On the eastern side of City A stood a residential complex covering two hundred mu of land. Within it lay gardens with pavilions, little arched bridges over flowing water, artificial hills and ponds — all built with such refined elegance that stepping inside felt almost like crossing through time back to ancient days. And yet, in this vast complex, there stood only a single residential building at its center, eight stories tall. From a distance it appeared to be one structure, but up close it revealed itself to be eight towers, each oriented to one of the eight cardinal and intercardinal directions, all joined together as one. The complex was named Donghuang Tower, and just like that unusual eight-sided building, its residents were people that ordinary citizens of City A found remarkable — or mysterious. Not that remarkable or mysterious made them anything other than human. And humans can never escape the everyday things of life: firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, tea. Their days were perfectly ordinary — work, eat, sleep, play, and… celebrate holidays.

Part 1: Christmas

This imported holiday had become quite popular in the country, and so the residents of Donghuang Tower went along with the trend and celebrated it too.

One of the seventh-floor residents, Feng Xiyun — the swordswoman Feng — extended a jade foot and nudged her husband Feng Lanxi — the gentleman Feng — who was reclining against the sofa.

“This Western holiday is basically our Spring Festival, so we should take it seriously and celebrate properly.”

Gentleman Feng had one hand propping his chin, eyes on the Financial News on television. The global financial crisis — a world of turbulent markets, exactly the sort of muddied water he liked to fish in. He arched one long brow and gave his wife a sideways glance.

“How would you like to celebrate?”

Swordswoman Feng’s eyes darted around, and she said with a cheerful smile: “I hear you’ve gone and stolen another business deal out from under Huang Chao’s nose this time — must have made quite a profit. Our neighbor Jiuwei has opened a restaurant called Jiuluo Mountain Villa, and neighbors should support each other. We could go patronize his establishment. Besides, Jiuwei’s cooking is…” She swallowed. “…and with his face and figure, you could truly call it a feast for the eyes and the stomach. We go out for a meal, and that’s one trip with double the pleasure!”

Gentleman Feng’s eyes flickered. He picked up the tea from the side table and drank it slowly. When he finished, he said with complete unconcern: “The food at Jiuluo Mountain Villa is good, but it’s cold out and I don’t want to move. You go by yourself. Qiao Jin went on a business trip to Suzhou and brought back a bottle of plum wine — I’ll just throw together a plum wine braised beef brisket and call it celebrating.”

Swordswoman Feng, upon hearing that a person who cooked perhaps once a year was going to cook, immediately shoved the lovely and appetizing Jiuwei aside and became the very picture of a warm and dutiful wife, pulling Gentleman Feng up from the sofa.

“What are you saying — we’re husband and wife, how can I go off and enjoy myself while you spend the holiday alone? Come on, go cook. I’m not going out. I’ll stay here with you and make do with a plum wine braised beef brisket. Spouses are supposed to share the good and the bad, aren’t they?”

“Oh?” Gentleman Feng’s long eyes curved upward very slightly at the corners. “And you don’t mind missing the feast for the eyes at Jiuluo Mountain Villa?”

“Ha ha, that was a joke, a joke!” Swordswoman Feng reached up and patted Gentleman Feng’s face — smooth as fine jade — her expression overflowing with deep affection. “When it comes to a feast for the eyes — who in all the world can compare to our own gentleman Feng?”

“Oh?” In Gentleman Feng’s ink-black eyes, something gleamed, neither bright nor dark.

Swordswoman Feng immediately caught on and declared without hesitation: “Of course! Not even the diplomatic genius Yu Wuyuan, who reportedly silenced the entire United Nations with one remark, can match your bearing!”

“Hmm.” Gentleman Feng nodded with composure, rose, and headed toward the kitchen. “With two people, shall I add a jade-jade fragrant waist as well?”

“Yes! Yes!” Swordswoman Feng helpfully ran to fetch the apron and tied it around him herself. “Don’t get your clothes dirty — that Armani wool sweater looks better on you than it does on the model. What about adding a tomato sea bass fillet too?”

“Yes.” Gentleman Feng accepted the service with quiet satisfaction, and smoothed the snow-white apron. “Add a Xishi tofu broth and that should be plenty.”

“Yes, yes!” Swordswoman Feng beamed.

Bang! A tremendous crash suddenly came from downstairs, rattling both their hearts in their chests.

“Ming Huayan! You dare burn my microwave! I’ll poison you to death!” An enraged roar from below reverberated through the entire complex.

“Young people really do have strong lungs,” Swordswoman Feng shook her head with a sigh.

She looked at Gentleman Feng before her — the picture of composed elegance even with a cartoon-print apron — and felt a deep and abundant sense of satisfaction. Their own here was a man who could grace any formal reception and run any kitchen, equally accomplished in the public and domestic spheres. Compared to the flashy-on-the-outside-empty-on-the-inside Young Master Ming downstairs… ha ha ha ha!

Lan Canyin and Ming Huayan were among the sixth-floor residents, both high achievers at Lanyin High School. The two came from illustrious families, blessed with both talent and looks, and their relationship was somewhere between rivals and friends — each had a massive following of devoted admirers.

Lan Canyin was a girl who always wore the male school uniform and habitually referred to herself as “this young master.” In family ranking she was the seventh, so people called her “Lan the Seventh Young Master.” Her longtime rival Ming Huayan ranked second in his family, and classmates had bestowed on him the equally matched title of “Young Master Ming the Second.” Given their each uniquely distinctive qualities, their fans had given them each a private nickname: Young Master Ming the Second was called “Banished Immortal,” and Lan the Seventh Young Master was called “Jade Demon.”

Being Christmas, the school had its own activities — but as prominent figures on campus, the two of them were invariably mobbed by fans at any school event. Three years of high school had given them both enough battle scars to know better, so on this day they both stayed home and refused to go out.

In the afternoon, however, their phones began ringing in turns, and they each made several trips downstairs, returning each time with arms piled full of gifts — wool sweaters, scarves, gloves, plush toys, lovingly made bento boxes, pastries, sweets — the full assortment.

“Bring yours over and compare! Let’s see who got more!” Lan the Seventh stood at her door and jutted her chin at Young Master Ming the Second. Young Master Ming naturally had nothing to fear, and carried his gifts over to her apartment. In the living room, both their piles of gifts were heaped side by side, and it seemed impossible to determine a winner. Each glanced at the other’s pile and said, not without a note of sourness: “Not bad — quite impressive.”

By evening, the gift-givers had all gone off to parties or dates. The two gift-recipients stretched out in the living room watching unentertaining television. When the fireworks started outside, they moved to the floor-to-ceiling window to watch the brilliant blossoms bursting in the sky.

“The ones that pass in an instant are always the most beautiful,” Lan the Seventh said with a sigh, and sat down right there on the floor before the window.

Young Master Ming also sat down by the window. “Stop being mournful. Isn’t there a saying — the instant is the eternal?”

They sat back to back, separated by exactly a foot.

After a moment, Lan the Seventh bumped her back against Young Master Ming’s.

“Why didn’t you go home for the holiday?”

When their backs touched, both felt a brief warmth.

Young Master Ming was silent for a moment before replying: “We each spend the Spring Festival separately. This foreign holiday even less so.”

He paused, then asked: “And you?”

Lan the Seventh only gave a hmph and didn’t answer. But given how similar their backgrounds were, both understood without needing words — so neither pressed further.

The two sat quietly, heads turned to the window. Fireworks continued to burst at intervals. The neon lights blazed with all their gorgeous seven-colored splendor, radiant and festive and alive.

At some point their backs had come to rest against each other. A warmth transferred through the contact, slowly seeping into the chest and lungs. They stayed that way. When their necks grew tired from leaning sideways, they tilted their heads back and rested them on each other’s shoulders. The posture was something like two birds roosting together, heads touching.

Neither could have said how long they had been sitting there before Lan the Seventh tapped Young Master Ming on the shoulder with her head.

“Hungry.”

“Go out to eat?” Young Master Ming asked.

“Sea of people out there,” Lan the Seventh said.

“Then you cook,” Young Master Ming said.

“Don’t feel like moving,” Lan the Seventh answered.

Both turned and looked at the heap of gifts in the living room.

“Go pick a few things and heat them up.” Lan the Seventh gave Young Master Ming a push.

Young Master Ming got up, selected a few bags from his own pile, then without ceremony grabbed a few packets from Lan the Seventh’s pile too, and carried everything to the kitchen. He set things on the counter, and a paper bag rolled open to reveal two boiled eggs — each with a Q-version cartoon of the male-uniformed Seventh Young Master drawn on it, complete with that sly and rakish expression rendered with startling accuracy.

Young Master Ming decided he would eat both these eggs, so he put them in the microwave. He looked at the microwave’s large cavity containing only two eggs and felt it was something of a waste, so he picked up another paper bag — a few pieces of golden-fried chicken wings — and put that in too, paper bag and all. It was a cold day, he reasoned, and hot food was best, so he set the timer to 10.

Rather than stand there waiting, he may as well brew some coffee. Young Master Ming’s domestic and culinary skills were essentially nonexistent, but his coffee-making was at an entirely different level of mastery. He pictured the two of them sitting together with hot food and rich, aromatic coffee, watching the fireworks outside — festive and atmospheric. Atmospheric… He thought about the person in the living room, and something about using that word in connection with the two of them put a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. He decided to brew the cappuccino she liked.

The tsz tsz tsz came first, and then the bang! — an explosion that left Young Master Ming so stunned he stood there for a long moment without reacting at all.

Lan the Seventh heard it from the living room and shot into the kitchen.

“Ming Huayan! You dare burn my microwave! I’ll poison you to death!”

Even as she roared, she had already cut the power, opened the microwave, smothered the flame, and disposed of the remnants in the bin — all in one unbroken sequence of motion.

“How did it catch fire?” Young Master Ming was genuinely confused. “Was the microwave defective?”

Lan the Seventh spun around, grinding her sharp teeth.

“You didn’t know eggs in their shells will explode when you microwave them?! You didn’t know fried foods will catch fire when heated to high temperatures?!”

“I didn’t know,” Young Master Ming answered cleanly. “You never told me.”

“I never told you — I never told you!” The Seventh Young Master erupted like a volcano, stabbing a finger at Young Master Ming the Second’s forehead. “This is common sense! You moron! What kind of honor student! What kind of top ranking! What kind of once-in-fifty-years all-around genius! Complete waste!”

Ring ring ring! Ring ring ring! The phone in the living room intervened to save Young Master Ming. It was a call from the Huang Chao couple upstairs, inviting them to come up and celebrate Christmas together.

When Lan the Seventh hung up, her fury had already turned to smiles.

“Celebrating Christmas at their place — there’ll definitely be shark’s fin! And abalone!”

The marriage of Huang Chao and Hua Chunran had long been a celebrated love story in the area, spoken of as a match made by heaven. On this day, the two had enjoyed a five-star Christmas dinner at Jiuluo Mountain Villa in a private dining room, during which they exchanged gifts. Huang Chao gave Hua Chunran a Cartier necklace — diamond-bright under the lights, outshining the stars. Hua Chunran gave Huang Chao a white jade and gold-amber tie clip, which when fastened to his tie made those amber-gold eyes of his shine all the more brilliantly. When they exchanged gifts they each offered a kiss, and throughout the meal they served each other food and toasted each other with wine, their tenderness eliciting quiet admiration from the restaurant staff. Truly a handsome man and a beautiful woman — a perfect pair.

After dinner they drove home, and returning to the spacious, quiet apartment after all the lights and noise felt a little cold and empty. The long night still lay ahead.

“Let’s call all the neighbors over and celebrate together,” Hua Chunran suggested.

“Good idea.” Huang Chao nodded. “Huang Yu brought over a few crates of chicken wings recently — what if we do a barbecue party? Everyone can do their own, that would be more fun.” So the couple called a housekeeping company to help with the setup, and once everything was ready, each called their neighbors in turn.

Chinese people clearly still don’t take this foreign holiday all that seriously — most people were free at home, and when called, agreed at once. First to arrive were Huang Yu and Qiu Jiushuang, who went straight to Huang Chao’s study upon entering, saying they’d play some games first and could be called when everyone had gathered. Next came Lan the Seventh and Young Master Ming the Second. The moment Lan the Seventh came through the door she announced: “Starving! Is there food?” and headed straight for the long table spread with snacks. Young Master Ming behind her smiled with gracious apology: “Our microwave broke at home and we haven’t had dinner.” Hua Chunran responded with an understanding smile. “There are quite a few snacks and juices over there — have something to tide you over, and we can do the barbecue once everyone’s here.” Young Master Ming walked with unhurried composure toward the table.

The doorbell rang again — this time it was Feng Xiyun and Feng Lanxi.

“Chunran, I haven’t seen you for a few days, and you look more radiant by the hour!” Feng Xiyun greeted Hua Chunran with a big hug.

“And you look in wonderful spirits.” Hua Chunran laughed and returned the embrace.

“Welcome — make yourselves at home.” Huang Chao and Feng Lanxi exchanged a nod and a handshake. The two were professional rivals — fighting over contracts, clients, resources, employees — regularly locked in fierce competition. But that didn’t stop them from sitting down together after hours over a cup of tea for a quiet chat.

The door had barely closed before the bell rang again. This time it was the music world’s reigning queen, Miss Feng Qiwu, who exchanged brief greetings with the Feng couple and then found herself a sofa to close her eyes and rest on. In her early career, she had received the support of Feng Lanxi, and gratitude had grown into affection — but even though Feng Lanxi was unmarried at the time, his heart had always held Feng Xiyun, and their bond went back to their middle school days. Feng Qiwu’s feelings, deep as they were, could not compete with that — and so she gracefully stepped aside and became a friend. Over the years she had risen to the very peak of her field, and she and the Feng couple had become close confidants. Whenever Feng Lanxi’s company held any kind of event, one call was all it took, and she would show up.

Next to arrive were Xiao Xue Kong and Jun Pinyu. Jun Pinyu was already some months pregnant, so upon entering, Xiao Xue Kong guided his wife to the largest and most comfortable sofa, fetched her juice and brought her fruit, thoroughly embodying the ideal devoted husband.

Ding dong — the bell again. This time it was Han Pu, who had been taken in by Feng Xiyun at the age of ten and was now a handsome and tall first-year high school student. The moment he came in he made straight for Feng Xiyun. “Sister, I’ve missed you so much — you never come to see me.”

“Pu’er, you’ve grown taller again.” Feng Xiyun reached up to pat Han Pu on the head. She was fond of this boy like a younger brother.

Before the door closed, two more young men entered — Yuwen Luo and Ning Lang. Yuwen Luo immediately took a seat beside Feng Qiwu, ready to mine for entertainment industry gossip, while Ning Lang’s eyes went naturally to Lan the Seventh, and his feet followed his eyes over.

Shortly after came Feng Chenxue, followed, not unexpectedly, by the Qiu brothers — Qiu Yiting and Qiu Yiyao.

The room now held several beauties: Lan the Seventh’s beauty was bewitching and strange — it made people’s hearts race with equal parts fascination and fright. Feng Xiyun’s beauty was breezy and striking — it was a pleasure to look at and full of delightful surprises. Hua Chunran’s beauty was magnificent and stately — it left people wide-eyed with admiration. Feng Qiwu’s beauty was dazzling but carried a cool distance — it made people want to draw near and yet feel unable to. And Feng Chenxue’s beauty was clear to its utmost and still to its utmost — the moment your eyes landed on her, your heart and spirit grew calm.

The Golden Lion Award winning actor Yan Yunsun, upon meeting her, had once said something that some people found unbearably sappy and others found perfectly apt: Looking at her, I had my soul washed clean.

The moment Feng Chenxue came through the door, Feng Xiyun spotted her and waved. “Chenxue — come over here!” Feng Chenxue gave her a quiet smile, then cast her eyes briefly over the self-contented Feng Lanxi and the scowling Han Pu beside her, decided to keep well clear of that particular volcano, and went to settle in a single armchair near the balcony. The Qiu brothers each took a place on either armrest beside her — one bringing her juice, the other bringing snacks, the three of them left and right. Feng Chenxue and Qiu Yiting exchanged words in low, familiar tones from time to time. With Qiu Yiyao she barely spoke, but now and again she and Qiu Yiyao would look at each other and share a small smile — a perfect illustration of the kind of understanding that needs no words.

The three were childhood friends and second-year university students at Tianshuang University. Huang Chao had already approached the Qiu brothers several times with the intention of recruiting them to his Huangshi Group, while Feng Chenxue was the brand ambassador for Feng Xiyun’s travel company. Both Feng women loved travel, had met on a journey, and Feng Xiyun had asked her to film a commercial for the company. Feng Chenxue’s background was complicated — she had long wanted to break free from her family and be self-sufficient, and so she had agreed readily. The commercial had brought her very considerable income and enormous returns for Feng Xiyun’s company, and the partnership was very satisfying to both sides. It had already been settled that Feng Chenxue would come to work at Fengxing Travel after graduation.

More guests continued to arrive — Yan Yingzhou, owner of the gym acclaimed as Donghuang Tower’s most masculine resident, the fine-featured and shy model Xiu Jiurong, the ballet rising star Bai Langhua, known as “the princess”…

Huang Chao looked around at the full room of guests and had the distinct sense that something was missing. He looked left, then right… ah, of course! He quickly pulled out his phone.

“Hello, Wuyuan — where are you? Still in Switzerland? What, you’re back? Come over then, we’re having a barbecue gathering. Nothing special — just the neighbors, you know everyone. Good.”

Before long, the diplomat Yu Wuyuan arrived.

“Wuyuan, you’re back! I just saw you on television this morning!” Feng Xiyun was delighted to see him and came forward to greet him.

“Got in this afternoon. How have you been lately?” Yu Wuyuan embraced her warmly.

“Same as always. It’s you who’s always flying everywhere — take care of yourself.” After the hug, Feng Xiyun’s hand still rested on Yu Wuyuan’s arm.

“Welcome back.” Feng Lanxi extended a hand to shake Yu Wuyuan’s — smoothly inserting himself between Feng Xiyun and Yu Wuyuan in the process. Back in her younger years, Feng Xiyun had admired her senior classmate Yu Wuyuan enormously, and that admiration had not diminished over more than a decade. Gentleman Feng had never shown a trace of it on the surface — but whether he had ever privately knocked over any jar of vinegar, only he and those with sharp eyes could say.

Seeing that everyone had more or less arrived, Huang Chao raised a hand and declared: “The self-serve barbecue feast begins!”

Everyone moved to the center of the living room, where the housekeeping staff had already laid fireproof mats, set up the barbecue racks, and laid out the ingredients and seasonings. As Jiuwei was too busy at Jiuluo Mountain Villa that day to come in person, Feng Lanxi effortlessly claimed first place at the barbecue in his absence — quickly producing two perfectly cooked chicken wings, which he handed to Feng Xiyun beside him, who had been waiting eagerly.

“Smells amazing!” Feng Xiyun took them at once, stuffed one into her mouth, and passed the other to Yu Wuyuan beside her. “Wuyuan, this one’s for you.”

The diplomatic gentleman accepted it with a smile.

Gentleman Feng showed not the slightest displeasure. He continued grilling with his customary composure, and when the third wing was done, passed it to Feng Qiwu across from him.

Feng Xiyun appeared not to have noticed. She chewed vigorously on her chicken wing bone.

Han Pu, however, had noticed. He quickly turned the two wings he had been grilling and handed one to Feng Xiyun. “Sister — a matched pair, one for each of us.”

“Good — Pu’er is the best.” Feng Xiyun accepted it and gave Han Pu a pat on the head.

“Sister, I have my ID card now. I’m officially an adult.” Han Pu’s bright eyes looked at her, full of unspoken subtext.

Unfortunately, Feng Xiyun had already bent her head over her chicken wing and wasn’t paying attention.

The Qiu brothers each grilled a wing and handed both to Feng Chenxue. She thanked them and accepted both. Then the two brothers went back to grilling.

“Yiyao — for you.”

“Big brother — for you.”

Both brothers held out a wing to the other, each accepted with a smile, and the harmony between them prompted Huang Yu to look meaningfully at Huang Chao several times.

Huang Chao had a chicken wing in hand. Uncooked.

Hua Chunran also had a chicken wing in hand. Also uncooked.

Both had their eyes on Yan Yingzhou, who was grilling four wings simultaneously, and the moment all four showed beautiful golden color and began to fill the air with fragrance, both reached out at the exact same time.

“Yingzhou — let me take those for you.” One hand swept up Yan Yingzhou’s freshly cooked wings, the other delivered a raw wing into his hands.

Coach Yan only smiled, released his grip, and accepted the raw wings.

Lan the Seventh still had a piece of cake in hand. Both Ning Lang and Young Master Ming the Second had each grilled a wing and extended them to her at the same moment — except Ning Lang’s was golden and fragrant, while Young Master Ming’s was burnt black on one side and still raw on the other.

Naturally, Lan the Seventh took Ning Lang’s.

Young Master Ming put his wing back on the rack without any visible change of expression and grilled the raw side until it was equally burnt.

Feng Xiyun, watching from across the rack, helpfully pointed out: “Eating burnt things causes cancer.”

Young Master Ming paused, looked up, and gave Feng Xiyun a gracious and refined smile.

“Good thing you don’t even know how to grill a chicken wing,” Feng Xiyun said, studying Young Master Ming’s smiling face. “Otherwise I’d have to wonder if you were this fellow’s unacknowledged son from outside.” She cast a sideways look at Feng Lanxi. “The smile is too similar.”

Hua Chunran, upon hearing this, turned to look at Young Master Ming, then at Feng Lanxi, and said: “I don’t think so. Actually, his manner and bearing look more like Wuyuan to me.”

“I agree — Young Master Ming the Second’s quality and bearing are closer to Wuyuan,” Feng Qiwu sitting nearby concurred.

“Not at all.” Huang Chao disagreed. He had admired this senior since their school days, and had received considerable support from Yu Wuyuan during his early business years, so he regarded him with reverence akin to a mentor and friend — and naturally defended him to the end. “He’s not within a hundred times of Wuyuan.”

Young Master Ming the Second’s smile had become somewhat strained.

“A good thing he’s not similar,” Lan the Seventh beside him said. “If he actually were, he’d hardly be human anymore.” She took the blackened wing from Young Master Ming’s hand and set it aside, then handed him her own perfectly golden and fragrant one. “Eat this instead.” And then Young Master Ming turned his head and gave Lan the Seventh a quiet, sideways smile.

Throughout everything, Diplomatic Official Yu had simply stood to one side — smiling, magnanimous, savoring a glass of red wine alongside a chicken wing.

Jun Pinyu, watching Young Master Ming’s sideways smile, could not help but admire: “That smile is truly worthy of a painting.”

Qiu Jiushuang, overhearing this, said: “Pinyu, if we’re talking about worthy of a painting, the person right beside you is genuinely brow-and-eye perfection. You ought to look at him more — I guarantee you’ll give birth to a stunning beauty.” She put extra emphasis on beauty.

Xiao Xue Kong, overhearing, quickly pulled his wife away from that direction. “Don’t look over there — we’d be in real trouble if the baby came out a mannish brute.”

Qiu Jiushuang was furious. “Huang Yu — turn up the heat over here! I don’t believe we can’t thaw out the snowman!”

Huang Yu looked left — clothes. Looked right — flesh and blood. Assessed the situation. In cold weather, clothes were more important. He handed his half-eaten wing to his wife. “Don’t look over there. We don’t want a white-haired tyrant running around in future.”

“Hahaha!” Feng Xiyun laughed, watching Xiao Xue Kong’s eyes gradually turning blue. “Xue Kong, come over to my side — I wouldn’t mind a silver-haired blue-eyed beauty.”

“I would mind,” came Feng Lanxi’s cool and quiet voice beside her ear.

“Heh heh…” Feng Xiyun gave a dry laugh. “Wuyuan, I was so interested in your remarks at the United Nations last time — come, come, let’s talk.” She jumped up, grabbed Yu Wuyuan, and steered him away to a corner to chat.

“So much material,” remarked Yuwen Luo, who had long since trained himself to see and hear everything at once. He ate the wing Ning Lang had grilled, chatted with the ballet star Bai Langhua beside him, and all the while his hands were busy — one holding a wing, the other scribbling rapidly in a small notebook.

Ning Lang quietly continued to grill, his eyes drifting regularly toward Lan the Seventh. The moment her hands were empty, he passed her his freshly finished wing. After she had eaten four or five, he worried she might be thirsty and rose to pour her some juice.

The juice arrived — but Young Master Ming the Second reached out and intercepted the glass. “Thirsty. I’ll drink this first and refill it for you.” He finished it in one go and did indeed get up and pour another glass of Lan the Seventh’s favorite orange juice. Perhaps Young Master Ming the Second had been practicing economy lately, as he didn’t think to use a fresh glass.

Ning Lang said nothing quietly, and continued to grill quietly — until Lan the Seventh, without warning, held a chicken wing up to his mouth. “You haven’t had a chance to eat. Here — quickly.”

And so the two-handed Ning Lang, face going red, bit into the wing held to his mouth, and found it crispy and fragrant beyond measure.

Young Master Ming the Second, right beside him, stared straight ahead with intense concentration on the chicken wing in his hand, which was beginning to smoke.

“Jiurong, look — he blushes just like you do,” Bai Langhua murmured to Xiu Jiurong, eyeing Ning Lang’s red face.

This remark immediately caused Xiu Jiurong’s jade-like face to flush as pink as peach blossoms in March. “I… I am going to go talk to Director Feng about the event the day after tomorrow.” And he walked off in the direction of Feng Xiyun, whereupon everyone present witnessed the pink-faced Master Xiu gazing up at CEO Feng Xiyun with a look of devoted admiration as he listened to her speak.

Ding ling ling! The doorbell rang again. Yu Wuyuan, being nearest to the door, went to open it.

“Hello everybody — Merry Christmas!” The newcomer was tall and handsome, with a pair of peachy eyes that rivaled Huang Yu’s — movie megastar Yan Yunsun, who had finally managed to slip away from a string of other parties.

“Come in, come in — we’re about to eat all the chicken wings!” Huang Yu, who had always been on good terms with Yan Yunsun, immediately called out.

“No rush — let me say hello to the beauties first.” Yan Yunsun strolled up to Feng Xiyun with impeccable style. “Your Majesty the Queen — your humble subject is honored to see you again.” Feng Xiyun had, ten years ago, made a film for fun called Let’s Try the World Together, in which she played a queen. The young Yan Yunsun had still been a background extra at the time — one soldier among her ten thousand cavalry.

“Yunsun — I watched your film last night. Your co-stars were the two great beauties Qiu Hengbo and Hua Fushū — you are quite blessed,” Feng Xiyun said with an amused smile.

“That was purely professional. My devotion to Your Majesty the Queen remains constant as the sun and moon.” He bent forward and lifted her hand for a kiss — only to find himself kissing a chicken wing. He looked up, directly into Gentleman Feng’s face, composed and smiling pleasantly. “Just off the grill, fresh and hot.” And then Gentleman Feng put an arm around Feng Xiyun’s waist. “Shall we dance?”

Soft romantic music had already begun — Yu Wuyuan had put it on when he answered the door.

“Let’s dance too.” Bai Langhua pulled Xiu Jiurong to his feet.

Yan Yunsun held his chicken wing and continued, still perfectly at ease, to make his rounds. “Chunran — Merry Christmas.” He successfully executed a cheek kiss with Hua Chunran while Huang Chao happened to be in deep conversation with Yu Wuyuan about the financial crisis’s impact on his company.

“Qiwu — Merry Christmas.” He got his hands on the cool beauty Feng Qiwu’s slender fingers.

“Seventh Young Master — looking as magnificent as ever. We should go out drinking together sometime.” He extended his arms for a hug — at which point Young Master Ming the Second gave a casual sideways glance, and the great movie star immediately switched from a hug to a companionable shoulder-slap.

“Pinyu — you are the world’s most beautiful doctor and the world’s most beautiful expectant mother.”

“Jiushuang — you remain as gloriously spirited as ever. If all police officers were like you, I imagine far more criminals would voluntarily walk themselves into the station.”

Having made his rounds, Yan Yunsun finally came to stand before Feng Chenxue. He dropped to one knee, one hand over his heart, in full European court fashion. “My princess — may I have this dance?”

The last word had barely landed when the music ended entirely. Silence fell, and everyone in the room stood holding their chicken wings, looking at the half-kneeling movie star.

“Hahaha!” Laughter rang out, the music started again — this time Yesterday Once More — and the living room went quiet. Against the music’s faint undertone of melancholy, the eyes of Feng Xiyun and Yu Wuyuan met briefly across the room, and then they each smiled and looked away.

No one danced. Everyone simply listened to the song in quiet stillness. Gazes met and separated in the air. A subtle feeling drifted through the atmosphere — something between sweet and sour.

In the distance, a bell rang out. Christmas Eve had passed.

Part 2: New Year’s Day

Time passes, as they say, like a rushing stream — blink and a stretch of it is gone.

Here is a direct broadcast of the Donghuang Tower residents’ New Year’s Day.

The Busy People:

1. Room 702: Diplomat Yu Wuyuan. For the past five days, the diplomatic official had been attending a certain lengthy and unproductive international environmental conference in a certain country. New Year’s Day was the conference’s closing day. The afternoon session ended at two o’clock, and as the media poured in, the diplomatically graceful Yu Wuyuan — standing head and shoulders above the surrounding bald-headed, round-waisted statesmen from various nations — was immediately surrounded by reporters the moment he stepped out the door, with female reporters especially close and numerous. After the media storm, one journalist asked about his New Year’s wish. The diplomatic official, who had not had a proper rest in several days, offered a smile — tired, but still gracious and warm.

“May the world have peace.”

2. Room 301: Ballet dancer Bai Langhua. As a rising ballet star, Bai Langhua was performing The Red Detachment of Women at the Great Hall of the People for the Party leadership today. When media interviewers asked about her New Year’s wish after the performance, the young miss smiled with a dreamy, sweet glow.

“I hope Jiurong will propose to me in the new year.”

Having said it, she happened to glance sideways, and caught sight of a tall, upright, strikingly handsome man making his way through the surrounded media cluster as effortlessly as Moses parting the sea. It was her dance partner from the performance — Dong Tao Ye.

3. Room 302: Model Xiu Jiurong. On New Year’s Day, Xiu Jiurong was attending a major fashion gala. On the red carpet, a cream-white suit set off his fine and beautiful bearing, sending his fans into raptures. When an entertainment journalist came forward for an interview and asked his New Year’s wish, Xiu Jiurong turned a faint pink and revealed the signature bashful smile that the public knew so well.

“I hope the promotional commercial I shot for Director Feng’s travel company will meet her expectations.”

4. Room 701: Huangshi CEO Huang Chao and Hua Chunran. On New Year’s Day, the Huang Chao couple attended their company’s New Year dinner, which was attended by the company’s various middle and senior management as well as the management of various partner companies. Midway through the dinner, Huang Chao brought his wife Hua Chunran up to the podium to give remarks. When the host asked the CEO what his New Year’s wish was, Huang Chao thought for a moment, then said with great solemnity:

“To have a baby.”

Hua Chunran, upon hearing this, took the microphone and smiled, bright as a blossoming flower.

“Then your New Year’s wish has already been granted.”

She raised her hand and lightly touched her abdomen. The host immediately understood, and hurried to offer congratulations, then asked:

“CEO Huang, your wife has given you your New Year’s wish — will you give her one in return?”

The CEO, overcome with happiness, stared at his wife’s still-flat stomach in a blank daze, and after a long moment said:

“I will work hard to earn milk powder money.”

The hall erupted in laughter, and the dinner reached its liveliest peak.

5. Room 401: Movie megastar Yan Yunsun. On New Year’s Day, Yan Yunsun attended the premiere of his blockbuster film Starlight, arriving as the last and most anticipated guest, in a black suit and white tie, his handsome, tall figure igniting the energy of the entire venue the moment he stepped out. On the red carpet, the host asked about his New Year’s wish, and he assumed an air of brooding depth tinged with melancholy.

“I hope the girl I like in the new year won’t already belong to someone else.”

Fans screamed. Countless voices cried out: “I’m still single! I’m still single!”

Meanwhile, the charming movie star had already quietly turned to ask the pretty host for her phone number.

6. Room 402: Police officers Huang Yu and Qiu Jiushuang. Both were on duty on New Year’s Day — she in the west of the city, he in the east, each leading their team on patrol. They passed countless shops with good-looking waitstaff standing at the doors calling out “Happy New Year!” to passersby. Someone from the squad started talking about what the new year should bring, and soon everyone was sharing their New Year’s wishes, until naturally it came around to what their respective leaders wanted.

In the western district, Huang Yu’s answer: “I hope my elder brother will give me an extra thousand yuan in pocket money each month.” His police salary was simply never enough for online gaming.

In the eastern district, Qiu Jiushuang’s answer: “I hope the Empress will have four or five children.” That way Huangshi would have plenty of heirs, and she wouldn’t need to have any.

The Idle People:

1. Room 703: The Feng couple. Perhaps because the Year of the Tiger was coming, the sky had decided the tiger’s thick coat would see it sleeping too long and had made the temperature colder than usual as a precaution — the tiger did arrive early, but it also drove some people southward in search of warmth, the Feng couple among them. They took a top-floor suite at a five-star resort in Sanya and stayed for half a month.

On New Year’s Eve, after enjoying the hotel’s New Year feast, the Feng couple settled together on the large sofa before the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the dazzling fireworks blooming outside. In the room, soft and gentle music played. They savored fragrant, mildly sweet red wine. Everything was warm and peaceful.

“Let’s have a little tiger,” Feng Lanxi said suddenly. Since New Year’s Day, when he had received Huang Chao’s exuberant, barely-concealed boasting phone call, Gentleman Feng had been strategizing — he absolutely could not fall behind his old rival in the race to have a son.

“But I want to have a flying dragon,” Feng Xiyun said, nestled against her husband’s chest, half drifting into sleep — though even in her haze, her surviving reason felt that a dragon was more impressive than a tiger.

“Then let’s each do our best.” Gentleman Feng turned over and pulled his wife down with him onto the sofa, which was easily the size of a bed.

As for the Year of the Tiger — exactly how many little tigers would arrive, the Buddha says: not to be spoken of.

2. Room 601: Ming Huayan and Lan Canyin. New Year’s Eve, the two each went home to their respective families. Both the Ming and the Lan families were four-generation households, and on the holiday Chinese people hold most sacred, family members from near and far — from the city and the countryside, from inside and outside the country — all converged on the family home. Generally speaking, both households were very lively.

As the direct heir of the Ming family, Young Master Ming the Second was naturally the center of everyone’s attention — his health, his studies, his classmates, his social life — all were carefully inquired after. And Young Master Ming’s manner throughout was gracious and impeccable, his bearing elegant, radiating such splendid quality that the elders were filled with satisfaction and his peers with admiration. Only occasionally, in the midst of the surrounding crowd, would Young Master Ming the Second’s attention wander briefly — wondering how that particular little demon was spending the day.

As for the Lan family, the number of people was no less than at the Ming family’s, but unlike the Mings crowded together in one grand living room doting upon their precious one, as soon as the New Year feast was finished at the Lan family home, everyone dispersed to their own rooms — the elderly watching the Spring Festival Gala, the middle generation playing mahjong, and the young either online or gaming, each occupying a different room.

Lan the Seventh was alone, leaning on the balcony outside the main living room. It was very cold outside, but she didn’t feel like going in. The glances and the whispered conversations inside were more uncomfortable than the freezing air.

Wrapped in a thick padded coat, she looked out at fireworks blooming in the distance from some unknown source. The sound of firecrackers was all around her. She couldn’t quite figure out why she had come back. Perhaps it was that small, stubborn, unextinguishable thread of hope — thinking that it would be good to see her brother at least once a year. But Fengy had, in the end, stayed in that cold and gloomy England.

Beep beep beep. Her phone rang. She pulled it out, and the moment she read the caller ID, a curve appeared at the corner of her mouth despite herself.

“Fake immortal.”

In the sub-zero outdoors, seemingly, or perhaps actually, a breath of spring wind had somehow blown through — which must have been why Lan the Seventh had that soft, faint smile on her face.

“Let’s keep living in the same building in the Year of the Tiger.”

Part 3: Birthday

To borrow a popular saying again: Life, you see, is just water rushing by — blink and a good stretch of it has passed.

In August, Huang Chao became a father. He got a robust, tiger-faced, chubby little boy, and the CEO grinned so wide his smile nearly reached his ears. He cradled his son with great care and kept expressing his gratitude to his beloved wife.

“Chunran — thank you for working so hard.”

“He’s mine too, you know — why are you thanking me?” Hua Chunran smiled, watching her overjoyed husband and the baby in his arms. Every bit of exhaustion and ache in her body dissolved in this moment.

“Right, right — he’s both of ours, both of us worked hard together. We’ve both done so much.”

“And what did you do that was so hard? You didn’t have to carry around a belly the size of a small mountain.” Hua Chunran playfully scolded him.

“All right, so you did more of the work and I did less…” the CEO rambled on.

“Pfft—!” Laughter came from the doorway. Both turned — it was Feng Xiyun, rounded with pregnancy in a loose maternity dress, smiling and watching them with amusement. Beside her stood a Feng Lanxi in a state of elevated anxiety.

“You’re here! Come in, come in.” Hua Chunran immediately welcomed the guests.

“Ran over the moment we got Huang Yu’s announcement call — had to come see the great hero of the day.” Feng Xiyun went over and took Hua Chunran’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. But you’re the one carrying such a big belly — you didn’t need to make the trip.” Hua Chunran pulled Feng Xiyun down to sit on the bed. “You’re close too, aren’t you?”

“Due date is any day now.” Feng Xiyun smiled. “My pregnancy symptoms were nothing like yours — compared to the decades-heavy pack I used to carry on field survival training, this really is nothing.”

“You really do take everything so lightly,” Hua Chunran said, shaking her head with a smile. “But pregnancy and carrying a backpack are hardly comparable.”

While the mother and mother-to-be chatted, Huang Chao had already carried his son over to stand in front of Feng Lanxi, presenting the baby with an air of proud and blatant showing-off.

“Look at my son — nine jin and two liang. Not many come heavier. And isn’t he beautiful — clearly takes after both his parents.”

Feng Lanxi gave a glance downward. Though he privately acknowledged that, compared to the usual red-faced and wrinkled newborns he had seen, this one with his black hair and snow-white skin was genuinely on the handsome side, what came out was:

“Mine will be more beautiful.”

The CEO’s competitive spirit instantly blazed. His face arranged itself into a smile — seeking victory through casualness.

“Your little princess will naturally be more beautiful than a boy. Perhaps our two families should arrange a match.” Feng Lanxi’s eyes — once praised by admirers as having the warm elegance of ink-colored ancient jade — were at this moment precisely as still and deep as ancient jade, with a light that was rather difficult to read.

“Old folks always say: round belly means a daughter, pointed belly means a son.” The CEO, with a son in hand, spoke from a position of perfect confidence. “Yours is obviously a daughter.”

Feng Lanxi blinked.

“You’re certain mine is a daughter? Certain our two families will make a match?”

“Absolutely — Professor Yu Yan, the most reliable oracle in the complex, has already said our two families are destined to become in-laws.” Huang Chao was quite confident: if his was a son, then Feng’s must be a daughter. Once the Feng girl married his son, the Feng enterprise would naturally come as dowry — that was winning without fighting a single battle. It might take twenty years, but that was still better than fifty years without defeating the old rival.

“Oh.” Feng Lanxi gave a mild nod. “Shall we exchange tokens of betrothal?”

Hearing his old rival agree so readily, Huang Chao immediately unhooked from his son’s neck the family heirloom that had just been put on — a dragon-shaped jade pendant roughly half the size of a palm.

“This is ours. And yours?”

Feng Lanxi considered, then reached into his pocket and produced a thumb-sized white jade qilin that he had bought for the Huang baby that morning. With a face entirely calm and a heart not even slightly flustered, he said:

“This will do — it is a Feng family heirloom passed down for generations.”

And so the two new fathers exchanged betrothal tokens. The moment the jade was in his hand, the previously triumphant CEO caught a glimpse of the faint smile at his old rival’s lips — and had a sudden bad premonition. Before he could work out what it was, he heard Feng Xiyun give a small sound from behind him, followed by Hua Chunran’s anxious voice:

“What is it? Stomach pains? Is the baby coming?”

“I think the baby is coming…” Feng Xiyun held the bed rail and smiled through the pain.

This was really quite convenient for Feng Lanxi — arriving on the same day as the Huang baby, not falling behind even a few hours in age.

Gentleman Feng, who had been wearing a subtly strange smile and thoroughly composed demeanor a moment before, was suddenly moving like the wind. He rushed over, wanting to do something for his wife but not knowing where to put his hands, and could only circle around anxiously.

“It’s happening? It’s happening! How does this work? What do I do? Is it like they show on TV — do I need to hold you and lie you down? Then get some towels for you to bite on? Should I prepare scissors? Should I get a large supply of blood bags as a precaution…”

While Gentleman Feng spectacularly lost his composure, the CEO walked over calmly and clapped his old rival on the shoulder with the authority of experience.

“Brother, don’t panic. This is a hospital — just call the doctor. You’ll be a father very soon. No need to jump around like this.”

Seven hours and fifty-two minutes later.

“First — mine is eight jin and eight liang, a luckier number than yours. Second — look at this hair, longer than yours; and this face, rosier and more radiant than yours; and these eyes — open and looking around, unlike yours, which has been sleeping with its eyes shut the whole time. Therefore, mine is healthier, more beautiful, and more intelligent!” Gentleman Feng held the newborn just handed to him by the nurse and showed off to the CEO, who was also holding a baby, wearing the expression of someone saying you have lost.

The CEO’s brow twitched.

“Mine is heavier — obviously mine is healthier. Yours is bright red all over — you call that better than mine, which is soft and pink? All babies are born with their eyes closed — that’s normal. Yours being born with its eyes wide open and rolling around is what’s abnormal!”

“Oh?” Gentleman Feng arched a brow, then pulled the blanket away from the baby’s wrappings and, supporting the infant’s head, turned the baby to face the Huang baby. “Son — say hello to your soft-and-pink wife.”

Two oversized newborns — Feng baby’s dark-crystal eyes looked at Huang baby. Huang baby slept quietly with eyes closed.

As for the CEO — staring at Feng baby’s very real little distinguishing feature, he found himself completely unable to speak.

His mind was turning over: Professor Yu, a man of towering reputation whose words the entire Donghuang Tower trusted implicitly from ground floor to top, had said the Huang family would have a son — and they had. He had said the two families would become in-laws — so naturally the Feng family must have a daughter for that to happen. And yet, why was…

Feng Lanxi smiled, expression composed.

“You’re not planning to back out, are you?” You believed that old man. This gentleman believes only in science.

The CEO was silent for quite some time before turning to Hua Chunran.

“My dear, let’s have a daughter next.” Only this time the dowry would not be Huangshi — they would collect Fengshi enterprises as the betrothal gift from the Feng family instead.

“Brother, we’re also planning to have a daughter next.” Feng Lanxi’s voice came from behind him, sounding very pleased indeed.

Life does not cease! The battle does not end!

Part 4: Mid-Autumn Festival

To borrow the saying one more time: Life is just rushing water — and a whole year washes by.

On the fifteenth day of the eighth month of that year, Yuwen Luo — known as the Donghuang Tower Broadcasting Station — called all the residents at two o’clock in the afternoon:

“I just got back and happened to run into the housekeeping company staff leaving, who said they’d just finished cleaning the eighth floor. Neighbors — do you know what this means? It means the eighth floor is finally receiving its owners. Our mysterious eighth-floor neighbors are coming home! This Mid-Autumn Festival is truly a grand reunion!”

Eight floors, all filled from one to seven, but though the eighth floor had an owner, nobody in the building had ever once seen the eighth-floor residents in all the years they had lived there. Word was that the eighth floor was a family who had been abroad building their careers. Now, it seemed, they were finally coming home — and would they at last be able to meet these elusive neighbors?

So, every resident of Donghuang Tower dropped whatever work and plans they had that day and rushed home, intending to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival together. After a survey of the terrain, everyone decided to hold the Mid-Autumn dinner in the garden directly facing the main gate — they could celebrate the festival together, and the position guaranteed that the eighth-floor residents would be spotted the moment they came through the gate. The neighbors cooperated: one household moved tables and chairs, another brought food, this family contributed fruit, that family provided beverages — and before long the garden had a respectable feast laid out. Everyone sat in a circle, happily eating and drinking. The adults waited with purpose; the smaller children played merrily.

The Huang baby and the Feng baby, both just past their first birthday, had been placed on a cool mat spread with fruit and toys. Neither had a formal name yet — their fathers had each been trying to outdo the other in devising a name that would surpass the rival child’s, with so many revisions over so many months that no name had been settled upon. The neighbors had therefore taken it upon themselves to give both children various pet names according to personal preference.

Huang baby crawled, and crawled, and crawled to the fruit bowl, extended one chubby little paw, and seized a section of peeled mangosteen. Feng baby spotted this, crawled to the fruit bowl too, grabbed a piece of mango, and forcibly stuffed it into Huang baby’s mouth. Then Feng baby opened his own mouth and swallowed the mangosteen in Huang baby’s paw whole.

Huang baby, with hated mango in his mouth and mangosteen snatched from his paw — replaced only by Feng baby’s drool — was instantly overcome with grief and fury. He spat out the mango and burst into wailing tears. If infant speech had a translator, the rough meaning would be: Wretched little Feng baby, you stole my mangosteen! Father, come quickly — someone is bullying your son!

Huang baby’s crying attracted the attention of all four parents, each of whom responded rather differently.

Huang Chao gave his old rival a sideways look. “Getting your son to take revenge?” He had only just yesterday snatched a business partner away from Feng Lanxi.

Feng Lanxi gave a dismissive snort. “My son is older than yours. Is the older one supposed to be bullied by the younger?” — Even if only by a few hours, older was older.

Hua Chunran reached out — and scooped up Feng baby, holding him with an expression of absolute adoration. “What a clever little one — keep this up when you grow up and nobody will ever bully you!”

Huang baby, watching his own mother ignore him in favor of going to hold the Feng baby who was always stealing his things, was no longer merely aggrieved but heartbroken, and opened his mouth wide, preparing to let out a truly magnificent wail.

“Baby, don’t cry — that little fellow is a bad boy and we are good babies. We won’t sink to a bad child’s level. Here, a kiss — don’t cry now.” Feng Xiyun picked up Huang baby and kissed and comforted him, completely ignoring her own son in the meantime. Huang baby found himself very comfortable nestled in that warm, soft embrace and swallowed the roar that had been climbing his throat.

Feng baby, seeing his mother go off to hold that perpetual-crier Huang baby, was not having it. He waved both little fists, pointing at Huang baby, making sounds that were attempts at words: “Mama… bad… ah woo… oh…”

“Heh heh… bad… good…” Huang baby smiled smugly at Feng baby.

“Ah woo… mine…” Feng baby reached out and tugged at Huang baby, determined to reclaim his mother.

“No!” Huang baby gripped Feng Xiyun’s clothes firmly.

While the two babies were engaged in their tug-of-war, Lan the Seventh came running over. “Go, Fengfeng! Get your wife back!”

“Little Crown Prince — hold on tight! Not everyone has the honor of being held by Her Majesty the Queen!” Yan Yunsun watched Huang baby curled up in Feng Xiyun’s arms with profound envy.

“I bet on Fengfeng winning!” Yuwen Luo crouched on Feng baby’s side.

“I’m cheering for my little Crown Prince!” Huang Yu encouraged his nephew.

“A tug-of-war is too boring. Come on — add one more and make it a free-for-all!” Qiu Jiushuang reached over and plunked the son of Jun Pinyu and Xiao Xue Kong right in the middle between Feng baby and Huang baby.

“Don’t play with my son.” Xiao Xue Kong immediately came running to rescue him.

“Don’t be stingy,” Huang Yu said, extending an arm to intercept.

Right in the middle of babies pulling and adults playing mischief, the sound of cars came from beyond the complex. The ornate iron gates swung open automatically to either side. Everyone’s attention turned toward the entrance. Three cars pulled in, but when the first two Cadillacs entered and stopped at the gate, they blocked the last vehicle — a Pontiac.

Car doors opened. Four people stepped out of the first two cars. One person stepped out of the last.

“These are our new neighbors? But why are there nine people?” Yuwen Luo was the first to speak.

“The last one is obviously a gatecrasher — see how he’s been blocked at the entrance?” Lan the Seventh’s jade-bright eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a good show.

Indeed: the three men and one woman from the first car, though somewhat surprised by the dinner laid out and the crowd of neighbors, still gave small nods in greeting. The four men from the second car, however, turned to face the man who had stepped out of the last car, in the manner of people preparing to send someone away.

“We’re home. Stop following us — you’re not welcome here!” The baby-faced one of the four spoke up to the man from the last car.

“Our eight eighth-floor neighbors are a group of sworn siblings,” Yuwen Luo provided helpful information. “In age order, they are: Dong Shiuxiu, Huang Ti, Ning Jingyuan, Feng Ji, Bai Yima, Hua Jingtai, Feng Duying, and Nan Pianyue. The only woman is Feng Duying. Match them to the description as you see fit. The one who just spoke is the youngest, Nan Pianyue.”

“One female and nine males among the beauties — eighth-floor neighbors are of notably high quality,” Qiu Jiushuang summarized.

Lan the Seventh nodded. “But one woman and nine men — what exactly is going on here?” She turned to look at Young Master Ming the Second, her jade eyes flickering with unmistakable signs of gossip-seeking.

Young Master Ming the Second regarded the entrance with a thoughtful expression. “Watch — it’ll be clear in a moment.”

So the assembled neighbors watched with interest as the man being blocked by the gate paid no attention to Nan Pianyue’s words. He only looked at the one woman, Feng Duying.

“A-Ying—”

Hua Jingtai, hearing this, was immediately displeased. He waved his hand at the man. “Don’t call her that like you know her well — our seventh sister doesn’t know you.”

“Exactly, we don’t know you at all — go back home.” Nan Pianyue reached out to shoo him away.

“Xiao Ba, don’t be rude.” Bai Yima held Nan Pianyue back, then addressed the man: “Jiuyao — everyone’s been on planes for over twelve hours. Please go get some rest and come back tomorrow to talk.”

Ning Jingyuan, who had been standing beside Bai Yima saying nothing, also smiled pleasantly: “Go home — if you’re on someone’s property without the owner’s permission, they can call the police on you.”

“That person has a real edge to his words!” the spectator Yuwen Luo muttered.

As for Jiuyao — the direct recipient of this — he only smiled with composure. “A-Ying and I are already married.” The implication being: as the husband of Feng Duying, a Donghuang Tower resident, his coming here was coming home, not trespassing.

This was clearly quite a provocative statement. All seven brothers looked at their precious sister, then all turned to fix Jiuyao with sharp, hostile stares. Nan Pianyue was practically shouting: “Married? What? You took advantage of Seventh Sister when she was drunk in Las Vegas — that’s called trickery! I want to report you for kidnapping too!” He would likely have taken a swing at the man if Bai Yima hadn’t been holding him back.

“A-Ying signed. It is legally valid,” Jiuyao emphasized.

Nan Pianyue was briefly speechless.

“Our country does not recognize it,” Feng Ji said slowly.

“Right! Even if you signed it, it doesn’t count in our country!” Nan Pianyue finally found his legal weapon and prepared to deploy it.

The other brothers all let out a breath of relief.

But Jiuyao remained perfectly composed, and simply looked at Feng Duying. “A-Ying.” Just the one call, no more words — yet somehow it seemed to hold a thousand unsaid things. Not only did the spectator neighbors feel the man’s deep feeling — even the ordinarily cool and composed Feng Duying’s gaze toward him carried a flicker of guilt. But the eyes of her brothers surrounding her were also making things unbearably difficult, and all she could say was: “You go first. I’ll come find you tomorrow.”

But Jiuyao shook his head. “No. If I leave now, by tomorrow your brothers will have managed things, and you and I will be strangers.”

Feng Duying was silent at this, and turned her head slightly as though to look at Feng Ji on her left — but Jiuyao’s warm gaze ahead of her made it impossible to move.

This subtle shift was noticed not only by her brothers but by every sharp-eyed member of the spectating crowd. Lan the Seventh clapped both hands together, her jade eyes blazing brilliantly. “Now I see it clearly! One woman, two men! This young master supports it — have both of them! The complete blessing!”

She said this at considerable volume, audible to everyone, and while Feng Duying and Jiuyao continued to look at each other, all seven brothers turned to give Lan the Seventh a sharp and withering glare.

Lan the Seventh shrugged with perfect indifference, then turned to her assembled neighbors: “What do you all think? Are you with this young master, or do you have other preferences?”

With her as precedent, the spectators began offering their opinions freely.

“I choose the Fourth Brother.” Hua Chunran’s beautiful eyes sparkled as she looked at Feng Ji.

“I think that Jiuyao has the better bearing,” Qiu Jiushuang offered her dissenting opinion.

“I also think Jiuyao is better,” Jun Pinyu agreed, a hand on Qiu Jiushuang’s shoulder.

Feng Qiwu studied Feng Ji for a moment, then said: “That one carries a wound in his heart — he needs the one he loves most.” She turned to Feng Chenxue: “What do you think?”

Feng Chenxue’s clear and luminous eyes glanced briefly at Feng Ji, gave a quiet sigh, and said nothing — but her meaning was plain.

Qiu Yiting, somewhat dissatisfied, said: “I find Jiuyao more open in nature and more compatible.”

Qiu Yiyao looked quietly at the three of them — Feng Ji, Feng Duying, Jiuyao — and said: “Let her choose whoever she likes.”

“Since she’s already married, she has obviously already chosen Jiuyao,” Ning Lang supported the original spouse.

“Dense!” Yan Yunsun rapped Ning Lang on the head and let his gaze travel between Feng Ji and Jiuyao. “Tsk tsk — both exceptional… Your Majesty the Queen, if you were to choose, who would you pick?” He asked Feng Xiyun.

Feng Xiyun, thus asked, looked at the eight outstanding men before her and said with a yearning air: “A queen can choose many — take them both!”

The words were barely out before the assembled neighbors felt a chill sweep through the August air. Feng Lanxi’s cool, quiet voice drifted into her ear: “Is that what you’d like to do?” His gaze carried a cold edge — directed at Yu Wuyuan.

Feng Xiyun turned around. “I was just answering Yunsun’s question,” she said, looking the very picture of innocence.

Her words had barely landed when Feng baby, having crawled and crawled, finally reached his destination. He wrapped his arms around Yu Wuyuan’s leg.

“Daddy!”

Loud and bright and sweet.

Just doing a bit of revenge for Mama not holding him earlier.

Boom! In that instant, the moon-bright, star-sparse night sky erupted with thunder and lightning.

Every single neighbor immediately retreated a full zhang, putting maximum distance between themselves and Feng Xiyun and Feng Lanxi.

“Perhaps tonight features not only a marriage drama, but also an action film,” Lan the Seventh said with excited anticipation.

“Working title: Married? Or Divorced?” Yan Yunsun said, tremendously stirred.

“Both couples divorcing, or just one? Shall we open a betting pool?” Qiu Jiushuang reached for her wallet.

“I support both divorcing!” Huang Yu grabbed his older brother Huang Chao’s wallet from him and extracted a handful of cash.

Yuwen Luo was taking photographs while simultaneously handing another camera to Ning Lang to film: “What phenomenal gossip material — post it to the forum tomorrow, it’ll definitely go straight to the top.”

“Do you think they’ll divorce or not?” Hua Chunran swept a glance at Feng Lanxi and Feng Xiyun, then asked her husband.

Huang Chao glanced at his wife, then looked toward Feng Lanxi and Feng Xiyun. “Do you think it would be better if they did or didn’t?”

They looked at each other and smiled — meaningful smiles.

“You people who can never resist stirring up chaos,” Jun Pinyu sighed — though the entertainment in her tone was rather more pronounced than the disapproval.

Xiao Xue Kong held his son and gave a cold snort, declining to participate.

Young Master Ming the Second shook his head with composed understanding. “Everyone is getting excited for nothing.” He looked only at Yu Wuyuan.

The diplomatic official picked up Feng baby, lightly tweaked his nose, then looked at the crowd, smiled like a spring breeze, his voice warm and mild — the words addressed to everyone, but his gaze going to the nine people at the entrance, with a particular glance of welcome toward Jiuyao:

“Tonight is the Mid-Autumn Festival, and it is rare that we are all here — a true grand reunion. Let us celebrate together. When the moon is full, so are we — come, let’s drink a toast!” He had Feng baby in one arm and a glass of red wine in the other.

“Well said — let’s celebrate first.” Huang Chao extended the invitation to the nine at the gate as well.

Feng Xiyun smiled at the nine newcomers, then took Feng Lanxi by the hand and walked to the table, personally pouring him a glass of wine and placing it in his hands.

“Stop playing around. Don’t be upset.”

“Ugh — I knew it wouldn’t turn into anything,” Lan the Seventh said, looking at Yu Wuyuan, somewhat disappointed.

Young Master Ming the Second reached out and flicked her on the forehead. “Plenty of drama on other days. Tonight is for the festival.” As his hand came back down, it took hold of Lan the Seventh’s.

Lan the Seventh glanced at him sideways, felt a small flutter in her chest, and settled into quiet.

“Well, Wuyuan is absolutely right,” Yan Yunsun said, clapping his hands, and turned to the nine newcomers. “Come on in! We’re all neighbors here — one family from now on.”

Dong Shiuxiu and the others exchanged glances, understood nothing was going to be resolved tonight, reached a silent consensus, and all stepped forward to join the gathering — the festival first, everything else later.

Everyone raised a glass. The shared toast immediately warmed the atmosphere considerably, and they settled into seats and conversation, each finding their own.

“Next time there’s business, don’t forget to include me — we can go in together.” Hua Jingtai was already handing out business cards.

“I’m planning to open a law firm back here. Come to me for commercial disputes — since we’re neighbors, I can do a ninety-nine point nine percent discount.” Ning Jingyuan shook hands with both Huang Chao and Feng Lanxi.

“I’ve been away so long, I have no idea what fun new places have opened up. Give me some recommendations.” Nan Pianyue draped an arm over Yan Yunsun’s shoulder, his eyes on Qiu Jiushuang and Huang Yu — the people who always knew where to have a good time.

“I’m looking to find a school to teach at. Which school do you two attend?” Bai Yima asked Ning Lang and Yuwen Luo for information.

“We must be one family going back five hundred years — shall we trace the family tree and formally recognize the kinship?” Feng Xiyun pulled Feng Chenxue along to welcome Feng Duying together.

“Are the two of you going to fight a duel? If you need weapons, come to us — we have cold and hot arms of every description.” Lan the Seventh, with Young Master Ming the Second in tow, made her way over to Feng Ji and Jiuyao.

“Come to Dongshi — the compensation is five percent higher than Huangshi.” Dong Shiuxiu, with an eye for talent, had identified the Qiu brothers and was making his pitch over a glass of wine. He turned to look at Jun Pinyu and Xiao Xue Kong as well: “Dongshi has a hospital too. Would Dr. Jun and Dr. Xiao be interested?”

Yu Wuyuan held Feng baby. Huang Ti held Huang baby. The two sat side by side, quietly admiring the moon and quietly drinking their wine.

The ornate gate swung open again. Han Pu came running back, breathless, dragging Jiurong, Bai Langhua, and Yan Yingzhou with him.

“Hey — you all could have waited for us!”

Among the gathering, in the rocking chair where he had been lying with eyes closed the whole time, Professor Yu Yan — the elder of Donghuang Tower — let a smile spread across his face.

The children of Donghuang Tower were finally all together.

The world was at peace. Time passed quietly and well.