What a terrible thing to say.

Jiang Du looked at him with a face burning scarlet. After struggling for a long time, she said: “Wei Qingyue, how can you say things like this?” She truly wished she had two long ears so she could yank them down to cover her face.

“Didn’t you ask yesterday how my health was?” Wei Qingyue’s eyes began to glow with that dark, shifting light again. “Come sleep with me, Jiang Du.”

Good heavens, this man — Jiang Du felt as though she really ought to slap him for this to qualify as a normal person’s reaction. Her toes were red, her every hair was red.

The entire city was ablaze.

Jiang Du didn’t know how to scold anyone, and even less how to hit anyone. She wouldn’t be willing to hit Wei Qingyue in any case. He had endured enough beatings. If anyone dared lay a hand on Wei Qingyue now, she would be braver than she had ever been before — she would throw herself forward to protect him, even if she ended up with another swollen face.

After a labored interval of thought, Jiang Du ultimately got into Wei Qingyue’s car — because he had said: Then at least let me show you my place?

She had no way to refuse.

“Have you told anyone at home about us?” Wei Qingyue asked her in the car. “That we’re together.”

Jiang Du’s expression visibly shifted to one of difficulty. Did he even use his head sometimes? What was she supposed to say? The thirty-first of August, no Wei Qingyue in sight. The first of September, and already in a relationship with him?

Wei Qingyue seemed to always know her inner thoughts. He quickly said: “Then let me tell them. I’ll go visit soon.”

Having said this, he reached over and patted the back of her hand — a reassuring gesture.

“Wei Qingyue, I feel like—” Jiang Du opened her mouth with difficulty. “We actually don’t know each other at all. Don’t you think this is too fast? I keep feeling like nothing is real. I don’t even know whether I’m dreaming or whether I’ve truly run into you again.” Her gaze grew hazy and drifted toward the window, as though searching through the sea of lights, the crowd, the towers, and the shopfronts for some solid evidence of reality.

Wei Qingyue glanced at her, his gaze heavy and deep.

He said nothing for a moment. The car moved forward in silence.

“We’re still young. There’s a very long road ahead — so much time to get to know each other. Jiang Du, we’re nearly thirty. Neither of us has ever been in a proper relationship. Aren’t you lonely?” Wei Qingyue glanced at her again, without waiting for an answer. “I am lonely. Maybe you’ve lost yourself in words — you have your own world; you don’t need others. But I do. I’m just an ordinary person. I want to be in a relationship with a woman. I want to sleep with a woman — ideally not getting out of bed for three days or five days straight.” He unconsciously knit his brow. “Sometimes I genuinely feel as though I’m nearly out of my mind — driven to the extreme of restlessness. That sensation of desperately wanting to hold onto something, only to wake up and find both hands empty — it’s terrifying.”

He paused. “Am I frightening you? I’ll admit it — my heart is full of anxiety. When I think that I’m already twenty-eight years old and can’t even touch the shadow of the girl I love, that time is eating away second by second with nothing to show for it and nothing I can recover — I honestly cannot bear to wait even one more second.” A long, pent-up exhale. “I have truly had enough.”

Every word struck a deep resonance inside Jiang Du. The street lamps swept past the interior of the car like a desolate yellow dusk on the open plain. Her eyes grew wet.

“All these years, I’ve waited for you every single day. From the day you left, I never stopped waiting — for you to come find me, to come see me.” Her voice was very soft. “I cried many times. You just wouldn’t come. No one told me whether you’d ever come back.”

Wei Qingyue nearly ran a red light. He shot two quick glances at her. When the red light turned green, he slowed the car and pulled over to the side.

“How could that be? If you truly wanted to find me, you could have asked Zhang Xiaoqiang anytime. And I tried to contact you too — I just couldn’t reach you. I knew that Ghostwriter was you. I figured it out long ago. The first time the Chinese teacher read your essay aloud in class, I knew the letters were yours. I listened to your essays for an entire semester. Everything you wrote in every single essay — I remember it all. Every letter you sent — I can recite them from memory. I cannot understand,” Wei Qingyue said, brow furrowed, shaking his head in bewilderment, “why you would say you couldn’t find me. I posted popular science videos — partly hoping to give you one more chance to see me. Everything I could do, I’ve done. How is it possible you couldn’t find me?”

Jiang Du only looked at him with tear-blurred eyes, her expression forlorn and pitiful. Wei Qingyue stared at those grief-misted eyes of hers and stopped pressing further. He said: “All right.”

But Jiang Du murmured: “Why did it take you so long to come find me? I’ve practically become an old spinster.”

Wei Qingyue was rendered helpless by the question: “I was looking for you. I never stopped looking.” Seeing her wrinkle her nose, he could only break into a smile and gently cup that small, small face of hers. “Not old at all. At least you’re not ninety.”

The tears came down and touched his palm, burning and vivid. Wei Qingyue’s fingertip pressed again and again over her face, and then he pulled her shoulder toward him and kissed her deeply.

He was entirely, authentically male — powerful and solid. His presence swept through her with force. Jiang Du rose and fell in Wei Qingyue’s arms, face tipped upward, receiving him, her long hair spilling all across him.

This stretch of road had sparse and scattered neon. When Wei Qingyue finally let go of her, his fingers did not forget to gently brush her hair aside. Quietly he asked: “Any better?”

Jiang Du’s face was flushed and warm. She nodded.

Wei Qingyue’s hand drew back, and he smiled again: “Do you need me to spit again?”

Jiang Du’s face was surrounded on all sides by disheveled black hair, making her look pale and wan. She said: “I didn’t put on lipstick today.”

Wei Qingyue suddenly understood what the spitting had been about. He asked: “May I drive now?” Jiang Du silently nodded.

His apartment was in a prime location — excellent transport links, all facilities nearby. Wei Qingyue asked whether she would like some fruit. He remembered that Zhang Xiaoqiang always liked eating fruit after meals, and had thus concluded that girls in general probably liked fruit.

“I want grapes,” Jiang Du said. “The green kind. Very sweet ones.”

Wei Qingyue laughed: “How would I know which ones you mean? Come pick them with me.” He took her hand and they went into a convenience store.

The fruit was displayed in bright, vivid colors. Jiang Du began choosing grapes. Wei Qingyue stood beside her. At the counter, a middle-aged man — red-faced and unsteady — came in and immediately asked: “Excuse me, do you sell those — you know, the ones that come in individual little packets?”

The shop assistant was a young woman who seemed quite unflappable: “Could you be more specific? What brand?”

“If I knew the brand, would I be asking? You know, the individually wrapped ones.”

The man’s voice was too loud, drawing eyes from across the shop.

The girl pointed: “Please take a look yourself — see which kind you’d like.”

“The ones that’ll knock a woman right off her feet — do you carry those?”

Someone in the convenience store laughed out loud. The shop assistant finally looked slightly flustered, but covered it quickly and maintained her composure: “Ribbed or studded? Which brand?”

The man went on muttering at the counter.

Wei Qingyue listened in silence with a faint smile. He glanced at Jiang Du. The moment their eyes met, she looked away in a hurry — flustered — and said: “I also want some blueberries. Good for the eyes.”

At checkout, Wei Qingyue quite naturally picked up an item from the shelf, slipped it in alongside her fruit without a word, and set it all on the counter. The cashier couldn’t help glancing at Wei Qingyue, then at Jiang Du, and smiled a knowing smile.

Outside, Wei Qingyue shifted the bag to one hand and quite naturally reached to take her hand with the other. Jiang Du sidestepped him. Her wariness had surfaced. She hesitated and asked: “Have you read Tess of the d’Urbervilles?”

Wei Qingyue hadn’t. He answered honestly while pulling out his phone to search it — a quick skim of the summary, and then he smiled in quiet silence. After a moment he said: “What kind of person do you take me for?”

He thought it over briefly, looked at Jiang Du, and said: “Shall I take you home?”

Jiang Du watched him turn toward the parking garage, but she herself didn’t move.

Wei Qingyue looked back. Standing perfectly still, Jiang Du said: “I want to go up and see your home.”

“Not afraid I’ll take advantage of you?” Wei Qingyue said lightly. Jiang Du managed a weak smile, but her face had gone pale. He instantly regretted it deeply — thinking of her past, he felt he had made a truly terrible joke, and composing himself, he said: “I’m sorry. Don’t take it to heart.”

His hand took hers again. His palm was dry and firm. Jiang Du’s was slick with perspiration.

Inside the elevator, Wei Qingyue gave her a quiet smile.

His home was strikingly large — wide and bright. Jiang Du stood in the doorway, taken aback for a moment. Wei Qingyue found her a pair of women’s slippers. She looked down at them, then looked up — with a scrutinizing, guarded glance.

The slippers were brand new. No one had ever worn them.

“When I moved in, I bought everything in twos — one set for me, one set for you. I thought that someday, somehow, I might have the chance to bring you here. Better to be prepared.” Wei Qingyue explained this in an even tone, and Jiang Du was completely struck speechless. It was only upon seeing the price tag still attached to the slippers that something inside her finally let go completely.

She had been in love with him all this time, longing for him — but she wasn’t a senseless fool.

After washing her hands, Jiang Du had been about to use a paper napkin, but Wei Qingyue handed her a fresh towel instead.

“Come, let me show you our home.” He said our without thinking, and the ache in Jiang Du’s heart rose to an impossible speed.

“The master bedroom — see? Your dressing table.” Wei Qingyue touched his phone, and the curtains slowly parted.

Besides the bed and wardrobe, the master bedroom had a dressing table — prepared for Jiang Du. All these years, Wei Qingyue had remained convinced that Jiang Du would come to live in this apartment. During the renovation, he had asked Zhang Xiaoqiang’s advice, inquiring what a girl would need.

He guided Jiang Du to sit before the dressing table. The mirror reflected their figures, softly blurred. Wei Qingyue gave a mildly awkward cough: “The auntie probably hasn’t dusted this area, seeing as no one uses it. I’ll have a word with her.”

“Is this mine?” Jiang Du reached back and took hold of his hand resting on her shoulder. Wei Qingyue said simply: “Of course,” and then led her onward — through the open-plan kitchen, the bathroom, and finally to the study.

The study was especially large. A long, solid-wood desk stood at the very center. Bookshelves lined two entire walls.

In one corner stood a tall potted plant, its leaves a fresh, vivid green. Wei Qingyue, for all his dislike of tidying up, tended the study with exceptional care — he had not once forgotten to water the plant.

“This wall is for my books; this one is for yours. When I’ve earned a little more, we’ll look for a Japanese dry garden — a small courtyard. Not purely in that style, of course — it would incorporate those elements. Something like this,” Wei Qingyue began talking about plans for the future, gesturing with his hands and sketching things out for Jiang Du. “A principal landscape tree about here. Oh, let me show you the design concept I made — if you have any thoughts or ideas, we can talk through them.”

He pulled her to the living room, opened the computer, and dug out the rough sketches he had drawn. His face was alight with enthusiasm.

The sketches were somewhat rough, but the rendered design was clear and detailed. Wei Qingyue had spent a long time studying The Heart of Japanese Garden Design.

“Do you like it? If you don’t like the Japanese elements, we can change them. I was thinking that a Chinese-style garden takes too much space — not realistic. A home with a view should put you in a better mood — I hope I’m not wrong about that. You love nature, so we could plant a tree like the one in front of the Mei Middle School library?” Wei Qingyue asked her opinion earnestly, and then smiled warmly. “With me here too, it won’t be pitch-black and frightening for you.”

Jiang Du held his rough sketch in her hand. She hadn’t looked at it. She hadn’t looked at the screen. She only looked quietly at Wei Qingyue.

His eyes blazed with light. In all his plans, she had always been there.

Jiang Du couldn’t fathom what it was that sustained Wei Qingyue’s fervor through all this time — this ability to go through twelve years, day after day, year after year, carrying her as though she were right beside him, present in his life.

The corners of her eyes slowly brimmed with tears. Wei Qingyue had been explaining the thinking behind each design element, and when he looked up, he froze.

Jiang Du just looked at him. The tears fell freely, large drops rolling down one after another.

Dust floated in the air from the last time it had been swept — breathe in deeply, and it would all be drawn into the lungs, all that dust’s regret and trembling joy breathed straight to the bottom of her heart.

“Then let’s get married,” she said, sniffling, and finally said it before he did — stole the moment from him.

Wei Qingyue was still for a few seconds. The corners of his mouth moved first in a small, quiet tug, and then he laughed out loud — a laugh that kept going until it became a cough, and the coughing made his eyes grow damp and soft.

He said: “That’s something the man should say first. How did you end up competing with me for it? Foolish girl.”

That evening, Jiang Du stayed.

She called the elderly couple while Wei Qingyue watched, doing her best to sound calm: “I’m at Wei Qingyue’s place. I won’t be going home tonight.”

She hung up in a rush. Her ears were red. Her chest rose and fell.

Jiang Du rose from the sofa and walked to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window. Wei Qingyue’s gaze followed her the whole way.

She looked at the lights outside, and in the glass she could also see Wei Qingyue’s reflection walking toward her, one step at a time, drawing closer and closer.

Her breath slowly held. Jiang Du felt her very teeth beginning to tremble. The words were as though wrenched out of her by some force she couldn’t name:

“Wei Qingyue — when exactly do you plan to sell yourself?”

The night was deep, deepening moment by moment, inch by inch.

The figure behind her came to a stop. His answer was as direct as he had always been, in everything he did:

“Tonight.”

And of course, the man did not forget to add:

“If Miss Ghostwriter is willing.”