◎ The Model ◎

When Zhao Yue’s call came through on Luo Peiyin’s pager, the shop owner was in the middle of trying to sell Luo Peiyin an anti-virus card.

A single anti-virus card was priced at 260 yuan. Domestic computers had recently been hit by a new virus, causing monthly sales of anti-virus cards — which had previously moved around a hundred units — to surge dramatically. The domestic computer anti-virus market consisted only of hardware solutions like anti-virus cards; software options remained completely nonexistent due to instability. Three years ago, the first anti-virus software Luo Peiyin had used was developed by Americans. Because it was never quite compatible with his computer and constantly threw up all kinds of errors, he had cracked it open and written his own simple detection and removal script. Of course, after he connected to the internet in America, viruses had multiplied and evolved at a blistering pace, and the script he had written was now completely obsolete.

While the shop owner was still in the middle of his pitch, Luo Peiyin picked up the store’s phone and called back directly.

The first round of the Shanghai stock subscription lottery had just ended, and Zhao Yue had made a tidy fortune on the Shanghai stock market alongside his older brother. On his return from Shanghai to Beijing, he heard from an acquaintance that Luo Peiyin had been spotted at a hospital — Luo Peiyin and a short-haired girl had been together handling the hospitalization of a middle-aged man, who turned out to be the girl’s father.

“You came back this time without even a word? If my aunt hadn’t mentioned seeing you at the hospital, I wouldn’t have known you were back.” Zhao Yue suppressed his curiosity about Luo Peiyin’s romantic life and did not ask who the short-haired girl was.

Zhao Yue had originally wanted to invite Luo Peiyin to the newly opened karaoke lounge, but Luo Peiyin changed the meeting spot to a billiards hall.

The shop owner tried to press on with his pitch. Luo Peiyin pulled five yuan from his wallet, set it on the counter, and walked straight out the door.

At the billiards hall, Luo Peiyin found Zhao Yue dressed head to toe in Pierre Cardin.

Fifteen minutes into their meeting, Zhao Yue could no longer suppress his curiosity: “So who was that girl at the hospital with you?”

Luo Peiyin didn’t answer him. His left hand shifted slightly where it rested against the cue, his eyes focused entirely on the table. He struck — the white ball connected with the yellow ball, which dropped cleanly into the pocket. The white ball spun rapidly and rebounded off the cushion at the far end, sending the brown ball rolling into another pocket.

Only after the final green ball rolled into its pocket and the white ball came to rest steadily on the table did Luo Peiyin straighten up and answer Zhao Yue’s question: “Gu Qiao.”

*So it’s his cousin.* Zhao Yue turned the thought over once in his mind, then set the matter aside.

“While you’re back, come down to Hainan with me when you have time. My brother’s planning to launch a villa project — everything built to developed-country standards, every unit with its own swimming pool. Interested in getting in on it with us?” No matter how well the stocks were doing, they still fell a little short compared to Hainan real estate.

Luo Peiyin smiled. “What do you think I have to bring to the table?”

“That depends on what you want to bring.” Through his father’s connections they could acquire land; through his mother’s backing there was capital.

Luo Peiyin let the smile fade. “Since your brother has looked into foreign real estate projects, he should have some familiarity with Japan’s property market.”

“Our property prices are nowhere near that level. Japan’s market collapsed because the prices there were obscenely inflated before the crash.”

“Prices in Haikou have already surpassed ordinary commercial housing in Beijing and Shanghai. How long do you think that’s sustainable? And a lot of these units being sold are nothing but a plot of land.”

Zhao Yue had naturally thought about this too: “Hainan prices still have room to climb — I think we’re still a long way from the ceiling. Japan’s collapse didn’t happen overnight either; it went from runaway inflation to freefall over years, not months. Even if Hainan eventually corrects, that’s at least three to five years away. Besides, given income growth over the past few years, by the time prices do fall, wages might have already caught up. A hundred yuan five years from now might only be worth twenty or thirty in today’s terms.”

“Hainan might not even hold up for two or three years. Be careful. Construction is a long-term game — far more complex than straight speculation on land. ” On his last trip there, the people flooding into Haikou had all been chasing quick money. He himself was no exception at the time.

“Your last trip to Hainan was back in ’90. Things are different now.” Still, Zhao Yue didn’t push it. “When are you coming back for good? You’re not seriously planning to finish a PhD before you return, are you? There are more opportunities here right now than you can count. With your father’s connections plus Auntie Liao’s capital, you could walk right through everything when you come back.”

Knowing Luo Peiyin as well as he did, Zhao Yue was certain he was nowhere near the point of having no desires or ambitions. He had simply grown up never really lacking for money, which gave him a certain steadiness — he wasn’t rushing to make fast money. Zhao Yue simply refused to believe that Luo Peiyin could endure a lifetime of solitary confinement in a laboratory.

“I don’t like leaving things half-finished.”

One important reason their friendship had lasted this long was that neither of them ever pressured the other.

Zhao Yue glanced down at his watch. “Come to the karaoke place tonight — I’ll call all the guys together for a get-together.”

“Tomorrow. I have something on tonight.”

—

Room 510 was packed floor to ceiling with leather jackets, barely any room to set foot, with more jackets hanging on the clothing rack that Gu Qiao used for display. The entire room reeked of leather. What occupied the room now wasn’t just the three thousand leather jackets waiting to be delivered the next day — part of the foreign exchange certificates Luo Peiyin had given her had also been converted into leather jackets.

The price had been agreed upon over the phone, but the moment they met in person, the Mongolian merchant tried to drive it down. In his imperfect Mandarin, he told Gu Qiao he had found another seller offering jackets ten yuan cheaper per piece. Gu Qiao’s immediate reaction was: impossible. Jackets styled like hers — no one would be willing to take a loss like that, unless they were last season’s cuts.

Gu Qiao flatly refused the Mongolian merchant’s attempt to haggle. After wrestling with several thousand leather jackets all day, she herself had absorbed a pervasive smell of leather.

Outside, the sky had grown dark. Gu Qiao sat in a chair, listening to the call coming through from Peng Zhou.

“Got to the bottom of it — it’s that bastard surnamed Zhai again. He bought up a big batch of old stock leather jackets at rock-bottom prices, all last year’s styles, been sitting in his warehouse. Whenever he runs into buyers who don’t know any better, he offloads them. We buy at eighty a piece; he sources at sixty. I’d bet the batch he exported to Africa not long ago was mixed with a load of that old stock too. People who just got into the leather jacket trade — all they’ve heard is that pigskin jackets sell well, nobody’s thinking about what style. Cheap is all that matters. Tomorrow we’ll find a Mongolian interpreter and set that merchant straight.”

“Don’t bother. Our goods are in high demand. Don’t you go looking for him — wait for him to come to us. If he doesn’t come this time, he’ll come eventually. And if he doesn’t, I’ll sell to someone else. He’s not the only buyer. By then, if he comes looking, there might not be anything left for him. You know how many Eastern Europeans and Mongolians I saw in the café? Easily half of them would be interested in doing leather jacket business.”

What she needed was for every foreign guest in this hotel to know she was selling leather jackets.

Gu Qiao glanced out at the night beyond the window. “By the way, do you know which restaurant does a good fish ball soup?”

“Ask me anything else and I might not know, but when it comes to food I’ve got the full picture now. You want to eat today or tomorrow? I’ll take you.”

“No need — I’m going with my boyfriend.”

Peng Zhou practically blurted it out: “Your boyfriend? Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

Only then did Gu Qiao realize she had apparently never once mentioned to Peng Zhou that she was seeing someone, though she had dropped a vague reference to a “cousin” once.

“Before the New Year.” It hadn’t been many days since they officially got together, but put another way, they had been together through both the Year of the Horse and the Year of the Goat.

After a brief silence, Peng Zhou asked: “Who is it? Have I met him?”

“You have, though you probably don’t remember. Don’t worry — when I get married someday, you’ll meet him then.”

In his heart, Peng Zhou thought, *who’s in a rush:* “Don’t go around volunteering talk about marriage — makes it sound like you’re throwing yourself at someone. Doesn’t matter who you’re with, don’t let him think he’s got you all figured out. Men can be a certain way; you watch yourself.”

“Sounds like you’re describing yourself.”

Gu Qiao swept her gaze around the room full of leather jackets. “Stop talking nonsense. I’ll tell you this much: when it comes to business partners, integrity comes first. You’d do well to keep showing me your finest qualities.”

Peng Zhou was still speaking when Gu Qiao said goodbye at four minutes and fifty-nine seconds and hung up.

The doorbell rang. Gu Qiao guessed it was Luo Peiyin and quickly pushed the jacket rack over against the wall.

The moment Luo Peiyin walked in, he saw the entire room blanketed in leather jackets. It was plain enough: Gu Qiao had taken in stock that she hadn’t managed to move. Goods sitting unsold meant only one thing — a pricing issue.

Gu Qiao still had a smile on her face, the kind that could easily be mistaken for a brave front.

That afternoon, walking through Zhongguancun, Luo Peiyin had spotted quite a few people in leather jackets — apparently this year’s trend.

“Don’t worry, you’ll definitely be able to sell them. The only thing you need to do right now is make sure people know you have leather jackets for sale.” Luo Peiyin scanned the jackets hanging on the rack. “Tomorrow, find a drama academy student to model your jacket, take a few photographs, blow them up large, and put them outside the door. As long as you can guarantee that advertisement stays in front of the hotel entrance for half a day, the word will get out.”

Gu Qiao stared at Luo Peiyin. The very moment he had walked in the door, the same idea had come to her — photographs, an advertisement. A pigskin jacket that cost eighty yuan at cost price would look positively expensive on him.

“I’ve booked a flight for next Wednesday. I’ll leave once your father is discharged. I’ll go find someone to take the photos for you tomorrow morning — just give me the jacket.”

Gu Qiao quickly said, “That’s too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“What I mean is, there’s no need to find someone else… could you be my model?”

Luo Peiyin was almost amused. “You really are something. You’re extraordinarily good at keeping costs down. I’ll handle the money side of things — don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not about saving money!”

“Then what is it about?”

“I’ve dealt with a lot of people selling clothes. Nobody has shoulders, a neck, or a waistline that look more like a natural clothes hanger than you do. I promise — no one would photograph better.”

Gu Qiao was evaluating Luo Peiyin entirely from the perspective of a vendor. Such an assessment required nothing more than the sharp eye refined over years of experience — but the look Luo Peiyin gave her in return made her think of something else, as though the words she had just spoken carried an undertone she hadn’t intended.

Gu Qiao had no time to blush. She tilted her chin up slightly, trying to persuade him: “The result with anyone else just won’t be the same as with you. Besides, you’ve put money in too — this is our business. Don’t you want our business to do well?” She had already privately decided that whatever fee she saved would be counted as Luo Peiyin’s additional contribution.

*Our business.* Luo Peiyin had never actually thought of this as his business. This was Gu Qiao’s business. If it lost money, it was on him; if it made money, he had no intention of taking a share.

His refusal wasn’t because he didn’t consider it his business. He simply could not bring himself to have his face associated with any clothing advertisement, even one without the tagline “Latest Pigskin Jackets — Bulk Discounts Available.”

Luo Peiyin declined without hesitation. “Forget that idea. I’ll find someone to take care of it for you tomorrow.”

“Cousin…” Gu Qiao had already pictured it — Luo Peiyin in her leather jacket. She was certain that every Mongolian and Eastern European merchant, without needing any explanation, would immediately see just how good value a jacket in her style truly was.

There were only two situations in which Gu Qiao would call him “cousin” now: one was when she needed to feign that their relationship was something purely ordinary; the other was when she wanted something from him.

With just the two of them here, there was obviously no need to pretend — so it had to be the latter.

Luo Peiyin watched Gu Qiao’s lips form the word *cousin*.

But that word only carried weight under specific circumstances.

Gu Qiao pressed on: “I’ll only hang it in my hotel room — not even on the door. Only people who come to buy my jackets will ever see it. Don’t worry, no one you know will see it.”

Gu Qiao tilted her head back slightly and waited for his answer.

Luo Peiyin said nothing, only looked at her.

Gu Qiao’s gaze drifted to the jackets on the rack. She looked at her eighty-yuan-a-piece jackets and let out a quiet sigh. Perhaps it was precisely because he never wore this kind of clothing that he could make an eighty-yuan jacket look like it was worth eight hundred. What a paradox.

Gu Qiao quickly smiled. “I’ll find someone else. Don’t worry about it.”

—