◎ “So-so” ◎

Luo Peiyin raised the camera and took photographs of the osmanthus blossoms — about two landscape shots — then indicated a spot: “Stand here.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you want to send photographs home to your family?”

It really would be better to have her in the pictures. Gu Qiao simply tidied her hair without having the nerve to ask her cousin whether it was all in order, then walked to the spot he’d indicated and stood there.

Gu Qiao glanced down at her trousers and shoes — they didn’t quite match her top. But with limited clothing options, there was nothing to be done. Never mind — the most important thing was to make her mother feel that she was happy.

Gu Qiao pressed her lips together, then immediately let a smile bloom at the corners of her mouth, showing her white teeth. Her smile, like the osmanthus blossoms behind her, held nothing back — osmanthus trees always burst into flower all at once, in full abundance, with no regard for gradual unfolding.

She stood beneath the osmanthus tree and smiled brilliantly. Since Luo Peiyin hadn’t said stop, Gu Qiao kept smiling; partway through, she also straightened her posture slightly, to look even more spirited and forward-looking.

When Luo Peiyin finally said he was done, the smile on Gu Qiao’s face had yet to fully fade, but it had shifted into a small, slightly self-conscious smile: “Older cousin, did they turn out alright? I’d like them to look nice — they’re being sent to my mother.”

“I think they’re quite good. But you can take several more and pick from them.”

Gu Qiao stood under each osmanthus tree in turn, smiling just as unreservedly every time.

Watching Gu Qiao show those white teeth so fluently and naturally, Luo Peiyin found himself smiling as well: “You don’t have to keep smiling — you can try a different expression. Otherwise all the photographs will look identical.”

Gu Qiao let the smile fall. She lowered her head, her lashes casting shadows over her eyes, and she finally looked like a girl with something weighing on her mind. Luo Peiyin hadn’t yet captured this image when Gu Qiao raised her head and smiled again — she breathed in two lungfuls of the osmanthus fragrance, then walked to Luo Peiyin’s side: “Older cousin, I think I’ve taken enough — let me take a few of you as well.”

She studied the camera in Luo Peiyin’s hands carefully. It was far more compact and refined than any camera she’d used before. “I’ve never used this type — I’ve only used point-and-shoot cameras. Could you show me how?”

Gu Qiao picked it up quickly enough, but Luo Peiyin declined her suggestion to photograph him. Gu Qiao thought it was probably because he worried she’d only just learned to use it and would take an unflattering picture of him.

“Where else would you like to take photographs?” Knowing this was Gu Qiao’s first visit and she wasn’t familiar with the layout, Luo Peiyin suggested a few spots.

“I’ve taken plenty. Let’s just walk around.” Since her cousin wouldn’t let her photograph him, Gu Qiao didn’t feel comfortable asking him to take more photographs of her. He had bought a ticket to admire the scenery, not to admire her — she couldn’t have someone taking pictures of her the whole time.

Walking along the shore of Kunming Lake, waves of wind swept across Gu Qiao’s face. She suddenly felt that autumn had truly arrived. At this hour, there was almost no one left by the lake. The wind blowing from the water was cold, yet for some reason the surface of the lake struck Gu Qiao as very gentle. She looked up at the sky, then at her cousin walking beside her, and suddenly said: “Older cousin, could you lend me the camera for a moment?”

Luo Peiyin handed the camera to Gu Qiao. She took it and ran in the opposite direction — looking almost exactly like a thief afraid of being caught. She ran some distance away, then stepped back a few paces, and in a clear, bright voice called out: “Older cousin.”

Her voice rang out strongly; it seemed to stir an echo from the lakeshore.

The person she’d called looked at her. Though the viewfinder framed only a portion of Luo Peiyin, the moment he fixed his gaze on her, Gu Qiao suddenly felt the sky and lake dissolve into an expanse of haze, and only her cousin remained. But once she pressed the shutter, Luo Peiyin resumed his proper proportions in her eyes. Gu Qiao ran back to Luo Peiyin’s side like a gust of wind and placed the camera back in his hands. She’d taken a photograph for her cousin too — so she wasn’t just putting people to trouble for nothing.

By the time the park closed, Gu Qiao still wore a look of reluctance — not solely because she felt she hadn’t gotten her full money’s worth.

Sitting on the rear rack of the bicycle as Luo Peiyin rode her home, Gu Qiao said: “Older cousin, let me take the film to be developed.”

“I can develop the photographs myself.”

“Older cousin, how do you know how to do everything?”

To Gu Qiao’s compliment, Luo Peiyin made no reply — only silence.

And so Gu Qiao too fell silent.

Halfway back, rain began to fall without warning — not heavy, but growing steadily more persistent. Gu Qiao sneezed at an inopportune moment. Luo Peiyin stripped off his baseball jacket and handed it to Gu Qiao to use as cover for her head.

Gu Qiao immediately said there was no need — without the jacket he’d only have a short-sleeved t-shirt. Of course, her cousin was not going to change his decision on her account.

At the doorstep, Gu Qiao was about to return the sodden jacket to Luo Peiyin, but before he could take it back, she grabbed hold again: “Older cousin, let me wash it before returning it to you.”

“I’ll just put it in the washing machine myself.”

Luo Peiyin’s stepmother was sitting in the living room and saw that Luo Peiyin had come back again — and together with Gu Qiao once more. She smiled and asked him: “Have you eaten? If not, I can have Auntie Zhang make you an extra dish — I didn’t know you’d be back today, so not much was kept for dinner.”

“Thank you — no need.” Luo Peiyin finished speaking and went upstairs to his room.

Only after she heard his door close did his stepmother ask Gu Qiao: “Where did you go today? Why are you back so late again?”

“I went to the Summer Palace.” She omitted the part about Luo Peiyin taking photographs of her — if her cousin-aunt heard that, goodness knows what she would make of it. She wasn’t the type to be living under someone else’s roof and still setting her sights on that person’s son.

“But how did you end up coming back with your older cousin?”

Gu Qiao didn’t want to lie about this part — lying would make it seem as though something was actually going on: “I wanted to take some photographs of the Summer Palace to send to my mother, so I asked to borrow my cousin’s camera. He happened to be going to the Summer Palace to see the osmanthus blossoms anyway, so he brought me along.”

“You both came back together, yet somehow he’s soaked through and you’re perfectly dry?”

“Older cousin is very kind — he lent me his baseball jacket to shield me from the rain.”

His stepmother thought to herself: *that’s overly considerate of him — I’ve never seen him like that before.*

“I really should have taken you out to see more places myself, but I’ve been busy these days and couldn’t find the time. I know young people have a strong desire to play, but for now you really should rein that in, focus on reviewing your studies, and try to get your educational credentials upgraded next year. This weekend I’ll take you to the bookshop to buy some study materials for you to brush up on.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself — I can borrow books from the library myself.”

Knowing that Gu Qiao was participating in the trade union’s autumn excursion this coming weekend, her cousin-aunt said nothing more.

Auntie Zhang asked Gu Qiao: “I only saved dinner for one person — should I make another dish? Is he coming back tomorrow? If he’s going to be back every day from now on, you’d better let me know ahead of time — otherwise it’s hard for me to plan.”

“I wouldn’t know. Don’t go to any more trouble — the dinner you saved for me, I’ll just leave for my cousin. I’ll make something myself if I want to eat.”

“Is that alright?”

“It’s perfectly fine — go and rest now.”

Anything else would take too long, so Gu Qiao set a small clay pot on low heat to slowly cook plain white rice porridge, and simultaneously made a cold-dressed dragon beard vegetable to go with it. Once the garland chrysanthemum stir-fry was done, she went upstairs and knocked on Luo Peiyin’s door. She knocked twice and then stopped, waiting for someone to come to the door.

A minute later, Gu Qiao saw her cousin at the door — hair not quite fully dry — holding two lunchboxes and the camera: “I forgot to give these to you earlier.”

He’d thought she was coming to retrieve the lunchboxes and camera? Gu Qiao smiled: “Older cousin, I’ve made a bit of congee — come down and have some.”

Outside, the rain continued its soft, steady patter. Gu Qiao sat in the dining room with her head bowed over her bowl of congee. Luo Peiyin didn’t seem to find Auntie Zhang’s cooking very appealing, so Gu Qiao made an exaggerated show of appreciating it, eating only the dishes Auntie Zhang had saved for her.

Once dinner was finished, Luo Peiyin moved to clear the bowls and dishes. Gu Qiao stopped him: “Older cousin, go dry your hair — I’ll wash the dishes.” As they ate, she had caught the same familiar shampoo scent as last time.

Gu Qiao watched Luo Peiyin washing the dishes, then examined the lunchboxes he’d returned to her. Her cousin washed the lunchboxes quite thoroughly, as it turned out.

Saturday morning, Gu Qiao filled both lunchboxes with freshly cooked dishes again. She told Luo Peiyin that she’d been making food in the same pan anyway, so she’d made a bit more — if he didn’t mind, he was welcome to take it to school for lunch.

Sunday, Gu Qiao went to hike Fragrant Mountain, taking along the camera Luo Peiyin had lent her.

Xiao Wang from her office recognized the brand and model of the camera and asked: “Little Gu, that’s a fine camera — did you buy it abroad directly, or get it through the Overseas Chinese Import Service? Does someone in the family have a trip abroad recently?” People returning from overseas were permitted duty-free import allowances through this service.

“I borrowed it from someone.”

“Then your photography skills must be excellent, Little Gu.”

“Just so-so.”

“No need to be modest — people who are genuinely just so-so at photography don’t have any particular camera preferences.”

“I really am just so-so.” Gu Qiao thought privately: *that’s not necessarily true — camera preferences tend to come down to money*. Given her currently tight budget, her only requirement for a camera was that it could get her into the frame.

Others on the outing overheard the exchange; word passed from person to person, and somehow it became understood that Gu Qiao was an exceptional photographer. Realizing there was such a talented photographer in their group, the older colleagues decided to make full use of her services and asked Little Gu to take group photographs for them.

At first, Gu Qiao conscientiously photographed everyone. But when her elders asked her to shoot from a few more angles, she suddenly stared at the camera and sighed: “The film’s run out! How could I forget to bring extra?”

The film hadn’t actually run out — but she had just learned that this particular film was considerably more expensive than regular film. If it were her own camera, she would have gritted her teeth and been generous about it. But this was her cousin’s camera; firstly, she had no money, and secondly, her cousin wouldn’t take her money anyway. Besides — when her cousin developed the photographs and found them full of cheerful elderly colleagues, he might not be entirely cheerful himself.

Since the film had “run out” by Gu Qiao’s declaration, she couldn’t very well take any other photographs either. She carefully stowed the camera away — something this expensive absolutely could not be damaged. The inability to take photographs didn’t diminish Gu Qiao’s enjoyment at all; she took in the scenery around her with her own two eyes to her heart’s content. Looking around like this, she thought: sending photographs is really a little lacking — the right thing would be to bring her mother here in person.

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