Before leaving for Shanghai to participate in the New Concept competition, Qiao Lusheng gave Qiao Qingyu one thousand yuan for travel expenses, accommodation, and three days of meals. Qiao Jinyu handed her his mobile phone.
“It’s fine if I don’t call Mom for three days, but you can’t do that,” he told Qiao Qingyu. “You need to call her every day. If she asks about me, just say I’m showering, watching TV, or forgot my phone when I went out—whatever works.”
“Don’t go wandering alone, and don’t make friends with strangers,” Qiao Lusheng cautioned. “It doesn’t matter whether you win an award or not, what’s most important is that you return safely.”
Their anxiousness made Qiao Qingyu feel both amused and touched. As she was about to leave the store, shouldering her backpack, she did something she never expected of herself—she gave both her father and brother big hugs.
“I love you both.”
After saying this, she hurried away, escaping the sentimental scene she had created-
Having experienced running away from home a year ago, traveling alone didn’t worry Qiao Qingyu at all. After arriving in Shanghai, she first had a simple lunch near the train station, then followed the directions written in her notebook to the designated hostel. It was only after safely reaching the hostel that she encountered trouble—apparently arriving just one day early was considered late, as many contestants had already arrived, and the hostel was full.
She had to settle for alternatives, trying the second and third options on the list, both further away, but they were also full. As the sun slowly set, she walked along Shanghai streets lined with old Western-style houses, passing two or three shockingly expensive hotels, her steps heavy, unsure where to go. She had no appetite for dinner; the pan-fried buns were too greasy, the vegetables tasteless. As the city lights began to shine, she bit her lip and thought of a solution, returning to the first hostel, which was both closest to the competition venue and most affordable.
But she didn’t go in. She stood at the hostel entrance, holding an A4 paper that read “New Concept Finals, Female Looking to Share Room” against her chest, enduring curious glances from passersby.
Half an hour passed, and apart from one male student asking if she’d share a room with him, no one showed interest. Many were competition participants, some already forming groups of two or three, and quite a few were accompanied by parents. Qiao Qingyu’s arms were getting sore from holding up the sign, and just as she was wondering whether to try the next hostel, a kind-faced middle-aged woman stopped.
“Are you here for the finals?” the woman asked, slightly surprised. “You came alone? No place to stay?”
“Yes,” Qiao Qingyu nodded. “I came too late.”
“Come, I’ll help you ask around,” the woman beckoned. “I’m an editor from Sprout magazine, I was just talking with some students, and I think a girl is staying alone in a double room.”
She gave her name at the front desk, and less than three minutes after they made a call, a short-haired girl appeared.
“Teacher Hong, where is she?”
The female editor turned and introduced Qiao Qingyu. The short-haired girl waved at Qiao Qingyu, smiling warmly: “Hello!”
“Hi, ~” Qiao Qingyu smiled back.
After checking in, the girl led Qiao Qingyu to the room, giving her the untouched bed near the window.
“I’m Meng Xiaozeng, from Shanxi. You?”
“Qiao Qingyu,” Qiao Qingyu answered while putting down her backpack. “I’m from Huanzhou.”
Though Shun Yun was also part of the Huanzhou region, to avoid misunderstanding, Qiao Qingyu didn’t want to call herself a Huanzhou native.
“From Huanzhou? That’s quite close,” Meng Xiaozeng smiled with delight. “No wonder you look so fresh.”
Qiao Qingyu felt embarrassed: “Did you come alone from Shanxi?”
“How else would I come,” Meng Xiaozeng crossed her legs on the bed, opening a can of cola, looking casual. “I’m already an adult, my parents can’t wait for me to leave home… You don’t look like someone who’d travel alone though.”
“No, no,” Qiao Qingyu quickly defended herself. “I prefer being alone.”
“Mm, it’s freeing,” Meng Xiaozeng said while drinking cola and fiddling with her phone. “By the way, I invited some people over to hang out, all competition participants. We can chat and get to know each other, you don’t mind, right?”
Qiao Qingyu shook her head: “Of course not.”
“Great,” Meng Xiaozeng tossed her phone aside and looked up with a smile. “They’re almost here.”
Just as she finished speaking, there was a knock at the door. Meng Xiaozeng gestured for Qiao Qingyu to stay put while she jumped off the bed to open it.
Five people entered, three boys and two girls, suddenly making the room very crowded. Meng Xiaozeng quickly introduced everyone. Qiao Qingyu couldn’t catch any names but remembered where they were from: Heilongjiang, Beijing, Sichuan, Guangdong, and Hunan.
“We all came here solo,” concluded the Hunan girl who entered last, looking at Qiao Qingyu. She was petite with smiling eyes and a crisp voice.
The group immediately began chatting casually, topics mainly revolving around literature, led by the boys from Heilongjiang and Beijing, ranging from Han Han and Guo Jingming to Hemingway and Murakami, from Renaissance, Romanticism, and Critical Realism to Magic Realism, then back to Annie Baby and Zhang Yueran. Qiao Qingyu curled up in the single armchair by the window, initially listening with interest, but gradually her vision became blurry, and her mind could no longer keep up with the constantly moving mouths of the others.
She felt embarrassed when Meng Xiaozeng gently woke her.
“Go sleep in bed~” Meng Xiaozeng smiled.
The room was very quiet; everyone else had disappeared.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep…” Qiao Qingyu said while standing up. “I walked all afternoon today.”
As she stood, a large black down jacket slid from her body to the floor. She picked it up and asked Meng Xiaozeng: “Is this your coat?”
“No,” Meng Xiaozeng returned to her bed, smiling meaningfully. “It’s Xu Yizhe’s.”
“Who?”
“The Beijing guy who kept saying Murakami was a second-rate novelist,” Meng Xiaozeng said. “He went quiet after you fell asleep.”
Now she remembered—the Beijing boy wore black-framed glasses, looked refined, but spoke with precise pronunciation and great confidence.
Qiao Qingyu felt awkward and asked after pondering which room Xu Yizhe was in.
“You want to return it now?” Meng Xiaozeng asked with slight surprise. “He said he’d come get it early tomorrow morning.”
Qiao Qingyu hesitated: “Isn’t it better to return it now?”
“Up to you,” Meng Xiaozeng smiled. “It’s just a coat, why so nervous?”
Qiao Qingyu still went to return it, because she didn’t like the unfamiliar male scent the coat carried. The scene of returning the coat was somewhat awkward—Xu Yizhe had just finished showering and opened the door wearing the hostel’s bathrobe. Seeing it was Qiao Qingyu, he drew in a sharp breath.
Qiao Qingyu handed him the folded-down jacket.
“Qiao, Qingyu?” Xu Yizhe said her name somewhat uncomfortably, then extended his hand graciously. “I’m Xu Yizhe.”
“Thank you, Xu Yizhe.”
She nodded slightly, ignoring his extended hand, and turned to leave.
The next day after the competition, they all gathered again. On the third day, they still played together. Everyone had become familiar with each other, and conversation topics were no longer focused on literature but expanded to various aspects—discussing life, youth, and their respective relationship statuses. The Hunan girl had a childhood sweetheart boyfriend, the Heilongjiang boy was pursuing an online friend, and Meng Xiaozeng declared she would never marry or have children. During the conversation, Xu Yizhe moved next to Qiao Qingyu and asked if she had a boyfriend. Qiao Qingyu shook her head.
“What year are you in?” he asked Qiao Qingyu.
“Senior year.”
“I’m in my second year,” Xu Yizhe said while turning sideways to face Qiao Qingyu as if trying to shield her from the Bund’s wind. “Which city are you planning to go to for university?”
Qiao Qingyu found it difficult to deal with a boy’s obvious yet unspoken advances. She had no experience, no reference point, and often felt at a loss. The wind at the Bund was strong, she felt cold, and thinking about needing to find a quiet place to call Li Fanghao, she suggested returning to the hostel first.
“I’ll go back with you.” Xu Yizhe followed.
“Let’s all go together.” Meng Xiaozeng caught up too. Qiao Qingyu breathed a sigh of relief.
She had planned to hide in her room as soon as they got back to the hostel, but she stopped just as she entered the lobby—on the navy blue sofa diagonally across, a tall, slim familiar figure slowly stood up.
It was Ming Sheng.
Her breath stopped, followed by a stinging sensation in her nose. Days of longing inexplicably transformed into a surge of grievance, overwhelming and unstoppable.
Ming Sheng stood motionless. Xu Yizhe, walking beside Qiao Qingyu, stopped with her and puzzledly followed her gaze. Meng Xiaozeng, who had walked ahead, only realized she’d left the two behind when she reached the elevator. She held the elevator button and turned back to call them to hurry up.
“I’m not going back yet!” Qiao Qingyu called to Meng Xiaozeng, her gaze fixed on Ming Sheng’s deep eyes, her voice thick with emotion.
Ming Sheng began walking toward them, and Xu Yizhe, finally understanding, quickly ran to the elevator-
“How did you find this place?”
This time Qiao Qingyu spoke first. They walked along the narrow old street outside the hostel, lined with Republican-era brick buildings that held a timeless serenity under the warm yellow streetlights.
“It wasn’t hard to find,” Ming Sheng’s voice was slightly hoarse as he kicked away a small stone at his feet. “Was the competition difficult?”
“Not really.”
“Awards ceremony tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come to watch?”
During Qiao Qingyu’s hesitation, he asked again: “Are you cold?”
“No,” Qiao Qingyu shook her head, then added, “Come if you want to.”
She sensed Ming Sheng’s smile, his voice brightening: “Want to catch a ride back to Huanzhou with me tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll see you off, we can take the train back together.”
“No.”
Ming Sheng let out a soft sigh, then laughed helplessly, before calling her name with sudden seriousness: “Qiao Qingyu.”
“Mm?”
“I hope you reject other guys as decisively as you reject me.”
His words carried barely suppressed anger and unwillingness. But Qiao Qingyu lowered her head and smiled silently, feeling both happy and reassured. Finally, she turned to look at Ming Sheng, trying to explain seriously: “I can’t think about relationship matters right now.”
Ming Sheng looked at her once, then again, his clean-cut jawline appearing gentle yet sad under the dim streetlights. Suddenly he smiled, raised his right hand, and covered the back of Qiao Qingyu’s head with his large palm, playfully messing up her hair.
“Where do you want to go?” he looked toward the street, his hand remaining in place, its warmth spreading into Qiao Qingyu’s heart.
Qiao Qingyu remembered she was supposed to call Li Fanghao, but that’s all it was—a memory.
“The Bund?” Ming Sheng asked.
Half an hour ago had been Qiao Qingyu’s first time at the Bund, but once Ming Sheng appeared, she immediately felt that time didn’t count—there had been too many people, too much noise, and Xu Yizhe had completely ruined her mood.
“Okay.”
Looking up, Qiao Qingyu saw Ming Sheng smiling, his eyes full of delighted surprise. The warmth at the back of her head disappeared as Ming Sheng extended his right arm to hail a taxi with its “vacant” light on.
Their seating in the taxi was the same as a year ago, Qiao Qingyu on the left, separated from Ming Sheng by half the middle seat, about ten centimeters apart. The car’s heating was strong, and the radio played three Fish Leong songs in succession, her delicate yet full voice flowing like honey from the speakers. Qiao Qingyu spent most of the time looking out the window, occasionally glancing forward when the car stopped at red lights, not looking at the road but fixing her gaze on the deep red fortune bag hanging below the rearview mirror—it swayed constantly as if stirring a jar of honey.
The strong cold wind after getting out of the car made Qiao Qingyu shiver involuntarily. Seeing Ming Sheng starting to unbutton his coat from her peripheral vision, she quickly stopped him.
“I’m not afraid of the cold,” she said while reaching out to help button his coat back up, but not daring to touch him, her hands hovering 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 response and turned to walk toward the riverside. The winter night was cold, and compared to an hour ago, the Bund had half as many people, making it seem almost empty.
She walked to the railing, watched the phantasmagoric 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, and she longed to feel the warmth of Ming Sheng’s palm again, but he just silently followed her—when she walked, he walked; when she stopped, he stopped—steadfast yet respectful, like a faithful knight.
Reaching the spot diagonal to the Oriental Pearl Tower, Qiao Qingyu turned back to Ming Sheng with a smile: “Take a photo for me?”
Ming Sheng nodded, taking the phone Qiao Qingyu handed him.
She brushed her hair so it wouldn’t cover her face, let her hands drop to rest on the railing, and gave a shy, reserved smile toward the phone in Ming Sheng’s hands. Ming Sheng first stood, then bent down, then slightly bent his knees, and finally half-squatted before giving an OK gesture. When he was done, Qiao Qingyu relaxed her stiff smile and casually brushed away a strand of hair covering her face, only to find Ming Sheng had quickly switched to his phone, maintaining his half-squatting position, still taking photos.
“You~” Qiao Qingyu panicked but laughed, “Stop taking photos!”
Ming Sheng stood up, looking through the photos on his phone, appearing quite satisfied.
“Delete them!”
“How are you even more domineering than me,” he tossed out lightly, hiding his phone behind his back with one hand while returning Qiao Jinyu’s phone to Qiao Qingyu with the other, “it’s your fault your phone has such low resolution, too impressionistic.”
The word “impressionistic” made Qiao Qingyu laugh again: “Delete my photos.”
“I won’t show them to anyone.”
“Still not okay~” Qiao Qingyu said, and seeing Ming Sheng about to put his phone in his pocket, she reached out to grab it, catching the phone while her cold palm also enclosed his warm fingertips.
She should have pulled her hand back immediately, but she didn’t—Ming Sheng’s grip on the phone was loose, making it easy to take. But just as she felt about to succeed, another warm hand appeared out of nowhere, tightly wrapping around 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.”
Her nose touched the softness of his cotton coat, and Qiao Qingyu froze in place. She heard herself say “Okay.”
“Why say you’re not afraid of the cold.”
His breath was right by her ear.
The back of her head was 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, the gorgeous night scene became a dizzying array of colored lights, and Qiao Qingyu simply closed her eyes.
She let Ming Sheng carefully, and tightly pull her into his embrace.