Before Qiao Qingyu left for Shanghai to participate in the New Concept competition, her father, Qiao Lusheng, gave her 1,000 yuan for travel expenses, accommodation, and meals for three days. Her brother, Qiao Jingyu, handed her his mobile phone.
“I can go three days without calling Mom, but you can’t,” he told Qiao Qingyu. “Call her daily. If she asks about me, say I’m showering, watching TV, or forgot my phone while out. Anything works.”
“Don’t go out alone or make friends casually,” Qiao Lusheng cautioned. “Winning isn’t important; returning safely is.”
Their anxiety amused and touched Qiao Qingyu. As she prepared to leave, she did something unexpected—hugging both her father and brother.
“I love you both,” she said, then hurried away from the sentimental scene she’d created.
Drawing on her experience from running away a year ago, Qiao Qingyu felt confident traveling alone. In Shanghai, she had a quick lunch near the train station before heading to the designated hostel. Upon arrival, she encountered a problem—she was late by arriving just a day early. Many participants had already checked in, leaving no vacancies.
She tried the second and third options on the list, both further away, but they were also full. As the sun set, she walked along streets lined with old Shanghai-style houses, passing several expensive hotels. Her steps grew heavy with uncertainty. She had no appetite for dinner, finding the pan-fried buns greasy and the vegetables bland. As the city lights came on, she bit her lip and devised a plan, returning to the first hostel—the closest and most affordable to the competition venue.
She didn’t go in. Instead, she stood at the entrance, holding an A4 paper that read “New Concept Competition, Seeking Female Roommate,” enduring curious glances from passersby.
After half an hour, apart from a boy asking if she’d share a room with him, no one approached. Many were competition participants, some already in groups, others accompanied by parents. As Qiao’s arms were tired, she considered trying the next hostel. Just then, a kind-faced middle-aged woman stopped.
“Are you here for the competition?” the woman asked, surprised. “Alone? No place to stay?”
“Yes,” Qiao nodded. “I arrived too late.”
“Come, I’ll help you ask,” the woman beckoned. “I’m an editor for Sprout magazine. I just spoke with some students; one girl might have a double room to herself.”
She gave her name at the reception, and within three minutes, a short-haired girl appeared.
“Teacher Hong, where is she?” the girl asked.
The editor introduced Qiao Qingyu. The short-haired girl waved, smiling warmly. “Hello!”
“Hi~” Qiao smiled back.
After check-in, the girl led Qiao to the room, offering her the untouched bed near the window.
“I’m Meng Xiaozeng from Shanxi. You?”
“Qiao Qingyu,” she replied while unpacking. “I’m from Huanzhou.”
Though Shunyun was part of Huanzhou, Qiao avoided calling herself a Huanzhou native to prevent misunderstandings.
“Huanzhou? That’s close,” Meng Xiaozeng smiled, pleasantly surprised. “No wonder you look so fresh.”
Qiao blushed. “Did you come alone from Shanxi?”
“How else?” Meng sat cross-legged on the bed, opening a can of cola casually. “I’m an adult. My parents are happy to see me leave… You don’t look like someone who’d travel alone.”
“No, I love being on my own,” Qiao quickly clarified.
“YeAh it’s liberating,” Meng sipped her cola, fiddling with her phone. “By the way, I invited some other competitors over to chat and get acquainted. You don’t mind, right?”
Qiao shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Good,” Meng tossed her phone aside and smiled. “They’re almost here.”
As if on cue, someone knocked. Meng gestured for Qiao to stay put and jumped up to open the door.
Five people entered—three boys and two girls—instantly filling the room. Meng rapidly introduced everyone. Though Qiao couldn’t catch their names, she remembered where they were from: Heilongjiang, Beijing, Sichuan, Guangdong, and Hunan.
“We all came solo,” concluded the girl from Hunan, the last to enter. She was petite with smiling eyes and a crisp voice.
The group began chatting, mostly about literature. The boys from Heilongjiang and Beijing led the conversation, covering topics from Han Han and Guo Jingming to Hemingway and Murakami, from the Renaissance and Romanticism to Critical Realism and Magical Realism, before circling back to Annie Baby and Zhang Yueran. Qiao Qingyu curled up in the single armchair by the window, initially listening with interest. Gradually, her vision blurred, and her mind struggled to keep up with the rapid-fire discussion.
Embarrassed after Meng Xiaozeng gently woke her, Qiao heard her say, “Go to bed~”
The room was quiet; everyone else had left.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep…” Qiao said, standing up. “I walked all afternoon.”
As she rose, a large black down jacket slipped from her shoulders. She picked it up, asking Meng, “Is this yours?”
“No,” Meng replied from her bed, smiling meaningfully. “It’s Xu Yizhe’s.”
“Who?”
“The Beijing guy who kept saying Murakami is a second-rate novelist,” Meng explained. “He went quiet after you fell asleep.”
Qiao remembered him now—a bespectacled, refined-looking boy who spoke with confidence and precision.
Uncertain, she asked which room Xu Yizhe was in.
“You’re returning it now?” Meng asked, surprised. “He said he’d come get it in the morning.”
“Isn’t it better to return it now?” Qiao hesitated.
“Up to you,” Meng shrugged. “It’s just a coat. Why so nervous?”
Qiao decided to return it, disliking the unfamiliar male scent on the jacket. The scene was awkward; Xu Yizhe had just showered and answered the door in the hostel’s bathrobe. Seeing Qiao, he inhaled sharply.
She handed him the folded jacket.
“Qiao… Qingyu?” Xu Yizhe said her name uncertainly, then extended his hand. “I’m Xu Yizhe.”
“Thank you, Xu Yizhe.”
She nodded slightly, ignoring his outstretched hand, and left.
The next day, after the competition, they gathered again. By the third day, the group had grown close, their conversations expanding beyond literature to life, youth, and relationships. The Hunan girl had a childhood sweetheart, the Heilongjiang boy was pursuing an online friend, and Meng Xiaozeng declared she’d never marry or have children. Amidst the chatter, Xu Yizhe moved closer to Qiao, asking if she had a boyfriend. She shook her head.
“What year are you in?” he asked.
“Senior year.”
“I’m a junior,” Xu Yizhe said, turning towards Qiao as if to shield her from the Bund’s wind. “Which city are you considering for university?”
Qiao found it challenging to handle a boy’s obvious yet unspoken interest. Inexperienced and without guidance, she often felt at a loss. The wind at the Bund was strong, and she felt cold. Thinking about calling Li Fanghao, she suggested returning to the hostel.
“I’ll go back with you,” Xu Yizhe quickly offered.
“Me too,” Meng Xiaozeng chimed in. Qiao sighed with relief.
She had planned to retreat to her room upon returning, but as she entered the lobby, she froze—across the room, a tall, slender familiar figure rose from a navy blue sofa.
It was Ming Sheng.
Her breath caught, and her nose stung. Days of longing inexplicably transformed into a surge of overwhelming emotion.
Ming Sheng stood motionless. Xu Yizhe, walking beside Qiao, stopped with her, following her gaze in confusion. Meng Xiaozeng, who had walked ahead, noticed she’d left them behind only when she reached the elevator. Holding the button, she turned back, calling for them to hurry.
“I’m not going up yet!” Qiao called to Meng, her voice thick with emotion as her gaze remained locked on Ming Sheng’s intense eyes.
As Ming Sheng started walking towards them, Xu Yizhe, suddenly understanding, hurried to the elevator.
“How did you find this place?” Qiao spoke first as they walked along the narrow old street outside the hostel. Red-brick buildings from the Republican era lined both sides, bathed in the warm yellow glow of streetlights, creating a timeless tranquility.
“It wasn’t hard,” Ming Sheng’s voice was slightly hoarse. He kicked a small stone as they walked. “Was the competition difficult?”
“Not really.”
“Is the award ceremony tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come to watch?”
As Qiao hesitated, he asked, “Are you cold?”
“No,” Qiao shook her head, then added, “Come if you want to.”
Qiao Qingyu sensed Mingsheng’s smile as his voice brightened: “Want to catch a ride back to Huanzhou with me tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll accompany you. We can take the train back together.”
“No.”
Mingsheng sighed softly, then chuckled helplessly before calling her name with utmost seriousness: “Qiao Qingyu.”
“Hmm?”
“I hope you reject other boys as decisively as you reject me.”
His words carried a hint of anger and reluctance. Yet Qiao Qingyu smiled silently, feeling both happy and reassured. Finally, she turned to Mingsheng and explained as earnestly as she could: “I can’t consider romantic matters right now.”
Mingsheng glanced at her once, then twice. His clean-cut jawline appeared soft and melancholic under the dim streetlights. Suddenly, he smiled, raised his right hand, and playfully ruffled the back of Qiao Qingyu’s head, messing up her hair.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, looking towards the street, his hand still on her head. The warmth from his palm spread to Qiao Qingyu’s heart.
Qiao Qingyu remembered she was supposed to call Li Fanghao, but it remained just a thought.
“The Bund?” Mingsheng asked again.
Half an hour ago was Qiao Qingyu’s first time at the Bund, but with Mingsheng’s appearance, she felt that the visit didn’t count—there were too many people, too much noise, and Xu Yizhe had completely ruined her mood.
“Okay.”
Looking up, Qiao Qingyu saw Mingsheng smiling, his eyes full of pleasant surprise. The warmth on the back of her head disappeared as Mingsheng extended his right arm to hail a vacant taxi.
Their seating arrangement in the taxi mirrored that of a year ago—Qiao Qingyu on the left, with half a middle seat separating her from Mingsheng, about ten centimeters apart. The car’s heating was ample, and the radio played three consecutive songs by Liang Jingru. Her delicate yet full voice flowed like honey from the speakers. Qiao Qingyu mostly gazed out the window, occasionally looking forward when the car stopped at red lights, not at the road, but fixing her gaze on the deep red good luck charm hanging below the rearview mirror—it swayed incessantly as if stirring a pot of honey.
The strong, cold wind after exiting the car made Qiao Qingyu shiver involuntarily. Seeing Mingsheng start to unbutton his coat out of the corner of her eye, she quickly stopped him.
“I’m not afraid of the cold,” she said, reaching out to help button his coat back up, but not daring to touch him. Her hands hung awkwardly in the air. “You’re not wearing much. Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not afraid of the cold either.”
Qiao Qingyu made no reply and turned to walk towards the riverbank. The winter night was cold, and compared to an hour ago, the Bund was half as crowded, even appearing somewhat empty.
She walked to the railing, gazed at the colorful night scene of Pudong across the river for a while, then strolled along the railing, letting the cold wind tousle her hair. It was truly cold. She longed to feel the warmth of Mingsheng’s hand again, but he just followed her silently—when she walked, he walked; when she stopped, he stopped—steadfast yet respectful, like a loyal knight.
Reaching a spot diagonal to the Oriental Pearl Tower, Qiao Qingyu turned back to Mingsheng with a smile: “Can you take a photo for me?”
Mingsheng nodded and took Qiao Qingyu’s phone.
She brushed her hair, making sure it didn’t cover her face, and leaned against the railing with her hands at her sides, offering a shy smile at the phone in Mingsheng’s hands. Mingsheng first stood, then bent down, slightly bent his knees, and finally half-squatted before giving an OK sign. Finished, Qiao Qingyu relaxed her stiff smile and casually brushed away a strand of hair covering her face, only to find Mingsheng had quickly switched to his phone, maintaining his half-squat position, still taking pictures.
“You~” Qiao Qingyu was flustered but laughed, “Stop taking pictures!”
Mingsheng stood up, looking through the photos on his phone, appearing quite satisfied.
“Delete them!”
“You’re even more domineering than me,” he said lightly, hiding his phone behind his back with one hand while returning Qiao Qingyu’s phone with the other. “It’s not my fault your phone’s pixels are low, too impressionistic.”
The word “impressionistic” made Qiao Qingyu laugh again: “Delete my photos.”
“I won’t show them to anyone.”
“That’s not okay either~,” Qiao Qingyu said, seeing Mingsheng about to put his phone in his pocket, she reached out to grab it. As she grasped the phone, her cold palm also enclosed Mingsheng’s warm fingertips.
She should have pulled her hand back immediately, but she didn’t—Mingsheng’s grip on the phone was loose, making it easy to snatch away. But just as she felt she was about to succeed, another warm hand appeared out of nowhere, tightly enveloping the back of her hand.
“I’ll never delete them,” the young man’s voice was soft but firm, his breath getting closer, “I’ll wait for you.”
As her nose touched the softness of his cotton coat, Qiao Qingyu froze in place. She heard herself say “Okay.”
“Why did you say you weren’t afraid of the cold?”
His breath was right by her ear.
The back of her head was once again covered by a warm palm. The wind from the Huangpu River disappeared, the Oriental Pearl Tower across the river lost focus in her eyes, and the magnificent night scene became a dizzying array of colorful light spots. Qiao Qingyu simply closed her eyes.
She allowed Mingsheng to carefully and tightly embrace her in his arms.