◎ Auntie ◎

Luo Peiyin brought Gu Qiao to the door of the house, said “It’s this one,” and even pressed the doorbell for her. Before Gu Qiao could finish saying her thanks, Luo Peiyin had already vanished.

The flowers in this small courtyard were the same color as Gu Qiao’s blouse. The plants were all ones she had known well back in the countryside, yet today they struck her as slightly unfamiliar.

When the doorbell rang, Nanny Lian assumed it was Luo Peiyin coming back. After all, what business did a young man have cycling to the airport himself? Old Qian could have driven him there without any trouble. Master Luo was away on a state visit abroad, so Old Qian had nothing else to do.

She was surprised to open the door and find a young girl, holding two large watermelons, who called out to her in a bright, clear voice: “Hello, is this the home of Mister Luo Bo’an?”

Nanny Lian had spent so many years in the Luo household that deflecting unwanted guests had become second nature. She took one glance at the gifts the visitor had brought and immediately made her assessment: zero risk of a bribe. She looked Gu Qiao up and down. “You are…?”

Gu Qiao explained who she was and why she had come in just a few sentences. Nanny Lian concealed her surprise. She had served in the Luo household far longer than the current Madam Luo had been here, and since the new Madam arrived, she had seen the Madam’s relatives only once, a long time ago. If this girl hadn’t introduced herself as a relation of the Gu family, Nanny Lian would have nearly concluded that the Madam had no living relatives at all.

Nanny Lian had already estimated with reasonable accuracy why Gu Qiao had come: a relative from the countryside, most likely here to ask a favor. She invited Gu Qiao to sit. “Miss Gu is upstairs. I’ll go and ask her to come down.”

Hearing the visitor referred to as “Miss Gu,” Gu Qiao assumed her cousin was a schoolteacher. She would later learn this was simply Nanny Lian’s modernized way of addressing the mistress of the household. Nanny Lian had originally used the terms “Master” and “Madam,” but the Master objected that “Madam” had too much of a capitalist ring to it, so Nanny Lian had found a new form of address.

Realizing from the phrasing that the woman before her must be the Luo household’s housekeeper, Gu Qiao said immediately: “Thank you! How should I address you?”

Gu Qiao’s thanks came out warm and genuine. Nanny Lian gave a small nod of acknowledgment. “Call me Nanny Lian.”

Gu Qiao thought privately that “Nanny” seemed too young a title for this woman — she wore her hair in a sleek, smooth bun, dressed in a white top with black trousers, and from a distance showed few wrinkles. But since Nanny Lian had said so, Gu Qiao would address her that way.

Gu Qiao did not sit down. She stood in the living room watching Nanny Lian climb the stairs one step at a time, and in that moment the wait felt endless, as though the staircase had no end. The sound of a piano drifting down from upstairs tapped out a rhythm in her chest; the slow and gentle practice melody did nothing to calm her inner tension. The living room itself was quite cool — it was here that Gu Qiao encountered for the first time the machine Lou Deyu had described as cooler than any electric fan.

The cousin’s home was wealthier than she had imagined. In a fleeting moment, Gu Qiao wondered whether Lou Deyu’s entire sense of what it meant to be rich had been shaped by this household. Lou Deyu’s obsession with getting rich — some part of it, perhaps, had been fueled by what he had seen here. If Lou Deyu knew she had come here to ask her cousin for help, knowing it would require admitting that he had been swindled down to his last penny — he would probably be furious enough to lose his mind. Serve him right, for leaving this disaster behind for her mother to face. Knowing Lou Deyu as she did, Gu Qiao was not worried he would do anything drastic out of despair. She didn’t even think he was staying away to avoid his creditors. What she was genuinely afraid of was that Lou Deyu, having lost face by being tricked, might be too ashamed to come home — and was now biding his time, waiting to make one great score before returning in triumph. In order to recoup the money, he might even copy the swindler’s methods and try to deceive someone else. If it came to that, there would truly be no coming back.

This suspicion, Gu Qiao had never voiced to anyone. To tell her mother would only cause more worry. As for outsiders — Lou Deyu’s reputation was already damaged enough; there was no point speculating aloud and making him seem worse than he already was. People would only want to keep their distance, which would make finding him even harder.

Upstairs, the Madam of the Luo household was supervising her youngest son’s piano practice, still unaware that her niece had arrived.

The fourth Luo child was thinking: “Second Brother is finally gone. I really hope he doesn’t come back from Singapore until after the summer.”

Of everyone in the family, the person most pleased about Luo Peiyin’s trip to Singapore to visit relatives was the youngest brother, Luo Lao Si. He didn’t know where Second Brother got all his dietary restrictions from — bland food, no spring onions or garlic, no chicken, and he even had allergic reactions to tomatoes. If it weren’t for Nanny Lian, it wouldn’t affect him much whether Second Brother ate or not. But Nanny Lian, that old woman, seemed less like a housekeeper for the whole Luo household and more like a personal attendant for Luo Peiyin alone. Since summer vacation had begun, she hadn’t once cooked any of his favorite dishes. Never mind not making chicken — even the salt was barely there, on the grounds that Second Brother had been eating heavy cafeteria food all semester and deserved something light and homely when he came back. “Homely” apparently only extended as far as Nanny Lian’s own standards, since he’d never noticed Second Brother eating her food with any particular enthusiasm. And even when Second Brother himself told the old woman not to cook only according to his tastes — since everyone ate together, after all — Nanny Lian paid him no mind. It was like a loyal court official from ancient times who, in pursuit of justice, refused to listen even to the emperor himself.

Behind Nanny Lian’s back, Luo Lao Si complained: anyone who knew the situation would say she was a housekeeper for the Luo family. Anyone who didn’t would mistake her for the matriarch. He’d never seen the housekeeper of any of his friends’ families behave like Nanny Lian. Not that Nanny Lian threw her weight around in the Luo household — even when his father and Second Brother invited her to eat dinner with the family, she firmly refused year after year, insisting on eating her meals alone in the kitchen as she had always done.

With Second Brother gone, Luo Lao Si had immediately put in his request to Nanny Lian: braised chicken legs for dinner tonight. He had barely finished making the request when his mother called him in to practice piano. Luo Lao Si was deeply tired of hearing his mother say: “At your age, your Second Brother could already play such-and-such piece.” Yes — and so what? Second Brother hadn’t become a pianist, and nowadays he didn’t even play piano anymore. For all anyone knew, Luo Lao Si might know more pieces now and play them better. His mother compared him to Second Brother in everything, as though he was undeserving of any praise until he surpassed him. And then there was Nanny Lian, forever saying: “Peiyin was nine years old when he flew back alone from Singapore.” So what? If someone had taken him to Singapore, he could have flown back alone too. Unfortunately, no one had ever sent him to Singapore; he had never had the opportunity to fly back home by himself.

The Madam glanced instinctively at the door. Good — it was closed. She said sharply: “You are never to say such things inside this house. If someone heard you, they’d think I can’t accept other people.”

At present, the only “someone” in the house besides themselves was Nanny Lian. The Madam had initially regarded Nanny Lian as an ordinary housekeeper and had wanted to replace her. This idea had been met with her husband’s opposition: “She raised Peiyin — she deserves credit for that effort and loyalty. If you have concerns, you can always talk to her.” Over time, the Madam came to understand that matters were not quite as simple as she had first thought.

Among his four children, Luo Bo’an held his second son in the highest regard. At first the Madam assumed this was simply because he was a son. It wasn’t until she had a son of her own that she realized this wasn’t the explanation at all. When the Madam first married, her husband was already on his third marriage, and each previous marriage had left him with one child. Luo Bo’an observed a solemn annual memorial for his first wife, who had died of illness, yet never once mentioned his second wife. Luo Peiyin was the son of the second wife.

Nanny Lian was, in a sense, the last remaining trace of Luo Bo’an’s second wife. According to what was said, when the second wife took Luo Peiyin to Singapore to visit relatives — what was called a visit was, in truth, a departure with no intention of return — she had wanted to bring Nanny Lian along as well. But Nanny Lian couldn’t bring herself to leave her own family behind, and stayed. Later, Luo Peiyin had flown back to China alone. Luo Bo’an was deeply moved — he hadn’t expected his son to return voluntarily, choosing him over everything. At the same time, he was puzzled. He was so busy that he barely saw his son from one day to the next; how had the boy developed such a profound attachment to this father of his? Whatever the reason, since his son loved him so much, he ought to be a better father in return.

The Madam knew nothing of Luo Bo’an’s innermost feelings on this matter, and assumed only that he still carried a torch for his second wife.

Nanny Lian’s knock had its own distinctive rhythm. The Madam smoothed her hair and called out: “Come in.” At the same time, she gestured to her son to keep playing.

When Nanny Lian announced that a relative from the Madam’s family had arrived, Luo Lao Si’s playing stopped dead. For as long as he could remember, he had never once seen any of his mother’s relatives come to visit. Every New Year when he collected red envelopes, he had always felt a twinge of regret that his mother’s side of the family was somehow entirely absent. His eldest sister’s mother had passed away, yet she still kept in contact with her late mother’s brothers and sisters. As for Second Brother — his mother was in Singapore, so presumably there were relatives over there; regardless, he certainly hadn’t gone short of gifts.

Miss Gu — the Madam’s heart gave a jolt at the news. She hadn’t even paused to remind her son to keep practicing before she walked out the door. So many years without a visit — for the niece to come now, something must have happened.

In recent years, the Madam’s only point of contact with her cousin’s family had been the New Year money she sent every year for her auntie. In return, her cousin would send back a parcel of rural produce, as though afraid of being seen to take advantage. These parcels were given away by the Madam before they even crossed the threshold of the Luo household. She had not been without the thought that her life had improved and she ought to help her cousin — but knowing that Lou Deyu would benefit from any help she offered, the impulse would fade. What if Lou Deyu grew presumptuous and made endless demands? That would be more trouble than it was worth. And besides, her cousin had never actually asked for help; why should she go out of her way to offer it?

The rift between her and her cousin had most likely begun at the wedding banquet. Her husband had set the tone for the whole occasion — keep it small and simple. On her side, she had only invited Zhou Zan and her own immediate supervisor. She hadn’t expected her cousin to receive her letter and come overnight by train, bringing Lou Deyu and a whole array of handmade wedding gifts.

Even now, the Madam could still picture the ill-fitting suit Lou Deyu had worn. It looked so outlandish — an old plain shirt would have been far better. Compared to Zhou Zan, the contrast was heaven and earth. She had felt no gratitude for her cousin and her husband’s arrival, only embarrassment at having such a brother-in-law. Goodness knows how her cousin, after knowing someone like Zhou Zan, had been able to settle for a man like Lou Deyu. She had made a last-minute decision to seat her cousin beside Zhou Zan, and used the excuse that there was no room in the middle to steer Lou Deyu to the far end of the table.

Her cousin had refused the arrangement, choosing to sit with Lou Deyu instead. Even if she were given the chance to make that choice again, the Madam knew she would still ask Zhou Zan to deliver the wedding toast and still put Lou Deyu at the corner. The only thing she sometimes regretted was that she ought to have written to her cousin later about the wedding — if the letter had arrived after the fact, her cousin wouldn’t have come, wouldn’t have been put in that awkward position. But marrying a man like Lou Deyu was itself a guarantee of a life full of awkward positions.

The Madam stopped halfway down the staircase. She stood on the stairs and looked at Gu Qiao, who was standing in the living room.

Gu Qiao looked up and saw a woman in her early thirties standing on the stairs watching her. She was wearing a black dress in some fabric Gu Qiao couldn’t identify — it looked expensive — and on it was a striking blue brooch. Even from that distance, Gu Qiao noticed it. Gu Qiao’s first thought was that this woman’s hair had been permed beautifully. She had seen many permed hairstyles on the train and the buses since coming to the city, but none as well done as this one.

In the next instant Gu Qiao realized this woman must be her cousin. She broke into a smile and called out brightly: “Auntie!”

Gu Qiao made no immediate mention of her reason for being there, saying only that she had come on behalf of her mother to pay a visit.

The Madam looked at the gifts Gu Qiao had brought and let out a quiet laugh. “You came here this time,” she said, “and I suspect your mother doesn’t know about it at all.”