◎What a Kind Person◎

Luo Sijing arranged to meet Gu Qiao at a Japanese restaurant. The restaurant had opened four years ago on the ground floor of a five-star hotel.

On Tuesday after work, Gu Qiao came downstairs to find Luo Peiyin waiting for her on his bicycle. She wasn’t wearing her warm, heavy cotton shoes today — she had changed into a pair of small leather boots and swapped her thick padded coat for a shorter one.

She was just about to get on her bicycle when she discovered it had broken down again. Things could only go wrong so many times — if this bicycle kept letting her down, she would have to replace it.

So Gu Qiao had no choice but to sit on the back of Luo Peiyin’s bicycle. As the wheels began to turn, she didn’t feel cold at all. Together they rode into the north wind until they reached the five-star hotel. She followed Luo Peiyin as they locked up the bicycle — he was using the two locks she had bought for him.

The proprietress came out to welcome them and ushered them into a tatami private room, where Luo Sijing was already waiting.

Gu Qiao noticed that the women of the Luo family seemed to share a dislike of bright colours. Her older cousin’s turtleneck was black, and even the long coat hanging on the rack was black — the only hint of brightness was a pair of gold earrings. But as Gu Qiao turned the thought over in her mind, she had to admit that no colour suited her better than black.

Going purely by style of dress, this pair of siblings set her apart immediately. They were family, and she was an outsider. Gu Qiao took off her short coat to reveal her chunky-knit sweater, from which two little pom-poms dangled and swayed.

Gu Qiao took three sheets of draft paper from her bag and handed them to Luo Sijing with a smile: “Older Cousin, these are a few notes and thoughts I’ve put together about street markets and night markets. Please take a look first.”

Luo Sijing took the pages. Her handwriting was nothing extraordinary, but every character had been written with firm deliberateness, pressing so hard it nearly went through the paper. For a topic her brother had invented on the spot, she had filled three full pages — first writing about how she had personally benefited from street markets, then moving on to areas in need of improvement. And somehow she had found information about markets in other cities as well.

Gu Qiao preferred speaking to writing, but she wanted to make it easier for Luo Sijing to ask questions, so she had decided to set down her thoughts first. After all, the woman had given her a watch and helped cover for her — the least she could do was help in return.

Her chunky-knit sweater exposed a short stretch of her wrist, and the watch she had deliberately put on that wrist caught the light. Gu Qiao smiled and said: “I love this watch. Thank you for bringing me a gift, Older Cousin.”

Luo Sijing glanced at her brother and gracefully accepted the thanks that weren’t truly hers: “I should be thanking you. You’ve put so much care into this.”

“If I’d had more time, I could have written something more thorough. But whatever I haven’t covered, you can ask me any time, Older Cousin. And if there’s anything I don’t know yet, I can go home and look into it.”

After a few exchanges, Luo Sijing noticed this girl was not given to false modesty. In her position, the absence of modesty was actually an asset. Modesty was a virtue that belonged only to those already standing on higher ground.

Before ordering, Luo Peiyin asked Gu Qiao whether she was allergic to any kind of seafood.

After answering several times that she wasn’t, Gu Qiao turned to Luo Peiyin and stated simply: “I can eat anything.” Allergies were something Gu Qiao had first encountered because of Luo Peiyin — her stomach was entirely indestructible. Though if she had known ahead of time which dishes here were expensive, she might have developed some selective allergies. But she didn’t know, so she added: “I don’t eat very much though, so there’s no need to order too much for me.” She thought Luo Peiyin was ordering too much.

“There isn’t a lot of each dish,” said Luo Peiyin, who settled on the dishes without consulting Gu Qiao very much.

Luo Sijing smiled and told Gu Qiao: “This restaurant claims its ingredients are all flown in from Japan, but in reality most of the seafood comes from Beidaihe.” This had been Madam Liao’s discovery. She had returned to the country and stayed at this hotel, dining with her son and stepdaughter, and announced her dissatisfaction. Luo Sijing had been a little embarrassed — she had been the one to suggest the place — but given the circumstances she could only go along with Madam Liao’s complaints and suggest they perhaps leave and go eat her hometown food instead. Like all people of high status, Madam Liao probably didn’t have particularly sensitive taste buds, but she was acutely sensitive to matters of power, status, and deception. As though not exposing the ruse would have made her seem less sharp.

Luo Peiyin said nothing, lowered his head, and finished off most of what remained on the table, then settled the bill. He told Luo Sijing that at that price, eating domestic seafood wasn’t really a deception. What he left unsaid was that his mother’s discovery about the seafood’s origin had less to do with her palate than with the price.

Gu Qiao, for her part, cared little about where the seafood came from and simply asked: “Is he promoting it that way to charge more?”

Luo Peiyin replied: “It’s not particularly expensive.”

Luo Sijing caught her brother’s underlying message — not expensive, so Gu Qiao need not worry and should eat freely.

As Luo Peiyin had said, there wasn’t much of each dish. Gu Qiao had no idea what the dishes cost here, but with her business instincts, she could sense that these were the opposite of large portions at low prices. Still, since it had already been ordered for her, she made a point of thoroughly enjoying each dish, offering a different compliment with every bite, never once repeating a descriptor.

Luo Sijing had intended to steer the conversation toward other topics, but Gu Qiao seemed to have fixed her mind on the subject of street markets and night markets. Every thread led back to the same point, as though she had prepared an outline beforehand — her arguments and supporting points entirely clear. What was in essence an ordinary dinner conversation never produced a single repetition. That mouth of hers would suit her quite well in a newsroom. It was evident she was far more drawn to business than to romance.

As the meal drew toward its end, Luo Sijing produced the gift her brother had prepared for her well in advance, its price tag already snipped off.

Gu Qiao quickly declined. She had already worked through her debt of gratitude by eating — she couldn’t accept anything else on top of that.

“The meal was your cousin’s treat — I can’t take credit for that,” said Luo Sijing, though she had intended to pay herself. “A colour like this would overwhelm me. Only you can carry it off. It would just collect dust sitting with me. Try it on — do you like it?”

Gu Qiao found it puzzling. Her older cousin was dressed head to toe in black — so why had she specifically bought something yellow? Someone must have told her, including her measurements. Her aunt certainly wouldn’t have — she didn’t even know Gu Qiao liked yellow, or if she did, she wouldn’t have approved. Unless it was… or perhaps it was really… Gu Qiao pushed the thought out of her mind.

Under Luo Sijing’s insistence, she tried the coat on.

It did suit her very well, Luo Sijing thought. Her brother did understand Gu Qiao — something too understated would actually clash with her features.

“We didn’t get to talk nearly enough today. Are you free this Sunday? I’ll treat you — just the two of us.” She had originally prepared a pair of earrings for Gu Qiao, but up close she discovered Gu Qiao didn’t have pierced ears. She felt she’d offered nothing at all in return for the girl’s excessive gratitude.

“Thank you, Older Cousin! But I’ve already made plans this Sunday.” Still, since she was helping, she might as well see it through: “Older Cousin, is there anything else you’d like to ask right now? I can note everything down and send it all to you once I’ve thought things over.”

“In that case, let’s go up to the bar on the top floor for a drink and chat a little more.”

Gu Qiao was about to decline, but Luo Peiyin answered on her behalf: “You can have one glass of something with a lower alcohol content.”

This hotel had been built decades ago by the French, though its style was the ornate and elaborate tradition of several centuries earlier — one might also call it sumptuous and elegant. It was entirely unlike the bar Gu Qiao had visited before. Luo Peiyin ordered Gu Qiao a Grasshopper — a cocktail made with cream and low in alcohol content. Gu Qiao was actually more interested in Luo Sijing’s cocktail, which looked far more like an actual drink than whatever was in her own glass.

Luo Sijing looked at what was in Gu Qiao’s glass and thought it was more of a dessert drink than a cocktail. She smiled and asked Gu Qiao: “Would you like something else? If you get drunk, it’s all right — I’ll take you home to my place.”

“No need. I’m very happy with mine.”

—

On the way home, Gu Qiao sat on the back of Luo Peiyin’s bicycle: “Cousin, I’ve been an adult for a long time. You don’t have to keep treating me like a child. I actually know all about things.”

An adult who gets tipsy on something that’s essentially a dessert drink?

“What do you know?”

“I know that you actually…” The wind hit Gu Qiao and jolted her sober. “I know — I know everything about the difference between pigskin, cowhide, and sheepskin.”

When they reached her front door, Luo Peiyin noticed that a large snowman had been built in the small courtyard — he was certain it hadn’t been there in previous years. The snowman waved its hands cheerfully, as though greeting the passers-by on the street. Around the snowman’s neck hung two yarn pom-poms, very similar to the ones on Gu Qiao’s sweater.

This snowman had been built by Gu Qiao the night before. As a result, little Luo the Fourth’s admiration for his older cousin had grown yet another layer, for she had built a snowman that was both large and beautiful. He was sorry, however, that he hadn’t had a hand in it himself — his mother, afraid he would freeze, had shooed him back inside before he could witness the snowman being built. Little Luo the Fourth declared that the snowman’s features looked exactly like him — a handsome little boy — and that the older cousin had definitely made it especially for him. Luo the Third rolled her eyes. Little Luo the Fourth insisted his third sister was in denial purely out of jealousy toward the bond between him and their older cousin. Not wanting to let that bond go unacknowledged, Little Luo the Fourth had formally bestowed his own great name upon the snowman.

—

Gu Qiao’s pigskin gloves were selling very well. To speed up the process of selling them all, she had also started setting up her stall at noon outside the school next door.

Xiao Jia spotted the bicycle first, and only then looked more carefully at the girl standing beside it.

He knew some classmates earned money by selling instant noodles or shoe insoles in the dormitories, so seeing this girl set up a stall selling gloves didn’t strike him as particularly strange. She had done him a favour last time, and now he intended to return it.

“Excuse me, how much are these gloves?”

Gu Qiao named her price, and Xiao Jia immediately opened his wallet: “I’ll take five pairs.”

It was the simplest transaction Gu Qiao had ever completed — no need to explain, no haggling, no asking customers to try them on. She was almost not used to it.

She even felt compelled to remind him: “These are pigskin gloves.”

Gu Qiao made a point of explaining the differences between pigskin and other leather gloves — the grain was a little rougher. Of course, being a merchant at heart, she didn’t forget to mention the gloves’ advantages either.

“I understand. I’ll take five pairs of pigskin gloves.” Yet Xiao Jia kept his money-holding hand extended.

Gu Qiao wrapped up the gloves and proactively knocked off fifty cents from the total.

“Keep things separate — you don’t have to give me a discount just because we know each other.”

“You know me?” She didn’t recall knowing this bespectacled young man.

“Last time I dropped something on campus, it was thanks to you that you caught up to me and let me know.”

Gu Qiao remembered that this had indeed happened: “That was just a small favour. It wasn’t anything — I’m surprised you still remember it.”

She guessed he might have bought the gloves precisely to repay that small kindness. Her gloves weren’t difficult to sell — she had already cleared out a batch in the office building. Setting up a stall at the school gate next door for an hour at noon was close and convenient, a natural addition to her day.

“Do you actually want to buy the gloves?”

“Yes.” Xiao Jia insisted on handing over the fifty cents.

Gu Qiao had never encountered this sort of person before: “You’re buying in bulk — most people would ask for the change to be rounded off, and even if you didn’t bring it up, I’d have rounded it off for you.”

She looked this methodical, by-the-book young man up and down: “Do you never bargain when you buy things?”

“You’re standing out in the freezing cold selling things — it’s hard work. Trying to push the price down would be awful.” Since it’s a market economy, isn’t it only natural to want to make money? The markup on street stall goods, no matter how high, could hardly compare to the prices of branded goods in department stores. When buying small things for himself, he never bargained — he’d rather the hardworking people of the street stalls earned his money. Let alone a student working to put herself through school.

Gu Qiao herself bargained when she bought things and had no trouble when customers bargained with her either. Hearing bargaining framed by this young man as a moral issue left her feeling a little conflicted. Having sold goods for many days now, she had met all kinds of people, and she could tell this young man genuinely meant what he said — it wasn’t an act. Somehow, she felt he would be easy to swindle.

“You really are kind. But the thing is, precisely because everyone bargains nowadays, most of us price things a little above our ideal price to leave room for it. So from now on, feel free to bargain when you shop — no need to feel guilty, just don’t go overboard.”

“This is the first time a shop owner has ever told me something like that.” Xiao Jia introduced himself: “I’m in the Computer Science Department at Z University. What’s your major?” He studied at Z University, but his father was a teacher at the school next door. He had just been home for a meal and ran into Gu Qiao as he came out through the gate.

Gu Qiao had the feeling she’d heard this name before but couldn’t place where: “I’m not a student. I’ve already started working.”

Xiao Jia had assumed she was doing work-study here, not that she had already left school: “Will you be setting up your stall here again in the future?”

“Not necessarily. Are you looking to buy more gloves?”

“I’ll ask around for you. You must be very cold standing here in the middle of winter.”

“I’m not cold — but even if I were, it wouldn’t matter. Winter is supposed to be cold. If winter weren’t cold, all four seasons would be the same — what a boring world that would be.” Gu Qiao pulled a notepad and pen from her waist pouch and wrote down her name and pager number. “If you want to buy more gloves, contact me here. If you buy in quantity, I’ll give you a better price.”

New customers arrived, and Gu Qiao hurried to attend to them. Xiao Jia stayed and watched — before long Gu Qiao had closed two more sales.

With anyone else, Gu Qiao might have been wary of hidden motives, but Xiao Jia gave off no such feeling. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

“We haven’t said goodbye yet.”

“Goodbye! If you need gloves, page the number I wrote down!”

—