◎ Tomorrow It’s Your Turn to Wash the Dishes ◎

Mrs. Luo noticed Gu Qiao had put on her yellow blouse again. “Tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for a few new things — you’re about to start working, so it’s time to change your appearance. You shouldn’t wear this blouse anymore.”

Gu Qiao defended her garment: “I think this blouse suits me very well.”

Mrs. Luo looked more carefully. The color — it wasn’t gaudy on Gu Qiao, she had to admit — but she still didn’t feel it was right for her. She said educationally: “Suitable isn’t just about the fit. Your bearing must also match. Your new job requires a quiet, composed demeanor.”

Under her cousin-aunt’s insistence, Gu Qiao changed back into the clothes her cousin-aunt had given her. After all the help she’d been given, there was no need to make an issue of something so small.

The invitation had been for all three members of the Zhou family, but only two arrived. Zhou Zan had privately told his wife that a student of his had run into some trouble and been hospitalized — he wanted to go check on the student. With Luo Bo’an also out for the evening, there would be no one for him to talk to, so he would skip it. His wife didn’t press him.

These days, Zhou Zan seldom thought of Gu Jingshu. In the moments when he didn’t think of her, he could convince himself he was a good person.

On hearing that Gu Jingshu’s daughter had come to the capital in search of her father, he felt no impulse to join Mrs. Luo in lamenting that Gu Jingshu had made a poor marriage. Her name and the phrase “a poor marriage” placed together felt like a kind of irony. That Gu Jingshu had married someone like that — he bore responsibility for that. In the countryside in those days, a girl who had been intimate with someone before marriage had very few choices.

The current Mrs. Luo — still Gu Jingshu to him back then — had come to him carrying a white scarf knitted by Gu Jingshu, saying her cousin had asked her to seek his help. He immediately saw through the lie. Knowing Gu Jingshu’s character, she would never have come to him for anything after the break between them. But he helped anyway. If her cousin did well, perhaps she could help Gu Jingshu a little in turn.

At the time, when Gu Jinghuì — the current Mrs. Luo — had asked him to introduce marriage prospects, he had, within his means, introduced her to several young men of decent family background and personal circumstances. Gu Jinghuì had no interest in any of these men, and had instead set her sights on Luo Bo’an. She asked him to act as a go-between. Luo Bo’an was distinguished and of high standing, but he was a man who had been married twice before, with children from each marriage. Zhou Zan didn’t think Luo Bo’an was a good choice for an unmarried young woman. But Gu Jinghuì said it was her best option — she was exhausted from being alone in this city and wanted someone to lean on. Zhou Zan’s father had been Luo Bo’an’s middle school teacher, a man Luo Bo’an deeply respected and visited whenever the opportunity arose. Zhou Zan arranged for the two of them to meet casually at the Zhou household; it also happened that Gu Jinghuì was the teacher of Luo Bo’an’s daughter, and Luo Bo’an gradually developed an impression of his daughter’s teacher. Later, Zhou Zan’s father formally introduced the two — suggesting to Luo Bo’an that it was time for him to start a family again; a man with a family inspired more trust, and the two children at home also needed looking after.

Zhou Zan didn’t feel he deserved much credit for Gu Jinghuì’s marriage. Years earlier, Luo Bo’an would not have found someone like Gu Jinghuì appealing. It just so happened that at that precise time, his second marriage had recently come to an end in circumstances not entirely of his choosing; worn out by his former wife’s overwhelming ambition, he no longer sought a kindred spirit and wished only for someone who would support him wholeheartedly, manage the home, and keep the rear lines steady. The two had found their needs perfectly matched in each other, and it had come together of its own accord. Had it not been so, no amount of his matchmaking could have brought them together.

If not for the fact that Gu Jingshu’s cousin had since become Luo Bo’an’s wife, he would not have stayed in contact with her these past years. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of her cousin — and every time he thought of her cousin, the image he had carefully reconstructed of himself over all these years seemed like a bad joke. But the moment he heard she wanted him to arrange work for Gu Jingshu’s daughter, he had helped at once. He had always felt responsible for the way Gu Jingshu’s life had turned out.

But helping was one thing. Meeting her in person was unnecessary.

—

When Gu Qiao opened the door, she saw only two people: a well-preserved middle-aged woman and a girl in a white dress with a blue skirt.

Going by the photograph her cousin-aunt had shown her earlier, she immediately recognized them as Aunt Ning, wife of Uncle Zhou Zan, and their daughter Zhou Zhining.

“Aunt Ning” was not merely a term of respect — teaching was her actual profession; she taught music at a middle school. The work was undemanding, which left her plenty of time to take care of herself. Her years had been relatively smooth, and she had always been attentive to her health, so despite not having the most robust constitution, she had managed to avoid any significant health troubles.

Aunt Ning had a gift for reading people through their clothing. One glance told her that the blouse Gu Qiao was wearing was a hand-me-down from Mrs. Luo — though not an old one, probably worn only a few times. Seeing Gu Qiao at the door, she immediately determined she was not a housekeeper. Young, pretty girls who had just come to the city sometimes worked as housekeepers temporarily, but this one clearly wasn’t. Just recently Mrs. Luo had mentioned that their grandmother had taken a fall and she was looking for household help. But no female employer of her acquaintance would give a young female housekeeper her own semi-new clothing: resenting staff who tried to imitate the mistress was one reason; another was that a young and pretty housekeeper, wearing the same clothes, would very easily outshine the mistress. Wearing different clothes still allowed for personal bearing and fabric quality to lend a certain dignity, but in the same outfit, youth would always have the advantage.

She reached her conclusion: a relative from Mrs. Luo’s side. Even if Luo Bo’an had poor relations, Mrs. Luo would not put her own cast-off clothing on them — that was a matter of proportion. And yet this was a relatively close relative, treated with a certain casualness — not close enough to matter greatly, since Mrs. Luo would never give her old clothes to just anyone; but not important enough either, since anyone she truly valued would not receive a middle-aged woman’s hand-me-down clothing on a girl of sixteen or seventeen.

Gu Qiao felt slightly uncomfortable under Aunt Ning’s brief, appraising gaze, though she couldn’t have guessed at all the information that gaze had extracted in the space of a few seconds. She assumed the woman was looking at her simply because her color palette was similar to her daughter’s.

Gu Qiao’s first impression of Zhou Zhining was a flash of sudden understanding. No wonder her cousin-aunt was so insistent about dressing her in blue and white — she had an existing template in mind of how a young woman should look, and that template was standing right in front of her. Zhou Zhining really did suit the blue and white palette. The blouse and skirt she was wearing were a bit more youthful and lively than what her cousin-aunt had given Gu Qiao. Her long hair was swept back with a blue headband, presumably to complement the outfit.

Seeing this girl wearing blue and white so beautifully only confirmed what Gu Qiao had suspected — her dislike of the clothes her cousin-aunt had given her was not merely about the mature silhouettes. Even if they had been more youthful and charming in cut, she would still have preferred her own yellow blouse. She simply loved those vivid, bright colors — the sort her cousin-aunt deemed too gaudy and rustic.

Gu Qiao thought: someday, once the family debts were paid and she had money again, she would fill an entire wardrobe with clothes in every color imaginable.

—

Gu Qiao was warm-natured to begin with, and because Uncle Zhou had done her such a great favor, and her cousin-aunt had specifically reminded her to be welcoming, she was even more attentive than usual this evening.

When Aunt Ning met Mrs. Luo, she exchanged a few pleasantries before explaining why Zhou Zan hadn’t come: “He was going to come with us, but just as we were about to leave, he got a phone call — apparently one of his students was in some kind of trouble and had been hospitalized. Alone in the city with no family, he said the poor child was in a sorry state, and he went straight to the hospital. I told him, going to someone’s home — you’d better not bring a whole load of germs with you. Better you stay behind. And then he ended up having other things to attend to on top of that, so even if I’d wanted him to come, he couldn’t have.”

Aunt Ning followed this with a tone of fond complaint as she praised her husband: “He puts his whole heart into his students. You’d never see him give the family a second thought.”

Mrs. Luo smiled: “He can trust the family to take care of itself, and isn’t that because he has someone as capable as you? The children are no trouble either. Even if he wanted to worry, there’s nothing left for him to worry about.”

Aunt Ning replied modestly: “I’m nothing special. Our family is just three people — truthfully, there’s nothing that requires much worrying about at all. It’s you who is truly capable, managing such a large household so well.”

Gu Qiao had been about to ask the guests whether they preferred tea or coffee, but the two ladies had been so continuously complimenting each other that she couldn’t get a word in.

It was Zhou Zhining who spoke to her first: “Is Little Cousin Luo home?”

“He’s not, but I think he should be back soon.” Gu Qiao took two seconds to work out who “Little Cousin Luo” was. She recalled her cousin-aunt mentioning that Zhou Zhining and her cousin had a close relationship, and that both families thought highly of the match. When she’d first heard this, she had been mildly puzzled — she’d assumed that educated city people would hold more progressive values, yet it seemed family hopes were being pinned on a match while the two were still in school. Shouldn’t these things develop naturally?

Mrs. Luo added: “Peiyin specifically went to a restaurant to order dishes especially because you were coming. Normally he never pays the slightest attention to the kitchen. I have no idea what’s gotten into him today.”

Zhou Zhining looked a little embarrassed at this: “I come here all the time — there’s no need to go to any trouble. Please, next time I visit, absolutely don’t do this. In fact,” she said with a smile, “if it’s going to be this much trouble every time, I won’t come anymore.”

Mrs. Luo quickly said: “Don’t say that — the whole family loves having you here. If you stopped coming, someone would certainly blame me for talking too much. Who knows, perhaps someone even welcomes all this trouble.” As she said it, she looked toward Aunt Ning.

Aunt Ning smiled: “That I wouldn’t know. I don’t claim to understand young people’s affairs these days — as long as they’re happy, that’s what matters.”

Gu Qiao, listening from the side, finally found an opening to interject. She asked the guests what they’d like to drink, and Mrs. Luo introduced her to Aunt Ning: “This is Gu Qiao, my cousin’s daughter. While the grandmother has been away, she’s been kindly helping around the house. Though in a few days she’ll be starting work.”

Aunt Ning, upon hearing Gu Qiao’s name, took a moment to connect it to Gu Jingshu. Zhou Zan had always assumed she didn’t know about that old attachment. She had known all along — she had pretended not to care at first; now she genuinely didn’t. Even if she had cause for concern about Zhou Zan’s wandering eye, worrying about the girl standing before her, or dreaming up some story between them, would be far more plausible than worrying about Gu Jingshu. She believed Gu Jingshu held a certain place in Zhou Zan’s heart — but that place existed only in memory. She had always held the view that beautiful, gentle women from poor backgrounds did exist, but only with “young” as a qualifier; worn down by years of hardship, where was there any beauty or gentleness left? Whenever she detected a trace of nostalgia in Zhou Zan for the past, she would inwardly hope he’d hurry up and run into Gu Jingshu — one look at a middle-aged country woman with who knew how many children, and every last romantic notion would vanish without a trace.

Aunt Ning guessed Gu Qiao was well under twenty — going to work this early, she clearly hadn’t gone to university. She smiled and asked: “Where will you be working?”

“In the General Affairs Office at Z University.” Mrs. Luo realized Zhou Zan had not told his wife about arranging the job for her niece. There was really no need for secrecy — given the relationship between the two families, helping her niece find a job was perfectly natural. The things of the past — she imagined no one was still thinking about them, and it wasn’t as though she had taken advantage one-sidedly. When Zhou Zan’s brother-in-law had gotten into trouble, she had helped.

Mrs. Luo specifically instructed Gu Qiao to use the coffee beans Luo Peiyin had brought home when making the coffee.

Once Gu Qiao had gone into the kitchen, Zhou Zhining said to her mother and Mrs. Luo: “I’ll go check on things in the kitchen.”

Aunt Ning smiled: “This child — always curious about everything.” In the past, when the grandmother had been in the kitchen, Zhou Zhining sometimes went in to chat with her. She took a quiet pride in this — it set her apart from her friends and classmates: she cared about people who were less fortunate than herself, never looked down on them, and could even appreciate the hardships of their lives. Most of these people were good, she felt — though there were some who, in her view, had completely lost the ability to distinguish right from wrong, treating her kindness as an occasion for showing off and dismissing her concern with disdain. Those people, she concluded, had only themselves to blame for their lot, and she didn’t bother wasting any more sympathy on them.

Before Mrs. Luo had ever uttered Gu Qiao’s name, Zhou Zhining had already come across the letter *”A Letter of Thanks to Warm-Hearted Citizen Luo Peiyin”* in the paper and committed the name “Gu Qiao” to memory. Her family didn’t normally read that particular newspaper — she had specifically gone out to buy a copy after hearing about the letter’s contents from a classmate. Out of certain private considerations, she had not shared the discovery with her parents.

Gu Qiao noticed someone entering the kitchen. She turned to see Zhou Zhining and gave her a natural smile: “Don’t worry, the coffee will be ready in just a moment.”

“Your name is Gu Qiao? The ‘Gu’ of ‘abundant grain harvest,’ and the ‘Qiao’ of ‘standing on tiptoe in anticipation’?”

“That’s right!” Gu Qiao paused for half a second to confirm those were indeed the correct characters for her name. This girl’s command of idioms was quite impressive — Gu Qiao herself had never thought to use two four-character idioms when introducing her own name.

Zhou Zhining introduced herself: “My name is Zhou Zhining — Zhou and Ning are my parents’ respective surnames.”

“I know.”

She knew her name before they’d even met? Zhou Zhining asked: “Do you like my father’s writing?”

Her father had written about her childhood in one of his essays, which was how she’d been identified there. Gu Qiao wasn’t sure why Zhou Zhining had suddenly asked this. She had no particular memory of Zhou Zan’s books — she didn’t dislike them, but she couldn’t quite claim to like them. Still, saying outright that she didn’t like someone’s father’s writing wasn’t very gracious, especially when that person had just done her such a great favor. She said without thinking: “I quite like them.”

“Which piece do you like best?” Whenever anyone told her in person that they liked her father’s writing, she always followed it up with this question — it was her way of sorting real readers from false ones.

Which piece did she like best? Which piece did she like best? Gu Qiao couldn’t recall a single one, and could only say: “I like them all.” Couldn’t this girl tell she was being polite? It wasn’t as though Gu Qiao had gone out of her way to declare how much she loved her father’s work — why press the matter this way? If she couldn’t name one, it would only be awkward for both of them.

“There must be one you like best,” Zhou Zhining said. She felt that saying you liked them all was just politeness.

Gu Qiao finally scraped up the last remnants of any book-related memory from her mind. She told Zhou Zhining: “My favorite is the one he wrote about mulberry trees.”

“Oh.” Zhou Zhining was now certain Gu Qiao was making it up — her father had never written anything about mulberry trees. She therefore concluded that Gu Qiao was not a sincere person. If you didn’t like something, just say so; there was no need to pretend. She had encountered people before who, in order to ingratiate themselves with her father, claimed to love his work despite never having read a single page.

Under normal circumstances, once she determined that someone was being insincere, she would stop investing her time in the conversation. But because this person was “Gu Qiao” — who had written the thank-you letter, been walked home by Luo Peiyin — she decided to keep talking for a while. Through their conversation, Zhou Zhining learned that Gu Qiao was eighteen this year, had not gone on to university after high school, and in a few days would be starting work as support staff at Z University’s General Affairs Office. Zhou Zhining guessed that Gu Qiao’s position must have been arranged through her Aunt Gu or the Luo family’s connections. Zhou Zhining herself held self-made people in higher esteem, and she formed no particular opinion about this.

When Gu Qiao finished making the coffee and was about to bring it to the living room, Zhou Zhining finally asked what she most wanted to know: “Was it you who wrote that thank-you letter to Little Cousin Luo?” They were clearly the same person with the same name — but why send a letter to the newspaper when you were living under the same roof?

Hearing this, Gu Qiao thought: how has everyone in the world managed to see this letter of hers? If that was the case, Lou Deyu must have seen it too — unless her luck was truly that terrible.

It occurred to Gu Qiao that her cousin-aunt had said Zhou Zhining and her cousin were very close. Even if she denied it, her cousin would certainly tell her eventually. Better to admit it now than be caught in a lie. So Gu Qiao nodded.

“If you wanted to thank him and you’re living here, why not just thank him in person? Why go the roundabout way of sending a letter to the paper?”

Gu Qiao sensed that this girl didn’t think much of her, though she didn’t know why. Confiding in someone who didn’t think well of you felt like complaining — and she wasn’t about to complain to anyone. She repeated the same explanation she’d given Luo Peiyin: she hadn’t known who he was at the time, had regretted not being able to thank him in person, and had written the letter as the only way to express her gratitude.

Gu Qiao delivered it all too fluently and too vividly, which actually lowered Zhou Zhining’s level of trust. She thought this girl could have been an actress — not even the leading lady of their school drama club could have performed with such feeling. If it weren’t for the fact that she was studying journalism, she might have been taken in by Gu Qiao’s eyes. Gu Qiao maintained steady eye contact throughout, as if every word she was saying was the truth. Though Zhou Zhining had only been studying journalism for a year, she already knew that when a first-person account proceeds without a single stumble — barely a filler word, almost ready to be transcribed directly into formal writing — there could be only one explanation: the speaker was making it up.

Zhou Zhining concluded that Gu Qiao’s thank-you letter to the newspaper was, like her claim to enjoy her father’s writing, a form of flattery — and the content of the letter was unlikely to have been as she described.

“So does Little Cousin Luo know you wrote this letter?”

“He does, but he wasn’t happy about it. Someone as low-key as he is, being praised in such a conspicuous way — he probably just found it embarrassing. I do feel some regret about it now.” Not wanting Zhou Zhining to bring up the thank-you letter that evening, and bearing in mind how close the two of them were, Gu Qiao added: “I think he’d prefer no one mention the letter again, to avoid another round of awkwardness. As his friend, I’m sure you can sympathize. So could you just pretend you never saw it? Come on, the coffee is ready — let’s go to the living room!”

This time Zhou Zhining believed every word Gu Qiao said: “I’d already guessed Little Cousin Luo wouldn’t have liked that letter at all. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But don’t do something like this again — Little Cousin Luo likes people who have their own convictions. He’s always had no patience for flattery and currying favor.”

Gu Qiao only caught the first part of Zhou Zhining’s words before heading out of the kitchen with the coffee. By the time Zhou Zhining finished saying what she had to say, Gu Qiao was already gone.

Through the entire dinner, no one brought up the thank-you letter. By dinnertime, Luo Peiyin finally arrived, carrying the dishes he had ordered.

During the meal, Zhou Zhining said to Luo Peiyin: “Little Cousin Luo, next time I come you don’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“Hmm?” Luo Peiyin didn’t quite follow what she meant.

“Aunt Luo said you never normally do anything about the kitchen, but you specially went to get these dishes from a restaurant today, just because we were coming.”

“Don’t mention it. I’d do the same for any guests.”

Zhou Zhining had plenty more she’d wanted to say, but being stopped so abruptly, she found herself at a loss for words. She couldn’t tell whether Luo Peiyin meant it literally or was being deflective.

Mrs. Luo inwardly reproached Luo Peiyin for being so indelicate with his words. He was usually a perfectly presentable person — how could he say something like that? It was thoroughly mortifying. When you invite guests over and make special preparations, whether it’s true or not, it conveys a sense of thoughtfulness. But he wasn’t her son, so she couldn’t very well lecture him.

Mrs. Luo smiled and said: “Zhining, isn’t steamed fish one of your favorites? Try the fish Gu Qiao made today.”

Luo the Fourth jumped in first: “My cousin’s cooking keeps getting better. The food she makes is almost like restaurant quality now. I notice second brother only eats what she cooks — he barely touches the dishes from the restaurant. Even Grandma’s cooking doesn’t suit second brother as well.”

No sooner had Luo the Fourth finished speaking than at least half the people at the table felt his comment had been completely unnecessary. A glare from his mother sent him muttering under his breath as he bowed his head over his food.

Aunt Ning said graciously: “What a capable young woman.”

Mrs. Luo felt the compliment had an undertone. The Fourth child really had no idea how to talk — comparing Gu Qiao to the grandmother made it sound as though she had put her niece to work as a housekeeper. And anyone with a more suspicious mind might think she had placed her niece right under the stepson’s nose with an eye toward keeping it in the family.

Mrs. Luo was about to smooth things over when Gu Qiao, smiling, turned to Luo the Fourth: “I know you meant well, younger cousin. But you’ve misread my cousin’s intention — he clearly felt the restaurant dishes were better and wanted to give the guests the best food.”

Luo Peiyin looked up at Gu Qiao and found her smiling. Their eyes met, and her expression shifted to another kind of smile — a knowing one, as if to say: don’t worry, I understand. She figured her cousin had gone to the trouble and expense of having dishes sent over, only to have Luo the Fourth imply they weren’t as good as her home cooking — and then drag in the grandmother whom he’d known for years, saying even she couldn’t match Gu Qiao. That probably wasn’t something her cousin would feel comfortable with. She did think her cooking was quite good, but a gap still existed between herself and a seasoned head chef.

Hearing Gu Qiao say this, Mrs. Luo withdrew whatever she’d been about to say. She thought Gu Qiao’s recovery was well done — and it helped that Luo Peiyin did not contradict it, softening some of the awkwardness his earlier bluntness had caused.

—

When the meal was over, Gu Qiao began to clear the table and wash the dishes. After so many days, she was already accustomed to cleaning up after meals with no one to help.

She was in the middle of collecting the bowls and plates when another hand reached toward a dish on the table. The hand was large with long fingers — the kind that, in a restaurant, would carry plates with perfect steadiness.

“Go and rest. I’ll do it tonight.” Luo Peiyin said this without looking at Gu Qiao.

Gu Qiao stood there. She wanted to say thank you but the words didn’t come — clearing the table wasn’t strictly part of her duties, even though everyone had grown used to it over time. She wanted to say her cousin might not be up to the task, but events had already demonstrated he wasn’t entirely helpless in this department. She said at last: “Let me do it with you.”

All the bowls and dishes were placed in the sink. Gu Qiao turned on the tap to start washing, and as the water ran over her hands, something beyond water touched them. She pulled her hands back at once.

Luo Peiyin said to Gu Qiao: “I’ll wash the dishes tonight.” He said it as though they’d been taking turns all along and tonight was his turn. Gu Qiao thought to herself: yesterday he hadn’t mentioned washing the dishes, so he must have felt it wasn’t his turn yet.

Gu Qiao stood there for a moment, then accepted his suggestion. She told Luo Peiyin where the dish soap was kept and how to wash the dishes most effectively.

“You don’t actually think I don’t know how to do this.”

Gu Qiao considered, then said: “Even the brightest person has things they’re not good at.”

She stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching Luo Peiyin wash the dishes. He had rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, as though setting out to accomplish something of great significance. She murmured, almost to herself: “It seems like there really isn’t anything my cousin isn’t good at.”

Luo Peiyin heard this. This person truly had not a single unkind word in her vocabulary.

“Go on out.”

“Washing dishes alone must be a bit lonely. I can stand here and chat with you.”

Just ten-odd minutes — what was there to feel lonely about? But Luo Peiyin didn’t say this aloud. Instead he asked Gu Qiao: “Do you feel lonely washing dishes?”

“Not particularly.” When she thought about it more carefully, the loneliness had nothing to do with the dishes. It was more that when the whole family was sitting together in the living room and you were alone in the kitchen washing up, it could make you feel a little lonely.

Gu Qiao quickly chased away that unexpected pang of sadness, and said brightly to Luo Peiyin: “Cousin, I have a job.”

“Is that so?”

Gu Qiao felt her cousin’s voice was a little cool, but this didn’t stop her from continuing. “It’s the logistics work I mentioned to you before — right at your university.”

Luo Peiyin made a sound of acknowledgment. He’d call his friend later and say the matter had been sorted. Since Gu Qiao had already found work, he naturally said nothing about having asked his friend to help.

“Cousin, what would you like to eat tomorrow? I’ll make it for you.” In a few days the kitchen would no longer be her domain. If Luo the Fourth found out, he’d probably pester her every day to make fried chicken.

“Starting from now, if you’d like to cook, one or two dishes per meal is enough. I’ve already arranged with a restaurant to send food every day. We’ll keep this going until the grandmother comes back, or until your cousin-aunt finds a household helper she’s satisfied with.”

“Before I start work I can keep cooking — it’s nothing to me, and I’m good at it.” Having food delivered from a restaurant every day would cost a fortune. How wonderful it would be if she were the one earning that money. With someone else’s family she would have boldly proposed a proper rate. But this was family — her cousin-aunt had helped her, and it was only right to do a few more days of housework in return.

Luo Peiyin didn’t press the matter. That restaurant — for some inexplicable reason, it was as if their head chef had lost his sense of taste; everything was far too salty, only marginally better than the university cafeteria. If Gu Qiao weren’t his relative through this roundabout connection, it would have been perfectly simple to discuss wages directly. This was the moment he felt the full inconvenience of what his mother had described as a society run on personal obligations. Even gratitude couldn’t be expressed simply in cash — it had to be converted into gifts of equivalent value, and the value of those gifts had to be visibly apparent.

Noticing that his cousin and second brother had been in the kitchen a long time without returning, Luo the Fourth went specifically to investigate. Seeing his second brother washing dishes, Luo the Fourth was astonished: “Second brother, why are you washing dishes?”

“Who do you think should be doing it?”

“Isn’t that Cousin Gu Qiao’s job?”

Luo Peiyin said drily: “Who told you that was your cousin’s job? Until a new housekeeper is found, washing the dishes is everyone’s job. Starting today, we rotate. Tomorrow it’s your turn. Doing some household chores is good for developing an active mind. At your age, you should be getting some exercise.” Luo the Fourth was from a different mother, and Luo Peiyin usually stayed out of his affairs — but this had gone too far.

Luo the Fourth was indignant inwardly: when you were my age, no one ever saw you wash a single dish, and your intellect turned out just fine. How come when it comes to me, I have to wash dishes? Though upon hearing that his cousin wasn’t actually a housekeeper, he lost some of his grounds for protest. He thought bitterly: second brother really knows how to take the credit. He’d been the one to bring up taking turns — so in the future, even every time he washed dishes on behalf of his cousin, it would somehow become second brother’s merit. Thinking this, he shuffled back to the living room. He was still a little afraid of his second brother and didn’t dare contradict him directly.

Luo the Fourth reported to the rest of the living room what he had seen, selecting only the parts he found most interesting.

Zhou Zhining sighed: “Little Cousin Luo really is such a good person.”

Luo the Fourth snorted inwardly. Wash one bowl and you’re a good person? Then Cousin Gu Qiao, who had washed dishes every single day, was a super-duper-extra-great person, and the grandmother who had washed dishes for decades was practically a saint of the ages.

Zhou Zhining then asked: “If your second brother is doing the dishes, why is your cousin still in the kitchen?”

Luo the Fourth said with a touch of sarcasm: “Probably teaching second brother how to wash dishes. I don’t think second brother has ever once washed a single dish before today…” And he stood there making demands like he had every right to.

Mrs. Luo cut him off before he could finish, commanding him to go upstairs this instant and preview his new school year’s coursework. Something had gotten into the child today — he kept coming out with one misguided comment after another.

Luo the Fourth said “alright” and trudged upstairs with bad grace.

Zhou Zhining’s thoughts returned to the thank-you letter. If what Gu Qiao said was true — that Luo Peiyin had been very put out by it — shouldn’t he be keeping his distance from her? Perhaps his sense of pity had won out.

While Luo Peiyin was washing the forks, he accidentally pricked his finger, drawing blood. He tore off a small piece of paper to wrap it, not realizing Gu Qiao had seen.

“Are you alright, Cousin? Let me finish then.” Well — it seemed there really were some things her cousin wasn’t good at.

“It’s fine.” Luo Peiyin insisted on finishing the dishes. Without looking at Gu Qiao, he couldn’t help asking: “You’re not laughing at me inside, are you?”

“Cousin, you’re overthinking it.”

—