◎ Clarification ◎

By the time the traffic cleared, the warmth on Gu Qiao’s face was entirely out of place with the winter air.

Snow fell in sweeping curtains as the car moved slowly forward. Although this was Luo Peiyin’s first time going to her place, Gu Qiao hadn’t given him a single direction. He already knew the complex well — it was the same one where his elder sister lived.

“When did you buy the apartment?”

Hearing the question, Gu Qiao paused before smiling. “It’s rented. The landlord won’t sell.” As it happened, she had ended up in the same complex as Luo Peiyin’s sister. If the landlord ever decided to sell, she would genuinely consider buying. She really ought to put purchasing a home on her agenda.

“Why there, though? It’s not exactly close to your shop.”

For someone as efficiency-minded as her, a five-minute walk to the shop would be the bare minimum.

“I’ve always thought the complex was nice.” She had especially felt that way when she passed through it before leaving for Erenhot. For a while, this complex had been the image she conjured whenever she imagined where she might live, and when the chance to rent here came along, she had taken it. The first time she ran into Luo Sijing in the complex, she had taken the initiative to greet her warmly. Luo Sijing had been surprised — whether by the fact that she lived there or by the enthusiasm with which she had called her “cousin,” Gu Qiao wasn’t sure.

But Luo Sijing had concealed her surprise very well.

Luo Peiyin’s name circled in Gu Qiao’s thoughts several times without ever making it past her lips. Luo Sijing, for her part, never brought up her brother either. Gu Qiao had even taken the initiative to bring Luo Sijing floppy disks from the shop, and Luo Sijing said she was being too polite, to which Gu Qiao laughed and said, “You were quite generous with me yourself back then — I still have the watch and the yellow coat you gave me.” Luo Sijing had looked at her and asked, “Did he never tell you?”

Luo Peiyin had never told her, but she had later worked it out on her own. Gu Qiao had waited for his sister to bring him up, but Luo Sijing seemed to see no need to revisit the past and promptly changed the subject. Every time Gu Qiao brought floppy disks, Luo Sijing would give her a small gift in return. Their conversations grew longer with each visit, but not once did the subject of Luo Peiyin come up.

The memory surfacing now, Gu Qiao couldn’t resist asking, “Did your sister ever mention me to you?” When she ran into Luo Sijing, she had given her quite an enthusiastic account of everything she was doing — even without being asked. The manner of it had resembled a newly minted success story unable to contain her own delight, desperate for the whole world to know about her modest achievements.

“You really wanted her to mention you to me, didn’t you?” But she never had — not once. Every piece of information Luo Peiyin had about Gu Qiao had come from his father and younger brother, both of whom were firmly convinced that he had been the one to end things and had no qualms about using updates on Gu Qiao to get under his skin.

Gu Qiao turned to look out the window. Her fingers drifted to the ring on her left hand. She smiled but said nothing. Measured by the reach of an advertisement, the one she had run for herself in front of Luo Sijing had been far too circuitous — the intended audience was never reached directly. A failed advertisement. The only failed advertisement she had ever made.

For the rest of the drive, she gave Luo Peiyin a running account of how the city had changed over the past few years. He was a local, yet after so many years away, he looked more like a stranger to the place than she did.

They arrived two hours later than planned. The car had barely stopped when another phone rang — this time Luo Peiyin’s mobile. And the caller, again, was Luo the Fourth.

Luo the Fourth had placed this call against his better instincts. Calling his second elder brother was, more often than not, something he did out of necessity rather than any genuine impulse. Whenever Luo Bo’an wanted to reach his second son — whether to offer career guidance or to share his analysis of current affairs — he had no trouble picking up the phone himself. But anything touching on personal life, such as whether his son would come home for the New Year or when he planned to arrive, was a task he delegated to his younger son. It was only natural for brothers to show concern for one another, after all.

As for Luo the Fourth himself, he was honestly indifferent to whether his brother came back or not. But years of paternal instruction had trained him to perform, on cue, an earnest expression of desperate longing, as though another day without his brother’s return might be the end of him. Still, even within the constraints of this scripted performance, Luo the Fourth found ways to improvise — and he had an uncanny talent for delivering news of Cousin Qiao’s successes at precisely the right moment.

Now, watching the snow outside, Luo the Fourth called his brother. “Second Brother, will you be back on time tomorrow? The snow isn’t causing any problems for you, is it?”

“No.”

Under his father’s watchful eye, Luo the Fourth dutifully said, “Second Brother, I miss you so much. The whole family wants to have the New Year’s Eve dinner with you. I’m truly so happy you’re coming back to eat with us this year. All those New Year’s Eves without you — I always felt like something was missing.”

In the next room, Luo the Third listened to her younger brother’s hollow, robotic delivery and rolled her eyes at the window.

Having discharged his obligation, Luo the Fourth allowed himself to ad-lib: “Second Brother, I was just thinking about that time a few years ago when we — you, Third Sister, and Cousin Qiao — went to the outskirts to set off fireworks. The fireworks that night were so beautiful. Do you remember? Last year Cousin Qiao even took me out to set off fireworks again, and they were even more beautiful than that time. I kept thinking it would’ve been even better if you’d been there.”

Luo the Fourth’s heavy-handedness was so transparent that Luo Bo’an almost convinced himself the boy simply wasn’t bright enough to know any better.

“Oh, and Second Brother — Cousin Qiao is also in Shanghai right now. You must have seen the news about her, right? Her software has been selling incredibly well—”

The mother called the Fourth’s name, signaling him to stop. The way he kept going on, anyone listening would think she had put him up to it.

Luo the Fourth put on an air of guileless innocence: “Second Brother, does it bother you when I bring up Cousin Qiao? Mom and Dad always tell me not to mention her to you, but I figured you’d be happy to hear about her success.”

Several seconds of silence followed. Luo the Fourth had assumed Cousin Qiao’s achievements would sting his brother at least a little, but what he heard instead was: “Since you’re so fond of keeping up with Cousin Qiao — she’s right here with me. Would you like to say a few words to her?”

Luo the Fourth swallowed every word he had been preparing. “Cousin Qiao is with you? You two are…?”

“Exactly what you’re thinking. Didn’t you say just now how much you missed the days when we were all together? As far as I’m concerned, you’ll need to start calling Cousin Qiao something different.”

Luo Peiyin handed the phone to Gu Qiao. “The Fourth says he’s been missing the days when we were all together. He just brought you up again.”

“Cousin Qiao, are you and Second Brother back together?”

“Yes.”

“How did you end up with him again…? You can’t make the same mistake twice.” Luo the Fourth glanced at his family gathered nearby, then remembered his second brother was still on the line, and swallowed the rest of what he had been about to say. “Cousin Qiao, why didn’t you tell me in advance? I never keep any secrets from you.” He felt a distinct sense of betrayal.

Gu Qiao had never thought the breakup was something worth broadcasting, but she couldn’t let the Fourth go on painting Luo Peiyin as the villain.

“You’ve misunderstood your second brother. I was the one who ended things.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Luo the Fourth’s downturned mouth corners flipped upward in an instant.

“Cousin Qiao — so Second Brother was the one who got dumped?” The news hit Luo the Fourth like a discovery worthy of Columbus. His voice came out far too loud, delivering the information with perfect clarity to the entire family — even the housekeeper heard it.

Someone had finally put his second brother in his place, and it had to be his cousin. Third Sister had guessed right, not that it mattered whether she had — it did nothing to diminish the Fourth’s delight.

The Fourth’s unbridled glee traveled through the phone, reaching not only Gu Qiao’s ears but Luo Peiyin’s as well.

After the call ended, Luo the Fourth wasted no time announcing the revelation to the whole family all over again. Since Luo the Third had already predicted the breakup, she was only surprised by the news of the reconciliation. Their parents, on the other hand, were a different matter entirely.

Luo the Fourth couldn’t quite describe his mother’s expression, so he turned his attention to his father. The double surprise proved too much — for a few seconds, Luo Bo’an lost control of his own face.

First came surprise. Then, on its heels, came something softer — the ache of a father realizing he had wronged his son. The boy had been the one who got left, and rather than offering any comfort, he had done the opposite, laying blame where none was deserved. But why hadn’t the boy said anything? Most likely, he thought it was too humiliating to admit. Having cared so deeply for a girl for the first time in his life, only to be the one left behind — it wasn’t easy to say out loud. And now, on this trip back, they were apparently back together. How much of that was wounded pride talking…? He still harbored no small amount of doubt about this whole affair.

He had half a mind to call and offer some belated comfort to his son, along with a few questions about the current state of things — but on reflection, he decided it was better to pretend he knew nothing. He glanced at his wife. From her expression, the news had clearly shaken her as well. She likely hadn’t known before either.

He had once felt genuinely sorry on his son’s behalf toward Gu Qiao. He didn’t know how far things had gone between them before the split — that wasn’t the sort of thing you could ask — and if anything had indeed happened before they parted ways, it would have been a real blow to a girl from a conservative background. Knowing his wife as he did, she poured everything into keeping their small family intact and allowed no outside forces to threaten its stability. Caught between a niece and a stepson, she would have sided with the stepson every time, in the name of keeping the peace.

That even her closest relation might not have been in her corner — it was a little sad, when you thought about it. In his mind, Gu Qiao had always occupied the position of the one at a disadvantage. Hearing through the Fourth’s mouth how well she was doing now — he was genuinely glad for her.

Luo Bo’an prided himself on rarely misjudging people. It appeared that this time, he had bestowed his sympathy on entirely the wrong party.

Luo Peiyin reached over to help Gu Qiao undo her seatbelt. “The Fourth sounded very cheerful — like he’d already started celebrating the New Year.”

Gu Qiao had caught it too. Hearing his voice, she almost felt that clarifying things had been a mistake.

They got out of the car. She wanted to linger with him in the snow a little longer before going upstairs. Large flakes settled into their hair and onto their clothes, then melted. Luo Peiyin drew Gu Qiao into his coat, but she kept reaching out a hand to catch the falling snow.

The snowflakes grazed her palm. Her fingers sought his hand — she wanted him to feel it too. They held on tightly, the snow melting between their palms in a damp, yielding warmth, and neither of them made any move to let go.

After a while, her fingers were completely wrapped in his, and she almost wondered if her ring was digging into him.

The streets were empty in the snow. Every now and then, Gu Qiao would lean up to brush her lips against Luo Peiyin’s — a brief warmth to the cold. She kissed quickly, sometimes only catching the corner of his mouth. The snowflake barely had time to melt against her lips before she pulled away again.

The next time she went up on her toes for one of those hurried brushes, Luo Peiyin caught her lower lip between his teeth, drawing the careless kiss slowly into something whole.

She turned her face away. “What if someone sees—”

“Then they see.”

—