Period pain came fast, and it left just as fast.
By the next day it was gone, leaving only a slight bloated feeling in my lower belly.
Auntie went over a whole list of things to watch out for during my period again—staying warm, avoiding certain foods, no cold water, no strenuous exercise, and so on.
Maybe because that one night had rattled Zhou Haiyan so badly, from then on, whenever my period came, he was even more nervous than I was, forbidding this food and that, not letting me touch this or that.
Since ninth grade was heading toward the high school entrance exams, while everyone else got winter break, I still had to go to school, only finally free two days before the New Year.
This was my first New Year with the Zhou family, and also their first New Year in Ping’an Alley.
There would be many more years to come after this one.
…
New Year’s Eve morning.
I sat in front of the vanity mirror.
Auntie stood behind me, braiding my hair into little pigtails.
Once the very last strand was braided into place,
she cupped my face in her hands, turning it this way and that, her eyes brimming with a smile.
“Oh my, how did our Qingqing turn out so adorable!”
I looked up. In the mirror, a young girl with two round little bun-shaped buns sat, her deep red velvet-trimmed cloak setting off skin like snow, her clear dark eyes bright and pure, curving into two lovely crescent moons when she smiled.
No trace left of that timid, insecure girl from before.
So this was who I’d become, without even realizing it.
No wonder everyone at school kept saying I seemed like a completely different person.
I turned and threw myself straight into Auntie’s arms, my head pressed tightly against the soft warmth of her chest.
Just like the handful of times, so few, that I’d been held by my own mother as a child.
I nuzzled against her gently, murmuring, “Thank you.”
Thank you for picking me up off the ground, and putting me back together, piece by piece.
Her warm hand stroked the top of my head soothingly, and she teased, “Thank who, exactly?”
There was a hint of anticipation hidden in her voice.
I froze for a second, blinked, and said, “Mom.
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Ah!” There was joy in her voice she couldn’t hide, and her soft lips pressed against my forehead. “Mom’s Qingqing is such a good girl!”
A quiet, giddy warmth crept into my heart, sweet all the way through.
Seeing that even the tips of my ears had turned red, she stopped teasing and told me to go wake Zhou Haiyan up to put up the Spring Festival couplets.
Because of the New Year rush, his client bookings had been packed solid every day recently, and staying up until two or three in the morning had become routine for Zhou Haiyan, so his whole sleep schedule had shifted.
I knocked on his door. No response.
I pushed it open and walked in.
The room was quiet, gray light filtering through the bed curtains, the person on the bed sleeping soundly with eyes closed, only the faintest sound of breathing audible.
I reached out and poked his cheek.
“Big brother, Mom wants me to wake you up to put up the couplets.”
No response.
I leaned in closer, whispering by his ear. “Big brother, time to get up and put up the couplets.”
Still no response.
The person on the bed lay there peacefully, eyes shut, thick lashes like a pair of little fans.
A mischievous idea struck me, and quietly, I reached out my wicked little hand and gave his lashes a tug—surprisingly sturdy.
I was just debating whether to try a bit harder.
Suddenly, the person in front of me snapped his eyes open, an expression of clear exasperation and shock on his face—everything except sleepiness.
Torn between annoyance and amusement, he said, “You ungrateful little thing, I was curious how you’d wake me up, and this is what I get—you pulling my eyelashes?”
Me: “…”
Caught red-handed.
I gave him my most tactically innocent smile.
“You look just like one of those New Year picture-book dolls.”
He couldn’t help himself and gave the little bun on top of my head a light squeeze.
…
Mother Zhou was in the kitchen cooking glutinous rice balls, while Zhou Haiyan and I split the work of putting up the couplets.
Every other spot in the house was already done.
He held up the very last pair of Spring couplets in his hand—one shaped like Lazy Goat, the other Happy Goat, each hugging a little scroll of New Year’s blessings, adorably clumsy-looking.
He said, sounding put off, “This pair’s a little too childish. Maybe we should just skip it?”
I shook my head immediately.
“Not childish at all, not childish at all, what’s childish about it?”
He said, “I’m a bit tired, don’t feel like moving.”
No, no, absolutely not—I’d picked this out specially with Mother Zhou at the market.
I grabbed his arm and shook it. “Big brother, you’re the best big brother in the whole world. Come on, put it up, put it up—put it in my room.”
A faint trace of a smile flickered through his eyes.
“Fine, fine, I’ll put it up, happy now?”
On either side of the window, one little goat went up on each side.
Happy Goat was me. Lazy Goat was An Qi.
We had been best friends.
So, happy new year, to my best friend An Qi.
…
That afternoon, everyone gathered around the table to make dumplings.
Zhou Haiyan complained that the dumplings I made looked ugly and handed me a lump of dough to go play with on my own.
Mother Zhou held the rolling pin with one hand while continuously adjusting the angle of the dough with the other, so that the wrappers she rolled came out thin and perfectly round.
She looked at Zhou Haiyan, and asked, sounding almost casual.
“How come that classmate of yours didn’t come today? Went home for the New Year?”
Zhou Haiyan was pinching a dumpling wrapper, placing the mixed filling into the center.
He answered offhandedly. “Didn’t go home. He’s at the station.”
“His parents won’t worry if he doesn’t go home?”
“He grew up in an orphanage. He’s got no other family.”
Mother Zhou said nothing.
She lowered her eyes, seemingly lost in thought, her rolling growing slower and slower.
After a long moment, she said.
“We’ve made too many dumplings. Call that boy over tonight for the New Year’s Eve dinner.”
Zhou Haiyan took a few seconds to react before humming in agreement.
They were talking about Officer Fu.
He came by almost every single evening, sometimes carrying a bag of vegetables he’d grown himself, sometimes fresh fruit from the market, and sometimes he’d bring me a stuffed toy he’d won from a claw machine.
Zhou Haiyan always told him just to come, no need to bring anything.
He refused every time, saying that even though he had no parents to teach him manners growing up, he still knew what politeness was.
Strangely enough, Mother Zhou, who was normally warm and welcoming to everyone, kept a certain distance from Officer Fu—her reluctance to get close was practically written across her face.
Yet clearly, the very first time she’d met Officer Fu, she had even complimented how likable he looked. It was only after learning he was Zhou Haiyan’s classmate and now a police officer that her attitude turned cold.
Officer Fu himself was well aware of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all about Mother Zhou’s coldness, still cheerful and easygoing every day, always finding an excuse to drop by the shop whenever he wasn’t busy.
He’d help Mother Zhou grab the freshest vegetables at the market, help trim the osmanthus tree in the courtyard, and whenever the neighbors gossiped about Mother Zhou behind her back, he’d deliberately show up in his police uniform to warn them that spreading rumors was against the law.
In short, he showed a particular kind of respect toward Mother Zhou.