A basketful of cold wind poured down over them. The air was brutally cold — but this was the height of the New Year season, and all around were dense crowds, dense traffic. Standing in the wind at this moment, Jiang Du felt, strangely, an extraordinary stillness settle over her.

Wei Qingyue turned and looked at her. They stood half a meter apart. That single glance landed somewhere deep in her chest. Jiang Du remembered, as if for the first time, that she probably ought to say something. She parted her lips — but the boy had already spoken first:

“You really do love sticking your nose into other people’s business.”

Jiang Du wilted on the spot. She bowed her head, the tip of her shoe tapping at a pebble that wasn’t there.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to the bus stop.” Wei Qingyue pulled his scarf snug and looked left and right, as though gauging direction.

They set off toward the stop. Jiang Du wore an old knit hat; the static it generated sent strands of hair clinging to her face one by one. She wanted very much to tell Wei Qingyue she knew perfectly well how to take a bus — but said nothing, and walked quietly behind him, as though he were simply a landmark she was following.

Wei Qingyue turned and gave a brief laugh, his expression hovering between nearness and distance. “Walking behind me like a prisoner of war,” he said.

A prisoner of war. When the words reached her, her heart was, without any warning or reason, completely swallowed by them. I am your prisoner, Wei Qingyue, she thought. Her chest felt gray and dense, thick with something she couldn’t name — and she almost wanted to cry. I was so worried about you, she thought. I was genuinely afraid your father might hit you again. How can you be so easy and careless with me, making jokes like this?

At that thought, her eyes grew watery with the feeling of it. Jiang Du’s lips trembled several times — and she said nothing at all.

“Do you have any coins?” Wei Qingyue, seeing she hadn’t spoken, asked another question.

Jiang Du finally looked up: “Yes — I have a whole handful. Do you need change for the fare?” She assumed he didn’t have small coins; she pulled off her glove and reached into her down jacket pocket.

Wei Qingyue smiled: “That day at Christmas — why didn’t you pick out anything? I had money ready to pay for you.”

Jiang Du’s hand slowed to a stop. She said, with some effort: “I explained at the time — I don’t like celebrating Christmas.”

“Is that right? I’d forgotten about that.” He waved it off. “I don’t need coins. Don’t bother — I was only asking whether you had enough for the bus.”

Jiang Du put the coins away.

They walked on until they reached the stop. Wei Qingyue said, suddenly: “Just now — you didn’t need to step in for me.” His voice was low and measured, like winter clouds. “Wei Zhendong, once he decides something, doesn’t look for reasons.”

Jiang Du felt a tightness in her chest: “I don’t understand that.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand hitting someone for no reason. You—” she hesitated, “—could you go stay with your paternal grandparents? Or your maternal ones?”

“Wei Zhendong is my legal guardian. He doesn’t like me, and I’m not sure others are much fonder of me either. I don’t want to burden anyone.” Wei Qingyue breathed out a thick column of white vapor; his hands were in his pockets, his hair flying loose across his forehead in the wind.

“I’d actually planned to turn Zhang Xiaoqiang down today — that kind of gathering isn’t usually my scene. But Wei Zhendong wanted to take me to a dinner function, and I didn’t want to go. So I came here instead.” Wei Qingyue’s mouth twisted in a dry, self-mocking smile. “Then somehow ran into him on the street anyway. He’s probably itching to take a belt to me.”

It wasn’t as if Wei Zhendong had never used a belt. Whatever came to hand — that was what he reached for.

Wei Qingyue spoke about all of it in the same tone as someone gossiping about someone else’s distant affairs. Jiang Du had a sudden, burning impulse: Why don’t you come to our place? Then she realized what she was thinking — this outrageous, impossible, completely genuine thought — and it startled even herself.

But what a humiliating thing this was — that Wei Qingyue could tell her all of this so casually. Perhaps simply because she had already witnessed one of his worst moments. To a certain extent, a secret could be shared.

Jiang Du’s throat was bitter. She chose her words carefully: “Well — once you get into university and put distance between you, once you’re working and can be completely independent, you’ll be free of him.”

“My mom left just yesterday,” Wei Qingyue said — with a smile, utterly at ease. “I think it’s been nearly three years since I’ve seen her.”

Hearing that, Jiang Du brightened on his behalf: “You must have missed her terribly — and now you finally got to see her.”

“I don’t miss her.” His tone was flat and clean. “I was happy she came because it gave me a chance to discuss going abroad with her in person. There are some things I may need her help with in the early stages. Does that surprise you?” He raised an eyebrow slightly. “I don’t even miss my own mother. I only needed something from her. That’s the whole of it — our relationship is that simple.”

…

Jiang Du’s expression went rigid by degrees. She shook her head in a vague, unfocused way — she herself wasn’t sure what she was trying to communicate.

Wei Qingyue gave her a faint, sudden smile: “You treat me with more warmth than my own parents do.”

What? All five of Jiang Du’s senses seemed to go still at once. What organ was she supposed to breathe with?

“Don’t look at me like that. When one person is good to another, it could be family, friendship — or love.” Wei Qingyue said the word love and his expression shifted for just an instant — an almost imperceptible trace of distaste. “Or it could simply be that some people are warm-hearted by nature. That’s what you are, isn’t it, Jiang Du?”

She was embarrassed by that. She touched her scarf and said quietly: “I’m not that warm-hearted.”

“That incident in Limin Lane — at the time, I thought you were foolish. Reckless. What was a girl doing getting involved in something that had nothing to do with her? Honestly, the impression you left me was terrible.” Wei Qingyue had opened a door in himself now, swallowing the cold air, not leaving, not asking which bus she was taking — just standing there, breathing white mist, talking to her.

The bus she needed was approaching; the green number display at the front glowed and blinked as the vehicle eased up to the stop. Jiang Du only stared — she didn’t move. In truth, she was cold, the wind gnawing at her face.

This person and his way of speaking, she thought. Jiang Du pulled half her face into her scarf, only her eyes showing — dark and liquid, brimming with things unsaid, lashes lowered.

“My temper is terrible. It’s difficult for me to accept kindness from others. Don’t be surprised — if you spent a few years as Zhang Xiaoqiang’s classmate, you’d know.” Wei Qingyue said all this, and then reached over and pulled her along, pushing her straight up onto the bus. He followed behind her; the doors eased shut.

He fished into his jacket for his wallet, found a few coins, dropped them into the fare box, and then — without a moment’s hesitation — took Jiang Du by the sleeve and led her all the way to the empty last row.

It all happened too quickly; by the time she came back to herself, Wei Qingyue was already seated against the window.

She tugged her scarf down and said in a flustered voice: “Do you take this bus? Why did you pull me on?”

“Isn’t this yours?” Wei Qingyue asked. “I’m seeing you home. It’s dark out, it’s not safe for you to go alone.”

So that’s it, she thought. But how did he know? Jiang Du blinked; Wei Qingyue’s mouth curved slightly: “A guess. Was I right?”

She gave a shy nod, smoothed her hair, and said: “But that means you’ll get home later.”

“I’m in no rush. Rush home to get beaten?” He made himself the punchline, easy and light. The bus braked — Jiang Du, still standing and not yet seated, pitched forward and nearly collapsed onto the seat. Wei Qingyue’s hand shot out and caught her arm with quick, steady certainty. He smiled: “Sit down.”

Jiang Du glanced at him with a look of mild mortification, lowered her eyes, and sat.

The interior lights were dim and warm. On the window glass, the blurred outlines of two young figures were reflected back. Wei Qingyue looked out, then turned to look at her: “It’s not like that anymore.”

Jiang Du gave a blank “Hm?”

He was picking up from what he’d said before they boarded; once he explained, she understood. She fidgeted with her scarf — and the “Hm” settled into an even, quiet note.

Passengers got on and off. The last row held only the two of them. For a moment, conversation ran out, and the world became very quiet. Neon light swept in through the window, setting their eyes flaring to brightness one moment and back to shadow the next.

Lit and dark and lit again — like those not-quite-awake moments between sleep and waking. Every second was more precious than sunlight. Jiang Du’s hands gripped her scarf the whole way — this was the closest she had ever been to Wei Qingyue.

As they neared her stop, she reluctantly gripped the seat back and rose: “This is my stop.”

The door opened, and the flowing cold air came in, wrapping around them both.

“You—” Jiang Du cleared her throat softly. “Will you need to cross over and take a bus from the other side?”

“No, I’ll get a taxi.”

Wei Qingyue looked at her, and smiled: “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

Jiang Du’s thoughts were a tangled mass. She shook her head — then nodded: “If your father hits you, can you call the police?”

Wei Qingyue only smiled. The evening was too deep; Jiang Du couldn’t tell what the smile meant.

“Go on home. I’ve walked you this far.” He said.

Jiang Du suddenly felt the pressure behind her eyes. Head bowed, she wanted badly to ask: Are you leaving to study abroad soon? But she didn’t dare ask. As if not saying it aloud could keep it from becoming real. She gave a single, small nod: “Alright.”

“Oh — and, Happy New Year.” Wei Qingyue’s voice, in that moment, had the quiet warmth of spring blossoms. He rarely spoke in a register like this — soft, unhurried — and it opened without warning at the edge of Jiang Du’s ear.

She looked up despite herself. Her eyes were already bright with tears she was holding back. She made herself smile: “Happy New Year.”

She had meant to wait and watch him hail a car. But she couldn’t stay one more second. The moment she turned, the tears came, soundlessly, one after another. Jiang Du stopped holding them back. The world sharpened, blurred, sharpened again. She thought she heard the sound of a car door closing somewhere behind her — or perhaps she heard nothing at all.

In this moment, it was as though she alone was making her way through the world. The lights ahead burned in rows, steady and bright, and she wished only one thing for Wei Qingyue: that he would find happiness early, and that it would stay with him always.