◎ The Second Lesson ◎

The defiance in Gu Qiao’s eyes only revealed all the more how lacking her knowledge in this area was. In the first winter Luo Peiyin had known Gu Qiao, he had never overestimated her understanding of such things. The help he had given her back then, he had attributed to someone else’s name — it was simply that his pride would not allow him to move a girl who was in need of help with small favors and petty kindnesses. A young girl in difficult circumstances is easily confused about what is genuine affection and what is mere need; it would have seemed like taking advantage of her vulnerability. And so nothing had happened that winter.

But this winter — something had to happen between them.

Luo Peiyin didn’t refute Gu Qiao’s words in the slightest: “There is indeed much I don’t know, which you’ll have to teach me.”

That sentence of Gu Qiao’s had been a reflexive response; she didn’t genuinely feel she had anything to instruct Luo Peiyin about in this area. If he asked her what was easy to make money at right now, she could certainly tell him. She smiled with reddened face, a little embarrassed.

But every question Luo Peiyin then asked Gu Qiao was indeed something only she would know, and that he might not necessarily know.

He asked Gu Qiao: “Have you been thinking of me, during the days you weren’t seeing me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking of you too.” Luo Peiyin let those words glide past lightly. He kissed Gu Qiao in different ways and asked which she preferred. Among the different ways of kissing and touching, Gu Qiao always chose the gentler one.

She liked gentle people.

Luo Peiyin’s hand pressed against a certain part of her that had fully developed; Gu Qiao drew in a sharp breath. This was not within her imagination. Then his inexperienced grasping caused her pain, and she couldn’t hold back a sound. Her large eyes fixed on Luo Peiyin’s hand, as though she found it somewhat difficult to believe. Prior to this moment, she could not have imagined that Luo Peiyin would do such a thing to her — yet because it was him doing it, she accepted it without any resistance.

Because it was entirely beyond the limits of her imagination, Gu Qiao even forgot to say that he had hurt her. It was Luo Peiyin himself who noticed. He asked her: “Does it hurt?”

Gu Qiao made a sound of agreement.

Immediately, the grasping changed to a caress. Luo Peiyin kissed her very gently; his hands were as gentle as his mouth. Gu Qiao half-closed her eyes and could even feel the ridges of his fingerprints. She felt a current of warmth surging through her body, reaching every fingertip, finding no outlet. She wasn’t yet fully clear about what this bodily sensation was urging her to do. So she followed the promptings of her heart and reached for his hair, his ears, his throat — tomorrow they would part, and the next time they would see each other was still unknown. She used her fingers to feel the length of his hair, his throat. Unlike him, her movements were consistently gentle, as though between the two of them he was the more fragile one — press a little too firmly and he would shatter. But that current of warmth inside her was still gathering; she was somewhat at a loss as to what to do with herself.

Gu Qiao was guided by Luo Peiyin toward the bedroom. She felt light-headed, her feet seeming to tread on clouds, entirely without any sense of solid ground — it was only when her legs met the edge of the bed that she realized they had moved from the living room to the bedroom.

The hands that so often carried and hauled goods now showed their strength. Gu Qiao reached out and pushed Luo Peiyin back in resistance — not a light and insubstantial impact that left her simply falling onto the bed. In truth, even with greater force she could not have pushed him off her, but Luo Peiyin felt her resistance and released her.

Whether it was Luo Peiyin’s hands or his mouth that had left Gu Qiao a little breathless, when Gu Qiao’s mouth finally had a chance to speak, she looked at Luo Peiyin with reddened face, slightly winded, and smiled: “I should start cooking. In a little while I’ll make you a fish ball soup — it’s been a long time since you’ve had it, hasn’t it?” In Gu Qiao’s heart there was a schedule she intended to follow strictly. No matter how much she wanted to keep chasing that light, floating feeling right now, she had to carry out the arrangements she had made for today.

Before she boarded the train home, there was so much they needed to do. She had to take his photograph; they had to have dinner together that evening; breakfast together tomorrow morning; and there was still so much more to say. She wanted to tell him about her life before she had met him. She was eager to peel open her past and show it to Luo Peiyin — and equally eager to hear about how he had lived his life in the past, present, and future. They would use other means to convey what language could not express.

Luo Peiyin’s gaze rested on Gu Qiao’s face. She was not a complicated person, yet everything she intended to do was beyond his expectations. She pushed him away not because she was resisting what he did to her, but because of the four dishes and a soup in her planned schedule.

Gu Qiao didn’t see the anticipation on Luo Peiyin’s face that she’d been hoping to find: “Don’t you like fish ball soup anymore?” Already so soon? She still hoped that Luo Peiyin could be a little more consistent in matters of food — surely a person consistent in eating would also be more consistent in matters of the heart.

“With you, anything is fine to eat.” His hand rested against Gu Qiao’s face. “Aren’t you tired today? Don’t cook — let’s eat out.”

“I’m not tired at all. The fish and vegetables I already bought earlier, it’ll be quick to make.” The redness in Gu Qiao’s face still hadn’t faded. Her eyes were very bright. “Your tastes haven’t changed, have they?”

“They haven’t.”

“Good then.”

—