Qiao Qingyu swiftly turned around in the unnaturally quiet classroom, where even the slightest sound seemed amplified. As she tore open the envelope, the sharp sound of paper ripping pierced the air, sending a shiver down her spine. She knew Ming Sheng was watching her every move from behind.
To avoid making more noise, she carefully and slowly extracted the snow-white letter. Suddenly, Ming Sheng broke the silence, his displeasure evident. “Hey, aren’t you going to explain?”
Qiao Qingyu froze, memories flashing through her mind: the fire at the old house in Nanqiao Village, Qiao Baiyu’s diary engulfed in flames, the scalding hot water in the darkness, and Li Fanghao’s tear-stained face. How could she possibly explain all this?
“Did you hear me, Qiao Qingyu?” Ming Sheng’s voice grew irritated.
“I heard you,” she replied, turning her head slightly. “There’s no explanation, and it’s none of your business anyway. Besides, my hand is injured, so I can’t help you with your homework anymore.”
The sound of a chair scraping the floor signaled Ming Sheng to stand up. Before Qiao Qingyu could react, he had moved in front of her, sitting down on the chair directly ahead.
“Looks serious,” he observed, prompting Qiao Qingyu to hastily lower her left hand, immediately regretting the panicked gesture.
“A burn?” he probed.
“I told you, it’s none of your business,” Qiao Qingyu insisted, her right thumb unconsciously caressing He Kai’s envelope. “You can see I really can’t help you with your homework now.”
Suddenly, Ming Sheng leaned in closer, his gaze fixed on her face. “Why won’t you look at me? Are you afraid?”
Qiao Qingyu frowned and lifted her eyes. “No.”
She was familiar with Ming Sheng’s appearance, but facing his handsome features at such close range caught her off guard. His noble nose, clear eyes framed by long lashes, and thick eyebrows exuded an untamed charisma. His messy short hair seemed to catch the slanting sunlight, giving him an ethereal, platinum glow.
“Your left wrist is injured,” Ming Sheng said casually, “which means you can still help me with homework.”
Qiao Qingyu hesitated before replying with another “No.”
“I’ve met all your conditions,” Ming Sheng countered, placing the black N95 mask on the table. “I returned your letter, and you can keep using the phone.”
“I don’t have the time or money to help you with homework,” Qiao Qingyu explained. “If my mom discovered the phone once, she’ll find it again. I really can’t do this anymore.”
“If your mom is so omniscient,” Ming Sheng glanced at the envelope on the table, his tone skeptical, “why do you dare to correspond with that weakling He Kai? You’ll keep his letter and write back, won’t you?”
Qiao Qingyu was at a loss for words.
“Instead of wasting time on that, you might as well help me with homework,” Ming Sheng said lightly. “Use your phone, and I’ll cover the costs.”
Qiao Qingyu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The two situations were incomparable, and her phone was barely better than a basic model, incapable of sending clear picture messages for homework—though Ming Sheng probably didn’t realize how poor her phone was.
“As for whatever trouble you got into using my phone over the weekend, bringing your mom to school,” Ming Sheng continued, “I’ll let that slide.”
Qiao Qingyu, having regained her composure, considered her options.
“Well?” Ming Sheng prompted.
“You hate doing homework, don’t you?” she asked.
“Who likes homework?” Ming Sheng frowned slightly. “But I’m just too busy.”
“Busy playing basketball?”
Ming Sheng’s expression changed to a mix of surprise and amusement. “You think I can’t prioritize?”
“Then what keeps you so busy?”
“Exams,” Ming Sheng stared at her. “SAT.”
Qiao Qingyu clearly didn’t understand, but Ming Sheng didn’t give her a chance to ask further.
“I’m much busier than you think,” he leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head and looking down at her. “Especially these six months. If you help me, I’ll give you this phone and cover the costs.”
“I don’t want the phone,” Qiao Qingyu shook her head, meeting Ming Sheng’s eyes fearlessly. “Homework takes more time than writing letters, but if you agree to one thing, I’ll help you long-term.”
Ming Sheng maintained his haughty posture. “Go on.”
“I know your father is the director of Provincial First Hospital,” Qiao Qingyu sat up straight. “My sister, Qiao Baiyu, passed away there three years ago. If you can help me find out exactly how she died, I’ll help you with your homework without complaint.”
She studied Ming Sheng’s expression carefully. At first, he remained impassive, but after a few seconds, he scoffed disdainfully.
“I don’t talk to my father,” he said coldly, standing up. His tall, lean figure blocked the slanting sunlight, casting a shadow over Qiao Qingyu’s desk. “Let’s just stay out of each other’s way, Qiao Qingyu.”
After learning from Sun Yinglong that the phone had been retrieved by a senior student named Wang Mumu, Li Fanghao tacitly accepted Qiao Qingyu’s story and dropped the subject. With both the phone and gold bracelet issues settled, Qiao Baiyu’s incomplete diary was also confiscated. Days later, as Qiao Qingyu helped at the noodle shop after school, she glanced at Li Fanghao’s busy figure moving in and out of the kitchen and felt as if everything had been a dream.
Without the injury on her wrist, all that had happened would have vanished like the steam from the large aluminum pot of white porridge at the shop’s entrance.
Qiao Qingyu deeply resented her parents’ self-deceptive approach of forgetting all “bad” things. However, when Qiao Jinyu returned home for the weekend, she realized she wasn’t much better than her parents.
“Sis, just tell me honestly,” Qiao Jinyu pestered her, “who lent you the phone? I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks for keeping the phone secret, but you don’t need to know more,” Qiao Qingyu said firmly. “Knowing won’t change anything.”
The words flowed out as if they had been prepared in her mind, requiring no thought. After speaking, Qiao Qingyu wondered if perhaps her parents concealed the cause of Qiao Baiyu’s death because they too felt that revealing the truth was meaningless.
After all, Qiao Baiyu could never come back.
Qiao Qingyu almost believed her parents would eventually forget about Qiao Baiyu until that weekend when the Qiao family’s handmade noodle shop closed for the second time in a week. This time, they formally posted the reason as “family matters” on the rolling shutter door.
It wasn’t until they were about to leave that Qiao Qingyu learned their destination: Anling Cemetery.
It was the anniversary of Qiao Baiyu’s death – she would have been twenty-three – on this clear autumn day.
As they climbed the hillside after getting off the bus, even the usually lively and carefree Qiao Jinyu became quiet and composed. Anling Cemetery was Huanzhou’s most scenic public cemetery, nestled against North Mountain and facing Clear Lake. From the higher graves, one could see all of Huanzhou on the other side of the lake. Upon entering the cemetery, the family followed Qiao Lusheng up the stone steps in the center of the burial ground. Near the top, Qiao Lusheng turned left, stopping before a white tombstone close to the steps.
Qiao Qingyu, following closely behind her father, was drawn to the photograph in the center of the tombstone before she even stopped walking.
It was a black and white photo she had never seen before, slightly faded, showing a bare-faced Qiao Baiyu with bright eyes and a radiant smile. The four of them burned incense and paid their respects together. Afterward, Qiao Qingyu bent down and carefully wiped away the dust on the photograph with her sleeve.
As she stood up, she noticed Li Fanghao silently watching her clean the photo. As if afraid to meet Qiao Qingyu’s gaze, Li Fanghao quickly instructed Qiao Jinyu to take out their belongings when Qiao Qingyu turned around.
Meanwhile, Qiao Lusheng had already lit a stack of colorful paper money. Qiao Jinyu placed the bag he was carrying on the ground and, bending over, began taking out items one by one, handing them to Qiao Lusheng.
Several meticulously crafted paper dresses, a luxurious paper dollhouse, and—to Qiao Qingyu’s surprise—pages torn from the light green notebook containing fragments of the diary were handed to Qiao Lusheng.
Qiao Jinyu hesitated briefly but still passed the papers to his father.
Qiao Qingyu watched helplessly as the pages were wrapped in a flaming pale pink skirt, transforming into brilliant, dancing sparks before quickly turning to ash. As Qiao Lusheng began tidying up the ashes, Qiao Qingyu stared at his movements, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
Beside her, Li Fanghao began to sob: “Baiyu, my foolish child, why won’t you visit me in my dreams? Why won’t you tell your mother anything?”
A suffocating gloom descended upon them. Qiao Qingyu turned away from the tombstone, gasping for air.
The sky was a clear, pure blue. Clear Lake sparkled like scattered silver, and the glass skyscrapers on the opposite shore gleamed pristinely—this must be the dreamlike Huanzhou that Qiao Baiyu had spoken of.
Before descending the mountain, Qiao Lusheng gathered his children and said seriously: “Your sister liked grand, scenic places. Your grandparents believe in returning to one’s roots… Your mother and I chose this place for her. Don’t mention this to your grandparents; we’ll handle it.”
It was more of a warning than an explanation.
“So, is sister’s… body buried in our hometown or here?” Qiao Qingyu dared to ask.
“In our hometown,” Li Fanghao interjected quickly from behind, sounding recovered from her grief. “This place is just for us, for peace of mind.”
Her response was too quick, making Qiao Qingyu doubt its truth.
“Mom, Dad,” Qiao Qingyu’s gaze returned to Qiao Baiyu’s photo, “thank you. I’m sure sister loves it here.”
As the family left the cemetery, they passed a young man carrying a backpack and a large bouquet of white roses. He seemed to deliberately avoid them, quickening his pace and lowering his head.
Li Fanghao suddenly stopped, then exclaimed after a moment: “He Feihai!”
The young man paused, turned, and offered a shy smile.
“I thought he looked familiar,” Li Fanghao smiled. “You were in Class 1, Grade 8 at Lifang Central School, right?”
Unable to refuse the enthusiastic invitation from Qiao Lusheng and Li Fanghao, He Feihai joined them in the taxi to Chaoyang New Village. At home, Li Fanghao assigned tasks as if welcoming an honored guest: Qiao Lusheng to buy groceries, Qiao Jinyu to get fruit, and Qiao Qingyu to fetch utensils and condiments from the shop.
Returning with a backpack full of white porcelain dishes, Qiao Qingyu quietly approached the third-floor door.
“So you played with Jinrui too?” Li Fanghao’s voice came from inside. “Baiyu never told me. That child never treated me like a mother, always telling others things but not me.”
“She wasn’t good at expressing herself,” He Feihai sounded embarrassed. “Unlike her appearance, she had high emotional walls…”
“Anyway, I was useless in her eyes,” Li Fanghao sighed. “How did you find this place? Did Jinrui tell you?”
“Oh, yes,” He Feihai seemed to snap back to attention. “Jinrui told me.”
“Here, have some water,” Li Fanghao forced a laugh. “You’re truly loyal. Coming specially to see Baiyu, it’s her blessing. Pity her life was too short to enjoy such fortune…”
Heavy footsteps from downstairs signaled Qiao Lusheng’s return. Qiao Qingyu quickly straightened up and knocked on the door.
She entered first, with Qiao Lusheng following. Li Fanghao, donning an apron, headed to the kitchen, sending Qiao Qingyu to her room to do homework. Qiao Lusheng sat on the sofa, and the conversation turned to small talk. Qiao Qingyu tried to eavesdrop from her room but gave up when the TV news interrupted.
At least she now knew that Qiao Jinrui was also aware of the Anling Cemetery situation.
During dinner, Qiao Qingyu observed He Feihai closely. Beneath his fierce eyebrows, he had gentle, kind eyes. From the adults’ conversation, she learned that He Feihai came from a poor family but had always excelled academically. Three years ago, he entered Peking University with the top score in Shunyun City. Now he had secured a fully-funded opportunity to study at a prestigious American university for his graduate degree next year. Dressed simply with an unassuming appearance, he answered questions from Li Fanghao and Qiao Lusheng briefly, appearing somewhat slow but exuding a strong sense of reliability and safety.
Qiao Qingyu thought her sister must have trusted him greatly, meaning he likely knew a lot about her. However, she had no chance to talk to He Feihai alone.
As He Feihai prepared to leave after a few hours, Qiao Qingyu volunteered to fetch his coat from the wall.
“Thank you, little sister.” He Feihai smiled, meeting Qiao Qingyu’s eyes directly for the first time that day.
Qiao Qingyu’s heart raced—while getting the coat, she had slipped a note with her QQ number into its pocket.
On Sunday, the Qiao Family Handmade Noodle Shop operated as usual, with Li Fanghao and Qiao Lusheng bustling about like spinning tops. After helping in the shop that morning, Qiao Qingyu said she wanted to go to the school library to research, but Li Fanghao forbade it.
Qiao Qingyu understood that Li Fanghao’s trust in her had been irreparably damaged, like a paper cut by a knife.
Faced with Li Fanghao’s decisiveness, she didn’t insist and returned to her dark room. Turning on the desk lamp, she found the light green notebook back on her desk, lying quietly next to her English textbook. Opening it, she saw that the middle pages had been torn out, leaving an empty void, as if its heart had been removed.
Tossing the notebook aside, Qiao Qingyu fell back onto her bed.
“It’s okay,” she said to the ceiling as if addressing Qiao Baiyu’s flawless face, “I’ll always remember.”
To avoid missing He Feihai’s friend request, Qiao Qingyu went to the school library after lunch on Monday and used a computer to accept nearly all recent QQ friend requests. She counted as she clicked—twenty-eight in total.
It was more than she expected, but she didn’t think much of it.
Suddenly, the little penguin icon in the bottom right of the screen started flashing incessantly. Most were bored, lonely boys opening with frivolous compliments. Qiao Qingyu usually didn’t reply and simply deleted them if things seemed off. After doing this for a while, a new chat window popped up from an unfamiliar account with a yellow-haired avatar, addressing her by name.
“Who are you?” Qiao Qingyu typed her first response.
“Who cares who I am? Who do you think you are, adding then deleting people, pretending to be pure!” came the reply.
How did he know she had deleted people? Qiao Qingyu was puzzled but decided not to dwell on it. She closed the chat window and swiftly deleted this noisy person.
She then clicked on another flashing penguin, opening a new chat window with a purple-haired, bespectacled avatar named “I Only Care About You.”
It seemed more proper. Could it be He Feihai?
The chat window only showed a “hello?”
Qiao Qingyu replied with a “hi.”
“Qiao Qingyu from Huanzhou No. 2 High School, Class 5, Grade 2, fourth group, fourth row,” the other side sent, “Are you lonely?”
Not He Feihai. Qiao Qingyu suddenly understood why so many strange, vulgar men had added her—someone had shared her QQ number with them.
A group of lowlifes who knew each other.
She was about to delete this person too when her eyes widened: three photos appeared rapidly in the chat window. Two were of her back, and one was her side profile with her head lowered. All were taken in the classroom. Though candid shots, they were very clear, especially the one of her lowering her head to pick up a book—even her eyelashes were distinct in the shadows.
“Lonely heart with nowhere to go,” the message read, “Brother will take care of you, little beauty…”
A chill ran down Qiao Qingyu’s spine, and she froze.
“Brother will wait for you at the school gate after class,” the person continued. “Don’t be afraid, just want to have a bowl of your signature beef noodles at your place. Be good.”
Fear enveloped her from head to toe.
“I used to care for your sister too,” the message went on, “now it’s the little sister’s turn, cutie.”
Her mind went blank, filled with a bright, glaring light.
After a long moment, Qiao Qingyu realized that the cold, silvery gleam in her mind’s eye was the edge of a knife.