◎ At the Luo Family ◎

The fourth Luo child had deliberately cracked open a door upstairs, leaning against it to listen to the conversation below. But to his surprise, his mother only lingered with her relative in the living room for a short while before retreating to her room — likely afraid that Grandma Lian might overhear their conversation.

Mrs. Luo made her way back upstairs to check on her son’s piano practice for the day. The fourth Luo child couldn’t help asking: “Has the guest left?”

“The one who came today is your cousin. Starting today, she’ll be living with us.”

“Doesn’t my cousin have a home of her own?”

Mrs. Luo glanced at her son. “Play the whole piece through for me again, from the beginning.”

Mrs. Luo sent the driver, Old Qian, to take Gu Qiao to the Chen family home to collect her belongings. Belongings — it was really just a small bag, with barely a few changes of clothes. A friend of Lou Deyu’s was hardly someone of good character, and yet Gu Qiao had actually planned to stay at his home. Even now, after all that had happened, her older cousin hadn’t thought to come find her. Was she afraid of causing trouble? Afraid of being laughed at? Or had she simply decided that Mrs. Luo wouldn’t help? At that thought, a sardonic smile crossed Mrs. Luo’s lips. The debt Lou Deyu owed was not a sum she could casually produce either — she had no intention of using her own money to cover what he owed. The housing and car that Luo Bo’an enjoyed were one thing; what actually came into hand was another matter entirely. This man cared only for his reputation and prospects, and would not allow his wife and children to take even the smallest advantage on his account — extra income was naturally out of the question.

Mrs. Luo thought: all these years, and her cousin was still so stubbornly single-minded. Gu Qiao, at least, was shrewder than her mother — she knew to come looking for help at a time like this. But in the end, she was still Lou Deyu’s daughter; even now she couldn’t bear to let go of her father, still hoping he could be found and made to face his responsibilities. Given all the debt he’d run up, how could someone of Lou Deyu’s character possibly come back? He’d more likely planned the whole escape from the start. If he was truly in hiding, who could ever find him? Still, Mrs. Luo was in favor of Gu Qiao going to the police station to report Lou Deyu as a missing person — once the statutory period was reached, her cousin could petition for divorce.

Gu Qiao was her cousin’s daughter with Lou Deyu. In the end, Mrs. Luo’s affection for her cousin won out over her contempt for Lou Deyu, and she decided to keep Gu Qiao here, find her a proper job at a legitimate work unit, and let her attend night school if she wished to continue her studies. She had no intention of letting Gu Qiao spend another year in high school — even if she got into a university, it made no practical sense. No matter what, a father was closer kin than a maternal aunt; all that investment of effort would only end up benefiting Lou Deyu in the end. It was better for her to start working now, contribute to the household, and ease a little of the financial pressure on her cousin.

The Crown sedan pulled up outside Zhennee Hutong. Gu Qiao had come to collect the belongings she’d left at the Chen family home. Belongings — it was really just a small bag, with barely a few changes of clothes. Only Chen Da-ma was home. Gu Qiao said her goodbyes, but Chen Da-ma, unable to let her go without a fuss, insisted on walking her all the way to the mouth of the alley. Gu Qiao climbed into the car and looked back to find Chen Da-ma still standing there; she waved with all her might. Even after the old woman’s figure had disappeared from view, she hadn’t lowered her hand. She had an intuition — it felt as though she were saying goodbye to her old life.

As the car drove past a newsstand, Gu Qiao asked the driver, Old Qian, to stop. She stepped out and bought five or six different newspapers before climbing back in. She rifled through them with brisk, rustling flips of the pages, trying to find methods of locating her father beyond simply filing a missing person report. Every additional approach she tried was one more chance. Her aunt had no desire to see Lou Deyu at all — asking her for help finding someone was clearly not an option. Perhaps Lou Deyu still had the habit of scanning the papers for get-rich-quick schemes; what if she published a notice in the newspapers? But she couldn’t afford paid advertisements. Besides, the paid announcements in papers — personal ads and the like — were always crammed into tiny columns that most people would never notice.

Gu Qiao’s eyes came to rest on a job listing: a bar was recruiting drinks salespeople, with a tempting salary-plus-commission package. She had no idea if it was legitimate — but she truly hoped it was.

Mrs. Luo looked over the bag Gu Qiao had brought back, then took in the state of Gu Qiao’s hair, chewed at unevenly at the ends. At her age, she should have already learned to take care of her appearance. With a decent foundation to work with, one ought to make use of it. Her cousin’s marriage to Lou Deyu had been such a waste of perfectly good potential. Before Mrs. Luo turned eighteen, she had always thought her cousin was the most beautiful girl in the world — she had constantly, consciously and unconsciously, imitated her cousin’s every manner and gesture. But after she came to the city, that brilliance faded little by little in her heart. It was because of this that she understood Zhou Zan. Zhou Zan’s love for her cousin could only have existed within the confines of the village; the moment he left the countryside, he would have discovered how ordinary she truly was. But even if not Zhou Zan, there was no reason to have settled for someone as low as Lou Deyu.

Mrs. Luo first led Gu Qiao to her new room and told her to settle in.

The room was small, with only a tiny window. Beyond a single bed, there was barely enough space to fit a desk, a chair, and a narrow cabinet. But having a place to stay already far exceeded Gu Qiao’s expectations — her aunt had solved her housing problem, and that was more than she had dared hope for. With a roof over her head, she could focus on finding work without worry, and once she found a job with dormitory accommodations, she would move out. She quickly tidied up her things, and was just about to sit down at the desk to write her mother a letter saying she was safe, when she heard a knock at the door.

Mrs. Luo had selected a few of her old clothes and brought them for Gu Qiao to change into in the meantime. They were all in light colors — a bright yellow blouse like the one Gu Qiao was wearing struck Mrs. Luo as far too vivid and countrified, though on someone as young as Gu Qiao, it at least gave a lively impression.

Mrs. Luo shut the door and asked Gu Qiao to change into a shirt and skirt so she could see. Gu Qiao thought the pale blue blouse with the ribbon bow would look lovely on her aunt, though not particularly suited to herself — but in Mrs. Luo’s eyes, it was still a considerable improvement over the yellow blouse. Mrs. Luo studied Gu Qiao’s upper half, then asked quietly: “What size is your bra?”

Gu Qiao turned red, which was rare for her. She had always worn undershirts before, but when those stopped being suitable, her mother had taken her all the way to the department store in town — for a middle school student like her at the time, there had only been one style available. It was a bit snug now, but Gu Qiao figured a little compression was actually a good thing; otherwise things would look somewhat awkward under a blouse.

Mrs. Luo noticed the sheet of white paper on the desk — only the word “Mama” written on it, with nothing following. She asked Gu Qiao: “What are you planning to tell your mother in this letter?”

“That everything is fine here with you, and she needn’t worry…” Gu Qiao thought the idea her aunt had mentioned — being able to work while studying at night school — had broadened her thinking considerably. She could share that with her mother, so she wouldn’t keep regretting that Gu Qiao hadn’t sat the university entrance exam this year. At the same time, she left out any mention of Lou Deyu, knowing her aunt wouldn’t want to hear it.

“Write it now, and when you’re done, I’ll take you to the post office. Oh — tell your mother I’ve sent her a money order for a thousand yuan. Make sure she remembers to collect it.”

Gu Qiao didn’t hesitate. “Thank you, Auntie,” she said quickly. She knew the family needed this money urgently. She prayed she would find work soon — once she did, she could pay her aunt back. She asked: “Is there anything you’d like me to pass on to her?”

Mrs. Luo stood still for a long moment before answering: “Tell her to take care of herself.” After so many years apart, there was too much she had wanted to say — but the right moment had never come, and everything had piled up to the point where there was no longer a way to begin.

When Gu Qiao had finished writing the letter, Mrs. Luo had Old Qian drive them to the post office first; after posting the letter, they continued on to the Fujing Hotel. Mrs. Luo always had her hair done at the salon inside this hotel. As Gu Qiao walked in, her eyes hungrily took in everything around her — new and unfamiliar and wonderful — making no attempt to conceal that it was her first time.

Mrs. Luo was not surprised by Gu Qiao’s reaction. She rather hoped Gu Qiao would have a chance to see more of the world, so she wouldn’t be dazzled by just any small kindness or trivial favor.

Mrs. Luo instructed her: “The people here are the most snobbish sort. Even if it’s your first time, don’t act as if you’ve never seen anything before — you’ll let people look down on you from the very first glance.”

Gu Qiao thought privately: people can think whatever they like about me. I haven’t stolen anything or done anyone wrong. But from what she knew of her aunt, Mrs. Luo probably wouldn’t want people she knew to find out she had a wide-eyed, inexperienced relative who had never seen anything of the world. Since her aunt had done her such a great favor, and was even kindly bringing her here to get her hair cut, the least she could do was cooperate with her aunt’s expectations.

Mrs. Luo guessed that Gu Qiao was inwardly mocking her. She asked: “What are you thinking?”

“This place is wonderful. Someday I’ll bring my mother here too.”

Mrs. Luo hadn’t expected Gu Qiao to say something like that, and for a moment she felt a little dazed: “Then you’d better work hard. Not everyone can afford to come here.” Then she heard Gu Qiao call out a bright, ringing: “I will!”

Inside the salon, Gu Qiao managed to suppress her curiosity very well, keeping her eyes trained on her aunt. Among the salon’s patrons were not only locals but also foreigners with blond and brown hair.

Gu Qiao suspected her aunt must be a regular here — she designated a specific person to cut Gu Qiao’s hair. The short cut came out looking quite sprightly. When Gu Qiao learned the price of the haircut, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sympathetic concern for her aunt’s wallet.

Mrs. Luo then took Gu Qiao to a department store to add two sets of underwear — a necessity. While Gu Qiao was trying on a bra, Mrs. Luo realized the girl had developed into a very mature figure. She would have to give Gu Qiao a word of warning.

After the purchase, Mrs. Luo said to Gu Qiao: “You’re only eighteen. Even if someone starts pursuing you, don’t be in any rush to start a romance. When the right time comes, I’ll introduce someone to you myself. In these matters, you should still trust an elder’s judgment.”

Gu Qiao hadn’t expected her aunt to bring this up out of nowhere: “I don’t have time for any of that right now!” She hadn’t even entertained the thought before her aunt mentioned it. Her most pressing concern was earning money. She recognized miserably that she truly lived up to being Lou Deyu’s daughter — consumed entirely with thoughts of making money.

Mrs. Luo had no intention of buying Gu Qiao new clothes or shoes. It wasn’t a matter of cost — she certainly didn’t lack the money for a couple of outfits — but it would be a problem if Gu Qiao came to expect this as the norm. Small favors breed gratitude; excessive ones breed resentment. One had to guard against such things.

As they walked through the department store, Mrs. Luo lowered her voice and instructed: “Apart from me, don’t mention your father’s situation to anyone. If you’re in difficulty, others won’t help you — they’ll step on you instead. There’s no need to let people know about your family’s troubles. In this household there are four children; only the third and fourth are mine — your actual cousins. The others — just maintain polite relations. The eldest is married and rarely comes home. The second is in Singapore for the summer; he goes to school and only comes home on weekends. When you see him around the house, just address him as ‘older cousin.’ There’s no need to particularly…” Mrs. Luo had wanted to say “ingratiate yourself,” but the word sounded too harsh, so she swapped it for something softer. Ingratiating yourself wouldn’t work with that one anyway — he’d only look down on you for it. Probably inherited his mother’s temperament!

In the Luo household, the person Gu Qiao got along with best first was the fourth Luo child. Once he realized his cousin was quite poor, he abandoned all hope of receiving a large red envelope from her. But a poor cousin had her advantages too — she had recently become obsessed with recipe books, and every day she invited him to order dishes for her to try out.

On Gu Qiao’s second day at the Luo household, Grandma Lian slipped on the stairs coming down. It wasn’t serious, but she would need to rest quietly for a while. Before being taken back to her daughter’s house to recuperate, Grandma Lian told Mrs. Luo she would be back very soon. Mrs. Luo simply said to let Grandma Lian focus on healing and not hurry back — then went straight to a domestic staffing agency and filled out a form. But the new housekeepers who came, one after another, failed to satisfy her.

It was at this point that Gu Qiao volunteered to take on the household duties. She had already registered at a job placement center, but no suitable positions had come through for her yet, and on Mrs. Luo’s end, finding a proper job to offer Gu Qiao at a reputable work unit was also taking time. Since she was idle anyway, it was better to be useful — it was also a way of expressing gratitude for being allowed to stay. Gu Qiao told Mrs. Luo to take her time with the search; she could hold things together in the meantime. She quickly learned to brew coffee, use the oven to bake pastries, and operate the juicer. The most difficult part was cooking. But Gu Qiao was full of confidence.

Gu Qiao’s culinary education had begun this very year, when her grandmother had started teaching her while she was nursing her sick mother.

Ever since wealth had once again become something to be proud of, Gu Qiao’s maternal grandmother had stopped concealing the fact that she came from a family of small business owners — in fact, she had taken to embellishing her origins somewhat. Their family had originally owned two small general stores and an incense shop in the county town; this number grew with each retelling. In Grandmother’s most recent version, virtually the entire street of shops was practically hers — less a small business owner than something close to a capitalist. The prosperity itself might be more than a little inflated, but the fact that Grandmother had known some comfort in her youth was very likely true. She genuinely had more skill with good food than Gu Qiao’s mother. After Lou Deyu made his fortune, Grandmother rediscovered her culinary talents as well. The old woman always felt a little unseemly being too fond of good food for her own sake, but cooking delicious things for her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughters was a perfectly respectable reason. Even when her legs were giving her trouble, she would stand beside the stove leaning on her cane, instructing Gu Qiao’s mother on her technique. It was only when the creditors came that Grandmother lost all heart for cooking.

Gu Qiao herself had never been particularly interested in cooking — but then her mother fell ill and was too consumed with grief and worry to eat. Gu Qiao thought: if she goes on like this without eating a single thing each day, how can her body possibly recover? With a healthy body, even the hardest days could be endured. And the days were already what they were — what else could one do but grit one’s teeth and push through?

So she began figuring out how to cook something her mother would enjoy. But the ingredients at home were so limited. Even the old hen that used to lay eggs had been taken away by the creditors. If you bought a piece of meat in the village, the whole village would know its exact weight, whether it was fatty or lean. Especially for a family like theirs, with all those pairs of eyes watching. In the creditors’ view, even eating a bit of meat was probably a transgression — with things the way they were, how could they dare buy meat? Shouldn’t the money go toward paying back debts?

Gu Qiao could go without meat herself, but she felt her mother needed to eat some. She used what was left of her living allowance, walked more than ten li, and bought two jin of pork — the first time in her life she’d spent money furtively, like a thief, sneaking out with the meat and sneaking back home again. Meat spoils quickly in summer, so Gu Qiao cut off a small portion when she got back and cured the rest. Under her grandmother’s guidance, she stretched those two jin of pork across many meals — marveling that stir-frying was truly the fifth great invention of Chinese civilization, combining a small amount of meat with vegetables in the wok so the entire dish took on the flavor of meat. Whether Gu Qiao’s mother genuinely thought her cooking had improved, or simply felt that her daughter was working too hard cooking something different every day, she gradually regained her normal appetite, and her health slowly began to recover.

It was because of all this that Gu Qiao felt very confident in her cooking.

Armed with that confidence, and through constant trial and error, Gu Qiao’s culinary skills earned the full endorsement of the fourth Luo child. With great seriousness, he told her that her fried chicken was every bit the equal of KFC.

On her tenth day at the Luo household, Gu Qiao met the man Lou Deyu had called “the old man on his third marriage.” The word “old” had lodged itself so deeply in her imagination that when she finally saw him in person, she couldn’t match the description to the reality at all. Luo Bo’an had the appearance and bearing of a middle-aged man — a vigorous, self-assured middle-aged man. When he was silent, he carried an air of authority that needed no raised voice to assert itself. The fourth Luo child was clearly quite afraid of his father.

Gu Qiao found nothing cold or standoffish about “the old man on his third marriage.” When he saw Gu Qiao, he was as warm as a party official on a visit to the countryside, asking how the household contract responsibility system was working in their village, and whether it was truly mobilizing the enthusiasm of the masses. Upon learning that Gu Qiao had completed senior high school, he went on to ask whether compulsory education had been properly implemented in their area. For a brief moment, Gu Qiao found herself questioning the nature of the place she was standing in. After hearing her answers, “the old man” was not entirely satisfied and fell into quiet contemplation.

It was not until Gu Qiao’s third week at the Luo household that the name “Luo Peiyin” and the figure of the second Luo brother truly came together in her mind. The fourth Luo child had always been talking about “second brother” this and “second brother” that, but she had no idea who second brother was — only that the food restrictions this second brother had were so numerous that they drove the fourth Luo child to despair. He could even be allergic to tomatoes.

On the fifteenth night of her stay at the Luo household, Luo Bo’an said to Mrs. Luo: “Peiyin will be back soon.”

Hearing those two characters, Gu Qiao suddenly remembered the young man who had cycled her here on the back of his bicycle that day. So he lived here all along — no wonder he knew the roads so well.

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