When another summer arrived, Du Man finally welcomed her friends’ visit.

Du Man’s parents were delighted. Hearing about doctors and high-tech work in Beijing, they got up early to reserve a private room at a restaurant, worried about disappointing their daughter’s accomplished friends. Du Man rejected the suggestion, telling her parents that a home-cooked meal would be fine—these friends were practically family.

“That won’t do.” Seeing his daughter’s casual attitude, Father Du immediately took on the stance of an experienced elder, “You’re making your way out there, and we parents can’t help much, so you have to rely on friends to lend a hand. When they come to visit, we must show our utmost sincerity.”

“Your father’s right,” Mother Du agreed. “They’re staying overnight, the first meal at least has to be at a restaurant.”

“Really, there’s no need.” Du Man didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her parents had suffered from their lack of education. In earlier years, they had run a breakfast stall in Tianhe, worked as domestic help, managed a small shop, and driven factory trucks. Through their hard work, they had built a reasonably good life, but their hearts still lacked a certain confidence. So in their eyes, study and education were more important than anything else. They created the best conditions they could for her, even choosing to live in the Third Hospital staff quarters because they felt it was scholarly territory where she could absorb knowledge through osmosis. They respected and somewhat revered learned people, and perhaps… Du Man guessed, they felt a bit awkward around such people.

Study hard—initially it was for their wishes, then for the family’s face, and only later did it become for herself. Only when external factors no longer influence the decision to do something does that thing truly become for oneself.

Du Man had long since broken free from that cycle of proving herself. She understood her parents’ feelings but would no longer live in a cage of self-doubt.

Du Man’s parents were still trying to persuade her, so she had no choice but to secretly message Huan Er: “Quick, send a voice message saying you… just say you want to eat fish stew in a big pot, cornmeal pancakes, and watermelon rind dumplings.”

Huan Er and her companions had just gotten on the highway. Jing Qichi was driving his family’s car, Song Cong sat in the front passenger seat, and she had the back seat to herself. Upon receiving the message, she quickly leaned forward, “Have either of you eaten watermelon rind dumplings?”

“Watermelon rind?” Jing Qichi asked leisurely while holding the steering wheel. “As dumpling filling?”

“Mm-hmm.” Huan Er read the message again, grinning, “Hey, it won’t be sweet, will it?”

“How could it be?” Song Cong turned his head. “Du Man said this?”

“Yeah.” Huan Er laughed. “She wants me to coordinate with her, probably because her parents want to treat us to something fancy.”

Jing Qichi deliberately stirred trouble, “Fine then, lobster, abalone, sea cucumber—tell her we’ll take all of it.”

Huan Er watched Song Cong’s expression, and seeing no reaction, said “okay” and raised her phone to record a message: “Man Man, forget about the watermelon rind dumplings, we want to eat…”

“Don’t mess around.” Seeing her actually recording, Song Cong reached back and grabbed her phone. “Quick, delete it. If Du Man wants to coordinate, surely…”

Looking at the recipient, he realized he’d been tricked.

Jing Qichi unhurriedly pulled out his own phone—Huan Er was naturally his pinned contact—and began playing the message: “Man Man, forget about the watermelon rind dumplings, we want to eat…”

“How old are you two! So childish!” Song Cong poked Huan Er’s phone back into her hand and turned to look out the window.

The two pranksters burst into laughter, especially Huan Er, who fell back in her seat laughing so hard she nearly rolled around.

Without any prior communication, she had secretly changed the recipient when Jing Qichi mentioned “sea cucumber,” and he just knew he would receive this “fake message.”

“Old Song,” Jing Qichi teased, “for your first visit, you should’ve known to wear proper attire.”

Song Cong wasn’t really angry and played along, raising his eyebrows toward the trunk, “How do you know I don’t have a suit and tie in my luggage?”

“Come on, a suit and tie with shorts?” Huan Er joked while remembering to reply to Du Man’s message, sending back a voice message exactly as requested.

After she finished and put away her phone, Song Cong looked at Jing Qichi and began his counterattack, “Look who’s talking. Weren’t you wearing shorts the first time you visited?”

“I didn’t…” Halfway through his denial, Jing Qichi was stumped. His first visit to Huan Er’s home was in ninth grade—forget about the first visit, he’d met his future in-laws wearing shorts.

Busted.

“Our situation was different,” Huan Er leaned forward from the back seat again and pinched Jing Qichi’s ear. “Right?”

“Exactly,” Jing Qichi reached up to hold her hand. “Old Song, don’t confuse the concepts.”

Song Cong snorted a laugh, “Should I drive so you two can cuddle on the side?”

“Aww, are you jealous?” Jing Qichi affected a coy tone and patted his thigh. “There, there.”

“Just drive, drive.” Song Cong pulled his leg away with exaggerated disgust and turned to Huan Er, “Only you can put up with him.”

Huan Er grinned, “Gladly.”

“What a pair of clowns,” Song Cong sighed. Taking kids on a trip couldn’t be much different from this.

Du Man was waiting at the village entrance. When Jing Qichi honked, she excitedly waved her hand. As soon as the car stopped, she nimbly jumped into the back seat while directing, “Turn in here, the dirt road below is a bit bumpy.”

“Why did you come out here?” Huan Er hugged her and pinched her face while giggling. “No need to welcome us, Song Cong already memorized the map you drew him.”

Now Du Man was surprised, “Map?”

In fact, she had only told him which direction to go, and when she wasn’t sure herself, she’d mention landmarks like nearby shops or buildings where they should turn left. Worried her directions weren’t clear enough, she had added—just follow the navigation, though it might take a roundabout route.

Clearly, they hadn’t even opened the navigation.

Song Cong pointed at Du Man, but spoke to Huan Er, “She drew a map in my head.”

“Not again!” Jing Qichi and Huan Er exclaimed in unison with disdain.

Du Man and Song Cong exchanged a glance, and she quickly smiled while directing, “Turn right.”

A wide, sparkling river appeared before them. Though broad, the water level was low, with occasional clusters of reeds growing where water met shore, giving it a somewhat desolate appearance. Du Man told them that long ago there had been floods, and at their worst, they had submerged villages on both banks. It was something none of them had experienced, like the receding of a turbulent river—worldly affairs always cycling between glory and decline.

By the time the river branched off in front of Du Man’s house, it had become a stream barely worthy of being called a river. Across the water was a row of other families’ backyards. As soon as they got out of the car, a woman there called out, “Little Man brought friends to visit?”

“Aunt Li,” Du Man called back with neighborly familiarity, “Making dinner?”

“Braising green beans and meat stew, want to come over and eat?”

“No thanks,” Du Man waved, “My parents went to buy fish, they’ll be back soon.”

Aunt Li smiled, “Of course you should make something nice when friends visit. You all have fun, I’ll go check on my pot.”

Jing Qichi looked around and concluded, “Du Man, your village is quite well-off.”

Every household had bright, clean windows, and two-story houses like Du Man’s were common. Though the roads were unpaved, there was hardly any garbage piled along the sides—by Maslow’s hierarchy, this place was rapidly climbing toward the peak.

“We’re a model demonstration village, mind you.” Du Man opened the door and led everyone inside while explaining, “Most people here are fruit farmers, mainly growing watermelons. Like Aunt Li’s side, some raise chickens and pigs—it’s all scientific farming now. I’ll show you around later, the piglets have better living conditions than people.”

Huan Er exclaimed excitedly, “Where’s the orchard?”

“In the back, you can’t see it from here.” Du Man turned on the air conditioning and went to get water from the fridge. “We’ll go later, right now you’d get roasted like pancakes in the fields.”

Watching her bustling about and casually discussing topics that seemed more like parent-talk, Song Cong suddenly felt something unusual.

It was as if he was getting closer to her life, a simple, unadorned life without any pretense, and this feeling… wasn’t bad at all.

Or perhaps it could be described as—fondness.

No, he knew these things were intensifying his fondness.

Du Man’s parents ultimately didn’t listen to their daughter. Not only did they buy six fresh crucian carp, but they also brought back complete meals from the restaurant, both hot and cold dishes, filling two large plastic bags with takeout boxes. The elderly couple had planned everything meticulously—lunch would be the takeout since firing up the stove would take time and they needed to properly host the kids who had just arrived; in the evening when it was cooler, they would stew the fish, as the longer it stewed, the more fragrant the soup would become; and naturally, they would have reunion dumplings before sending the guests off tomorrow. Du Man couldn’t find any fault with this airtight logic and could only playfully threaten Song Cong and Jing Qichi—you two are the main forces, you can’t leave the table until your bowls are empty.

“Talking about others being the main force, you eat more than anyone,” Mother Du criticized, but seeing her daughter about to eat with her hair down, she picked up a rubber band from the cabinet and stood behind her to tie it up.

Du Man sat at the table giggling, letting her mother’s fingers run through her hair. Mother Du was skilled, quickly plaiting it into a braid. Even after finishing, she didn’t sit down but walked around the room searching.

“What are you looking for?” Father Du urged, “Come eat!”

“I’m looking for a hairpin to secure it for her,” Mother Du’s gaze swept around, “With her hair down, her neck will get hot in this summer weather.”

Hearing this, Father Du also looked around, finally picking up a ballpoint pen from the tea table, “Here’s something ready-made, I know how to do this.”

“You know how? Go ahead then.”

“Hey, don’t believe me?” Father Du got excited and called out, “Daughter, come here, Dad’s been practicing this skill since you were little.”

“Using me as target practice again.” Du Man winked at her friends but honestly moved her chair closer to her father.

“Getting the benefit and still being cheeky.” Huan Er grinned at her, “You’re too blessed. My dad tried to do my hair once when I was little, nearly pulled my head off. I swore right then I’d rather become a nun than let him touch my hair again.”

Song Cong teased, “Good thing Uncle Chen didn’t insist, if you’d become a nun someone would be burning down temples by now.”

Jing Qichi knew he was referring to himself and tapped his finger on the table to write, “Nunnery, it’s called a nunnery. And you’re from Peking University?”

“What, Peking University not good enough for you?” Du Man stood up for her alma mater, “There are more of us, don’t provoke us.”

Jing Qichi leaned toward Huan Er, complaining pitifully, “They’re bullying me.”

“There, there.” Father Du admired his “work” with satisfaction and turned to show off to his wife, “Haven’t lost my touch.”

“Man Man, let me see!” Huan Er called eagerly.

Du Man turned to the side with a smile, her black hair coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Combined with her floral print dress today, she looked like an elegant lady who had stepped out of a distant era.

Huan Er exclaimed “Wow!” “Uncle, you’re amazing!”

“Not bad, right?” Father Du was pleased with the praise and became more talkative, “Back when I drove for the garment factory, they would pile up all the out-of-season or slightly defective clothes for workers to pick through. This girl wore what I brought back for those years, and it looked good when put together.”

“That’s true,” Mother Du smiled, “His only redeeming quality might be his good eye.”

“Just looking at you, we know Uncle has excellent taste,” Jing Qichi chimed in.

Du Man’s parents burst into laughter.

Seeing that Song Cong hadn’t spoken, Du Man pushed some dishes toward him, “Eat up.”

“Yes, eat,” Mother Du asked, “Little Song doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“He’s just shy,” Huan Er suppressed a giggle, “Auntie, you’ll understand once you get to know him.”

“I…” Song Cong stumbled over his words, finally managing, “Auntie, I actually talk quite a bit.”

“It’s all good, all good.” Mother Du smiled at him, “Being quiet or lively, it’s all good.”

Of course he was shy, because for Huan Er and Qichi, the elderly couple before them were just friends’ parents, a lovely and enthusiastic middle-aged couple. But for Song Cong… he was thinking that for him, they might become something else entirely.

He didn’t know yet, and this time he didn’t plan to think too much about it.

He was just grateful to them for raising such a Du Man, a girl who grew up steady in an environment full of love and warmth, which gave her much stubbornness but also let her constantly release the kindness she had absorbed along the way.

Song Cong secretly studied her—she seemed especially beautiful today.

Enjoy the present, be a little innocent.

That’s what Du Man had said.