow voice turning through the crisp night air, like an intimate fireside conversation in the small hours. Perhaps it was the depth in his gaze as it rested on her — but grief and longing, the way he sang it, sounded more like hope.

When he reached the line “nothing will last forever,” he suddenly stopped. He held her gaze for a few seconds, smiled, then reached over and tugged the sleeve of her padded coat, guiding her toward where he had parked the mountain bike.

He turned on his phone’s flashlight and aimed it at the rear seat.

Only then did Li Kuiyi see it: tucked into the rear seat of his mountain bike was a bouquet of flowers, fresh and vivid as an oil painting.

“Happy New Year, Li Kuiyi.” He stood behind the light, tilting his head slightly to the side.