A solitary eagle soared beneath the azure sky, while countless crystals sparkled across the clear lake’s surface. The sun’s fierce rays, upon reaching the ground, scattered into pure white flakes. “Sun snow,” Qiao Qingyu murmured, unconsciously closing her eyes.
The warmth felt like a dream. Even the cold, judgmental gazes from below the podium seemed to soften in this dreamlike beauty. A sharp pain struck her shoulder—a pristine snowflake had pierced her skin. Yet her smooth shoulder bore no mark. Looking down, Qiao Qingyu screamed in horror—she was wearing nothing!
Her body shuddered violently. Qiao Qingyu opened her eyes.
To her left, Qiao Huan’s breathing was steady and even.
The room was pitch black, the air stagnant and heavy. With the dream still echoing in her mind, Qiao Qingyu quietly rose, grabbed her down jacket, and silently opened the bedroom door.
The streetlight from below filtered into the living room, making the sofa, table, and cabinets barely discernible. The glass coffee table reflected a faint gleam. A useless ashtray pressed down on a conspicuous white A4 document—the disciplinary notice that had rendered her parents silent all evening.
Moving closer, she noticed a pen beside the ashtray. Without a doubt, her parents had signed it, and surely with meticulous care.
“They won’t even ask how I feel,” Qiao Qingyu thought sadly.
Thinking back carefully, she was certain that when she appeared at the noodle shop with Ye Zilin, Sun Yinglong, and the pudgy discipline master Huang, she had caught a glimpse of pure concern in Li Fanghao’s eyes. She was also sure that when Sun Yinglong recounted the incident again, Qiao Lusheng’s worried gaze toward her contained unmistakable pain. But the problem was they said nothing. Not only did they remain silent, but they also acted as usual, making her hurriedly finish dinner and forcefully sending her home in front of Ye Zilin, Sun Yinglong, and Master Huang.
Her parents’ method of forcefully excluding her from the matter seemed bizarre to Qiao Qingyu, but she quickly understood: they were simply cowardly and timid, yet extremely concerned with saving face, afraid of losing control of their behavior in front of her classmates and teachers—yes, they had discovered she had grown up and was no longer under their control.
For her parents, authority was paramount, even if it was merely superficial.
Qiao Qingyu suddenly realized she had long since embarked on a path of rebellion against her parents, though quietly.
She couldn’t say whether this was good or bad, but the daunting sense of the unknown path ahead gave her an unexpected thrill. And loneliness—sudden, immense loneliness, like walking alone across a barren wilderness. She found it hard to say she disliked this desolate feeling.
Walking into the cold wind on the balcony, Qiao Qingyu’s gaze unconsciously fixed on the angular glass window directly opposite. Lately, she had been paying increasing attention to the lights across the way, especially during the three days since stabbing Ming Sheng. She clearly remembered that on the very night, she had stabbed Ming Sheng, the yellow light behind the kitchen partition curtain opposite suddenly came on when most households were about to sleep. At that moment, she had just been hanging her freshly washed sweater on the balcony. The sweater was new, a dark coffee color, worn for the first time that day. Theoretically, it didn’t need washing, but before showering, Qiao Qingyu had noticed a small, inconspicuous dark mark on the right sleeve cuff—blood from Ming Sheng’s hand had stained the sleeve that covered her wrist.
While scrubbing the sleeve hard under the faucet, Qiao Qingyu felt the panic of washing away evidence of a crime, but when she witnessed the light across the way suddenly “click” on, she experienced a feeling of absolution. Shame immediately washed over her, drowning out this strange illusion—the illusion that Ming Sheng wouldn’t blame her.
His “It’s nothing” was meant for the other boys who quickly gathered around, not to comfort her; his “Leave her alone” was to help those boys surrounding him save face, lest the basketball coach rushing over might think they were ganging up on a girl. When being escorted toward the school gate, he turned back and gave her an extremely serious, prolonged look, his eyes like black obsidian shooting countless arrows, fixing her in place. Qiao Qingyu knew she had been marked, with no escape possible.
Yet that inexplicably formed absurd illusion would occasionally surface to disrupt her normal reasoning. News that Ming Sheng’s right hand required seven stitches spread through the school like wildfire, and numerous angry strangers approached Qiao Qingyu to deliver their furious condemnations. Gao Chi behind her told everyone this matter was serious enough for court—sixteen years old, intentional injury, she should bear criminal responsibility. Ye Zilin wailed with a long face in Master Huang’s office, rambling on about his innocence. However, Ming Sheng remained even more silent than her, only shaking his head in extreme displeasure when Master Huang suggested Qiao Qingyu should publicly apologize to him at Monday’s assembly.
“You must understand the whole story now, after hearing from both Ye Zilin and Qiao Qingyu,” Master Huang said earnestly to Ming Sheng. “Qiao Qingyu is also a victim, she just targeted the wrong person in the wrong way. She’s usually well-behaved, and her family situation isn’t easy. The school needs to punish her but also help her. As her classmate, you should be more forgiving…”
“No need to apologize to me,” Ming Sheng’s tone carried its usual hint of weariness. “She made a mistake, criticism is enough.”
Hence came this notice of criticism that would soon be posted on the school bulletin board for all to see. After careful consideration, Qiao Qingyu felt the bulletin board was more decent than the podium—at least she wouldn’t have to face those naked judgmental gazes directly. Soon after, she reminded herself that Ming Sheng’s words might simply mean he didn’t want to hear his name spoken through the microphone, just as Su Tian detested hearing her say the words “Ming Sheng.” Simply put, he despised her so much that he’d rather stay far away.
That must be it. He kept his word, repeatedly acting out the four words “mutual non-interference.”
If Ming Sheng’s initial disdain for her stemmed more from his childish revenge with an element of teasing, then his current indifference toward her, Qiao Qingyu felt, aligned with his inherent aloofness. She wasn’t the only one who felt this way. During the weeks he recovered from his sprained ankle, Ming Sheng devoted his basketball time to studying, occasionally leaning against the corridor railing after class to relax—usually alone, rejecting various followers.
“Ah Sheng has been so studious and quiet lately,” Qiao Qingyu once heard Guan Lan tell Deng Meixi and Qin Fen at the podium, “Even Chen Yuqian hardly dares to approach him.”
“Probably in a bad mood because of his injured foot,” Deng Meixi nodded, quickly glancing back at Ming Sheng outside the window, smiling shyly, “It feels strange seeing him so well-behaved~”
Well-behaved? These words carried a sense of trying to please adults, which couldn’t be the reason for Ming Sheng’s change. Qiao Qingyu preferred to believe that Ming Sheng had grown weary of meaningless adoration; his pride and clear-mindedness wouldn’t allow him to truly deteriorate.
Everyone noticed Ming Sheng had become more profound, even somewhat melancholic, but no one was foolish enough to ask him why directly—it was as if their previous understanding of Ming Sheng had been superficial. For the first time, everyone realized that when Ming Sheng turned cold, he became so unapproachable.
After his foot healed successfully, Ming Sheng made it to the city’s men’s basketball court as he wished, carrying his newly prominent solemnity, reportedly performing quite brilliantly on the court. He was unstoppable and impressive, until she cut his path short with one knife, denying him the final match. Regarding Ming Sheng’s “indifference” to his injury, Qiao Qingyu found herself feeling uneasy despite her relief—why was that?
Had he become too detached?
After being stabbed, Ming Sheng only rested for one day before returning to school. Unable to write due to his hand injury, he submitted a printed Chinese essay. Responding to Teacher Sun Yinglong’s topic of “Spirit,” he once again wrote about the ancient camphor tree.
He admired its silent profundity and praised its elegant nobility. He said climbing those branches that had flourished for hundreds of years was like entering a sacred temple, where a restless heart could find both comfort and purification. The camphor tree’s trunk was dense and solid, its leaves naturally fragrant and refreshing, giving insects no chance to corrode it, and he himself must become like the camphor tree from now on, forever stable and determined, forever noble and consistent.
He wrote with great honesty, expressing exactly what he thought—Qiao Qingyu reflected, with inexplicable admiration and strange loss—it seemed he had grown tired of pointless “rebellion” and would now follow his conscience to become a positive, upright student.
Qiao Qingyu realized she had been paying too much attention to Ming Sheng lately. Like now, in this undisturbed deep night, she had stumbled from her dream specifically to get fresh air on the balcony, yet kept staring at the window opposite, her thoughts constantly sweeping over Ming Sheng’s black eyes, as if falling into another cold dream. She was very dissatisfied with herself and then shifted her gaze left, idly examining Wang Mumu’s windows.
Compared to Ming Sheng’s clear glass, Wang Mumu’s windows seemed opaque, even uneven. The glass was unevenly blue, and Qiao Qingyu could easily imagine the cluttered cabinets inside, the sink piled with dirty bowls, things seeming ready to overflow from the house. If Wang Mumu hadn’t clearly said she lived here, she would never have believed such a pure and clean girl could live in such a house.
Just then, there was a click behind her—her parents’ bedroom door opened.
Li Fanghao, wearing slippers, walked straight to the bathroom. Moments later came the sound of the toilet flushing. Then, Li Fanghao saw Qiao Qingyu standing by the balcony.
Her mouth opened and closed, drawing in a deep breath of cold air as she stumbled forward to grab Qiao Qingyu’s shoulders.
“Qingqing, it’s cold outside, come, let Mom warm you up.”
Li Fanghao’s voice, suppressing terror, sounded ready to cry at any moment. Qiao Qingyu understood—her mother thought she was going to jump. After leading Qiao Qingyu to sit on the sofa, Li Fanghao grabbed a coat and carefully wrapped it around Qiao Qingyu’s legs in their thin pajamas.
“Let mom warm you up first, it’s barely past four, the sky hasn’t even brightened, go back and sleep well, be good.” Li Fanghao spoke while bringing Qiao Qingyu’s hands to her mouth to warm them with her breath, her voice seeming soaked with tears.
“Mom,” Qiao Qingyu grabbed Li Fanghao’s hands, “don’t overthink it, I just needed some fresh air.”
“That’s good, that’s good…”
Li Fanghao’s voice grew softer, and silence quickly returned. Finally, Qiao Qingyu asked, “Did Brother Hei and the others come tonight?”
“Oh, child,” Li Fanghao regained her composure, her voice strengthening again, “I told you not to worry about family matters, your parents can handle it… They came, along with your classmate Ye Zilin, and Teachers Sun and Huang, so they didn’t cause trouble… They even said themselves they didn’t want to bother the teachers at No. 2 Middle School about such a small matter, and won’t come to the shop anymore…”
Qiao Qingyu slowly exhaled. Her situation was terrible, but at least this matter was resolved.
Li Fanghao continued, “Your father was saying that we should contact some school teachers these days, and Cousin Chen, to have them intervene. Then these people definitely wouldn’t dare cause trouble.”
Qiao Qingyu remained noncommittal.
“You…”
Li Fanghao sighed deeply, and Qiao Qingyu prepared herself for a lecture.
“Well, you’re not a child anymore,” Li Fanghao said, “The teachers must have explained everything to you, so I won’t lecture you and make you upset… Today your father and I asked about Ming Sheng’s medical expenses and gave the money to Teacher Sun to pass on to Ming Sheng’s parents. Although they didn’t mention it, we’re completely at fault, so we must compensate for the medical expenses. Mother is just telling you this principle of being a decent person, do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Your father even wrote an apology letter and put it in the envelope with the money for Teacher Sun to give to Ming Sheng’s parents,” Li Fanghao added, “But it’s all insufficient. Your teachers said it’s unfortunate Ming Sheng can’t participate in the final basketball games. Yes, it is unfortunate, but what can we do? So remember, the most basic principle of being human is not to harm others. Once you’ve caused harm, no amount of money or apologies can truly make up for it, that wound will always be there…” Her voice suddenly wavered, as if suppressing an inexplicable resentment rising in her chest, “It all comes down to luck. If you’re lucky, they won’t take it to heart, and you can live happily thereafter; if you’re unlucky and they keep remembering it, harboring hatred, you can’t say anything about it, right?”
Qiao Qingyu responded with a dazed “Yes.”
Li Fanghao expelled the anger from her heart, starting forcefully but ending extremely drawn out.
“Let me tell you,” after calming down, she continued, “I’ve already asked Teacher Sun for leave. You don’t need to go to school this afternoon and don’t eat lunch there. Leave right after class, I’ll take you and Jinyu back to Shunyun. Now go to sleep quickly, so you won’t be tired at school.”
“Why are we going to Shunyun?”
“Bring your ID card, we need to handle some official business at the police station,” Li Fanghao said, “We’ll have to return tonight. That’s enough talk now, go to sleep quickly.”
The vague “official business” settled in Qiao Qingyu’s heart, making it impossible for her to sleep soundly. However, this mystery didn’t last until the afternoon—during the third-morning class, as Qiao Qingyu was nodding off over her classical Chinese textbook, an anonymous note appeared before her:
Qiao Qingyu, what a gentle new name!
Looking around, no one seemed unusual. Ye Zilin was dozing off, Ming Sheng’s desk was empty—he hadn’t come to school these past two days. The handwriting looked somewhat familiar, the graceful style suggesting a girl’s hand, not seeming like a prank. Qiao Qingyu stared at it for several seconds before suddenly realizing what the “official business” meant: her parents wanted to change her and Jinyu’s names.
After class, Jiang Nian pulled her into the corridor with a mysterious smile: “Why didn’t you tell me about changing your name? Aren’t I your friend?”
“You wrote the note?”
“Yes,” Jiang Nian nodded, “I went to the administration office to get some materials and happened to see your mom collecting the school’s consent form. Why are you changing your name?”
Qiao Qingyu gazed toward the assembly square: “I don’t want to change my name.”
“But I saw…”
“I think,” Qiao Qingyu looked at Jiang Nian’s concerned eyes and said thoughtfully, “I think my parents are superstitious. They believe my sister left because of the character ‘Yu’ in her name, and after what I did recently, they think I’ve also grown wild wings, so they want to change my name.”
Jiang Nian smiled awkwardly: “That reason seems a bit absurd…”
“Very absurd,” Qiao Qingyu pressed her lips together and looked into the distance as if talking to herself, “It’s utterly pathetic.”
“Well,” Jiang Nian felt somewhat helpless but wanted to comfort Qiao Qingyu, so she said, “Look at it another way, changing names is such trouble, your parents are trying everything they can for you both, it’s quite thoughtful. The pronunciation is similar, it won’t cause any trouble in daily life, don’t you think?”
“It’s not like that,” Qiao Qingyu looked sincerely at Jiang Nian, shaking her head, “It’s not just about a name.”
“It’s about beliefs,” Jiang Nian picked up sympathetically, “But I don’t think it’s a big problem. Qingyu, it sounds nice, when you smile it’s like sunshine from the sky, skin like jade, how fitting~”
“It’s not that romantic,” Qiao Qingyu shook her head again, “They’re just afraid of my wings, wanting to pluck them off.”
Qing-Yu, pronounced these two characters in her heart, firmly and resolutely.
How could she possibly accept those two weak, powerless characters?
In the river of history, 2008 had been tumultuous and stirring. The snowstorm disaster, Wenchuan earthquake, and Olympics—alternating great sorrows and joys like surging waves sweeping over everyone, leaving profound reverberations at year’s end. Qiao Lusheng had stopped the TV on Huanzhou’s civic channel, where reporters were randomly interviewing pedestrians about their feelings on the year. The words “extraordinary” repeatedly reached Qiao Qingyu’s ears inside the house. She focused intently, finishing the last page of Dostoevsky’s epic work, then fell back, sinking deep into the thick quilt.
The yellowing ceiling resembled old rice paper, and Qiao Qingyu thought about how long it had been since she’d practiced calligraphy.
She stretched out her arm to flex her cold, cramped fingers, pretending to grip a sturdy wolf-hair brush, freely writing the characters “not ordinary” toward the ceiling. Imagining their grace, she felt, for the first time, pure and complete satisfaction with her writing.
So cold. Pulling back her hand to warm it with her breath, Qiao Qingyu’s thoughts began to wander. Recently, to defend her name which carried the same lineage as Qiao Baiyu, she had argued earth-shatteringly with her parents, even drawing in Qiao Jinyu on the other end of the phone. She won in the end. However, that unprecedented argument had exhausted all the family’s warmth. True winter, with invisible snow and wind inside the house, had silently arrived after the argument.
Her parents gave her countless disappointed looks. The house changed from a snow plain to an ice field, and Qiao Qingyu knew she was treading a path of ice crystals into an extremely cold place. It grew increasingly cold outside, huge dark clouds covered the sky as if brewing a massive conspiracy to bury Huanzhou. Opening the new calendar, January’s two solar terms were marked in striking red characters: Minor Cold, Major Cold.
Qiao Qingyu’s gaze lingered on “Major Cold,” their family’s last day in Huanzhou before the Spring Festival.
On this last night of 2008, in a small, airless room in Chaoyang New Village, sixteen-year-old Qiao Qingyu felt like an ostrich trapped in a blizzard. Outside, the dark clouds finally loosened, and pristine snowflakes silently filled the entire world. Inside, Qiao Qingyu began to miss the fierce summer sun. Huanzhou’s winter was too dark and too long, she thought, I need the sun, forever brilliant and forever passionate sun.