◎ A Gift ◎

In exchange, Gu Qiao shared with Luo Peiyin all the software sales reports that Qiu Shuang had faxed over — reports that had Lin Haichuan’s poster mixed in among them.

Even now, Luo Peiyin considered pure software specialty stores, as a distribution channel, far less compelling as an investment than software itself. But there was no question that in the near term, domestic software specialty retail could serve as a window for gauging software demand and sales volume. Any investment strategy in software required a channel like this to open up access and provide industry-wide market intelligence — it was one piece of a larger positioning play. This judgment had nothing to do with personal feelings.

Buried in the pile of data, Luo Peiyin came across Lin Haichuan’s poster.

Gu Qiao hadn’t had the chance to pull this photo out beforehand. Luo Peiyin picked up the photograph that had slipped in among the rest and swept his gaze across it from left to right. “What’s your projected sales volume?”

“Twenty thousand.” The manufacturer’s projection was ten thousand.

Luo Peiyin lowered his head and took a long sip of coffee, then looked up at Gu Qiao again. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile. Gu Qiao caught it right away. He was probably thinking: this woman has never known the meaning of modesty — she always estimates possibilities at their absolute maximum.

“Cousin, you don’t believe I can sell twenty thousand?” Only then did Gu Qiao realize that what she actually wanted wasn’t for Luo Peiyin to be free of bias toward her. She didn’t want his so-called “rational objectivity” either. What she wanted was for him to believe in her. If anyone else questioned her, she would only be thinking about how to persuade them — she wouldn’t be invoking emotions at all.

Gu Qiao suppressed her feelings and fixed her gaze on Luo Peiyin, working hard to persuade him that this number was not beyond the realm of possibility.

Her eyes sought his, like a small leopard bearing down relentlessly on its prey. She stared directly into those half-lidded eyes of his, the words gathering in her mind spilling from her mouth one by one.

Luo Peiyin sat with his hands crossed and let Gu Qiao stare. He didn’t point out to her that she believed she was aiming at the prey, when in fact she might be aiming directly at the hunting rifle — being aimed at herself, even as she aimed.

Being watched like that, Luo Peiyin shifted the position of his crossed legs. He looked at Gu Qiao, his gaze narrowing and narrowing still, until even her overly saturated clothing receded into the background. He took in only her face — sweeping from her eyes down to her lips.

Every inch. Every inch, brimming with unquenchable fighting spirit.

When Gu Qiao finished speaking, Luo Peiyin glanced down at his watch. “Let’s stop here for today. We’ll pick up the rest tomorrow morning.”

Gu Qiao greatly admired her cousin in this particular respect — for several days running, he had ended their conversations at precisely the same time, not a second earlier. She was not satisfied stopping here. She was seized by the urge to grab him by the tie, pin him in his seat, and make him keep listening. But she held the impulse in check.

Luo Peiyin asked her: “Do you want to stay for a drink?”

Gu Qiao paused for a moment. “Sure.”

“What would you like?”

“Whiskey.” She remembered the time she’d been drinking her hot chocolate, when Luo Peiyin had ordered whiskey for another girl.

Luo Peiyin had apparently underestimated her tolerance — he added ice cubes to her whiskey for her.

Gu Qiao laughed inwardly. She had never told him that although she rarely drank spirits, her capacity for alcohol was not small. Back in the day, she could down half a bottle of Erguotou without blinking. But ever since she moved out of the old hutong flat, she had kept herself very controlled when it came to drinking.

Gu Qiao swirled her glass. The ice cubes clinked inside. She tipped her head back and drank a large swallow, her earrings swaying slightly along with the ice in the glass.

“Cousin, if you have nothing on tomorrow evening, I’d like to treat you to dinner.” He always settled the bill without her noticing and then told her to wait for next time. One next time leading into another.

“Tomorrow evening there’s a small gathering — my mother will be there.”

“Ah, I see.” So he had plans then. He was leaving for San Francisco the day after. The next time they would see each other was anyone’s guess. She almost suspected he was doing it deliberately — letting her experience one next time chasing another. Always waiting for a next time that never came.

The ice cubes in her glass stubbornly persisted. Gu Qiao, gazing out at the night beyond the window, had already finished her drink.

“Since you have nothing on tomorrow evening, you should come along.”

She was going — in what capacity exactly? As a cousin? Where had this cousin come from? A pair of cousins with no blood relation whatsoever?

“It’s just a casual gathering. No need to bring a gift.”

Gu Qiao said of course, absolutely. Declining at this point would make it look as though she was reluctant to spend money on a gift.

She poured herself another glass, swirled the ice in it, and smiled at the cup.

She drained almost half of the barely-there whiskey in a single sip. How strange — this drink had almost no taste to it at all. That’s right — what had she been wearing the day she drank hot chocolate? She thought she had been selling denim jeans that day, and also mohair sweaters. A girl had taken a real liking to her sweater, and she had just taken it off and sold it to her on the spot. And what had her cousin been wearing then?

Gu Qiao remembered: he had been wearing a leather jacket. She laughed suddenly — she had gone on to sell she didn’t know how many leather jackets after that.

The memory of being eighteen pressed vividly forward before her eyes. She had truly been sick to death of all those muted, plain colors back then. She raised the glass and drank another large mouthful. She looked at the reflection fractured in the glass, saw her own image, her sapphire-blue earrings swaying faintly.

Her lashes flared wide open in an instant, then slowly settled downward — like a wheat field bent by a great wind, casting a shadow beneath her eyes.

Luo Peiyin took the glass from her hand. His fingers grazed hers. She looked up at him. “Cousin, this drink isn’t anywhere near strong enough to make me drunk — you’re severely underestimating me. I used to be able to…”

His gaze pressed in close to hers. “How much used to you be able to drink?”

Gu Qiao said nothing for a moment. “More than you’d think.”

“What else about you is more than I’d think?”

Gu Qiao smiled. That was a secret.

“Cousin, let’s go ride a double-decker bus right now — watching the night scenery from inside the bus is quite something.”

Inviting someone to take public transport hardly seemed like generous hospitality. But she very much wanted to ride with him through the streets of this unfamiliar city at night. Just sitting inside the bus, watching the scenery drift by slowly alongside the movement of the vehicle, not speaking and not finding it awkward at all. So different from admiring the cityscape from a revolving restaurant or high-floor lounge — the double-decker bus had an everydayness to it. It was as if, it was as if they did this every single day…

The previous year, several cities had launched double-decker public buses. She had ridden one on purpose, and had thought of Luo Peiyin at the time. But she had always had the sense that he wasn’t particularly fond of public transport. It had nothing to do with money — he simply seemed to keep a certain distance from crowds at all times. When he had a car, he drove; when he didn’t, he cycled.

But now, on the second-to-last day before he left for San Francisco, she was suddenly seized by an impulse to sit with him inside a bus and watch the night scenery together.

She was turning over what kind of reasoning she could use to persuade him — but her reasoning turned out to be completely unnecessary. He took one look at her and agreed.

Out of the hotel, the damp, sticky air immediately enveloped them. Luo Peiyin naturally draped his overcoat over Gu Qiao’s shoulders, as though his coat had always been meant for her and not for himself.

Gu Qiao walked forward wrapped in Luo Peiyin’s overcoat. In that moment she had a strange sensation — as if he had never left her. As if every winter, he had been at her side.

He really didn’t need to be quite this generous, giving her the whole coat. Half would have been enough.

If he had a new girlfriend now, that must be a relationship that had developed in Singapore. The memory of sharing a coat during a windy winter ought to belong exclusively to the two of them. But he was going back to San Francisco now. The winters in San Francisco…

On the bus, Luo Peiyin still hadn’t taken his overcoat back. Gu Qiao felt rather bad — the upper deck was already full, and his height certainly wouldn’t allow him to stand up there. So they could only sit on the lower deck. The lower deck also had just one available seat, which Luo Peiyin gave up for her. This had more or less turned into an invitation for him to come stand in a crowded lower deck of a public bus — when he had his own car, and she’d been the one to suggest they take this.

“Shall we get off?”

Luo Peiyin said nothing, only looked at her — the expression plainly saying that they were already on board and he wasn’t going to change his mind now.

“Cousin, you sit.”

“If you don’t sit down now, someone else will take that seat.”

Gu Qiao paused, startled. That scenario he described — it had happened once before, though it was a very long time ago now.

He stood beside her, looking out the window. She suddenly thought of the past again — it was always the past. The first time she arrived in an unfamiliar city, it had been him who gave up his seat for her. She tried to give it back, and someone else snatched it — so they had ended up standing together.

She asked, out of nowhere: “Cousin, how did you get away from that tattooed man back then?”

Luo Peiyin appeared to have been completely unprepared for that question. A ripple finally passed across that all-business face of his.

“Get away?” Was that really how she saw him? After they’d gotten off the bus, he had gone straight at the tattooed man and hit him squarely in the stomach with his bag. The man hadn’t dared to open his mouth until Luo Peiyin was well out of range — and even then he’d kept his voice low, afraid the person who’d hit him might come back. “Getting away” had never been something Luo Peiyin was good at. He hadn’t done anything to that man on the bus simply because he hadn’t wanted to end up in the news. Of course, Gu Qiao had later provided him with a major news story free of charge.

He looked at Gu Qiao and smiled slightly — the way someone smiles at a joke.

Gu Qiao didn’t ask further. The bus hugged the street-level road, and neon lights and signboards of all kinds pressed toward her from outside. She turned and looked back at Luo Peiyin — and found him looking at her.

Not a single seat in the whole car.

Gu Qiao noticed an elderly woman with white hair board the bus and proactively gave up her seat, standing alongside Luo Peiyin.

The grandmother thanked her in the local dialect. Gu Qiao only caught the two words for “thank you.”

The grandmother could tell from her accent that she was from out of town, but didn’t end the conversation. This time she deliberately switched to Mandarin: “Here on holiday with your boyfriend?”

Gu Qiao felt like laughing. Not a single part of that kind old grandmother’s question was right. He was not a boyfriend. They were not on holiday.

Gu Qiao shook her head. The grandmother took that as a denial of only the second half of the sentence. She went on to remark that the two of them made a very well-matched pair.

She was wearing his overcoat, which announced to everyone around them that they were together — to everyone, that is, except the two of them.

Then, without any warning, the bus braked sharply. Gu Qiao had been lost in thought and hadn’t steadied herself — Luo Peiyin caught her with one arm, and her waist, through all those layers of clothing, still registered the force of his palm. Unlike the first time they had met, after she steadied herself, Luo Peiyin’s hand stayed a few seconds longer.

Only she could detect that subtle difference.

The grandmother beside them praised her boyfriend for being thoughtful — she hadn’t switched to Mandarin in time, and Gu Qiao caught it. She guessed that Luo Peiyin, like her, was northern; if one wasn’t listening carefully, it might be hard to make out what was said.

The face that the whiskey hadn’t managed to redden was now tinged faintly pink from the grandmother’s few words.

True to form, Luo Peiyin offered no correction. She didn’t bother either — it was unnecessary. The hand that had pressed against her waist moments ago had perhaps gripped just a little too firmly — it was as if that pressure had left a trace on her clothing that still hadn’t dissolved, a sensation that spread all the way to the tips of her fingers.

She asked the kind grandmother where the best breakfast spots in the area were. Though she always adhered to her principle of not wasting anything, and the hotel breakfast was both lavish and free, she decided she would find somewhere else for breakfast tomorrow morning.

The bus grew more and more crowded, and people blocked the view.

“Cousin, let’s get off.” Inviting him onto the bus to watch the night scenery had not turned out to be a particularly successful decision. If it had been just her alone, it would have been quite a pleasant experience — but she didn’t regret it. At least on the bus she’d learned where to find a good breakfast.

Getting on and off was a crush. She was nearly pushed off the step entirely. Luo Peiyin took hold of her hand.

He held her tightly — as if she would disappear if he didn’t.

Gu Qiao heard her own heartbeat. How embarrassing — she’d been through so much, and now a simple act of hand-holding was doing this to her.

It was a good while after they got off the bus that he finally let go of her hand. Her hand had been warmed by his grip, and after he released her, his body heat still lingered on her skin.

The two of them walked side by side, neither of them making any move to flag down a cab back to the hotel.

After all, this was the heart of the city — not the least bit short of light.

“Cousin, could I ask you a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“I want to give someone a New Year’s gift and I’d like your input.”

“Different people have different tastes — I may not know what this person likes.”

“You’re similar in age and in appearance, so you’d understand better than I would.” She let out a small laugh suddenly. “Budget is no issue — he’s helped me enormously, and I want to give him something on the nicer side.” She thought back on the gifts she had given Luo Peiyin before — apart from that one belt, the gloves and scarf hadn’t had much to do with anything expensive. He, on the other hand, had given her so many things — a whole drawer couldn’t hold them all. She had never even remembered his birthday. Though in truth he had only celebrated her birthday with her once, thinking back carefully, when he had been in America he’d had Xiao Jia bring things over for her — and it had always been just before or after her birthday. At the time she had assumed it was incidental.

Over the past few years, she had celebrated birthdays with many people. Luo Si’s birthday party had even invited her along, extending the invitation several times over — as his older cousin-figure, she had naturally felt it difficult to decline. The Luo family had probably all assumed that Luo Peiyin had been the one to initiate the breakup, so they kept everything about Luo Peiyin from her, not a word. And she couldn’t very well volunteer it herself — that she had been the one to call it off.

She couldn’t give him a birthday gift — but with the new year arriving, and running into him like this, of course she should give him something good all in one go. Even now she didn’t quite know what it was that he needed, something she could also provide. She had half a mind to give him a lifetime membership card for the software specialty store, but he wasn’t in China, so giving him that card would be like issuing an empty promise.

Gu Qiao hadn’t directly mentioned that the gift was for him — she was concerned that if she had, he would fall back into old habits and refuse to let her spend money on him.

He shot her a sharp look, as if confirming what she’d said. The darker it was outside, the harder it was to ignore the gaze of the person standing nearby.

Gu Qiao had just been squeezed around on the bus; the warmth of Luo Peiyin’s palm was still with her, and she felt heat radiating through her entire body. Right now, wearing someone else’s overcoat seemed extravagant.

Gu Qiao took off the coat draped over her shoulders and handed it back to Luo Peiyin. “Cousin, you wear it — I’m not cold now.”

Luo Peiyin took the coat and draped it back over Gu Qiao.

Gu Qiao repeated her question. “Cousin, do you have any suggestions?”

—