◎ Spicy ◎

Gu Qiao bowed her head and took another sip of the Bloody Mary. It wasn’t only someone who disliked tomatoes who would find this drink unappealing — even someone who liked tomatoes probably wouldn’t care much for this particular combination of tomato juice and celery. What she liked most was fresh raw tomatoes — the kind you could bite into and have the juice spray out.

Luo Peiyin had probably never tried this cocktail precisely because of his tomato allergy, and had assumed she would extend her fondness for tomatoes to the Bloody Mary by association. She didn’t order another drink. Right now, every coin she had was going into the leather jackets for Erenhot.

From time to time, people invited her to drink. She declined each invitation.

Gu Qiao had assumed Luo Peiyin was bringing her to the bar to watch the performance so she could understand him better — to understand what kind of music he loved. The first time she had watched him perform, she had thought he seemed unusually, almost excessively calm. This time, she realized that had been an illusion.

There was no excess flesh on his face, and no excess expression either — as if displaying one’s emotions too richly in public were somehow a thing to be ashamed of. But a person’s state of mind cannot only be read through the muscles of the face. Expression may remain still, but the eyes cannot. On occasion, when Luo Peiyin glanced her way, Gu Qiao found herself thinking of the bite marks he had once pressed into her face.

The music he made was the same way — the kind that could sink its teeth into your own heart, or into someone else’s.

Gu Qiao’s gaze settled on the stage, as though he were playing for her alone.

Then Gu Qiao heard the familiar opening, and even though she knew nothing at all about this band, she felt that something was off.

Of course, she was not the only one who felt it. The people around her were remarking that the bar owner must have paid unusually well for something like this to suddenly appear in the middle of the set.

Gu Qiao looked up and noticed that Luo Peiyin was watching her.

In that instant, Gu Qiao suddenly understood why Luo Peiyin had come here tonight. This song was meant specifically for her. She could hear how it differed from the version she was used to, and also how it differed slightly from the first time she had heard it — there was something of him in it now, rather than a copy of someone else’s version.

In that moment, all the sounds around her fell quiet. The murmurs of the people nearby dissolved into background.

She even felt that Luo Peiyin had gone all the way to her hometown not only because her pager was broken, but to see her one more time — to play all the way through this piece she hadn’t yet had the chance to hear him perform fully.

Afterward, on the way back, Gu Qiao had many things she wanted to say to Luo Peiyin, but they all crowded up in her throat and she couldn’t work out which to say first.

It was Luo Peiyin who spoke first: “If you want to do foreign trade, it would still be more convenient to have a base at a hotel. I have some money in an account — though not in China. I’ll give it to you next time it’s your birthday. It’s not much, but it’s enough to cover a year’s rental of an ordinary room at Ritan Hotel. Don’t rush — everything you want will come in time.” He could, of course, use his family connections to secure an export quota for Gu Qiao, making the money far easier to earn. But he had no intention of relying on his father’s influence.

Gu Qiao stood there blankly. She had never told Luo Peiyin that she had been thinking about setting up a base at a hotel in the embassy district. About wanting to do foreign trade, the only thing she had ever mentioned to him was that the manager she had dinner with had the surname Yu — nothing more than that. How had he known?

Yet this was something Gu Qiao had indeed turned over in her mind more than once. Hotels were full of foreign businesspeople ready to do deals — talking business there was far more convenient than at a stall, and the scale of business was much larger. But ever since Chen Qing had told her the price of even the cheapest room at such a hotel, she had shelved the plan. Once the Erenhot deal went through, though, it would be no problem at all.

Could it really be that Luo Peiyin had arrived at the same idea as her? He had not only seen that she wanted to do foreign trade — he had also seen that she was in a hurry to earn money. For someone as naturally averse to making promises in advance as he was, offering one now was probably his way of keeping her from rushing too desperately.

Gu Qiao suddenly laughed, and with a note of self-satisfaction said: “Do I look like someone who’s short on money, dressed like this? Selling things on the train was simply a matter of not passing up small earnings. Stop worrying about me, all right? I know you can’t eat a hot tofu dish in a hurry. Trust me, won’t you?”

“Since we’re together now, it goes without saying that we share whatever comes up.”

Hearing the phrase “it goes without saying,” Gu Qiao was momentarily speechless. After a long pause, she laughed: “Once I’ve moved into a new place and bought a new car, we’ll share it then.”

When they went into Luo Peiyin’s home, Gu Qiao noticed the computer that had been in the corner was gone — no trace of it anywhere in the room.

She asked without thinking: “Where’s the computer that was here before?”

“Sold it.”

“Sold it?” How had it suddenly been sold? The missing computer and the alphanumeric pager Luo Peiyin had given her came together in her mind.

What Gu Qiao said was phrased as a question, but by the time she finished saying it, it had already become certainty in her heart: “You sold the computer to buy my alphanumeric pager, didn’t you?”

Luo Peiyin had indeed sold the computer first and then bought the pager for Gu Qiao. At the time he hadn’t had any spare money on hand. Time was also short — apart from selling something, there was no way to come up with cash that quickly. The urgency had forced him to accept a lower price.

Luo Peiyin cradled Gu Qiao’s face in his hands and looked her in the eyes: “What are you thinking? You don’t actually believe I sold everything I owned just to buy you this pager, do you? I had already stopped using this computer long ago. If I don’t sell it before I leave, waiting any longer will only make it worth less.”

Gu Qiao did not appear to accept Luo Peiyin’s explanation: “The old pager is already repaired. I don’t need the new one. See if you can sell it on?”

“You really are something…” Luo Peiyin tried to explain it to her in terms she would understand: “Selling the old computer is the same as you clearing out your clothing inventory. You used the money from clearing your inventory to buy me a small gift, and I decide you must have sold everything you owned just to buy it. Doesn’t that seem ridiculous to you?”

Gu Qiao did not laugh. He had taken the money from selling his computer, bought a pager with it, sat on a train for over ten hours to come find her — and was now explaining to her that this gift was really not worth very much.

Gu Qiao blinked, trying to hold back whatever tears might be coming.

Luo Peiyin drew close to her face and kissed the corner of her eye: “The way you overestimate what others do for you — you’ll be taken advantage of one day. A capable businesswoman shouldn’t be like this.”

In the past when Luo Peiyin kissed her, Gu Qiao had always had an air of refusing to be outdone. That edge was gone today. For the first time, she closed her eyes. She stood there, simply letting him kiss her — he kissed the corner of her eye, her nose, her cheek. Her lips were very red, the same color as her earrings.

When Luo Peiyin kissed Gu Qiao’s lips, she suddenly remembered she had drunk the Bloody Mary. His tomato allergy seemed to have been carved into her memory — she could not ignore it. She started to raise her hands to push Luo Peiyin away, but couldn’t manage it. What she wanted to say dissolved in his mouth. It was not that Luo Peiyin used any particular force — rather, he kissed her with a certainty that was also tender, and she could not refuse that tenderness. More than tenderness, it was something that lingered and wound — both those words could be taken apart and examined at length. Gu Qiao’s hands were held by Luo Peiyin, and her fingers, moved by another’s will, brushed against his belt. Luo Peiyin’s kiss came to rest at the corner of Gu Qiao’s lips: “Do you remember? This is the gift you gave me.”

“I’m very glad to have received the gift you gave me — I hope you are too.” He said this and then let go of her hands, as if he had only wanted to let her see for a moment.

Luo Peiyin pressed his lips to Gu Qiao’s mouth once more, briefly. Some people with allergies cannot taste the true flavor of what they are allergic to. For Luo Peiyin, tomatoes did not taste the way others described — sweet-and-sour — but spicy.

Gu Qiao finally found room to speak: “You’ll have an allergic reaction doing this.” Her face flushed, as though she were the one allergic to tomatoes.

Luo Peiyin pulled Gu Qiao into his arms, as though he wanted to fold her entirely into himself.

“I hope that you not only look forward to tomorrow being better — but that you feel today is already good. You don’t have to rely only on yourself all the time. Sometimes you can lean on me too. Trust that no matter what happens, there is someone here to catch you if you fall.”

On the day Luo Peiyin had taken the train to Gu Qiao’s hometown, he had heard “Tomorrow Will Be Better” playing on the street. In all the crowd, there was not a single person who looked like Gu Qiao — yet he immediately thought of her. What kind of person plays “Tomorrow Will Be Better” for themselves every day as encouragement? Probably a person who is never quite satisfied with today — not satisfied with any single today, one after another.

Though he had deliberately played “Tomorrow Will Be Better” on stage, what he had truly meant by it was the opposite — that she need not wait for tomorrow, but could feel a simple and uncomplicated happiness just because of today.

Gu Qiao reached back and held Luo Peiyin in return. She said close to his ear: “I’m very happy today.” They stood in the living room for a long while, embraced, letting the embrace speak where words could not.

Luo Peiyin’s allergic symptoms appeared two hours later. By then, Gu Qiao had already retreated to the bedroom. He had watched her close her eyes, and turned off the light for her.

He took his medicine. Generally speaking, by daylight the symptoms would have passed. He had assumed Gu Qiao would not see the side of him he did not wish her to see.