◎ Earth Deficiency in the Five Elements ◎

Outside the car window, the snow was falling in thick, sweeping sheets. Night had fully settled in, and the traffic jam showed no signs of relenting.

“Do you still remember telling me that you were deficient in the earth element and needed to supplement it with the color yellow?”

Gu Qiao recalled that she had indeed said this to Luo Peiyin — but when had it been? Ah — it seemed it was when she was eighteen and about to go sell pigskin gloves, and he had gone along with her. She’d been wearing a very long yellow scarf, and he’d asked if she liked yellow, and she’d told him yellow brought her good fortune. A fortune-teller had told her she was deficient in the earth element and needed to supplement it — and as it happened, yellow was the color that represented earth.

The moment she’d said it, she’d regretted it. He was surely a scientifically-minded young man of the new generation — she shouldn’t have been propagating feudal superstitions in front of him. That evening in the small room at the Luo family house, Gu Qiao had lain there ruminating over what she’d said. It occurred to her that the character for “earth” was in Luo Peiyin’s name, and she worried he might misread some hidden meaning into her words — but she immediately dismissed the thought, confident he wouldn’t. Still, as she lay there thinking, she found herself smiling. That fortune-teller had actually made a rather reasonable point.

Remembering what she’d said at eighteen, Gu Qiao suddenly laughed: “I was saying it as a joke — how do you still remember that?” Now that he’d brought up old things, he’d have something new to add to his list of her failings in basic biology.

She truly wasn’t superstitious in the least. The truth was, Gu Qiao didn’t really believe in the five elements at all. She had a habit: whatever she liked, she’d find a reason to say it was favorable for her. She liked yellow, so she said yellow was lucky for her — really, compared to any theory of five elements, she trusted more in her own two hands.

“You were saying it as a joke, but I took it to heart.” Luo Peiyin took Gu Qiao’s hand and placed the box in it: “A New Year’s gift for you. Open it and see.”

Though New Year’s Day had long since passed, for Chinese people, the Spring Festival was the true beginning of the new year.

Gu Qiao hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the box. Outside the car windows, the world looked like a vast black-and-white photograph, the thick flurries of snowflakes brightening everything they touched. The light inside the car was not ideal, but it didn’t matter — the golden yellow diamond caught what light there was and glowed quietly, its brightness pushing steadily toward Gu Qiao’s eyes.

“Yellow clothes can’t be worn every day, but a ring can be worn every day. I hope this ring can bring you good fortune every single day.”

Gu Qiao’s gaze settled on the ring. Such a superstitious thing to say — it truly didn’t sound like something from the mouth of a young man who believed in science. Her gaze moved from the ring to Luo Peiyin’s face. Her lips pressed together. She’d been about to tease him with something like *I didn’t realize you’d become this superstitious* — but though her lips parted and closed, not a single word came out.

“Let me put it on for you.” Luo Peiyin took Gu Qiao’s left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. He smiled: “It fits better than I imagined — as if it were made to be worn on your hand.”

Luo Peiyin turned her hand over and examined the lines of her palm carefully, then pressed his lips into the center of it: “You will never lack for anything again.”

He said it with gravity — not as a New Year’s wish, but as a lifelong promise.

When Luo Peiyin’s lips touched the center of her palm, Gu Qiao’s heart clenched sharply. The snow was piling thicker on the roof of the car, and the windows kept two worlds apart, holding the cold out on the other side of the glass.

Luo Peiyin drew her close against his shoulder. Her head rested against him, and his hand moved through her hair in a long, slow stroke.

Everything around them seemed to go still.

Gu Qiao had a sudden impulse — she wanted Luo Peiyin to see the snow. He had spent two winters in Singapore, where snow couldn’t be found.

Gu Qiao reached out and lowered the car window. The cold air rushed in at once, and snowflakes scattered through the opening, landing in Gu Qiao’s hair. She turned her face toward the window and looked at the falling silver-white: “Every winter I think of you. Last winter when it snowed, I thought of you not being able to see snow in Singapore, and I felt a little sorry for you.”

Snowflakes landed on Gu Qiao’s lashes, on her cheeks, on her lips. Her lips grew cold for a fleeting moment, touched with a wisp of ice.

She suddenly wanted Luo Peiyin to taste that coldness too. She pressed her lips against his — and a moment later, the snowflake on her lips had melted away.