◎ Cousin ◎

Gu Qiao repeated the question she had asked earlier at the restaurant: “Cousin, do you have time tomorrow evening?”

Two years apart had not hindered either of them from moving forward with their lives. When Luo Peiyin thought of Gu Qiao while abroad, he would occasionally worry about her, but whenever that happened, he would choose to view her as he would a stranger — she was an adult who at eighteen had traveled alone to the capital to find her father, and at nineteen had gone to Erlian to do business with foreigners. She was not a domesticated rabbit who couldn’t survive without him to look after her. And indeed, that was exactly the case.

But some things hadn’t changed. Back then, she had called him “Cousin” with warm familiarity even though they’d barely met twice; now, meeting again, she said it just as naturally, as if their last encounter had been two days ago rather than two years.

His actual cousin was right here in front of him, so he had expected Gu Qiao to feel awkward — yet she still called him “Cousin” with such practiced ease. Life had a certain humor to it: the person who called him “Cousin” with the most warmth and familiarity was someone with not a drop of shared blood.

Gu Qiao added: “Cousin, I’d like to treat you to a meal.” In the past it had always been him treating her; now she was more than financially capable of treating him.

The Chaozhou restaurant she had in mind for Luo Peiyin was one that had opened the previous year. Old Li had told her about it. Old Li had three stalls at the trade market and more than one counter in shops in other cities. Old Li knew how to earn money and how to spend it — he was familiar with all the good food and entertainment in the city, and had told Gu Qiao that lately the wealthy people in town had all taken to eating Chaozhou cuisine.

“I have plans with someone else tomorrow evening.” His cousins from Singapore had come to visit, and he owed them some hospitality as their host. He already felt slightly guilty about abandoning them mid-meal tonight to send Gu Qiao home — it wouldn’t do to cancel on them again tomorrow. And besides… for a moment he thought to remind her that if she wanted to have dinner with a man, it was better to arrange it during the day. When he was around Gu Qiao, he became controlling. That wasn’t her fault. For one adult to have an excessive desire to control another adult — whatever the relationship — couldn’t be called healthy.

Gu Qiao immediately picked up the thread: “Then when are you free? Would the day after tomorrow work? That Chaozhou restaurant has a very good reputation — I’d love to treat you there. If you’re not sure right now, you can page me whenever you have time. I still have the same pager number.”

Luo Peiyin suspected that this relentless persistence was exactly how Gu Qiao had gotten that lecherous old man to come to the restaurant for dinner — her initiative and determination had given him the illusion that she would be easy to take advantage of.

“As it happens, I’m also treating guests at that same place. If you don’t mind, you could join us. My cousins are very interested in what China is like now — I’ve been away for over a year and I’m also out of touch with recent changes. It would be a good opportunity for you to chat with them. Their Mandarin is quite good.”

Gu Qiao fell silent. He was still looking at her the same way as before — he was the one hosting a dinner, and she was simply one of the guests. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t the same person she’d been two years ago.

But when the words reached her lips, she gave a clean, simple “alright.” At least he had given her an opportunity to treat someone.

Her voice was so decisive that it caught Luo Peiyin slightly off guard.

Luo Peiyin eventually followed Gu Qiao’s directions and drove into a courtyard. Gu Qiao pointed out her two rooms to him: “I live right here.”

The two rooms she pointed to had no lights on.

“You live here alone?” He had assumed Gu Qiao’s family would have come to join her in business. People in the clothing trade often started alone, and once the business grew large enough, they began bringing family along.

“I live alone — plenty of space.” Afraid Luo Peiyin might think her lodgings weren’t good enough, she added: “It’s very convenient here, extremely close to the trade market. And I get along very well with the neighbors.”

The room was too cold inside — she had no intention of inviting Luo Peiyin in. She waited for him to get out of the car and say goodbye.

But Luo Peiyin said to her: “Tell me about these past two years.”

Gu Qiao spoke quickly — from when she first started selling leather jackets, to getting her own stall, to the recent leather jacket craze where her business couldn’t keep up with demand. She also sold other things, but nothing was selling as well as the leather jackets right now. She had also closed several big deals, negotiating directly with foreigners. While others didn’t know Russian and had to specially hire interpreters — two to three yuan per jacket, for instance — she had earned that interpreter fee herself.

She didn’t mention the specific big deals. The first major deal came after she returned from Erlian. Erlian was a border city, and border trade profits were generally larger than ordinary trade, but she hadn’t just failed to make money there — she’d even been robbed on the way back. When she returned, desperate to earn money, she hadn’t stopped to think about much else. That first big deal was one she had taken from Boss Zhai. Boss Zhai’s usual method of doing business was to first pretend to foreign buyers that he had inventory, then go to counters, stalls, and workshops to collect goods. On that occasion, Gu Qiao had happened to overhear a conversation between a Russian interpreter and a foreign buyer, and using her limited Russian vocabulary, she pieced together what the two were discussing. Before Boss Zhai could go around collecting inventory from the various counters and stalls, she went ahead and bought up the goods herself — at one yuan more per item than what Boss Zhai was offering. In the end she completed the deal, cutting Boss Zhai out entirely. Of course this kind of thing couldn’t stay secret; Boss Zhai called her underhanded and even tried to retaliate against her.

Gu Qiao told Luo Peiyin that in the border trade these days, counterfeit brand-name sportswear and athletic shoes were also selling well. Authentic goods that cost several hundred yuan — the counterfeits bearing the same trademarks went for just a few dozen. These fakes sold well not only domestically but also frequently to foreign buyers, who came in bulk orders no smaller than retail. Though both sellers and buyers knew perfectly well what was being sold, as long as the quality was passable, no one usually pursued the matter.

Gu Qiao made a point of emphasizing to Luo Peiyin that she had never sold a single counterfeit item.

“Cousin, let me tell you the rest tomorrow. You should head back now — it’ll be hard to find a cab if it gets too late.” Though she still had much more she wanted to say, she stopped herself in time. It was cold enough in the car too — the vehicle had no heating, and it was barely better than being outside.

Gu Qiao hopped out of the Huangdafa van and walked around to the other side to open the car door for Luo Peiyin: “Goodbye!”

The moment her hand touched the door handle, she felt the cold. The nearest place to hail a cab was still some distance away, and even getting there was no guarantee of finding one quickly.

“Cousin, why don’t you just take the van? Aren’t we eating together tomorrow evening? You can return it then.” She could ride a tricycle to her stall in the morning.

Luo Peiyin didn’t take her up on the suggestion — he got out of the car too. Gu Qiao said: “Wait a moment! I’ll be right back!” She took her keys out of her pocket, unlocked her storage room, and quickly rummaged for a scarf. She noticed that Luo Peiyin’s coat had pockets.

She stood on her tiptoes and hung the scarf around Luo Peiyin’s neck. Luo Peiyin thought back to a winter more than two years ago — he had cycled alongside her to the market stall, she’d been afraid he’d be cold, and had taken the money she’d just earned, not yet warm in her hands, to buy him a scarf. Back then, just like now, she had stood on her tiptoes to put it on him.

Gu Qiao rubbed her own ice-cold hands together: “See you tomorrow!”

As Luo Peiyin left through the courtyard gate, he glanced back — the lights in those two small rooms had come on.

Inside, the room was very cold. Gu Qiao hurried to open up the sealed stove.

After Chen Qing finished her tourism vocational school program, she was first assigned to the Friendship Store, but before long she quit on her own to work as a receptionist at a hotel. When the hotel underwent renovations and the furniture needed to be updated with the times, some of the old pieces were sold off to staff members. Chen Qing passed this information on to Gu Qiao — so now Gu Qiao’s rented room, from the single sofa to the floor lamp standing beside it, was filled with the traces of a 1970s-and-80s-era hotel that had once served foreign guests.

On such a cold night, washing and wiping herself down was its own ordeal. It was all that lecherous old man’s fault — she had just washed her hair, and he had to go and touch it with his filthy hands, so now she had to wash it all over again.

The velvet curtains in Gu Qiao’s room were hotel cast-offs, shutting out the night beyond the windows. Inside, only the floor lamp continued its faithful work of shedding light. With her hair dried, Gu Qiao tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa with her hot water bottle and began tallying the day’s accounts. She switched on her Walkman and settled the headphones over her ears, listening to “Tomorrow Will Be Better.”

The Walkman and cassette tape Luo Peiyin had given her two years ago were put to use nearly every day. “Tomorrow Will Be Better” played in her ears again and again. Whenever she listened to it, she thought of the person who had given her the tape and the Walkman, thought of herself singing this song for him. When people treated her well, she naturally wanted to repay them.

More than seven hundred days had passed. Though he hadn’t been beside her, he had never truly left her side. She never doubted that she would keep getting better — and whenever she thought this, she thought of Luo Peiyin. And him? Was he doing well over there?

Only after finishing her accounts did Gu Qiao have room for her bedtime routine. Clutching her hot water bottle, she thought through Luo Peiyin and the money she would spend on their upcoming dinner the day after tomorrow. She played through tomorrow’s scenario in her mind, warning herself that no matter how surprising the prices might be, she must not let her astonishment show.

Most importantly, Gu Qiao thought, she absolutely had to be the one to pay the bill. She was no longer just another guest at his table.

When Gu Qiao met Luo Peiyin and his cousins at the Chaozhou restaurant that evening, the colors she wore were much the same as last time, only rearranged — today her large earrings were moss green.

Gu Qiao was the most vividly dressed of the four, and wearing something so eye-catching, it would hardly make sense for her not to be the one hosting. Luo Peiyin’s cousins were dressed even more casually today than last time — simple hooded sweatshirts. The three actual blood relatives were distinguished from Gu Qiao by their colors alone. For just a second, Gu Qiao wondered if she had dressed too formally.

Dressed this formally, she must care very much about this dinner. Luo Peiyin’s female cousin felt that even out of politeness, she ought to compliment Gu Qiao on how beautiful she looked — otherwise a woman who had dressed so carefully might be hurt not to receive a compliment. And she offered the praise without any insincerity; in her eyes, Gu Qiao was objectively very beautiful.

In truth, Gu Qiao had only dressed a little more formally than usual — she wore roughly the same things at her own market stall when doing business. She served as her own walking advertisement.

His male cousin thought Gu Qiao resembled some actress, though he couldn’t quite recall which one. Around pretty girls, he was never short of flattering words. But because his older cousin had specifically warned him beforehand, he didn’t display any special talent in front of Gu Qiao.

The restaurant’s décor reminded Gu Qiao of a room she’d once seen on display in a museum — very traditional Chinese in style. All the seafood on the menu was on full display in long glass tanks along the wall.

Gu Qiao noticed that among the actual blood relatives, they habitually called each other by their given names — while she, the one with no blood relation whatsoever, was the one calling him “Cousin” most warmly.

For a moment she wasn’t sure what to call Luo Peiyin, and the word “Cousin” didn’t come as frequently as before.

—