Not even the heavy rain could shake Luo Peiyin’s old-fashioned principles. He said to Gu Qiao: “You stay here. I’ll go look around elsewhere.”

Gu Qiao thought of how Luo Peiyin had no umbrella — if not for her, he’d still be on the train heading home right now, with no need to be out here getting soaked. On a night like this, trudging through rain to find another inn, there was no guarantee he’d find anything better. Gu Qiao used the innkeeper’s own words to persuade him: “Cousin, just stay here. Treat it like a train berth.” Train berths didn’t separate by gender — that much Gu Qiao had always known. She also knew perfectly well that men and women were different, and under any other circumstance she would never share a room with a man. But Luo Peiyin wasn’t just any man — he was her cousin. She trusted him completely, and her only worry was that he might feel awkward about it, so she made a point of acting entirely unbothered.

When an old-fashioned person is confronted with modern thinking, the first reaction is always surprise. Luo Peiyin glanced at this girl who had clearly already grown up, and quickly covered his surprise. He didn’t think Gu Qiao was being forward — he thought she was simply naive, too unguarded. In a village community of familiar faces, people who might want to do something wrong were often held back by the social cost of it. But out in the wider world, that was simply not how things worked. This foolish girl — if someone swindled her, she’d probably help them count the money.

Since he had already promised to look after Gu Qiao for the evening, he ought to see it through. She was an underage girl, and in the ordinary way of things she probably didn’t venture out much. On a rainy night like this, alone in an unlicensed little inn, there was no telling what might happen — it was safer for the two of them to be in the same establishment.

The two of them had entirely different reasons for it, yet ended up in the same room.

It was listed as a double room, but the space was so cramped that the distance between the two beds was almost negligible. Gu Qiao had put on a very unbothered front outside the room, but the moment she saw this tiny space, she couldn’t help the flush that rose to her face. What was the difference between two beds this close together and one? How was anyone supposed to sleep like this? She silently cursed the innkeeper’s greed several times over, but didn’t say a word aloud. Cousin was already uncomfortable enough — saying anything would only make it more so.

Luo Peiyin glanced at Gu Qiao, said nothing, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He moved the bedside table away from the window and pushed the single bed nearest the window over to the far edge of the room.

Gu Qiao watched from the side, privately marveling at how strong Cousin was — he slid the heavy bed with ease, fitting it flush against the wall without so much as a centimeter’s gap.

Now, at least, there was some distance between the two beds.

Outside, rain was still falling, yet it had done nothing to lower the temperature inside. The room was too small for the heat to escape, so Luo Peiyin opened the window. Rain came through the screen and fell onto the bed by the window.

The room cooled considerably at once. If not for the sight of raindrops landing on Luo Peiyin’s bed by the wall, Gu Qiao would have wished the window could stay open forever.

She folded up a tattered old newspaper she found in the room and handed it to Luo Peiyin. “Cousin, if you’re hot, fan yourself with this. And close the window — don’t let the rain keep splashing in.”

The rain was splashing onto his bed — it wasn’t affecting her in the slightest. Obviously, her asking him to close the window wasn’t for her own sake.

Luo Peiyin said, unbothered: “It’s fine — it’s not like the whole bed is going to get soaked.”

Gu Qiao had never felt so clumsy as she did that night — even the simple act of lying in bed and going to sleep felt unfamiliar. She normally slept flat on her back, limbs sprawled wherever they pleased. But because she was sharing a room with Cousin, she thought it over carefully and decided it was better to lie on her side with her back to Luo Peiyin. And it wasn’t just her movements that felt awkward — even closing her eyes and falling asleep was suddenly difficult.

The room light was off. Gu Qiao lay on her side in her daytime clothes, eyes opening and closing. She had never known her ears could be so sharp — in the sound of the rain, she could make out Luo Peiyin’s breathing. She lay there listening to it and counting her own heartbeats. She had a feeling Luo Peiyin hadn’t fallen asleep either.

“Cousin, are you still awake?”

Luo Peiyin said nothing.

“Cousin, let’s switch beds.”

“Hm?”

“I like lying by the window listening to the rain.” The bed she was sleeping in would catch no rain at all. Since it was on her account that Luo Peiyin was staying the night, fairness alone meant she should be in the window bed.

“I don’t want to switch.” Luo Peiyin understood what she meant — the room was so small, if she wanted to listen to the rain, there was no need to go through the bother of swapping beds.

“Oh.” Gu Qiao was quiet for a moment, then asked: “Cousin, how are you already in university?” She remembered he was only about two years older than her — he would have just taken the college entrance exam this year.

“I sat the exam in my second year of senior high school.”

Gu Qiao’s voice rose involuntarily: “Cousin, that’s amazing! Getting into such a good school in second year.”

Gu Qiao had a habit of praising people — she was exceptionally good at finding their strengths. Especially now that Luo Peiyin had helped her, she found herself identifying five or six admirable qualities in him at once: intelligent, kind, strong, able to push a bed flush against a wall with one shove…

Gu Qiao never held anything back. She told him every one of those qualities on the spot, holding absolutely nothing back in expressing her admiration and respect. The one quality she left unspoken was that she thought Cousin was very handsome — but that felt too shallow, and Gu Qiao doubted he would appreciate it.

Luo Peiyin was no stranger to being praised, but lying in the dark while a girl chattered on without pause and complimented him was a first. He lay there listening to Gu Qiao twittering away like a little bird, peppering him with questions — what was he studying at university, what classes did they have… And then, mid-stream, the little bird apparently remembered her manners and said apologetically: “Cousin, am I bothering you? You should get some sleep.”

The moment she said it, Gu Qiao promptly fell silent. The shift was so sudden — one moment she’d been talking nonstop, and now she was turning over so carefully it was as though she were sneaking, furtive as a thief, terrified of making a sound and disturbing Luo Peiyin.

Luo Peiyin was almost amused by the contrast. Throughout the rainy night, it had been Gu Qiao asking and him answering, each of her questions padded generously with compliments, each of his replies stripped down to the minimum. This was the first time he asked her anything: “Which university do you want to go to?”

Which university, Gu Qiao thought — well, that depends on which university will take me. She couldn’t honestly say she loved studying, and her grades were a fair reflection of that devotion. The college acceptance rate at her high school wasn’t particularly high — only about a dozen students got in each year. Getting into university was by no means a certainty for her. Truthfully, she wouldn’t turn her nose up at whichever school would accept her.

But when Luo Peiyin asked the question, her competitive spirit surged up. Admitting the truth out loud felt too much like conceding defeat — and besides, she still had two years, and plenty of room to improve.

“Cousin, I haven’t quite decided yet. If I wanted to go into business, what do you think I should study?”

Any major could lead to business, but saying so seemed as good as saying nothing. So Luo Peiyin gave a concrete answer: “You could study economics.”

“What’s the admission score for economics at your university?”

“I’m not entirely sure — it varies by region and by year as well.”

Gu Qiao guessed the score difference between economics and physics at the same school couldn’t be that dramatic, so she asked: “Cousin, how many points did you score on the college entrance exam?”

Luo Peiyin told her in an even tone. Inside Gu Qiao, a great wave crashed.

A person shouldn’t sell themselves short, that was true — but one also needed to keep one’s feet on the ground. Gu Qiao felt that Cousin’s university probably wasn’t quite right for her. She’d better set her sights on a different one.

She asked tactfully: “Cousin, apart from your university, which other schools have good economics programs?”

Luo Peiyin named one off the top of his head.

Gu Qiao was nothing if not practical — what suited her was what was best. She thought back to her most recent end-of-term score, then added thirty points to it. Thirty points was an achievable stretch: “Cousin, with that score on the college entrance exam — do you think I could get into the school you mentioned?”

Luo Peiyin was silent.

“What if I add another ten points?”

Luo Peiyin continued his silence.

Gu Qiao was absorbed by that silence and fell quiet herself. Why were all these universities so unapproachable? Was there not a single approachable university out there willing to accept an approachable person like her?

She sighed inwardly. Asking Cousin to name an approachable school was really rather unfair to him. But then, Gu Qiao was very good at comforting herself — who said you had to study economics at a top university to do business? Plenty of people who never went to university had done very well in business.

She was still turning this over in her mind when she heard Luo Peiyin say: “You still have two years. There’s a lot of room to improve — gaining a hundred or eighty points more is entirely possible.”

A hundred or eighty points more — now it was Gu Qiao’s turn to be silent. Were points so easy to come by? Cousin really did place a great deal of hope in her. Rather too much hope, if anything.

Gu Qiao finally realized she had talked to Luo Peiyin for far too long. She really could not keep disturbing him.

“Cousin, you must be sleepy — please get some sleep. I’m going to sleep too.”

Gu Qiao woke early enough, but she found that Luo Peiyin had woken even earlier. The small inn provided no toiletries, yet Luo Peiyin produced a set of washing essentials he had obtained from somewhere and handed them to her so she could wash her face and brush her teeth.

Just before boarding the train, Gu Qiao was absolutely determined to treat Luo Peiyin to breakfast using the money she’d earned from her sachets. She specially asked for two eggs in her savory crepe, and also bought a layered sesame flatbread and a bowl of soft tofu pudding — a thoroughly lavish breakfast. Luo Peiyin seemed to have little enthusiasm for this abundance and ate even more daintily than she did.

Gu Qiao said to him: “My grandmother’s crepes are in a class of their own — this one still falls a bit short of her. You absolutely must come and try her cooking.” Her mouth was off and running again, introducing Cousin to the local specialties of her hometown. She didn’t breathe a single word about university.

Lou Deyu had no fondness for “the thrice-married old man,” but Luo Peiyin had gone out of his way to change his plans and see Gu Qiao home safely — both reason and courtesy demanded that Lou Deyu invite him home for a proper meal. To come and collect them, he had driven his four-wheeled vehicle all the way to the county town — his motorcycle wouldn’t have fit everyone. His whole heart was set on seeing Gu Qiao as soon as possible; there was still over an hour before the train was due, yet he’d already been waiting at the station. Any other time he would have used those minutes to earn a little on the side, but today, his heart too burdened with worry, he hadn’t the slightest inclination for business. His heart was like a passenger in a lift, going up and down without ever finding solid ground.

The moment he spotted Gu Qiao at the station, Lou Deyu’s heart finally came to rest. His daughter was back, whole and unharmed. He was so relieved that even Luo Peiyin looked like a welcome sight — he invited him to come home for a meal with great enthusiasm.

As it happened, Luo Peiyin had already bought his return ticket and was heading straight back the moment he’d seen Gu Qiao home safely. Lou Deyu felt embarrassed — the young man had gone out of his way to escort his daughter back, and he hadn’t even brought a gift.

Gu Qiao slipped her hand into her pocket. Her eyes darted about, and then she tilted her head up toward Luo Peiyin: “Cousin, please wait for me — I’ll be right back.”

The station was full of vendors selling local goods. Gu Qiao clutched her money and took off like a gust of wind. Shortly afterward, that money — damp with sweat — had been transformed into decorated festival buns and fragrant melons. Beads of perspiration dotted her nose and cheeks as she held out her haul: “Cousin, this shop has the best festival buns — try some on the way. And this melon — it’s wonderfully sweet…”

“There’s no need.”

“Don’t stand on ceremony.” Gu Qiao pressed the things toward Luo Peiyin, and their hands brushed in the exchange. Luo Peiyin’s hand caught the sweat from her palm; Gu Qiao quickly pulled her hand back and smiled apologetically.

This time, Luo Peiyin accepted without further refusal: “Thank you.”

Gu Qiao said modestly: “It’s nothing — just a few local goods.”

Gu Qiao watched Luo Peiyin board the train. Even after the train had pulled away, she was still standing there. Luo Peiyin turned and looked back, and saw her waving at him with great vigor, calling out her farewell. Her voice was loud, but the train had already traveled far — Luo Peiyin probably didn’t hear.

Because her letters had never been answered, Gu Qiao didn’t write to him again this time either. Only occasionally would she think of Luo Peiyin — think of that rainy night.

Then one day, Gu Qiao unexpectedly received a registered letter. The sender’s name said: Luo Peiyin. Seeing that name on the envelope, Gu Qiao’s heart leapt for reasons she couldn’t quite name. Not only had he written to her — the envelope was thick. She turned it over in her hands. This thick — how many pages had he written? They hadn’t spent that much time together, so did he really have that much to say to her?

She opened it to find that Luo Peiyin’s letter was only one page. Like his conversation, the letter was brief — beyond the salutation and pleasantries, just a handful of lines.

The rest was all university admissions brochures. Luo Peiyin had even thoughtfully included the admission score thresholds. She might have been fine without seeing them — the moment she did, every last spark of excitement cooled instantly. Even if she gained another fifty points above what the brochures showed, she still wouldn’t come anywhere near these schools. She had no particular attachment to these universities — getting in would be wonderful, not getting in was no great loss. But Cousin had gone out of his way to gather all this material and send it to her…

From the moment she received the letter to the moment she tore it open, her feelings had shifted several times over. When she sat down to write her reply, she began by expressing her gratitude — then added that she felt doing business didn’t require being bound to any particular school or program, and that these universities weren’t quite the right fit for her…

She was halfway through when she took her pen and drew a thick, decisive line through everything she’d written. Cousin had placed such high hopes in her, had gone to the trouble of collecting all this information and attaching the score thresholds. To so casually indicate she didn’t care about any of these schools — that would be genuinely hurtful. Gu Qiao crumpled the half-written letter into a ball and started fresh. This time, only gratitude — followed by a declaration that she would not let Cousin down, would study diligently and make steady progress.

Along with the letter, she enclosed some local specialties she’d bought from a vendor outside her school, as a way of thanking him for the goodwill behind the admissions brochures. She ran a small business at school too — she’d stocked up on ballpoint pens and pencil cases from the wholesale market to sell — so she always had money to spare.

Luo Peiyin had never held any especially deep expectations of Gu Qiao in the first place. But he couldn’t accept gifts from this girl without reciprocating, so before long Gu Qiao received a package of study materials from him, along with a beautiful fountain pen. Gu Qiao found studying exhausting enough as it was — she truly had no time to work through the exercise books Luo Peiyin had sent.

But Cousin had sent them with nothing but good intentions, and with such faith in her. After some inner struggle, Gu Qiao wrote another letter, reaffirming her commitment to working hard at her studies. As a thank-you for the fountain pen, she spent some of her earnings from selling stationery to send a gift in return.

That reciprocating gift, from Luo Peiyin’s perspective, was naturally the behavior of someone who was extremely eager to learn. Before long, another package of study materials arrived for Gu Qiao, with a note specifically asking her not to send any more gifts.

Gu Qiao assumed Cousin was worried about the financial burden — if she spent money on a gift, he’d feel obliged to spend money on one in return. So this time, she sent nothing that cost money: she wove a dragonfly and a katydid from grass, and sent those instead.

Every time a new package of materials arrived from Luo Peiyin, Gu Qiao wanted to write back and say: *Cousin, please stop sending these — I genuinely have no time to do them.* But every time she put pen to paper, the words became: *Thank you, Cousin. I’ll work through all the exercises.*

Gu Qiao, a girl full of youthful energy, was being steadily worn down by the relentless stream of study materials from Luo Peiyin. She no longer had time to go to the wholesale market for stationery stock. Day after day, it was either the homework her teachers assigned or the problems Luo Peiyin had sent — one or the other, without end.

Word gradually spread among her classmates that Gu Qiao had a cousin who regularly sent her study materials that couldn’t be found locally. Many envied her for having such a cousin — one who felt even closer than a real brother.

At first, whenever a new letter from Luo Peiyin arrived, Gu Qiao would brace herself, half-expecting him to ask about her grades — after all, he’d sent so much material, it would be natural to want to see results. But he never once asked. He simply kept sending materials. Later, once her grades had climbed, she stopped dreading the question.

The day her university acceptance letter arrived, Gu Qiao looked at all the exercise books and materials Luo Peiyin had sent her and nearly wept with joy. She was finally free of all these problems. Such a towering stack — she still couldn’t fathom how she had endured it all. There had been times she was sure she couldn’t take another day, but the words “you don’t need to send me any more” had simply refused to leave her lips, and so she had gritted her teeth and kept going in silence.

At least none of it had been for nothing. In the end, that towering pile of study materials turned into money — Gu Qiao reproduced it all and sold it to the students a year below her. She didn’t make it into Luo Peiyin’s university, but the one she’d been accepted to wasn’t far from it. She planned to use the money she earned to send Luo Peiyin a gift.

The villagers no longer doubted where Gu Qiao had gotten her nature from. This single-minded focus on money — she and Lou Deyu could have been cast from the same mold. In this regard, Lou Deyu was actually the more generous of the two. To celebrate Gu Qiao getting into university, he set up more than ten tables and treated the whole village to a free meal.

To send Gu Qiao off to university, Lou Deyu bought train tickets for the entire family. Had Luo Peiyin known that she was arriving with the whole family in tow, he would not have come to the station to meet her — there would have been no need.

With all the universities starting around the same time, the train station was full of university orientation banners and upperclassmen meeting new arrivals.

The moment Gu Qiao stepped off the train, she spotted the welcome sign for her own university, and the upperclassman holding it greeted her warmly. Gu Qiao was answering him while scanning the crowd out of the corner of her eye for Luo Peiyin. She was wearing a yellow dress that day — very hard to miss.

The students doing orientation for Luo Peiyin’s university were confused to see him appear. When had Senior Luo ever been so enthusiastic about welcoming new students? It seemed that social awareness really did grow with age. Though apparently this newfound awareness still had its blind spots — he had walked right past his own university’s sign and was heading straight toward a different school’s banner.

“Senior Luo!” But the louder they called, the farther he walked.

Gu Qiao followed the sound of those two words and found a familiar face. “Cousin!”

—