◎ You Wear It ◎

Along this street there were many people setting up stalls. Luo Peiyin cycled past without looking at any of the vendors on either side.

If Gu Qiao’s hawking calls hadn’t carried to Luo Peiyin’s ears, he would have reached his destination within two minutes.

When Luo Peiyin caught sight of Gu Qiao, the first thing he noticed was a flash of amber yellow — she was wearing a ginger-yellow mohair sweater. From a distance, the brooch on her sweater wasn’t entirely clear, but he could make out that it was the very pin he had given her. He hadn’t seen Gu Qiao wear it before.

Gu Qiao hadn’t noticed anyone watching her. She was in the middle of pitching the jeans in her hands to a stylish young woman.

“Never mind that no one on the street is wearing this style yet — once you buy a pair, everyone else will follow. Other people follow trends, but someone like you — one look and you can tell — you’re the kind of person who sets them…”

Over the years, from bell-bottoms to tapered trousers, the styles that sold best always had fitted, figure-flattering tops. But what Gu Qiao was selling were jeans that were loose from top to bottom.

“Isn’t the price a bit steep? Can it come down a little?”

“You get what you pay for.” Gu Qiao talked through the cut, then the quality, sharing with the young woman what it felt like to wear a pair. She had brought a pair home, tried them on herself immediately, and had even specially bought a cheaper pair to wear side by side for comparison. Now she told the young woman how much better the quality of the ones she was selling was by comparison — the cheap pair had gotten water on the hem once while she was wearing them, and had bled color badly, staining her calves.

After closing the deal, Gu Qiao began instructing the young woman on how to wash and care for the jeans, then handed her a small card. The card was handmade — worried that customers might forget her instructions, she had written all the care tips out on the card once more.

Luo Peiyin watched as Gu Qiao’s mouth moved without stopping. She wrapped the clothes in paper, then tied them up with a ribbon. When she handed the package to the customer, it was with the gravity of presenting a gift.

“Your sweater is lovely — do you have more stock?”

“Not today. New stock tomorrow — thirty-one yuan each. If you’d like one, come back here tomorrow evening. You really do have good taste…” Truly good taste — to want the very sweater she was wearing. She’d bought it for herself and hadn’t planned on selling it. But since this customer wanted one, she would go and stock up tomorrow.

“In that case, forget it — I was hoping to wear this to an event tomorrow morning…”

“If you don’t mind, you could wear mine tomorrow morning. I only put it on today. Then come back to me in the evening and exchange it for a new one.”

“Is that… really all right?”

“No problem.” Gu Qiao glanced around at both sides — the vendors on either side of her were both women. She slipped behind her large display photo, and in less than a second, had pulled the sweater off. When the customer looked at Gu Qiao again, she was standing there in just a round-neck long-sleeve T-shirt, holding the sweater.

“I’ll be right here tomorrow. Bring the old one back and exchange it for a new one.” Gu Qiao took out paper and pen from her waist pouch and wrote a note as proof.

The customer looked at Gu Qiao standing in only her long-sleeve T-shirt: “Aren’t you cold?”

“I was born without a fear of the cold. The sweater is mainly there for display purposes. It’s actually quite warm — I was nearly working up a sweat.”

Gu Qiao unclipped the brooch from the sweater, then folded the garment neatly and handed it to the buyer.

“Your brooch is beautiful — will you ever sell it?”

Gu Qiao lowered her gaze to her little bird brooch and smiled: “This one’s not for sale!”

Luo Peiyin watched as Gu Qiao counted the money she’d just received, then counted it a second time — and on the second count, she seemed even happier than on the first.

“Young man, I’ve got everything someone your age would want to see. Very exciting — imported titles…” The VCD vendor beside her had noticed that this young man had been standing off to one side for too long without saying anything. Assuming he wanted to watch something stimulating but was too thin-skinned to ask, the vendor helpfully took the initiative.

Luo Peiyin cast a glance at the vendor’s face, then at the discs on his stall, and without responding, walked forward. The vendor inwardly lamented yet another lost sale — at that age, who were you pretending to be so upright, everyone knows what you’re thinking.

The vendor to Gu Qiao’s right was selling all kinds of shampoo. She had been envying Gu Qiao’s evening — already a dozen or more sales closed, at least several dozen yuan earned. At first, she had only thought Gu Qiao was lucky. But now, watching Gu Qiao stand there shivering in a single round-neck T-shirt counting her money, she thought: being that hard on yourself — no wonder you can earn it.

With no customers at the moment, the woman struck up a conversation with Gu Qiao: “Good business tonight.”

“Not bad.”

“You’re so young, and yet you’re quite the businesswoman. Does your family do this sort of thing?”

Gu Qiao was just about to reply when she saw Luo Peiyin standing in front of her. Out of professional habit, she very much wanted to ask him where he’d bought his jacket and his trousers and shoes. But she said nothing at all — she even seemed to forget to call him “Cousin.” And just like that, she forgot to feel cold.

Gu Qiao gave Luo Peiyin an awkward smile. In recent years, with the proliferation of counterfeit goods and all the buying and reselling, the reputation of self-employed traders had fallen into a low again. Some people had made fortunes, but their economic standing hadn’t earned them matching social standing. Gu Qiao had once mentioned setting up a stall to her aunt, and the look on her aunt’s face suggested she had done something to disgrace the family. So she had lied to her aunt. And, in passing, had told her cousin a small lie as well.

Gu Qiao expected Luo Peiyin to say: so *this* is where you’ve been studying English. But Luo Peiyin said nothing about the lie Gu Qiao had told.

“Have you eaten dinner?”

Gu Qiao’s bicycle had broken down that day, and she hadn’t had time to get it fixed after work — she had rushed straight to catch the bus to pick up her goods for the stall. She rented a small half-room in a courtyard nearby, which she used to store her stock. The room had originally been used to store large cabbages — narrow and cramped, but cheap, and since she was slender, she could still squeeze in once the goods were stacked up. The place she rented was near both the embassy district and her current stall, though quite a distance from Z University.

She had been in such a rush that she had forgotten to eat.

Gu Qiao didn’t say whether she had eaten or not. She only said: “I’m not very hungry.”

Luo Peiyin took off his jacket and handed it to Gu Qiao: “Put this on. Pack up your things — I’ll take you to get something to eat.”

“It’s fine, Cousin. You wear it — I’m not cold.” Without his jacket, he would be no better off than she was right now; underneath he was wearing only a shirt.

Luo Peiyin didn’t give her room to refuse. He draped his jacket over Gu Qiao’s shoulders. The moment this garment, still warm with someone else’s body heat, settled around her, she suddenly felt much warmer. The jacket fit him perfectly; on her, it was far too large. His sleeves swallowed her hands completely. When she tried to pack up her things, she had to roll the sleeves up, but the moment she rolled them up, they slid back down. She was practically swallowed up inside his jacket.

She still had two pairs of jeans left unsold. By her experience, if she stayed just twenty more minutes, they would sell. But this time she didn’t hold out — she silently climbed onto the back of Luo Peiyin’s bicycle. His jacket wrapped around her felt as though his warmth and hers had met somewhere in the middle.

Sitting on the back of the bicycle, she felt it necessary to correct her cousin’s presumed bias against individual traders.

“Cousin, selling clothes isn’t so different from working a unit job — it’s all earning money through one’s own labor.” Her voice suddenly brightened: “And selling clothes earns quite a bit more than a regular job, actually. After deducting costs over these past few days, I’ve made close to three hundred yuan.” Nearly three months’ worth of her salary. It was the first time she had ever told anyone how much she’d actually earned — before, she had always rejoiced quietly in her own heart.

She added: “Cousin, once I sell off this whole batch, I’ll treat you to a meal. This time you won’t have to watch your spending for my sake.”

None of what she said received any response.

“We can talk in a bit — there’s wind.”

Gu Qiao made a sound of acknowledgment.

Luo Peiyin’s bicycle came to a stop in front of a bar. Gu Qiao, carrying her bag and her rolled-up display photo, followed behind Luo Peiyin. His jacket made her appear much smaller — her age seemed to shrink because of it, and everything was led by Luo Peiyin.

She had always loved vivid, leaping colors, yet now the burst of colors dazzled her eyes.

Luo Peiyin led her to a table and had her sit down.

When the server came to take their order, Luo Peiyin ordered hot chocolate, popcorn, and french fries. The server gave them both a puzzled look — only children would order these things at a bar.

“You sit here. Don’t wander around. I have a performance tonight. Once it’s over, I’ll take you home.”

The lead vocalist of the band Luo Peiyin had previously been in, Yang Cheng, was two years above him. Yang Cheng had been assigned after graduation to a design institute back in his hometown. After his own graduation, instead of reporting to his assigned work unit, he had holed up in a village by the ruins of Yuanmingyuan, devoting himself to his music each day. Recently, unable to afford even the rent on his rented room, the drummer had contacted a bar to arrange a performance to solve the problem of basic living expenses.

After Luo Peiyin left the band, the female bassist had left as well. After that, the band had no fixed bassist, and the low-end parts were generally handled by the keyboard. But right when they had just signed a contract with the bar, the keyboardist came down with pneumonia and was hospitalized. The drummer tracked down Luo Peiyin and asked him to fill in for a few days. If this contract fell apart again, Yang Cheng probably wouldn’t even be able to afford food.

That Yang Cheng had ended up this destitute was partly the fault of the others. There had once been a chance for this band to break out — a Hong Kong company had taken an interest in them, but the condition was that only the lead vocalist and the keyboard player would be signed. Luo Peiyin had no interest in making music his profession. The lead vocalist, Old Feng, out of what he called loyalty, insisted that either the whole band signed — everyone except Luo Peiyin — or no one did. In the end, not a single one of them got signed.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Cousin — you go on, do what you need to do. I’ll get myself home. I’m not very cold anymore — you take your jacket back.”

—