So it turns out I’m a coward, Qiao Qingyu thought, deeply disappointed in herself. In the elevator, heading up to confirm who was in the accident, she encountered an elderly couple crying uncontrollably. From the consoling words of relatives speaking in the Huan Prefecture dialect, she learned it was their granddaughter who had been in the accident.
As the elevator doors opened, revealing the cold characters for “Operating Room” at the end of the hallway, the silver-haired elderly woman let out an earth-shattering wail of anguish. Qiao Qingyu retreated to a corner of the elevator, not following them out.
Afraid of encountering familiar faces of her relatives, she fled.
After running from the hospital, she quickly got into a taxi. This time the driver didn’t ask questions, winding through Huan Prefecture’s streets, along the narrow lakeside road, past clusters of cheerful tourists, up the gentle slope at the foot of North Mountain, finally stopping at the bus station in front of Anling Cemetery.
Her head ached, everything spinning. The bright sun was behind her head, and though her forehead was burning hot in the shadows, it was also breaking out in cold sweat. Walking up the black shadows, Qiao Qingyu’s muddled mind alternated between flashes of Ming Sheng’s handwritten note and blurry images of the aftermath of the accident. Though her remaining rationality struggled to tell her the accident victim might not be Qiao Jinrui, the emotional guilt already weighed so heavily she couldn’t straighten her back.
Qiao Baiyu’s grave stood quietly by the steps, appearing poignantly lonely compared to the surrounding tombstones adorned with flowers. During the Spring Festival, many people came to sweep graves. Just as Qiao Qingyu’s hand brushed over the sweet smile on Qiao Baiyu’s photo in the center of the tombstone, a group of people of various ages passed behind her, stopping a few meters away at another grave.
They came well-prepared, with flowers, offerings, and joss paper, missing nothing. Completing all the proper rituals, they even lit two white candles before the tombstone before leaving. This made Qiao Qingyu feel quite apologetic toward Qiao Baiyu.
“I’m sorry, sister,” she whispered, “I came in such a hurry, I forgot to bring you flowers.”
Turning to face the sun, Qiao Qingyu crouched down to sit on the steps. Her shoulder leaned against the white tombstone, her head just touching its rounded edge. Closing her eyes, the world turned red. Her temperature must have risen again, waves of nausea rising from her empty stomach, her mouth dry as fire.
“Fool,” Qiao Qingyu whispered self-mockingly, her voice barely there.
She had longed for the vastness of the sky but ignored the heaviness of her mortal body. Now, though bitter and resentful toward her clumsiness, she had to acknowledge that, tormented by high fever, she probably couldn’t leave Huan Prefecture.
Perhaps she couldn’t even leave this cemetery.
Her thoughts stagnated, muddy waves churning in her mind, her whole being dizzy. In her haziness, she seemed to be lying in bed, with the familiar face of Li Fanghao before her.
“Told you to take off that cotton coat,” Li Fanghao nagged, placing a folded hot towel on Qiao Qingyu’s forehead. “What happened to your sister’s old clothes? Don’t keep comparing yourself with classmates, understand?”
The tone and manner were so clear as if it had happened yesterday. Qiao Qingyu moved her head slightly, pressing her burning face against Qiao Baiyu’s cold tombstone.
In her confusion, she felt the sunlight disappear, and a blurry voice came from above, gradually becoming clear: “Young lady? Young lady?”
Struggling to open her eyes, she saw an old man wearing a navy blue traditional cotton jacket standing before her.
“Why is a young lady like you here alone?” The elderly man wore old-fashioned large-framed glasses, his silver hair gleaming against the light. “Are you sick? You should go home! Where do you live?”
Qiao Qingyu slowly shook her head and opened her mouth, but said nothing. The old man leaned forward to look at Qiao Baiyu’s grave, then asked understanding: “Here to see your sister?”
Then he added: “Your sister would be happy, now hurry home, young lady, it’s cold here.”
After patting Qiao Qingyu’s shoulder, he turned and walked down the cemetery steps, his pace slow but light, as if walking on clouds. After watching him leave, Qiao Qingyu closed her eyes and once again rested her head against Qiao Baiyu’s tombstone.
Her whole body was weak and powerless—how could she leave?
Might as well sleep here for a while—
When she woke, the sun had climbed overhead. A family of three was paying respects nearby, their child constantly casting curious glances in her direction. After they left, another family came, each person passing before Qiao Qingyu with barely concealed surprise before stopping at the grave next to Qiao Baiyu’s.
Smoke curled through the air, and Qiao Qingyu’s cough broke the silence.
After that family left, Qiao Qingyu struggled to her feet, turned, and sat before Qiao Baiyu’s grave.
She had to think clearly about what to do next. But her head was heavy, impossible to focus. Thoughts expanded wildly then contracted sharply, leaving only a black hole of fear.
“If,” she whispered to the sacred face of Qiao Baiyu in the photo, “if it was Brother Jinrui and Sister Xiaoyun in the accident, what should I do?”
All was silent, with no answer.
Someone was coming. A single person, footsteps gradually becoming clearer, approaching from behind her right side, then stopping.
Qiao Qingyu’s heart suspended, she turned around, and a large bunch of blooming white chrysanthemums entered her vision.
Above the chrysanthemums were eyes as bright as black jasper.
In those few seconds of meeting Ming Sheng’s gaze, Qiao Qingyu felt as if she had fallen into a dream. She quickly looked away, numbly watching from the corner of her eye as Ming Sheng half-crouched to place the bouquet neatly beneath Qiao Baiyu’s photo. When he turned his gaze toward her, Qiao Qingyu lowered her head in embarrassment and distress.
“I thought you’d gone far away.”
Qiao Qingyu held back the urge to cry, closing her dizzy eyes.
“You…” Ming Sheng’s careful manner made him exceptionally gentle, “are you feeling unwell?”
Qiao Qingyu nodded, then quickly shook her head. The next moment, a cool large hand covered her forehead.
“I’m so thirsty,” Qiao Qingyu spoke, her hoarse voice trembling with suppression, like a cry of grief.
She opened her eyes to see Ming Sheng anxiously looking around, his face showing worry she had never seen before: “Wait for me, three minutes.”
He stood up and ran quickly down the steps, turning out of the cemetery entrance, and disappearing in the blink of an eye.
Her legs had gone numb at some point. Qiao Qingyu struggled to stand, tilting her face to find the sun, and crashed straight into the bright orb hanging high in the sky. The white sun burned her, and when she opened her eyes again, the world became unreal, flickering white spots everywhere, dreamlike silence all around.
Just now, Ming Sheng’s sudden appearance—was it her hallucination?
How did he know her sister was here? How did he find her? He… wouldn’t try to persuade her to go home, would he? The chaotic questions pushed and shoved into Qiao Qingyu’s mind, and her dying brain suddenly excited like a final burst of energy, exhausting her in just those few minutes.
Fortunately, Ming Sheng appeared again. His quickly moving figure was like a stabilizing anchor, miraculously calming all the turbulent waves in Qiao Qingyu’s heart.
“Drink,” Ming Sheng handed her an opened bottle of mineral water.
As the mountain spring water flowed down her parched tongue into her chest, Qiao Qingyu felt like a withered tree gradually regaining life.
“You need to drink hot water,” Ming Sheng’s voice was so soft as if afraid of hurting her, “and get some good sleep.”
Qiao Qingyu put down the empty water bottle she had drunk in one go: “I have a fever.”
“I know.”
“Are my photos everywhere outside?”
Ming Sheng paused slightly, seeming to carefully consider the meaning of this question.
“I heard my family is looking everywhere for me, they’ve reported to the police.”
Ming Sheng nodded: “They put out a missing person notice in the newspaper. Aunt Feng—you know her? The newspaper stand owner’s wife—she showed it to me.”
“I can’t go home.”
“Your fever is very serious.”
Qiao Qingyu lowered her eyes. She was conversing with Ming Sheng through sheer willpower, but her legs were like cotton, looking as fragile as a leaf about to fall.
Ming Sheng didn’t let her wander in her confused thoughts: “Let’s get you some proper sleep first. I’ll take you somewhere your family won’t find you.”
—
As the taxi slowly approached the gates of Chaoyang New Village, afraid of being recognized, Qiao Qingyu huddled in the corner of the back seat, having already pulled her down jacket hood over her head. To her right, Ming Sheng rolled down the window, greeted the security guard, and responded to Shopkeeper Feng’s greeting from not far behind the car. Before the car came to a complete stop, Qiao Qingyu noticed the building number, solving the mystery—Building 38 of Chaoyang New Village.
Ming Sheng had brought her to his grandfather’s home.
Only after entering did Qiao Qingyu dare remove her hood. “Don’t go to the kitchen, there are no curtains there,” Ming Sheng said while bending down to take out a pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet. “Here.”
The layout of the apartment was identical to Qiao Qingyu’s home, yet it had none of that suffocating atmosphere. The white walls were clean, the sofa and dining table shared the same natural wood color, simple yet warm. Where a TV would normally be, an upright piano stood pressed against a bookshelf that reached the ceiling, its glass doors so clean they were almost invisible if not for the reflection. A light gray carpet lay under the tea table, and a cheerful Chinese landscape painting hung on the white wall above the sofa. The empty balcony was completely enclosed in glass, like a transparent box filled with warm sunlight.
As soon as they entered, Ming Sheng drew the floor-length curtains between the living room and balcony, immediately darkening the room considerably.
“You can sleep in the master bedroom,” Ming Sheng opened the door beside the bookshelf. “The smaller room’s window faces your house, which you probably wouldn’t like.”
Qiao Qingyu nodded slowly. Her mind felt stuffed with cotton, unable to form words.
Suddenly Ming Sheng let out a soft “oh,” sounding somewhat deflated. Qiao Qingyu stretched her neck to peek into the master bedroom and saw nothing but a bare mattress on the bed.
“I can make the bed…”
“Come on, in your condition?” Ming Sheng cut her off decisively. “Sit down, I’ll do it.”
Qiao Qingyu sat awkwardly, especially when she saw Ming Sheng take out bedding, pillows, duvet covers, and sheets from the wardrobe, and then stand silently by the bed after laying them out. Just as she was about to get up to help, Ming Sheng rushed out of the room: “Boiling water, you need to drink it hot.”
After bustling about in the kitchen like a whirlwind, he returned to the doorway: “Remember, don’t go to the kitchen, your family has many watching eyes. And here,” he pointed to the floor-length curtains on Qiao Qingyu’s left, “the neighbors’ eyes can be just as frightening.”
Then, with a snap, he closed the door.
Imagining him scratching his head in confusion while left alone with the bedding, Qiao Qingyu felt both deeply moved and amused. The wooden sofa was rather hard, and with her dizzy head, she got up to approach the envied bookshelf, her eyes brightening at the vast collection of books within.
A few minutes later, just as Qiao Qingyu couldn’t resist opening the cabinet to pull out a book she’d been eyeing, the door suddenly flew open.
She instantly withdrew her hand, like a child caught misbehaving, and asked sheepishly: “Do you need help making the bed?”
The urgency and frustration were written on Ming Sheng’s face, though his tone remained calm as usual: “I can handle it. Since you’re up for it, why don’t you take a shower?”
“But I didn’t bring any clean underwear.”
The words left her mouth without thinking, and Qiao Qingyu’s face instantly burned. She unconsciously took a small step back, just as the old book she’d partially pulled out earlier lost its battle with gravity and fell to the floor with a thud. The cover showed two women in ambiguous poses, looking as crude as an erotic novel. Yet under the title “Norwegian Wood,” there was a striking yellow subtitle—”Farewell to the Virgin World.” How could such a renowned work have such an unseemly cover? Qiao Qingyu wished she could dissolve into thin air from embarrassment.
“Hot water will help you relax.”
After speaking, Ming Sheng quickly withdrew his head and slowly closed the door.
—
Qiao Qingyu not only showered but also washed her hair. For the first time in three days, she removed her heavy outer clothing, and the hot water from the shower was like a cleansing rain, washing away all the dirt from her body. The warm air from the hair dryer, along with the lingering fresh scent of shampoo, made nameless flowers bloom in Qiao Qingyu’s heart as if she had stepped into spring.
Walking out of the bathroom, the apartment was quiet, with Ming Sheng nowhere to be seen. On the dining table sat a steaming kettle with its lid open, a glass half-filled with water, and beneath the glass, a note: I’ll be back soon.
In the bedroom, the bed was made, the gray and white checkered pillows and comforter showing adorable curves, visibly soft and inviting.
Qiao Qingyu gently pulled out the chair, retrieved the note from under the glass, and took out her notebook from the inner pocket of her down jacket, carefully tucking the note inside.
The water in the glass was still quite hot. She held it with both hands, blowing on it silently, afraid that any force might wake her from this beautiful dream. As she sipped the water slowly, she looked around, quietly committing every detail to memory. Just as she was pouring a second glass, she heard the sound of a key in the lock, the door opened, and Ming Sheng slipped inside.
He carried a large bottle of mineral water in one hand and several plastic bags in the other. Reaching the dining table, he opened the bags one by one, revealing fried rice, plain congee, and other food items, several boxes of cold medicine, and daily necessities like towels, toothbrushes, and tissues. Then he took the mineral water to the kitchen and came back with two bowls.
“Can you eat?”
Ming Sheng asked briefly while sitting down across the dining table, filling one bowl with congee and pushing it toward Qiao Qingyu.
Qiao Qingyu whispered a thank you, barely audible, not daring to meet his eyes. Ming Sheng said nothing more, quickly finishing his fried rice, and when Qiao Qingyu pushed her bowl aside saying she was full, he reached for the cold medicine to open it.
“Let me,” Qiao Qingyu quickly reached out, “I can do it myself, thank you.”
As if not hearing her, Ming Sheng still opened the powder packet, went to the kitchen for another glass, mixed the medicine, and placed it before Qiao Qingyu. Throughout the process, he didn’t say a word, while Qiao Qingyu’s gaze unconsciously followed his hands. They were large hands with distinct knuckles, lean and long, with immaculately trimmed nails, mixing the medicine with gentle yet efficient movements, mysteriously combining elegance with strength—just like Ming Sheng himself, whose inherent powerful presence couldn’t be masked even by his gentle tone, making him quite captivating.
For some reason, just watching Ming Sheng’s hands made Qiao Qingyu’s heart race.
“Take this and get some sleep.”
Like an obedient child following orders, Qiao Qingyu drank the medicine in one go. As she placed the glass in the extended large hand across the table, she gathered her courage and met Ming Sheng’s intense gaze.
“You’re not asking anything,” she said, “aren’t you curious about what happened to me these past few days?”
“Of course I am,” Ming Sheng replied frankly, his eyes showing increased concern, “but let’s talk after you get some proper sleep.”
With that, he put down the glass, walked to the master bedroom, and held the door open with one hand in an inviting gesture. As if hypnotized, Qiao Qingyu automatically lifted her feet, walking past Ming Sheng in a dreamlike daze.
“You can lock the door from inside,” she heard Ming Sheng whisper near her ear, “don’t think about anything, just sleep.”
She didn’t think about anything. That bed, clearly made by Ming Sheng for the first time, had some magic to it. As soon as her head touched the pillow, Qiao Qingyu fell asleep—a true, peaceful sleep she hadn’t experienced in a long time.