◎ 1995 ◎

When the dinner concluded, it transitioned into a dance. Madam Liao had always found this part tedious and preferred to absent herself. Her son, too, had in the past found such dancing tiresome — eight times out of ten, he would have slipped away.

Now there were only the two of them in the room.

By the time the conversation turned to Gu Qiao, the topic was nearing its end. The person being discussed was not present.

When Madam Liao had first laid eyes on Gu Qiao, she had taken her measure in one sweep. A person who had fought their own battles through life on their own two hands had a certain quality that was entirely their own.

As for her appearance — “pretty” suited her better than “beautiful.” Beauty required a touch of otherworldliness. This young woman was clearly someone who had rolled and clashed her way through the world — vivid, substantial, fully grounded. Madam Liao could detect no particular similarity between this girl and her own son, though romance had never really required similarity.

Since Luo Peiyin had made no formal introduction, Madam Liao made no mention of it either, and treated Gu Qiao simply as an ordinary friend of her son’s. She recalled that the last time she’d heard Gu Qiao’s name, the girl had been selling clothes — and now, of all things, she was in software retail.

She had asked Gu Qiao whether she was based in Shanghai. Gu Qiao had replied that she was primarily in Beijing, though she planned to open a shop in Shanghai the following year. When she spoke, her eyes were bright in a way that made one overlook her modest jewelry entirely.

Madam Liao had finally said what was on her mind: “How far along are the two of you?”

If they were together, there would have been a proper introduction. But if she were merely a cousin with no blood relation, he would not have brought her here.

She and her ex-husband had not seen each other since the divorce. The next time they might cross paths would likely be at their son’s wedding. Marriage and romance were different matters — she had no desire for her future daughter-in-law to have any lingering threads of connection to that old man.

“How far along are the two of you?”

“I’m pursuing her.”

“Pursuing?” Madam Liao repeated the phrase, distinctly skeptical: “So you haven’t succeeded yet? And you’re bringing her to meet me before you’ve even won her over? That’s not what you said before.”

She was very nearly convinced this was a smokescreen her son had manufactured to keep her from getting involved.

“I just wanted to tell you — this is the person I want, so please don’t waste your time trying to introduce me to anyone else.”

“Romance and marriage are two different things. The people I introduce you to are suitable marriage candidates. You don’t actually believe marriage is just love carried forward, do you? At its core, marriage is a property arrangement — frankly speaking, it’s much like two people going into business together. A good marriage maximizes both parties’ interests.”

Madam Liao felt that her son, having grown up in this family, could not possibly be this naive.

Luo Peiyin smiled: “That’s true, they are different. But if I need your help to choose someone to marry, I’m not worth very much. And besides, my investment preferences are rather different from yours — I don’t like playing it safe.”

“I’m rather curious — you’ll be in Singapore going forward, you’ll hardly see each other. How exactly do you plan to pursue her?” In just a few exchanges, Madam Liao had already seen clearly: this girl was set on staying in China, building and expanding her business from the ground up. Someone who had started with nothing and even built a small enterprise had to have been quite strong-willed, or she never would have succeeded. She was not someone who would pick up and move abroad on someone else’s terms.

“That’s nothing for you to worry about. The moment I succeed, you’ll be the first to know.”

As though, once he set his mind on someone, that person was simply bound to be his.

For a moment, Madam Liao felt as though time were playing a trick on her. When she was young and her own mother had warned her away from Luo Bo’an, she seemed to remember saying something rather similar. The outcome was already written into their family history — but the young rarely heeded such cautionary tales.

People were always drawn to those who were different from them, and then parted ways in the end, precisely because of those differences.

Her gaze moved to the gift her son had brought her. Over two years of working, his gifts had become increasingly generous. He had never gone without, and she had no financial leverage over him.

Still — as long as they didn’t marry, every lesson could still become experience.

Madam Liao watched her son leave, and when the door clicked shut, she sighed quietly to herself: he was still so young. At first it had been a note of mockery; then she found herself thinking of someone who had grown old.

Some years back, she had been hospitalized for surgery. Her son had flown back from America to look after her. Her ex-husband had telephoned specifically to ask after her — a wholly unexpected call. They had not been in touch for over a decade since the divorce.

When Luo Bo’an called her name, the past fell from the rafters like old accumulated dust. After confirming there was nothing seriously wrong, he had told her to take care of herself — that one’s health was everything; that at their age, she shouldn’t push herself the way she had when she was young… Madam Liao had laughed coldly. Who did he think was the same age as him? Rest assured, she told him — she certainly wasn’t going to die before him. It was he who should watch himself, with a young wife and small children to support — he’d better not meet Marx early and leave his brood for her son to raise. She had expected Luo Bo’an to snap back at her the way he used to, but that time, when she made the remark about him “meeting Marx early,” there had been a pause of a few seconds on his end of the line, followed by: “You’re many years younger than I am. Of course you’ll outlive me. Though I won’t go that quickly — your son won’t need to take on the burden.” She had found herself without a ready reply. This was so out of character — putting up the white flag like that. It surprised her.

She saw then that he had truly grown old. Even arguing required energy, and he no longer had that energy. Life had long since turned its page. Thinking that she might one day be returning to invest in China, she softened her own tone and wound up the call pleasantly enough, wishing him good health into the bargain. His dying early wouldn’t do their shared son any good either.

After that, they had no direct contact again. The next time she would see him — apart from their son’s wedding — was likely in a photograph at a funeral.

Gu Qiao sat to one side and watched others dance. Several men came to invite her; she declined each one. Thinking ahead to driving back, she held only a glass of orange juice.

Luo Peiyin had introduced her everywhere by her profession. Well — a casual relationship didn’t announce itself to the world on the very first day. The time he had come to her family so formally to make his intentions known had been the last thing she had expected.

Come to think of it, when he had asked about her name cards, it hadn’t been mockery after all.

“Do you find this kind of dancing terribly boring?”

Gu Qiao smiled: “Not at all — I just don’t dance very well.”

“I thought you’d be the same as my cousin — who can’t stand this kind of occasion.”

Gu Qiao paused at the word “cousin.” The person speaking was Luo Peiyin’s actual cousin. When dinner had ended, this cousin’s “Auntie Liao” had had things to discuss with Luo Peiyin, and Madam Liao had specifically asked his cousin to keep Gu Qiao company so she wouldn’t feel left out. The two of them had met once before.

Usually Luo Peiyin and his cousins called each other by name. But somehow, following Gu Qiao’s lead, this younger cousin had started calling him “cousin” too. It made things feel considerably more familiar.

“He doesn’t like this?”

“He’s always found this kind of socializing tedious.”

His cousin saw the world through a romantically tinted lens, and interpreted Gu Qiao’s pivot from selling clothes to selling software as simply choosing a different way to experience life — speaking of it with what almost sounded like admiration for Gu Qiao’s freewheeling spirit.

Gu Qiao did not dispel this charming misreading.

The cousin praised Gu Qiao’s jewelry. Gu Qiao generously shared the name of the small shop where she’d bought it.

Although the cousin knew plenty of people who wore imitations out of caution in public settings — she had, in fact, just identified one of the ladies’ sapphire brooches as a reproduction — she had never encountered anyone as frank as Gu Qiao about it.

Inevitably, at an occasion like this, the conversation found its way back to their shared cousin: “He’s always said he has a girlfriend, but she’s purely a voice — no one has ever actually seen her. Do you know who it is?”

“He’s been saying that this whole time?”

“Every time Auntie wants to arrange an introduction, he says he already has a girlfriend. But Singapore isn’t that big, and not a single one of us has ever seen her. It’s very strange.”

So every time any of them spotted a girl at Luo Peiyin’s side, they couldn’t help but stare — a sense that a secret was finally about to be revealed. But the cousin had met Gu Qiao before, and had told the other cousins that this was Luo Peiyin’s “cousin from China.” The others had been disappointed.

The cousin noticed Gu Qiao’s expression shift: “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine.” In Singapore, he truly had had no girlfriend — no wonder no one could see her.

The cousin got no answer from Gu Qiao. She followed Gu Qiao’s gaze across the room and found what she was looking at — their shared cousin.

But the way Gu Qiao was looking at him was not how one looked at a relative. Then she heard Gu Qiao say: “Come dance with me — I’ve improved quite a bit since we last met.”

The cousin did not get her answer from Gu Qiao. But when she watched her cousin wrap his arm around Gu Qiao’s waist and guide her onto the dance floor, she felt she had her answer all the same.

Gu Qiao had indeed improved enormously. She did not step on Luo Peiyin’s feet once.

Back when Gu Qiao was working at Z University, it had been fashionable among the students and staff to organize dances. Men and women dancing together — a male colleague from her office had often invited her. She had always declined, on the grounds that she didn’t know how. She truly didn’t. The young man had volunteered to teach her. She had told him she didn’t want to learn right now.

Later, when she and Luo Peiyin were together, she had asked him to teach her. Though the total time they had spent together hadn’t amounted to much, they had managed to do a great many things within it.

Like most beginners, Gu Qiao kept stepping on Luo Peiyin’s feet. Held at the waist by Luo Peiyin, her usual quickness and coordination seemed to vanish entirely. She had looked down at the shoe-prints she’d left on his feet, embarrassed, and said perhaps she should just practice on her own first — every time she looked at his shoe tops, she saw exactly what the bottoms of hers looked like. Luo Peiyin had looked down at her: take your shoes off, then — no shoe prints to worry about. It had been completely beyond what she expected. At the time, the most intimate contact they’d had was a handful of kisses — not entirely satisfying ones either, always conducted in secret behind a privacy curtain during overnight hospital vigils, worried the whole time about being discovered. She had been shy about taking off her shoes in front of him. He had laughed at her: my sense of smell has been a bit off today — even if your feet smelled, I wouldn’t notice. That had annoyed her. She took her shoes off then and there. Her feet were not smelly. In the end her feet still inevitably found their way onto his, not intentionally this time — and without shoes, when her foot landed on his, the sole of her foot felt a slight tickle.

She was the one stepping on his feet, yet somehow it was his ears that turned red. Gu Qiao had always been self-confident, but she still couldn’t help asking: I must be hurting you. Do you think I’m a bit slow?

“I’m the slow one — after all this time, I still haven’t managed to teach such a quick learner.” When he delivered a wry remark, his tone was especially even, impossible to tell whether it was sincere or ironic.

The slow learner would just have to put in the slow work. That evening, apart from dancing, they had done nothing else. No music — she kept her own internal count. She stepped and stepped on his feet, and gradually the soles of her feet seemed to memorize the shape of what they’d traced, until finally the two of them had found their rhythm together.

Gu Qiao tilted her head back and looked at Luo Peiyin: “I’ve improved so much since then, haven’t I. I used to step on your feet all the time. Not anymore.”

When Luo Peiyin had taught her back then, she had been a poor student. But any knowledge, revisited enough times in memory, eventually becomes second nature.

Luo Peiyin pulled her into a sweeping circle, and the yellow of her skirt radiated outward in every direction. The hem swept against Luo Peiyin’s legs. Gu Qiao’s earrings swung wildly. Her heart was stirred up by those earrings — and only when the hem of her skirt had left his legs did her breathing steady.

His hand rested at her waist, their bodies a proper distance apart.

Because her breath had quickened, her rhythm faltered — and her foot landed on his again. Sole to sole through shoes, it felt as though their bare toes were pressed together.

Gu Qiao did not lose her composure as she once might have. She found her rhythm again quickly. All her focus was on the count — she was entirely oblivious to the eyes watching the two of them from around the room.

He leaned close to her ear and said: “There’s one thing — you’re still the same as before.”

One thing about her that was unchanged: dancing with him still made her face flush. But tonight it had nothing to do with shyness.

That flush on her face was half-scattered by the wind coming through the open car window on the drive back.

They had made their farewells before the new year arrived.

Luo Peiyin was at the wheel again — on the grounds that Gu Qiao didn’t know the roads and would drive too slowly. Gu Qiao didn’t argue. She was also eager to get back to the hotel, to show him the new year’s gift she’d brought for him.

Gu Qiao invited Luo Peiyin into her room. The gift was seven neckties. She herself liked vivid, bold colors, yet the ties she had chosen for him were all subdued. She had gone to the shop specially to buy them while he was in Suzhou.

She tilted her head back and looked at him: “Seven days in a week — you can wear a different one each day. Try them.”

She reached out and began undoing the one he was already wearing. Even the one slightly shorter nail did nothing to hinder her dexterity. She was a capable person — but her movements just then were not fast.

“Come back to China for New Year.” Gu Qiao’s fingers felt the texture of his tie. “I want to see you a few more times before the holiday.” Those had once been his words to her.

She removed the first tie. From the seven she had chosen, Gu Qiao selected the one she had liked best from the start and began to tie it for him. It had been several years since she’d sold ties, but the skill hadn’t left her. Standing this close, his breath fell against her face. She could see his throat move as he swallowed.

Her fingers touched the tie. She tilted her head back to look at him: “My taste isn’t bad, is it.”

Luo Peiyin gave Gu Qiao no time to show off the next tie. He lowered his head and kissed her mouth.

He had bitten the corner of her lips until they ached, and she returned the ache in equal measure. The two of them wound together — it did not feel like intimacy so much as two opponents locked in combat. Flesh pressed close to flesh, almost as though they were one person, yet Luo Peiyin seemed to find even this distance insufficient.

Luo Peiyin did not have the seemingly inexhaustible patience of the early hours. That patience seemed entirely spent now — he lacked even the patience to walk those few steps to the soft mattress. It would have taken only seconds for them to reach the edge of the bed, to sink into that yielding surface — Gu Qiao had always found that mattress too soft.

When he entered her, Gu Qiao’s voice broke at the unfamiliar intrusion — a sound too short for her to catch and swallow before it escaped. Her hands locked behind his back, gripping him fiercely, as though trying to press into his bones.

Gu Qiao’s yellow skirt billowed forward against Luo Peiyin, that vivid yellow splashing over him. Her earrings swung without restraint. Flesh seemed to fuse into flesh, yet he still found the distance between them insufficient — each time he pressed deeper than the last.

Starting from January 1, 1995, fireworks within the city would be officially banned, and so that night seemed intent on setting off every firework the coming years would be denied. Explosions rang out everywhere. Fireworks surged upward one after another — before one had been seen clearly, the next was already detonating in the air, each competing to burst into existence on the last day of 1994. It was as though a rain of fireworks was falling, the dazzling light outside flaring from every angle, as though trying to burst through the floor-to-ceiling windows and spill into the room.

Gu Qiao had been clenching her teeth to stay silent, but as the waves of sound outside came one after another — as though capable of swallowing all other noise — the sounds inside began to slip through the gaps between her teeth.

Gu Qiao’s voice was shattered, scattering outward like the color of her skirt, striking the floor-to-ceiling windows and seeming to bounce back — ricocheting around the room, colliding with the sounds that followed, overlapping in fragments.

She gave back what she could, but even as her nails pressed into his skin, he appeared to feel no pain, not a single sound escaping him. Or perhaps he had — perhaps the fireworks outside had swallowed it.

The fireworks fell silent with the arrival of January 1.

When the explosions outside suddenly stopped, she broke into sound again — a sharp, clear cry.

The new year had truly arrived. The city’s temples, having resumed their traditions over the past few years, were striking their bells in prayer. Those sounds carried along the river and drifted over — one strike, and then another. She heard him say quietly at her ear: “Happy New Year.”

This was the first new year the two of them had spent alone together. 1994 had ended. 1995 had come.