Fang Zhaodi didn’t make it to August, passing away on the last day of July. Despite a barrage of phone calls from the family, Qiao Jinrui, who was in Guangzhou, insisted he was too busy to return. This enraged Qiao Lilong, who suddenly collapsed after the funeral, unable to stand. Panicked, the family rushed him to Shunyun Central Hospital, but doctors found nothing wrong, merely advising rest and avoidance of stress and excitement.
“I can’t manage both housework and caregiving alone,” Liu Yanfen candidly told Qiao Lusheng and Li Fanghao. “We’ve been caring for the elderly all along. It’s time you contributed too. Who caused this mess? Think about it conscientiously.”
Qiao Lusheng agreed without hesitation. After Liu Yanfen left, Qiao Qingyu overheard Li Fanghao complaining, “They’ve contributed, but doesn’t our monthly financial support count?”
“Harmony is paramount in a family,” Qiao Lusheng replied firmly. “We can’t account for everything precisely.”
“So how should we contribute?” Li Fanghao pressed. “Qingqing’s starting her final year of high school and will soon begin tutoring. If the store doesn’t reopen, how will we make ends meet?”
“Qiao Huan and I can manage the store,” Qiao Lusheng said, glancing at Qiao Qingyu. “Qingqing’s responsible enough now; she doesn’t need daily escorts.”
“That’s right, Mom. I’m here too,” Qiao Jingyu chimed in, hoping to prevent an argument. “I haven’t started school yet, so I can help look after Grandpa. Maybe he’ll feel better and stand up in a few days, right?”
And so it was decided. Two days later, amid Li Fanghao’s endless reminders, Qiao Qingyu followed Qiao Lusheng onto the bus to Shunyun. Only upon reaching Chaoyang New Village did she realize with astonishment: that Li Fanghao had let her go.
Qiao Lusheng had never been very involved in her upbringing. The day after arriving in Huanzhou, just before her tutoring began, he retrieved her student bus pass from a drawer, gave her money for meals, and briefed her on several matters, fulfilling Li Fanghao’s instructions.
The heavy rain on the first day of tutoring reminded Qiao Qingyu of the typhoon day when she first arrived at No. 2 High School – the day she met Wang Mumu. She recalled that elbow-length transparent umbrella, seemingly open yet more enclosed. She remembered those warm, smiling eyes – Mumu’s smile was the first genuine kindness she’d experienced at the school.
Had Sister Mumu received her Renmin University admission letter? Was she in Beijing now?
The senior building was already cleared out. Qiao Qingyu, among the first to arrive, found the empty Class 5 on the second floor. Upon entering, she saw Sun Yinglong writing “Unleash Your Fighting Spirit, Achieve Your Dreams” on the blackboard.
Tossing the chalk aside without turning, he asked loudly, “Who’s here first?”
“Me,” Qingyu stood up, somewhat awkwardly. “Qiao Qingyu… Good morning, Teacher Sun.”
“I knew it was you, sneaking in quietly,” Sun laughed, turning around. “How was your brief summer break?”
Qingyu was unsure how to respond.
“Anyway,” Sun continued cheerfully, “your mother called, asking me to look after you since she’s away.”
Qingyu responded with a quiet “Oh.”
“She wants me to keep an eye on you. You’re in your final year now, so avoid unnecessary socializing. If anyone sends you letters, she wants you to give them to her first. But honestly,” Sun approached Qingyu, holding an envelope, “I think she’s overreacting. Who in our class is more well-behaved than you? You can take care of yourself, right?”
He placed the envelope on her desk. “I found this letter for you in the class mailbox. You can read it directly.”
Surprised and touched, Qingyu softly thanked him.
“Many parents are more anxious than their children,” Sun smiled. “Tell your mom to relax; otherwise, it might affect your exam performance.”
As Chen Shen, Guan Lan, and Deng Meixi entered, Sun returned to the podium. Qingyu sat down and opened the letter. Though unsigned, the handwriting was Wang Mumu’s. True to her word, Mumu had written quickly, filling Qingyu with excitement and satisfaction.
Unfolding the paper, Qingyu leaned over her desk and began reading intently.
“Dear Qingqing,
I hope this letter finds you well. By the time you read this, I’ll surely be in Beijing. I tried to visit you, but Mrs. Feng told me your whole family had returned to Nanqiao Village. I hope your grandmother is doing well… No, that’s not my most honest thought. Dr. Lin says we shouldn’t avoid painful parts of life, expecting them to disappear. So, what I want to say is: that aging, illness, and death are natural. I hope your grandmother didn’t suffer much in her final moments, that your family hasn’t blamed you, and that you’re not feeling endlessly guilty about her passing. You told me she already had diabetes and high blood pressure, so her health was poor. If she’s gone, please don’t take all the blame on yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” Qingyu whispered, feeling a warmth spread through her.
“There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you but never found the right moment,” she continued reading. “It’s partly due to my indecisiveness. But after a recent chat with Dr. Lin, I’ve decided to tell you, hoping it won’t add to your burden, especially now that you’re in your final year.”
Qingyu took a quiet breath.
“I once saw an empty sleeping pill bottle in your trash can. You probably didn’t notice because you didn’t recognize it, but I’m all too familiar with sleeping pills, so I couldn’t be mistaken.”
Qingyu’s heart raced.
“You might not know this, but the day after my dad was hospitalized – the morning after the college entrance exam – your mom visited us at the hospital. I had stepped out, and when I returned, I overheard her talking with my mom outside the room. My mom was talking about suicide again, as usual, which I typically ignore. But I heard your mom agreeing very seriously, saying if it weren’t for you and your brother, she would have followed your sister long ago.
I heard her say that when your sister was transferred from Weiai Hospital to Provincial No. 1 Hospital, she was already in critical condition and didn’t want treatment. Your mom had to threaten her with a fruit knife to her neck, saying they’d die together, to make your sister stop resisting. She said after your sister passed, she almost jumped out of the hospital window, but two nurses desperately held her back. She also mentioned that in the years since your sister’s death, she’s often thought about leaving, but couldn’t because you and your brother were too young to understand.”
Qiao Qingyu’s nose stung as the words before her blurred.
“What worries me most is hearing her say death would be easier than living, like a long sleep,” the letter continued. “I once had similar thoughts. So I’m concerned about her. I know what she told my mom wasn’t mere consolation, but her genuine feelings.”
Qingyu’s chest heaved as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Qingqing,” Mumu wrote next, “I think your mom might be suffering from the same illness I have—a sickness of the heart.”
Yes, Qingyu thought. After reading the last two lines, she closed the letter, feeling as if she’d fallen into a dark well, gripped by a bottomless fear.
Now she understood why Li Fanghao, usually so sensitive, could sleep through Qingyu’s three or four-hour absences in the middle of the night, despite sharing a bed. She also realized why her mother’s breathing was always so calm and steady at night. It wasn’t from exhaustion but from sleeping pills.
Her mother had been ill for a long time.
This explains why, in front of her grandparents and aunt and uncle, her mother desperately took all the blame for Qingyu’s mistakes. Her guilt ran deeper, feeling she hadn’t properly monitored her daughter.
Images flashed before Qingyu’s eyes: Li Fanghao’s screams as she shielded her from Qiao Lilong’s whip, her humble resignation in the face of Liu Yanfen’s cold demeanor. “Mom,” she whispered, her nose burning, tears falling hot and scalding onto her hands like blood dripping from her heart.
The tutoring sessions ran from August 5th to 25th, three weeks during Huanzhou’s hottest summer. Evening self-study wasn’t mandatory, and about half the students went home. Qingyu stayed, preferring the air-conditioned classroom to home and following Li Fanghao’s advice that eating dinner at school was safer than being seen at the store.
Qingyu enjoyed the full days at school. Sun Yinglong had rearranged the seating, placing her in the far corner next to a clear, large window. When thinking or relaxing, she’d turn to look outside, her gaze unconsciously settling on the camphor trees between the tennis courts, basketball courts, and track field.
Young, tall, and lush, these trees swayed with vibrant green life under the scorching sun. Undoubtedly the tallest on campus, they stood out starkly against the flat sports fields. Qingyu felt as if she’d just discovered them, instantly falling in love with their presence.
In the past, she might have found time to walk beneath them, just to experience their vast canopy. But now, as a senior, she had no time for such indulgences.
The seat nearest the back door remained empty throughout the tutoring period, reserved for Mingsheng, who was still in America. This stirred no emotions in Qingyu. If anything, she felt slightly relieved—his absence had made everyone in class less interesting, all wearing the uniform masks of senior-year students. She preferred this stagnant classroom atmosphere.
Thanks to Wang Mumu’s letter, another layer of life’s fog had lifted. The thorns were now more visible, but so was the path: she, Qiao Qingyu, could only lead Li Fanghao safely through this dark time by staying focused, diligent, understanding, and never complaining.
She calmed her mind completely. Everything related to Mingsheng remained in July as life moved forward. Without him, she thought more frequently of Qiao Baiyu, pondering Mumu’s words. “Your sister was already critical but didn’t want treatment, insisting on dying”—what did that mean? Was it related to AIDS complications making survival unlikely, so her sister didn’t want to waste time and money? Or had she intended to… Qingyu couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
She recalled her last encounter with Baiyu during the summer of 2005, another scorching August. They shared a room in Shunyun then, with Baiyu often parading around in light clothing, her porcelain-like arms and legs exposed.
Their parents were busy in the store downstairs, Baiyu, about to start college, ignored Li Fanghao’s restrictions. She’d often wear ultra-short shorts or skirts, first earnestly advising Qingyu to study hard, then casually making an excuse like “getting some air” before leaving.
Once, just after hanging up the phone, two boys Baiyu had been talking to poked their heads into the living room, startling Qingyu as she lay reading on the sofa.
“Your sister?” one boy grinned lecherously. “How old is she?”
Baiyu rushed to the door, replying quickly, “Starting eighth grade this fall.”
“Eighth grade’s old enough. She’s cute! Why don’t we—”
Before the boy could finish, Qingyu heard Baiyu hiss through gritted teeth, “Go to hell.”
Looking back, Baiyu had always clearly demarcated their worlds. “You need to study hard, don’t be like me,” she often said. Perhaps this was her sister’s silent love—it didn’t matter how polluted and dirty her world became, as long as her little sister’s remained clean and bright.
Turning her head, Qingyu gazed at the lush camphor trees again. Their leaves danced in the wind, sunlight shimmering like liquid gold. Finding it a bit dazzling, she closed her eyes and saw Baiyu’s radiant, twelve-year-old face, illuminated by firelight and pressed close to her own.
Her heart warmed.
I will study hard, she thought, turning back and gripping her pen tightly once more.