Gu Qiao was eight years old the first time she rode a train, and everything she saw shimmered with freshness.

She kept pointing out the window, urging her mother to look at this, then at that. Then she said, “Mom, you sit — I’m not the least bit tired.” When her mother didn’t sit, she tried again: “Mom, why don’t we share this seat.”

It was the height of summer, and air-conditioned trains were still rare. The car’s only concession to the heat was an oscillating fan mounted at the top — and that fan had broken down. The open windows allowed in a faint current of air, but it did nothing against the heat trapped inside the car; one breath in, and you inhaled someone else’s perspiration.

Hot as it was, Lou Deyu could not have been more delighted. Before boarding, he had made a point of buying up a quantity of palm-leaf fans, betting that at least one car on a train this long would have a broken fan — and sure enough. He had been right.

He and Gu Jingshu had not originally planned to bring Gu Qiao along to the city for the wedding. But Gu Qiao had fixed them with those great, wide eyes and said: “Dad, Mom — don’t rush back on my account. Take your time and look around. I’ll take good care of Grandma, Grandpa, and my little sister.” Then, almost without pausing: “I’ve heard the big department stores in Beijing are much taller than the ones here in the county town, and they have so many different kinds of cake and sweets inside…” Her eyes were shining. “When I’m grown up, I want to go see the capital myself.” She spoke of it as though having parents who could go to Beijing were the greatest luck a person could have in this world.

Gu Jingshu looked at those bright, earnest eyes and turned to Lou Deyu: “See if there’s any way to get a seat ticket for Qiao. Let her come with us. We can stand — the child can’t stand for twelve hours.”

It was too late to find a regular seat at the station. In the end, Lou Deyu exchanged a bag of plump, freshly roasted peanuts — intended for selling on the train — for a seat ticket for Gu Qiao.

On the day of departure, Gu Qiao was up very early, lying in the dark with her eyes wide open and a smile on her face. She was determined to look at everything carefully so she could come home and describe it all to her little sisters and classmates.

That morning, she gathered all her hair clips and ribbons and laid them out. From among them she lifted a yellow flower clip and held it up to her mother. “Mom, can you braid me a double plait? With this clip.” Gu Qiao had always had very definite views on her own appearance — which colored accessories, which style of braid — she decided everything herself.

She looked at herself in the mirror and said with satisfaction: “I look really nice today.” Gu Jingshu glanced at her wholly unself-conscious daughter and couldn’t help smiling.

Gu Qiao swung her plaits and was on the train with her parents early in the morning. Lou Deyu carried all the bags himself and told his wife to hold Gu Qiao’s hand — trains were crowded, and losing their bags would be one thing, but losing the child would be another matter altogether.

Of the three of them, the only seat belonged to Gu Qiao. She insisted her mother take it, on the grounds that she wanted to explore every car. Lou Deyu threatened her: “Sit still. If you don’t behave, I won’t bring you on trips again.” A girl that small alone among all these strangers — how would they find her if she got lost?

Gu Qiao gave a small, dismissive sound. She only listened to her mother. She could hold her own against Lou Deyu in an argument on any given day. Reading the situation, she saw her mother was united with Lou Deyu on this one, and immediately redirected: “Mom, don’t worry. I won’t leave your side.”

The fan at the top of the car continued its flat refusal to work. Lou Deyu’s fans sold out almost immediately, leaving him with only one.

Gu Qiao gave him a big thumbs-up. “Dad, you’re the best!”

Because they fought so often, Lou Deyu knew her praise was entirely genuine, not a drop of flattery in it. Hearing her say it, he felt himself to be genuinely excellent — a worthy husband to Gu Jingshu.

The one remaining fan Lou Deyu refused to sell at any price.

Gu Jingshu used it to fan her daughter. She had brought Gu Qiao along to give her a good time, and now with weather like this, she was afraid the girl would get heatstroke. She kept the fan going.

“Mom, let me do it.”

Gu Qiao took the fan from her mother’s hands — and then, rather than fanning herself, turned the breeze toward her mother, flapping with both hands as vigorously as she could. “Mom, isn’t that much cooler?”

Gu Jingshu touched the damp fringe plastered to her daughter’s forehead. “Silly girl — don’t try so hard.” At this rate she was going to overheat herself.

The vigorous fanning cooled not only her mother but the people nearby as well. Gu Jingshu retrieved the fan: “Have a rest now. Mom’s feeling much better.”

For the trip, Lou Deyu had also brought boiled eggs to sell in the cars. He was about to pick up his basket and head out when Gu Qiao said, “Dad, let me help you sell some.”

“Stay put beside your mother.” He meant it differently this time — less impatient, and with something he couldn’t quite name stirring underneath.

Gu Qiao’s dark eyes moved. “Dad, give me a few extra eggs then. One won’t be enough.”

Lou Deyu remembered that Gu Qiao’s stomach had been full when she boarded, but travel was tiring, and it was very possible she had gotten hungry quickly.

He gave her a few eggs. Once he had gone to the next car, Gu Qiao peeled one and held it up to her standing mother. “Mom, eat this.”

Gu Jingshu took the egg and patted her daughter’s head.

Gu Qiao immediately turned a bright smile on the man seated next to her. “Sir, these eggs are really delicious — only two jiao each. Would you like two?” She had caught him swallowing when she peeled the egg earlier. He had probably missed a meal rushing to catch the train.

Gu Qiao moved the eggs in her hands quickly. By the time Lou Deyu returned, she fanned out the small notes to show him. “Dad, I just sold these eggs. Here — take the money!”

Lou Deyu stared at the coins in his daughter’s hand. She was eight years old and already earning money for the family. This was not money he could take: “You keep it. Buy yourself a popsicle!”

A woman in her thirties across the aisle had been listening to Gu Qiao’s cheerful chatter the entire journey and smiled: “What a clever, considerate child. You’re very fortunate. How old is she?”

Gu Qiao answered before either parent could: “Eight!”

Gu Qiao’s mouth barely stopped the whole journey. Lou Deyu told her to talk less or she’d lose her voice; Gu Jingshu opened the military-issue canteen and made her drink more water.

As the train neared the city, the buildings outside the window shifted, as though the scenery had moved backward through several centuries. Gu Qiao pressed close to the glass and studied the Southeast Corner Watchtower intently — the only surviving Ming-Qing dynasty watchtower in the city.

“Mom, look!”

Gu Jingshu had barely had time to look when the train’s flawlessly standard Mandarin came over the speakers: This train has now arrived at its final destination. All passengers, please prepare to disembark.

They had set out at first light. By the time the station’s clock tower came into view, the hands were pointing to seven in the evening.

Gu Qiao’s parents took her onto a city bus. Lou Deyu produced an official letter to secure their room; the room had an electric fan. Gu Qiao sat in the room eating red bean popsicles with the fan on her and felt entirely content.

The next morning, Gu Qiao went with her parents on the bus to the address her great-aunt had written in her letter, carrying gifts. Gu Jingshu had prepared a generous amount of wedding items for her younger cousin. Gu Qiao tried to share the load: “Mom, let me carry some.”

“When you’re bigger, alright?”

“I am bigger. I’m the tallest in my class!”

Lou Deyu deployed his standard threat: “Carry heavy things when you’re small and you won’t grow taller.”

Gu Jingshu’s cousin, Gu Jinghui, had already registered the marriage and moved from the school dormitory into the Luo household.

At the gate, the guard stopped them. Lou Deyu produced the envelope with the address: “My wife’s younger cousin lives here.”

The guard looked at the name and frowned. “Gu Jinghui? I don’t recognize that name. Is there anyone else connected to the family?”

“Her husband’s name is Luo Bo’an.”

Gu Qiao was dressed that day in a yellow cotton skirt — fabric her mother had bought at the market and sewn herself, a skirt Gu Qiao loved. Her braids were done the way she liked. She smiled up at the guard: “Sir, please let us through!”

“How old are you, little miss?”

“Eight!”

“Such a bright, clear voice!” He turned to Gu Jingshu and Lou Deyu, still smiling: “What a lovely child.”

The guard’s gaze drifted from Gu Qiao toward the gate, and happened to land on a boy coming back with a tennis racket on his back. This boy had made an impression on him — dressed like any other kid in shorts and a button shirt, but there was something about him that set him apart from the others, though the guard couldn’t quite say what.

Still smiling, the guard said to Gu Qiao: “What perfect timing, little miss — your cousin is here!” Then he called out to Luo Peiyin: “Your family has come to visit!”

Gu Qiao looked toward the boy in the distance in the shorts and shirt. “Cousin?”

Lou Deyu said, puzzled, “Cousin? How does that work out?”

“Didn’t you just say you’re related to Luo Bo’an’s household? That’s his son — your nephew!”

The guard suddenly changed his tone toward Lou Deyu: “What you said — is it actually true?” He looked at the composed, dignified woman beside him and the charming child, both of whom looked entirely unlike any sort of impostor, and had let himself be deceived by appearances.

Gu Jingshu stood frozen. Her younger cousin had married a man who had been divorced before and had a child — and not one word of this had appeared in any letter.

Gu Qiao was also puzzled. The boy was older than her — how could he possibly be her great-aunt’s son? Her great-aunt wasn’t even married yet.

The guard turned toward the boy with a smile: “They say they’re relatives of yours. Do you know them?”

“No.” He didn’t recognize any of the three — the two adults and the child. Though the young woman didn’t look the least bit like a fraud, Luo Peiyin had no intention of waiting to hear any explanation. He walked straight past them, heading inside.

The two adults stood awkwardly frozen. Gu Qiao called out after the boy, her voice clear and unhesitating:

“Is your father Luo Bo’an?”