From late summer into early autumn, the weather turned cold and overcast almost overnight following a spell of rain.

Fang Zhuo had very few clothes. During high school, she’d never needed to think about it — most of the time she wore her school uniform, and nobody paid any attention to what she had on underneath.

At university, her sparse wardrobe had almost become her trademark. Even Yu Qingjiang remarked that Fang Zhuo was the first person she could identify from the back of a glance alone.

Ye Yuncheng noticed the problem quickly. Particularly on a rainy day when Fang Zhuo made a special trip to visit him — the temperature had dropped sharply, and she was wearing an old jacket that had clearly grown too small for her, purchased some indefinite number of years ago.

The generation above the Ye family had been deeply patriarchal. Ye Yaoling had never had new clothes growing up.

He believed the most fundamental cause of the unhappiness that had marked an entire generation of his family was this very thing. So when he earned money, his greatest motivation was to spend it on Fang Zhuo — how could he allow her to suffer in the same way?

So Ye Yuncheng pressed a thousand yuan firmly into Fang Zhuo’s hands and urged her to go buy some new clothes at once — and to photograph them as proof afterwards, or else he’d go and buy them for her himself.

Fang Zhuo felt he’d misunderstood. It wasn’t that she begrudged the money — she simply disliked shopping. It was more exhausting to her than any work. If Ye Yuncheng was willing to do it for her, she was privately very happy with that, though she didn’t quite know how to say so.

She showed him the wages that had just come through from the school. Then, to keep him from worrying, she pushed through her instincts and decided to go buy a sweatshirt or a knit top, while also picking up something new for Ye Yuncheng to wear at the new year.

Online stores gave her no sense of the fabric quality, and the pricing varied wildly. After a quick survey, Fang Zhuo felt unconvinced by what she found, and her long-established habits of consumption drew her toward physical shops instead.

Yan Lie had made plans with her last weekend. She’d said she needed to go shopping. He invited her again this weekend. She still said she didn’t have time — she needed to go shopping.

“How much are you trying to buy?” Yan Lie asked, puzzled.

“I still haven’t found anything yet,” Fang Zhuo said, her mood not particularly good. Just thinking about shopping tired her out for days in advance. She shared her ordeal with him: “On weekends I have half a day of work, plus assignments to write and software tutorials to learn. I have maybe three hours to shop, which isn’t enough to go very far. Last weekend I went through all the shops on the east side of campus — the prices were high, the quality was poor, and nothing really suited me. This weekend I’ll work through the west side. If that doesn’t work either, I’ve decided to try the wholesale market up north.”

Yan Lie was silent for a long moment, then asked: “By the time you’ve made your way through east, west, south, and north, won’t a month have gone by? Won’t the weather have already turned cold by then?”

“That’s right,” Fang Zhuo said, brightening up at the thought. “I have winter clothes!”

Yan Lie: …

Watching her look almost pleased about this, Yan Lie decided this was not acceptable. If she didn’t buy clothes soon, when would they ever have time to develop the relationship any further?

Although the two of them had a few elective courses together, Fang Zhuo maintained a thoroughly indifferent attitude toward him throughout class. When Yan Lie tried to hold her hand, she would pull away.

These little aggravations were truly becoming tiresome.

Yan Lie recommended a few shops and told her to check them out when she had the chance. Then he tracked down a female senior and asked for a few recommendations for online shops with good value, and sent those to Fang Zhuo as well.

Fang Zhuo said she would send him a feedback report that evening, and said it with complete seriousness.

That night, past ten, Yan Lie was lying in bed while his roommates played games on their computers below. Fang Zhuo’s research report arrived.

Her conclusions were concise, clear, and completely baffling.

Little Sun: I’ve discovered that men’s clothes are much easier to buy.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: How so?

Little Sun: They all look the same.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: … I think your approach to browsing might be the issue.

Little Sun: Pajamas have more variety, though. The colors are nicer too.

Yan Lie tried to think back — he was fairly certain he hadn’t sent her any links to pajama shops. How had she ended up there?

Little Sun: [Image] Do you like this?

Little Sun: Should I buy it for you?

It was a set of light blue autumn pajamas. They were actually quite nice. But Yan Lie didn’t lack for clothes.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: I generally don’t wear anything to sleep.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Would you like to see?

Little Sun: …??

Yan Lie the Illustrious: 😁

Fang Zhuo stopped responding.

This person was nonsensical and out of nowhere provocative.

After considerable wavering, Fang Zhuo eventually bought some practical everyday clothes with the help of her dormitory mates, and — under Yu Qingjiang’s strong persuasion — a long skirt as well.

The reason being that long skirts were cheap and eliminated the need to buy separate trousers.

The packages hadn’t even arrived yet when Liu Qiaohong suddenly called her with news — a strong wind had picked up back in the village. It had been raining heavily for two days straight, the water in the fields beside the road was rising steadily, and her chicken coop was about to flood.

Ah Tu’s little life was in jeopardy.

It happened to be the weekend. Fang Zhuo quickly packed her bag and headed home to check.

The weather in A City during this transitional season was unpredictable.

In the urban areas, the drainage system was reasonably adequate and the impact was limited. But in the countryside, a heavy rainstorm turned the unimproved mountain paths into muddy quagmires that took days to dry. Buildings exposed on all four sides were also far more vulnerable to strong winds.

Fang Zhuo took the early bus back home, turned into the lane, and found that the black shade canopy she’d set up in the courtyard had been lifted clean off by the wind and sent somewhere unknown.

She stood at the entrance and counted the chickens. Three were missing — they’d almost certainly hopped over the earthen wall and escaped.

The sunglasses that had been fitted over the rooster’s eyes were also gone again, which meant the fragile, delicate Ah Tu had been pecked bald in the backside once more by his companions over this stretch of time, and was now huddled miserably in a corner looking deeply sorry for himself.

It had been so long, and the household mascot was every bit as hopeless as ever.

Fang Zhuo went inside to find a long rope, tied each chicken’s feet and wings, and hauled them back one by one, setting them in small cardboard boxes in the kitchen.

The house had been empty for some time and had collected a fair layer of dust. Fang Zhuo quickly swept the bedroom she’d be sleeping in, then talked things over with Ye Yuncheng about what to do with the chickens.

They no longer needed to sell eggs for income, and neither of them had much spare time to take care of the birds. Relying on Liu Qiaohong to come by and feed them all the time felt like too much of an imposition. Better to simply wind down that enterprise altogether.

Ye Yuncheng agreed. They talked over a voice call that lasted half an hour. He asked if she knew how to slaughter a chicken, and if not, she should find someone at the market nearby — slaughtering a single chicken ran about five yuan for labor, and with a larger number she could probably negotiate the price down.

Fang Zhuo had absolutely no intention of doing that, and immediately declared she was perfectly capable.

After she hung up, the back of her phone was already warm to the touch. She woke the screen and saw several messages from Yan Lie.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Why did you suddenly go home? You just abandoned your boyfriend like that?

Yan Lie the Illustrious: 😁 I’m going to be sad.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Where is my girlfriend?? 😱

Yan Lie the Illustrious: I am willing to pay a ransom. Please have her contact me immediately. 😐

Fang Zhuo smiled and typed a reply.

Little Sun: [Image] Ah Tu ended up like this.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Why did you suddenly go back?

Fang Zhuo went to the window, filmed a brief clip of the glass shaking in its frame with every gust of wind, and sent it to him.

Little Sun: Big wind in the village. The chicken coop got blown open, some chickens ran away. I came back to check.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: … Is it dangerous?

Little Sun: Not dangerous. No emergency alert. The house is just old — the windows are a bit loose.

Little Sun: I’m going back tomorrow. Eating chicken tonight.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: 😦

After that, Yan Lie stopped replying. Fang Zhuo plugged her phone in to charge, rolled up her sleeves, and went to the kitchen to heat the water.

Fang Zhuo had no hands-on experience slaughtering a chicken. But having grown up in the countryside all these years, her theoretical knowledge was extensive — she had watched the complete process many times.

Draining the blood. Plucking the feathers. Cleaning out the organs.

In the beginning, unfamiliarity worked against her, and she scalded her arm.

Ah Tu, the sole surviving chicken, squatted in the kitchen and bore witness to the departure of his brothers. He crowed and squawked in noisy protest.

By the time everything was done, it was nearly evening. The dusk had fallen more than an hour earlier than in summer.

The refrigerator couldn’t hold everything. Fang Zhuo packed the rest of the chickens into a large box and hauled it over to Liu Qiaohong’s house.

It was late at night. Liu Qiaohong nearly jumped when he saw her at the door. He kept her for dinner, then rode his electric bike to see her home.

Fang Zhuo sat on the back seat and said, amused: “You upgraded your ride.”

Liu Qiaohong gave a quiet, pleased laugh.

The wind grew stronger as the night wore on. After eight, the rain started up again.

Fang Zhuo washed up, changed into clean clothes, and sat down at the table to preview her course material.

University A’s final exams were not particularly difficult — judging from past papers that had circulated online, Fang Zhuo’s level was sufficient to earn strong marks without trouble.

But their course instructor was an older professor with high expectations for students, and he frequently assigned supplementary exercises beyond the required standard. He left it entirely up to them whether to attempt it, simply encouraging them to think.

Tonight, Fang Zhuo could not think.

The glass windows let out a sudden loud crack at irregular intervals, as though someone outside was hurling stones at the small panes. Water seeped in through the gaps in the ill-fitting window frame and trickled across the writing desk, nearly wetting her textbooks.

Fang Zhuo drew back the curtain and looked through the glass at the layered shadows in the rain. The uneven outlines of old buildings and ancient trees loomed through the wind and rain, taking on a furtive, unsettled quality — as though extra claws had grown from them in the dark, flailing wildly.

Unable to concentrate on her books, Fang Zhuo picked up her phone and stared at the chat thread, still resting on the little frowning emoji. Something about it felt vaguely off.

Little Sun: What are you up to?

Five minutes passed before Yan Lie replied.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: I’m a little scared. 😣

Little Sun: ?

Little Sun: What are you scared of? Is it raining in A City too?

Fang Zhuo sent him a voice call request. Yan Lie didn’t pick up.

Five minutes later, just as she was about to call him properly, a message popped up.

Yan Lie the Illustrious: Hurry up and open the door — I’m here!

Fang Zhuo startled to her feet and walked quickly toward the side entrance. She switched on the living room light and opened the door.

Yan Lie slipped through the gap, not daring to look behind him, and shut and latched the door at once.

He was soaked through. His hair and clothes were dripping, his face drained of color, his eyes faintly red. His shoes and the hems of his trousers were caked in mud — he had clearly run all the way from the village entrance. The broken streetlight along the way still hadn’t been repaired. Whether from cold or from fear, his whole body was trembling.

Yan Lie wiped his face. When he saw Fang Zhuo, the tension went out of him. He opened his arms, his voice muffled and small, and whined: “Hold me.”

Fang Zhuo had just washed up. She hesitated for an instant, then reached out and touched his arm — his skin was ice cold, the muscles beneath pulled tight, every single part of him written with something that looked like wounded dignity.

Then Yan Lie was the one who pushed her away, leaning down to press his lips briefly to her cheek.

“Let me shower first. And then you have to comfort me.” He stumbled further inside, shaking. “I was terrified. Why did it start raining? I hate it so much.”