Their little Ye family had three members. One surnamed Ye, one surnamed Fang, one surnamed Yan. Three entirely different childhoods, upbringings, and histories. In some year they had not been expecting it, through circumstances both accidental and ordinary, they had come to form an unconventional family. Society might not recognise them as one.

Three people — each with their own lack, each drawn to the others — were approaching a second Spring Festival together, in a winter growing gradually more severe.

This particular holiday was beginning to carry some extra weight. It felt almost like an annual reckoning for the Ye family’s little operation, a grand celebration of their departure from solitude.

Early in the winter break, Fang Zhuo and her fellow work-study students learned from the cafeteria’s internal arrangements about the schedule for the holiday period.

Students living on campus were required to leave and return home before the twenty-sixth of February.

Fang Zhuo and Ye Yuncheng compared their timelines and worked out that she could stay in the dormitory temporarily, wait for Little Mu to go to his great-uncle’s for the New Year, and then move into the vacant room in the rental flat.

It could be made simpler, of course — Yan Lie had sincerely invited her to stay at his place during the break.

His parents weren’t coming back, and he had an unoccupied property in City A.

But Fang Zhuo felt it would look quite bad, especially now that she’d added Yan Chengli as a contact on her social account, and couldn’t shake the solemn sense that she owed it to the judgement of others not to go down that road. So she gently declined.

It snowed a little that winter. Though it had only mixed into the drizzle for less than two hours — never accumulating so much as a thin layer of white on the windowsills, melting almost immediately into water streaks that trickled down into the mud with the fine grit — for people from the south, it was a genuinely delightful surprise.

During the week of Fang Zhuo’s final exams, Liu Qiaohong called her. When he learned she was in the middle of revision, he said he’d reach out again after she’d finished, which left her anxiously wondering whether something had gone wrong.

The exam schedule was spread out across several days; the final subject concluded on the morning of the third day. The moment Fang Zhuo was back at the dormitory and had sat down, she called Liu Qiaohong back. The line connected to the sound of his bright, open laughter.

Liu Qiaohong asked: “How did the exams go?”

“Not bad,” Fang Zhuo said. “Was there something you needed earlier?”

Liu Qiaohong’s voice had a vigour to it that his usual slow, measured style rarely showed. He said: “Good that they went well. Fang Zhuo, Uncle Liu has a big New Year’s gift for you!”

Fang Zhuo asked: “What is it?”

Liu Qiaohong said: “Here’s the thing — there’s a charitable organisation that has been running a prosthetics project for disabled children. The company they collaborate with for prosthetics manufacturing is one of the higher-end ones in the country. When I was out doing outreach work, I got to know one of their volunteers. I decided to try my luck and asked him to put in a word on our behalf — to see if they’d be willing to extend some support to rural poverty relief, and I sent along Brother Ye’s file. After reviewing it and keeping an eye on the situation, they agreed! They agreed! They said they can provide custom-fitted prosthetics free of charge!”

Fang Zhuo said blankly: “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Liu Qiaohong said. “I’ve already taken Brother Ye to the hospital for an assessment. The custom prosthetics will take about one to two months. By the time school starts again next year, Brother Ye might be able to come and visit you at University A!”

He then told Fang Zhuo about Ye Yuncheng’s examination results.

The amputation had been too long ago, and at the time there had been no rehabilitation training done. After fitting the prosthetic, his gait might not come out entirely natural.

But his residual limb was in reasonably good condition, and after some adjustment and habituation, everyday movement should no longer be a problem.

Liu Qiaohong said: “This way, you and Brother Ye can both stop working so hard. You can focus completely on your studies, and Brother Ye won’t need to worry about you anymore. He’s always been concerned that he’s holding you back, that he’s putting a mental burden on you. Now things are looking up. He can save a bit more money, rent a small stall, and stop being out in all weathers. And once you graduate — or even during your postgraduate years, when you can take on projects and earn income — the two of you will be completely fine. Brother Ye showed me his accounts; I think they’re in decent shape. It may not be the most stable, but there’s certainly enough to eat…”

He went on, warm and rambling, painting an ordinary and beautiful picture of days to come.

He talked until his mouth went dry. In the long silence after he paused for a drink of water, Fang Zhuo finally spoke: “Thank you, Uncle Liu. You’ve really gone to so much trouble.”

Liu Qiaohong paused briefly, then said gently: “You and your uncle — same line, every time. Don’t cry. This is a happy thing.”

He was rummaging through files on his end, a soft rustling in the background. Fang Zhuo didn’t know what to say, but stayed on the line.

After a while, Liu Qiaohong let out a breath and said, moved: “Your uncle is the most cooperative resident I have in my poverty relief work. In the past, when he wasn’t taking care of himself, I couldn’t do anything with him, and I often felt it was unfair on his behalf. You know what I mean? Some people just seem to walk a road that never treats them kindly. Take the person across the village from us — that family had seven or eight people, a fire tore through, and only two survived, and one of those two lost their mind. What can you tell someone like that? Work hard? That’s their whole life now, and accepting that reality — how much helplessness does that take.”

Liu Qiaohong paused, feeling in every fibre of himself the weight of what the word “helplessness” carried when it was the shape of a person’s fate.

“You know, people who do front-line poverty work like this for a long time… if you don’t have some kind of belief to hold onto, it’s truly difficult to keep going. Brother Ye has helped me a great deal. He was never an optimist about his own situation — but he still loved encouraging other people to stay optimistic. Seeing the two of you getting to a better place now — it means a great deal to me. I’m very glad.”

As Liu Qiaohong spoke, his voice began to waver. All manner of words surfaced and scattered in his mind, but none of them could be assembled into a sentence that said what he actually meant.

Unable to capture his own thoughts in words, he found himself thinking back to something a visiting expert had once said to him, years ago.

Several agricultural science doctoral graduates had come to their village to teach the local farmers about cultivation methods. They’d crouched under the open sun all day, getting nothing but blank stares from the residents, who couldn’t understand why the government was sending people to teach them what they already knew. Still less could they understand why someone who’d spent decades studying would end up back in a field growing crops.

Liu Qiaohong had looked them in the eye, standing at the roadside with a polite, awkward smile.

One of them, learning that Liu Qiaohong had graduated from University A, said to him: poverty relief work like this meant daily travel, constant contact with people at the margins of society — it might not seem like the best use of his education.

But it could keep him young, forever.

Finding meaning for his own life in the hope he helped others chase. How extraordinary that was.

He had carried those words with him ever since.

Liu Qiaohong came back to himself without much deliberation, and said instinctively: “Both of you — just keep getting better.”

Fang Zhuo nodded, then realised that wasn’t a proper reply, and let out an involuntary laugh.

Liu Qiaohong heard it and laughed softly on his end as well: “I have a call coming in. Let me know if anything comes up.”

“Will do.”

—

Fang Zhuo shared the news with Yan Lie, who was equally thrilled.

The two of them made the most of the break and went together to visit Ye Yuncheng.

Since it was the afternoon, Ye Yuncheng had already packed up his stall for the day. He’d heard they were coming and had bought ingredients; he was busy in the kitchen.

Little Mu was crouched in the corner, counting out cash spread on the floor in front of him, one note at a time.

Yan Lie lifted the hem of his trousers and went over to watch for a moment, then spoke up: “Little Mu, where did you get so much money?”

Little Mu had been doing his best and was nearly at the end of his count. At Yan Lie’s interruption, he lost track of where he was and felt deeply aggrieved. But he couldn’t exactly get angry at Yan Lie, so he only looked up with a mournful sideways glance and said: “Uncle paid me a salary.”

“That’s impressive!” Yan Lie picked up a small stack of notes and counted through them quickly. “That’s quite a bit of money — what are you planning to do with it?”

“I don’t know.” Little Mu considered this with a bashfully extravagant air. “If I bought one ice cream every day, that would be… a hundred yuan a month?”

Yan Lie suppressed his amusement and said: “What kind of ice cream? One a day sounds like too much. That’s not good for you.”

Little Mu’s life plan had been cruelly sabotaged, and he sank into painful internal conflict.

Fang Zhuo went over and gave Yan Lie a small push: “Stop bullying Little Mu.”

Yan Lie stopped teasing him and set the money back on the floor: “You can keep the money for now and buy things you like later.”

Little Mu nodded.

Yan Lie added: “You can also go to the bank and ask one of the staff to count it for you, and then have it saved.”

“I’ll count it myself.” Little Mu mimicked what Yan Lie had just done, spreading the notes across his fingers, and said between counts: “Half goes into savings, half stays with me.”

Yan Lie was already turning to leave, but at that he turned back around, amused: “They’re both yours either way, you know.”

Little Mu’s lips moved. He had lost count again, and looked up with a blank expression: “How much was it when you counted it?”

Yan Lie went ahead and divided it into two piles for him.

Ye Yuncheng came out from the kitchen and explained: “His money goes into a bank account that his great-uncle can access. His great-uncle is his legal guardian.”

Yan Lie gave a belated “oh.”

“His great-uncle is decent enough. He at least brings him home for a proper meal at the New Year and major holidays. If anyone gives him trouble, he looks out for him.” Ye Yuncheng wiped his hands clean and called out: “Young ones, time to eat.”

Fang Zhuo helped carry the plates to the table, and the four of them settled around it.

The rented flat had filled up with furnishings over time. Appliances that had once been missing were gradually coming together, and living there was much easier than before. Even the rooms had grown warm with the presence of people.

The landlord had come to check in a couple of times and had proactively added a second-hand washing machine. Living there now, there were moments when it almost felt like a proper home.

After dinner, Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie washed the dishes together in the kitchen.

Ye Yuncheng picked up his crutch and started for the door. Fang Zhuo noticed and asked: “Uncle, where are you going?”

Ye Yuncheng said: “I feel like going for a walk.”

Fang Zhuo felt it had been a long time since the two of them had had a quiet conversation. She said: “Let me come with you.”

Ye Yuncheng waved her over: “Come on then.”

She took his arm, and the two of them made their way down the stairs together.

The winter evening sky was sparse and still. Without the summer’s cicadas, mosquitoes, and green branches and red blossoms, the trees stood stripped and light.

Cars rushed past on the road, while the shops lining either side spilled out light in every colour. The people and the technology they had built gave this city its most brilliant scenery.

Ye Yuncheng steadied himself on his crutch and moved carefully across the permeable paving.

He watched the traces of people moving around them, then turned back to Fang Zhuo and asked out of nowhere: “What do you think I’m like?”

Fang Zhuo was momentarily at a loss.

Ye Yuncheng stopped walking, smiled, and asked again: “What does Fang Zhuo think her uncle is like?”

Fang Zhuo thought briefly, looked up at the moon half-hidden behind a bank of cloud, and said: “Like the sun.”

Ye Yuncheng followed her gaze upward, then let it drift around the surrounding area. The shadows on the planes of his face shifted as he moved.

The outer corners of his eyes curved gently downward, and he raised a hand to point at a streetlamp not far away: “Not the sun — a streetlamp, more like.”

Fang Zhuo didn’t understand: “What do you mean?”

Ye Yuncheng’s voice was soft as water: “A streetlamp goes dark when dawn comes, but the sun shines across ten thousand miles. Even in the middle of the night, the sun is on the other side of the earth, always ready to appear.”

Fang Zhuo was quiet for a moment, then asked again: “What does that mean?”

Ye Yuncheng brought his gaze back to her face and said: “Nothing in particular — just a passing thought. Your uncle can’t give you the kind of support other guardians might. All I can do is try to shine a little longer. But your uncle believes you can go very far.”

Fang Zhuo finally understood what he was saying, and said: “Whatever you are, I want to become a person like you.”

Ye Yuncheng paused, opened his mouth as though to speak, then stopped. Then he reached out and rested a hand gently on her hair, and said quietly: “You can become someone even better than me.”

Fang Zhuo thought: if she could carry Ye Yuncheng’s courage, his goodness, and his strength, then she really could become an excellent person.

And these things — she had already been taught by the people she had met.