◎ Lingering Presence◎

At the moment Luo Peiyin brushed past Gu Qiao, Peter’s gaze had already moved to meet Luo Peiyin’s.

Something else had brushed past Gu Qiao’s ear as well — a murmur: “The name card you gave me earlier got lost. If you have another one, give me another.”

Gu Qiao instinctively reached for her name card and handed it to Luo Peiyin. His fingers touched her fingertips, and a brief tingle ran through them, but he didn’t linger — he took the card from her hand and looked at it as though seeing it for the first time. This time he read it carefully, not skimming it the way he had before.

From Peter’s vantage point, it looked as though the girl he had been chatting with had called out to Luo Peiyin of her own accord, handing him her name card, and Luo Peiyin had turned away to talk with her. With Luo Peiyin’s back to him, Peter could see nothing of the two of them — not their expressions, not what they were saying. This girl, who had come over to strike up a conversation, had tossed him aside the moment she couldn’t get anywhere with him and immediately switched targets to pitch her ambitions to someone else. He had seen this kind of thing often enough not to be surprised, yet now a faint distaste rose in him. Anyone else would have been one thing — but it had to be Luo. Still, Luo Peiyin had been based in Singapore all along, and there had been no introduction of him at tonight’s event. How on earth had this girl known he was with LC?

The room was full of faces, but at that moment Gu Qiao could see only one — Luo Peiyin’s. Face after face, champagne glass after champagne glass, the countless tiny bubbles rising inside each glass, the sharp ring of silverware against porcelain — all of it fell away, fading to pale shadows on paper, so faint they left no trace. His features stood out to her with extraordinary clarity.

Luo Peiyin held her name card in one hand, as though committing every word on it to memory: “You’ve given me your card — aren’t you going to tell me how things are going for you these days?” As he said it, his gaze turned to Gu Qiao. He no longer used his lashes to veil the keenness in his eyes the way he once had, long ago.

Gu Qiao was no longer as startled as she had been the first time she was examined like a patient’s skull, yet she still couldn’t quite manage to catch his words. He was so different from the cousin she carried in her memory.

“If you’re treating me as a potential customer, shouldn’t you be telling me about your shop, or the software you carry?”

“……”

Gu Qiao had always been a capable salesperson, but in that moment she fell completely short.

“You gave me your card without pitching your shop, and without pitching your software. So what exactly was the point of giving it to me?”

“I……” The excuse she had prepared for years had already been used, and all it had earned her was a dial tone. What she truly wanted to sell was herself — and her phone number. The question *”do you have a girlfriend right now”* was jammed in her throat, impossible to get out, because her every possible answer depended on his. If he had a girlfriend, that was one answer; if he didn’t, that was another. But she genuinely could not figure out how to ask it. And if his answer was *yes* — then even asking the question was stepping over a line. She was the one who had broken things off. And now here she was, wondering whether he had a girlfriend.

Luo Peiyin gave Gu Qiao no opening to answer: “Are you staying here tonight?”

Gu Qiao felt a small, warm relief — her cousin apparently believed she was perfectly capable of affording a five-star hotel these days. Purely on the basis of price, she could indeed afford it. Chen Hui worked at a foreign company and, though he hadn’t yet reached middle management, was already entitled to five-star accommodation on business trips, fully reimbursed by the company. But she ran her own business. Even though her savings were considerably more substantial than Chen Hui’s, every single cent she spent came out of her own pocket, and her standard for both herself and her staff on business trips was no more than fifty yuan a day.

“No.”

“Then where are you staying?”

Gu Qiao couldn’t bring herself to say where she was staying, even though she had a whole list of reasons ready — reasons that were entirely legitimate: staying at a cheap guesthouse was a strategic choice during the startup phase of a business. She could even draw on books she had read two years ago, citing examples from Li Zicheng all the way to the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, to argue that indulging in comfort before a venture had proven itself tended to lead to collapse halfway through. So despite having money, she had chosen the cheap guesthouse.

But now she told a small lie. Even in her most financially precarious moments she had never tried to conceal the truth. She gave the name of a different hotel — one she had waited at for a car that day, whose name she had memorized perfectly clearly.

Luo Peiyin asked in an even tone: “Shall I give you a lift?”

The way he said it was like someone at mealtimes half-heartedly pressing a guest to stay for dinner — you couldn’t quite tell whether he genuinely meant it or was in fact showing them the door.

Gu Qiao said *no need, no need* twice in quick succession: “I came with a companion — we’ll take a cab back together. It isn’t far, very convenient.”

Still, at least he wasn’t as indifferent as before. Gu Qiao smiled and asked: “Could I have one of your name cards as well?”

“I’m not as dedicated as you — I don’t carry name cards around at all times.” His tone was flat, yet for some reason Gu Qiao detected a thread of sarcasm in it.

“Have these past two years been easy for you?” Luo Peiyin’s voice was low, but clear enough for Gu Qiao to catch every word.

These past two-odd years had been extremely full for Gu Qiao — but *easy* was hardly the word for it, with so much still to learn and time never waiting. Even so, she tilted her chin up and told him: “Pretty easy, actually.” She was quietly grateful that the fever medication had begun to take effect, making her words sound far more convincing. She did her best to suppress the impatience in her eyes.

Luo Peiyin stared at her. Her lips were still as red as he remembered. When Gu Qiao had broken up with him, she had said that being apart would be easier for both of them — that she wanted a life that was easier. Was he supposed to congratulate her on getting what she wished for?

She met his gaze without flinching, holding the smile on her face: “And you? Have these past two years been good to you?”

“Very good.”

Gu Qiao kept on smiling: “That’s good then. I suppose asking was unnecessary. Anyone could see that you’re doing well, cousin.” When she had ended things, she had done it so that both of them could live better lives. Hearing that he was doing well, she ought to feel nothing but happiness for him — there was truly no room for even the faintest trace of any other feeling.

Luo Peiyin watched Gu Qiao smile: “How can you tell?”

It was still a smile — but Gu Qiao felt a weight pressing down on her, the air suddenly becoming stiff and still. She did not argue her point by analyzing the fabric of his clothes. A person who could present themselves impeccably every day — with composure and a certain elegance, even if the material of their clothes were nothing special — could not be doing too badly at all.

“Intuition.”

“Then your eye is sharp.”

Her eye was sharp, yet her social awareness left something to be desired. She repeated her earlier question: “Cousin, what’s your phone number?”

That familiar sensation returned — Gu Qiao felt a pair of eyes closing tightly around her. Then she heard a string of numbers.

He said them quickly, and he did not say them a second time.

Peter’s approach brought this less-than-smooth conversation to an end.

Xu Ling noticed that Gu Qiao’s gaze was fixed on the two men, and she couldn’t be sure which of them held more appeal for Gu Qiao — the taller one, or the shorter one. To be fair, Peter had a certain polish about him, but it was the kind of polish that had been painstakingly trained into him, and measured against someone who possessed the same quality naturally and effortlessly, it ended up looking slightly too deliberate. More critically, because Peter wasn’t quite tall enough, he had to tilt his head slightly upward when observing the person he was speaking with, and that put him at a disadvantage from the start. Xu Ling had always wondered why men so rarely felt self-conscious about their looks, yet fixated obsessively over a centimeter or two of height. Watching these two men now, she understood it completely. Assessments of appearance and bearing were too elastic — Peter could perfectly well convince himself that his looks, his bearing, and his capabilities surpassed the other man’s — but the difference in height was concrete and undeniable.

When one man is looked down upon from above by another, the only way not to come off worse is if his presence completely overwhelms the other’s. But setting aside height, Peter had no advantage over the man across from him in any other respect either.

Peter had no desire to stand there exchanging pleasantries with Luo Peiyin — it was deeply uncomfortable — and he much preferred sitting down to talk.

Xu Ling turned her gaze back and asked Gu Qiao: “How did your conversation with Peter go? I could see he was listening with quite a bit of interest.”

“If I had five shops right now, he’d probably be far more interested in my plan.”

Xu Ling caught the unspoken implication: Peter wasn’t particularly interested in Gu Qiao’s project itself, at least not yet.

Xu Ling followed Gu Qiao’s gaze across the room. Gu Qiao’s cousin had already switched conversation partners — now speaking with one of Xu Ling’s female colleagues from the industry. He appeared to be listening to her with considerable patience. Xu Ling made an inconsequential observation: this colleague, in her eight-centimeter heels, was probably about the same height as Peter, though she looked visibly far happier than he did.

Xu Ling didn’t get along especially well with this colleague — not for personal reasons, but because their values were fundamentally at odds. This colleague’s philosophy was to befriend her interview subjects. The first time Xu Ling heard this, she found it almost laughable. If the two happened to already be friends and there was no avoiding it, that was one thing — but befriending a subject *during* the interview process? What credibility could any resulting piece have? How was it any different from an ordinary PR puff piece? Pulling in a bit of advertising revenue for the paper was one thing, but if every single piece was an advertisement, what kind of newspaper was that? They might as well call it an advertising catalogue. If that was the approach, why bother being a newspaper reporter at all — why not just go work in PR at a company?

Xu Ling had no desire to stay at this dinner any longer. She turned to Gu Qiao and suggested: “You’ve already made contact with Peter, so there’s no reason to stay. Let’s go. There’s a bar nearby — I’ve heard the resident singer is quite something to look at. Come on.”

Gu Qiao knew Xu Ling was in Shanghai on a business trip and had no one to spend the evening with. Xu Ling had helped her out tonight, and leaving her to spend the rest of the evening alone was not Gu Qiao’s style.

At the bar, Gu Qiao ordered only a glass of water.

Xu Ling was astonished: “Why are you ordering ice water at a bar? What a waste!”

“I want to stay clearheaded.” She had come to Shanghai to expand her market — to lay the groundwork for future software sales. She had almost entirely forgotten that fact on the day of the launch event. Her itinerary simply did not include getting drunk. Besides, with her tolerance for alcohol, getting drunk on twenty-one glasses of beer would cost her several hundred yuan and still barely get the job done.

“You really are something……”

On the stage, the singer was performing: *”Past memories turn to smoke and cloud, dissolving before each other’s eyes — even the goodbye we said fades away, and I can’t see a trace of sorrow on your face…… In the blink of an eye, I find that your face has grown unfamiliar, no longer the one I once knew……”*

Gu Qiao heard it, and it seemed to her that snow was beginning to fall over the world. She smiled at Xu Ling: “I remember the original singer was from Hong Kong — does it ever snow in Hong Kong in winter?”

That was Gu Qiao for you — listening to a love song and thinking about whether it snows in Hong Kong. A girl like her probably had no great fondness for love songs.

Xu Ling thought about it and said: “Once in a great many years, maybe.”

The resident singer moved from *Kiss Goodbye* to *Painstaking Effort*, and though Gu Qiao had not touched a drop of alcohol, she became intoxicated in her own way — generously spending money to request that the singer perform the song she had heard on a CD the night before.

Out of gratitude to Xu Ling, Gu Qiao insisted on settling the bill.

“I didn’t really help you tonight.”

“You helped me enormously.” If Xu Ling hadn’t brought her to the dinner, she would never have had those few extra words with Luo Peiyin.

The red Xiali dropped Xu Ling off at her hotel, then drove a little further to the lane where Gu Qiao’s small guesthouse was located.

Before she got out of the car, Gu Qiao looked up at the sky. The moon was perfectly round.

As the red Xiali pulled out of the lane, it nearly collided with a Cadillac. What a persistent shadow — that car had been trailing it for quite some distance.

—