I often visit this bookstore because of its library-like reading area on the first floor. Patrons can freely browse books and magazines from the shelves, and there are plenty of comfortable seats with complimentary tea. I usually come during the day and leave in the evening, avoiding weekends to spare myself the competition for seats with students.
There are exceptions, though. Sometimes, I become so engrossed in reading that I’m oblivious to the fading daylight outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Only when a student’s chair scrapes the floor do I realize I’ve dozed off in the soft armchair? Upon waking, I find a blanket draped over me. This thoughtfulness is perhaps what attracts me most to the bookstore: its kindness, casualness, and attentiveness.
Returning the blanket often leads to conversations with the staff, and over time, we’ve become familiar. I’ve learned that the bookstore is owned by a well-educated couple. The husband, a cardiac surgeon, owns the property, while his wife, an author, manages the business. Though the store is in Huan Zhou, the family lives in Shanghai. Since the owner is also the landlord, there’s no rent pressure, allowing the store to prioritize more than just profits, unlike other shops in the mall.
According to the staff, the store’s annual revenue barely breaks even. The manager confided that the owners subsidize the store each year.
“This store is a product of their passion and goodwill,” the manager said proudly of the owners. “Our boss lived in this area as a child and already owned some shops here. When the old neighborhood was demolished and rebuilt, he bought this large space. Our boss’s wife used to work in finance and was an early investor in a major Taobao store. They’re financially independent and don’t need the money.”
“Do you see that ‘Warm Island’ over there?” The manager pointed to a glass room on the second floor. “It’s a counseling room for Heart Language Cottage. You know Heart Language Cottage, right? The founder is an old friend of the boss’s family. This ‘Warm Island’ is specifically for students, offering free consultations. Have you noticed that the bookshelves near Warm Island are filled with study guides?”
I nodded, following the manager’s gesture to the open hall above, my gaze resting on the wooden railings of the second floor where students often lingered near the bookshelves.
“Usually, bookstores like ours don’t sell study guides,” the manager explained. “The boss’s wife intentionally placed them outside ‘Warm Island’ to cater to the students’ psychology.”
“Oh?”
“You could say it’s a cover,” the manager smiled. “It gives students seeking psychological help a legitimate reason to be here. Teenagers have strong pride, you know. If their classmates found out they were going to formal psychological counseling, it could be troublesome…”
“I see…”
“Of course, many students come to Warm Island openly for help,” the manager added. “We’re just happy to assist them in any way we can.”
“Hmm,” I mused, watching the silhouettes of students browsing study guides on the second floor. “Are psychological issues common among middle school students these days?”
“Quite common,” the manager looked at me. “Mr. Cao, are you a teacher?”
“I used to be.”
“Ah I thought you looked refined… You seem like someone with high moral standards in teaching.”
I waved off the compliment, smiling sheepishly. Returning to the reading area, the sight of young boys and girls hunched over their desks, absorbed in their studies, reminded me of my two-month stint as a teacher at a rural school.
The manager overestimated me; I’m just an ordinary person-
Sometimes, like the younger patrons, I sit directly on the wide steps to read. Other times, I wander among the bookshelves, treating it as a stroll.
I’ve visited the study guide section too, feeling a sense of comfort and even gratitude as I gently brush past the handwritten “Warm Island” sign above a white arrow on the side of the last bookshelf. Who wrote it? It’s truly beautiful.
The arrow points to an opaque glass door, occasionally ajar but often closed with a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on it when in use.
The building’s design features colorful glass rooms every few floors, with rounded walls protruding from the main structure. From a distance, they resemble colorful bubbles scattered across the building, both whimsical and distinctive. “Warm Island” has light blue glass walls; sunlight filtering through must create a soft, luminous atmosphere inside.
Below Warm Island is the bookstore’s reading area. A sturdy old camphor tree stands permanently by the canal outside the reading area. For at least half the day, its shadow falls on the tables and chairs nearest the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Unlike young people who dislike sunlight, I prefer the deep gray soft sofa right next to the floor-to-ceiling window. August is the hottest month in Huan Zhou, and due to the intense sunlight, students avoid sitting near the windows. Going against the trend, I’ve managed to claim this “exclusive seat” amidst the summer influx of students.
One day in late August, I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window for a while and was gently woken by the manager, realizing I had fallen asleep again.
“Mr. Cao, I’m sorry,” the manager apologized with a smile. “Our boss suddenly called saying he needs to use the reading area soon, so we need to clean and tidy up a bit.”
“No problem at all…” I waved it off, standing up and noticing that most of the students had already left the reading area.
“I’m sorry for the short notice,” the manager said. “The boss rarely shows up, so this must be something very important and urgent.”
With only three pages left in my book, I asked the manager if I could stay for another ten minutes. She agreed.
So I returned to the soft chair and continued reading. The students had all left, and the staff came in to quickly wipe down the tables and straighten the chairs. After they left, I was alone in the reading area, enveloped in sudden silence.
I hurried to finish the last three paragraphs and stood up, just as a girl walked in, our eyes meeting. She looked about thirteen or fourteen, with shoulder-length hair, and smiled at me openly. At that moment, I was startled, my knees weakening, almost crying out.
The girl walked straight ahead, placing a slender vase she was carrying in the center of the long table directly across from me. A boy followed, inserting a vibrant red rose into the vase.
“Dad cleared half a day and rushed back from Shanghai. We thought he was coming to pick us up,” the boy said softly, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window. “Who knew he came back to see this tree?”
He appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, tall and handsome with a jade-like complexion.
The girl laughed, “Mom said she first saw Dad on this day, under this tree.”
“No wonder,” the boy shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. “Too sappy, I can’t stand it…”
“Anniversary first, picking us up second,” the girl patted the boy’s shoulder consolingly. “That’s just how our parents are, brother. We’ll have to accept it.”
Her face was extraordinarily beautiful, possibly described as peerlessly gorgeous, overlapping with the girl from my deep memories. Almost identical, wasn’t she?
But surely not the same person. The girl before me looked clear and uncomplicated, unlike that student from years ago who, even when smiling brightly, had an inexplicable melancholy in her eyes that belied her age.
Perhaps sensing my gaze made her uncomfortable, the girl turned warily, tugging at the boy’s sleeve. They left the reading area together.
I returned my book to the shelf and also walked out.
I wanted to chat with the store manager, but she kept gazing at the bookstore’s entrance, her mind elsewhere. A few minutes later, a couple appeared at the door, and she joyfully rushed towards them.
The couple was strikingly attractive, causing a small ripple of interest among the staff and customers as they entered. After they moved to the reading area, the manager returned, and I asked, “Is your boss’s surname Qiao? Qiao Qingyu?”
“Yes,” the manager replied, surprised. “How did you know? She’s very low-profile and never uses her photo or real name when publishing.”
“I recognized her and her daughter,” I explained.
As we spoke, I glanced at the boy and girl nearby—they hadn’t followed their parents inside.
“That’s amazing,” the manager marveled. “Teacher Cao, was she your student?”
I smiled enigmatically, watching the girl stretch to reach a book on the shelf, lost in thought. The distant image of Qiao Baiyu crying with a smile gradually came into focus in my mind, tugging at my heartstrings.
After many years, her sister had purposely set up this “Warm Island” to help students. It must be related to her, right?
As Qiao Qingyu and her husband left the reading area, the sun had already set. I was still wandering on the first floor when the family of four headed upstairs. I followed them.
“Excuse me, please wait!” I called out.
Turning back, the boy quickly shielded the girl behind him—probably because I had been looking at her too often, and he mistook me for a suspicious old man. This action caught the man’s attention, who wordlessly stepped forward, shielding his wife and children while eyeing me with suspicion.
I felt incredibly awkward.
Behind the man, Qiao Qingyu’s features resembled Qiao Baiyu’s. Her gaze lacked judgment, much softer than her husband’s.
Meeting her eyes, I asked if I could speak with her for a moment.
“Of course,” she readily agreed.
As we moved to the side, her husband stayed behind with the children, occasionally glancing at us with concern.
“Um,” I struggled to begin, “You have an older sister named Qiao Baiyu, right?”
She blinked in surprise. “Yes.”
I nodded. “I used to teach her.”
“You were my sister’s teacher?” Her voice was soft as she placed a hand over her heart.
“A student teacher,” I smiled. “Over thirty years ago, I spent two months in Lifang Township. She was just starting eighth grade then.”
“Eighth grade…” she echoed, her pupils losing focus as if deep in thought.
“Yes, I taught English and was her class’s intern homeroom teacher.”
Suddenly, Qiao Qingyu’s eyes widened in realization. She opened her mouth but hesitated as if something was holding her back.
Guessing her concern, I volunteered, “You also have an older brother named Qiao Jinrui, right?”
Qiao Qingyu nodded slowly, her expression turning serious.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to tell Qiao Baiyu’s family,” I began.
Under Qiao Qingyu’s intense gaze, I closed my eyes briefly, tearing open long-sealed memories to return to that rainy afternoon—the day I first saw Qiao Baiyu.
I was 24 when I went to Lifang Township as a student teacher, a dejected education major who had failed the graduate school entrance exam twice. On the day I arrived at Lifang Central School, the sky was filled with dark clouds and threatening rain. I was assigned to teach class 2 of the eighth grade. While introducing myself at the podium, I noticed an empty seat in the middle of the classroom and asked if someone was absent.
“Qiao Baiyu has a stomachache,” a boy answered with a grin. “You know, girl stuff.”
“Woman stuff,” another boy corrected. Several male students giggled, filling the room with the ignorance and crudeness of pubescent boys.
I nodded without further inquiry and returned to my dorm after the introduction. Typically, young male teachers easily bond with male students, but I had no interest in building relationships. On one hand, I was repulsed by their crudeness; on the other, I was only staying for two months, so I didn’t feel the need to cultivate any special teacher-student bonds.
So, on the first afternoon of free activities, while other student teachers actively stayed with their classes, I wandered around the school grounds.
Lifang Central School was nestled between two gently sloping hills. Outside the school gate was a narrow country road, parallel to a crystal-clear stream. I first walked upstream along the river, then turned back when I saw stone steps leading to the hill behind the school. After climbing about a hundred steps and rounding a bend, a deep green reservoir suddenly appeared before me.
I let out a small gasp—not just because of the unexpected scenery, but also due to the silhouette of a girl in a white dress by the reservoir.
Though too far away to see her face clearly, I could sense the girl was strikingly beautiful. The presence of such a beautiful girl in the deserted mountains sent a chill down my spine, and I hesitated to approach. However, just as I was about to leave, the girl noticed me and ran away, seemingly startled.
The stone steps ended at the reservoir, and the girl stumbled along the mountain path on the other side, clearly inexperienced with hiking. Realizing my mistake, I berated myself for being cowardly and continued towards the reservoir.
“Hey!” I called out. “It’s going to rain! The mountain paths are dangerous when slippery!”
The girl stopped and turned, still holding up her dress as if afraid to soil it.
I reached the spot by the reservoir where she had been standing and saw two names carved on a rock: Qiao Jinrui and Qiao Baiyu, with a heart between them.
It seemed the girl might have just experienced heartbreak.
“Are you Qiao Baiyu?” I asked uncertainly—because this girl was tall and graceful, with a mesmerizing beauty that seemed beyond her thirteen or fourteen years.
From a distance, the girl nodded.
“I’m a new teacher. Don’t be afraid,” I shouted. “It’s dangerous in the mountains. Let’s go back to school.”
She slowly descended, walking towards me without making eye contact, focusing only on the rock beside me. To ease her discomfort, I smiled casually and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
As she came closer, I realized her face, though striking, was still childlike—a middle school student.
Suddenly, she looked at me and smiled gently. “Thank you, teacher.”
“I’m Mr. Cao, your English teacher and intern homeroom teacher,” I said, pointing at the sky. “It’s about to rain. Let’s head back to school.”
Instead, she sat down on the rock, almost crouching.
“Mr. Cao,” she looked up at me, “Qiao Jinrui is my brother. I’ve fallen in love with my brother.”
I heard her clearly but couldn’t believe it. Pretending not to have heard, I exaggeratedly asked, “What?”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Qiao Baiyu turned her head, gazing at the dark, calm water, and whispered, “It’s against nature’s law.”
“It’s going to rain,” I urged, growing anxious. “If you’re troubled, let’s go back to school and talk about it.”
“Mr. Cao, will you tell anyone my secret?”
“No, I won’t.”
She seemed relieved. After a few seconds, she stood up and asked if I could leave first, promising to return to school in a few minutes.
I asked why, puzzled.
“If we walk together, people will talk.”
“A teacher and student can’t walk together?”
“I’m a dirty, self-loathing girl.”
Slightly surprised and somewhat angry, I said, “No one should ever look down on themselves, no matter what.”
After a brief silence, she said, “Teacher I need to… relieve myself. I need some privacy…”
Unable to argue with that, I started walking back, turning down the ridge to wait where I couldn’t see her. As the thunder grew closer, I checked my phone. Five minutes passed, then six, with no sign of her.
A loud thunderclap overhead suddenly made me realize what might be happening. Panicked, I ran back towards the reservoir.
The rain started falling as I searched for any sign of Qiao Baiyu. Then, in the middle of the reservoir, her head surfaced, her hands struggling in the water.
I shouted and dove in, swimming towards her with all my might.
Dragging her to shore nearly exhausted me. Qiao Baiyu lay motionless, her chest still, not breathing.
Without hesitation, I began chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, calling her name loudly in the pouring rain. Just as I was about to give up hope, her chest heaved violently, and she regained consciousness.
Upon waking, she didn’t look at me but stared at the sky. Her pale lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes were red, heartbreakingly so. Unable to bear the sight, I picked her up and carried her back to school.
I thought saving her had solved the problem, but returning to school only created more issues. In front of her parents and the principal, Qiao Baiyu claimed she had accidentally fallen into the water and I happened to save her. To protect her dignity, I didn’t voice my suspicions.
A few days later, as rumors of our “intimate contact” grew increasingly exaggerated among the students, I confronted her about her lie.
“I didn’t jump in on purpose,” she said, looking at me without flinching.
“If you want me to keep your secret,” I said, “you need to tell the truth.”
“Whether I fell or jumped,” she replied, her eyes filled with hatred, “you shouldn’t have saved me.”
“Why?”
“I told you I’m dirty,” she said coldly. “Teacher, you touched me. Now you’re dirty too.”
It was absurd.
I had already heard rumors about Qiao Baiyu from students and colleagues. Her parents had left her in the countryside when they moved to Shungyun with her younger siblings. Supposedly, she had an abortion in seventh grade, missing half a semester of P.E. classes due to “stomach pain.” Remembering the name she had written and her mention of “brother,” I broke into a cold sweat.
“I want to help you,” I told her. “If your brother hurt you…”
“My brother didn’t hurt me,” she firmly denied. “Mr. Cao, you should stay away from me.”
I kept my promise and didn’t tell anyone about the name she had written. I knew what revealing such information could mean for a village girl—eternal stigma.
Still, I wanted to talk with her. A middle school student attempting suicide wasn’t a small matter, and I felt obligated as a teacher to help her overcome her inner darkness.
But she always avoided me.
As my attempts to speak with her increased, my colleagues’ attitudes changed. They seemed to think Qiao Baiyu had bewitched me, and the principal even talked with me.
Among the students, rumors spread that Qiao Baiyu liked me because she had defended me from some boys in class, calling me a good person.
I had never been the subject of such gossip before and felt deeply troubled. Eventually, I gave up trying to communicate with her, keeping my distance from this thorny rose.
Being embroiled in such an unsavory situation just as I began my teaching career made me seriously doubt my abilities and future as an educator. As soon as my two-month internship ended, I fled Lifang Township and resigned from the school that had hired me.
I was a coward, unable to help even a suicidal, bullied girl. I couldn’t bear the weight of being called a “people’s teacher.”
Facing Qiao Qingyu now, I asked the question that had haunted me for years: whether Qiao Baiyu had been hurt by that “brother.”
“Teacher, did you know my sister still left us in the end?” she asked.
“I heard,” I said. “At twenty, from acute appendicitis. Such a pity.”
Qiao Qingyu paused, then slowly shook her head.
“She left in the way she chose.”
As I processed her words, I understood.
“You mean she still…”
“Yes,” Qiao Qingyu softly interrupted. “It was my cousin who ruined her.”
Guilt crashed over me like a mountain. After taking a few deep breaths, I mumbled, “If I had known, I should have…”
“You already saved my sister once,” Qiao Qingyu said gently. “Besides, she never admitted to you that she jumped into the reservoir, right?”
“Then,” I asked nervously, “do you not believe what I’ve told you? If you don’t, there’s nothing I can do. Only the clouds in the sky would know the truth.”
“I believe you,” she smiled faintly. “Nothing in this world happens purely by chance.”
After a moment of silence, she added, “Mr. Cao, thank you for telling me all this.”
“Seeing Warm Island, I’m deeply moved,” I said. “You have a big heart. It’s such a pity that such a beautiful life… Oh, I hope I’m not offending you, but I think your daughter looks very much like Qiao Baiyu.”
“Yes,” Qiao Qingyu’s face brightened a bit as she glanced back at her family waiting by the bookshelves. “I feel my daughter is fate’s greatest gift to me.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Her name is Qiao Yuan,” she paused, then added, “Yuan means ‘kite’ or ‘hawk.'”
What a beautiful name.
She thanked me again, invited me to visit the store more often, and bid farewell to rejoin her family waiting nearby.
Watching them leave, especially the girl’s retreating figure, I felt a surge of emotions.
Sometimes, the world is just that wonderful, isn’t it?
Under the warm and strong protection of her family, that girl who looked so much like Qiao Baiyu would surely grow strong wings and have a free, happy, and brilliant life.
[End of the story]