I frequently visit this bookstore because its first floor has an area similar to a library reading room, where you can freely browse books and magazines from the shelves. There are plenty of comfortable seats, and they offer complimentary tea. I usually come during the day and leave around dusk, avoiding weekends—no need to compete with students for seats.
There are exceptions, though. A few times, I’ve become so engrossed in reading that I grew drowsy, completely unaware of the fading daylight outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, until the sound of a student dragging their chair would wake me. I’d realize I had fallen asleep in the soft chair. Upon waking, I’d find a blanket draped over me. Perhaps this is what attracts me most to the bookstore: its kindness, casualness, and thoughtfulness.
When returning the blanket, I’d chat briefly with the staff, and gradually, we became familiar with each other. Slowly, I learned that the bookstore belonged to a well-educated couple—the ownership belonged to the husband, a cardiac surgeon, while the operations were managed by his wife, a writer. The store was in Huan Zhou, but the owners’ family lived in Shanghai. Since the owner was also the landlord, there was no rental pressure, so the bookstore didn’t pursue profits as aggressively as other shops in the mall.
According to the bookstore staff, the store’s annual revenue barely broke even. In fact—the manager told me in a hushed voice—the owner couple put additional money into the store each year.
“This store is just their passion project and act of kindness,” the manager said proudly of the owners. “Our boss lived in this area when he was young, and his family already owned shops here. After the old neighborhood was demolished and rebuilt, he bought this large shop space. Our boss’s wife used to work in finance and had even invested early in a major Taobao store—she’d already achieved financial freedom. They don’t need the money.”
“Do you see that ‘Warm Island’ over there?” The manager pointed toward a glass room on the bookstore’s second floor. “That’s Heart Voice Cottage’s consulting room here—you know Heart Voice Cottage, right? The founder is an old friend of the boss’s family. This ‘Warm Island’ is specifically for students, and all consultations are free… Have you noticed that the bookshelves near Warm Island are all filled with educational reference books?”
I nodded, following the manager’s gesture to look up at the mezzanine hall, focusing on the bookshelves behind the natural wood railings on the second floor where students often lingered.
“Generally speaking, bookstores like ours don’t sell educational reference books,” the manager said. “The boss’s wife deliberately placed them outside ‘Warm Island’ to accommodate students’ psychological needs.”
“Oh?”
“You could say it’s a cover,” the manager smiled. “It gives students seeking psychological help secretly a legitimate reason to come here. Teenagers, you know, they have such strong pride. If their classmates found out they were going to actual psychological counseling, it would be quite a problem…”
“Ah…”
“Of course, many students come to Warm Island openly for help,” the manager added. “In any case, we’re just happy to help them.”
“Mm,” I pondered thoughtfully, watching the silhouettes of several students hovering near the educational books on the second floor. “Are there many high school students with psychological issues nowadays?”
“Quite a few,” the manager looked at me. “Mr. Cao, are you a teacher?”
“I used to be.”
“Ah, I thought you looked refined… someone with noble teaching ethics.”
I waved my hand in denial, smiling sheepishly. Returning to the reading area, the sight of young boys and girls bent over their desks studying reminded me of my two months as a public school teacher and what happened at that rural school back then.
The manager had overestimated me; I was just an ordinary person—
Sometimes I would sit directly on the wide steps to read like some young people do, and other times I would wander between the bookshelves, treating it as a walk.
I also visited the educational reference section, touching the characters for “Warm Island” above a white arrow on the side of the last bookshelf with a feeling of gratitude and even appreciation—written in sincere handwriting.
Who wrote it? It was beautiful.
The arrow pointed to an opaque glass door, sometimes ajar, often closed, with a “Please Do Not Disturb” sign when shut.
The building’s design featured colored glass rooms every few floors, with rounded exterior walls protruding from the main structure, looking like colored bubbles scattered across the building from afar—both playful and distinctive. “Warm Island” had light blue glass walls; when sunlight shone through, the room must have been soft and bright inside.
Below Warm Island was the bookstore’s reading area. A sturdy ancient camphor tree stood permanently by the canal outside the reading area. For at least half the day, the tree’s shadow fell across the tables and chairs nearest to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Unlike young people, I don’t dislike sunlight. My favorite spot is the dark grey sofa right next to the floor-to-ceiling window. August is Huan Zhou’s hottest month, and because of the intense sunlight, students avoid sitting near the windows. Going against this trend, I was fortunate to claim this “exclusive seat” among the summer army of students.
One day in late August, I had been sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window for a while when the manager’s soft voice woke me, and I realized I had fallen asleep again.
“Teacher Cao, I’m sorry,” the manager smiled apologetically, “our boss suddenly called to say he needs to use the reading area shortly, so we need to clean and arrange this space.”
“No problem, no problem…” I waved my hand, standing up, noticing that most of the students had already left the reading area.
“Sorry for the short notice,” the manager said, “the boss rarely appears, so this must be something very important and urgent.”
I had three pages left in my book and had hoped to finish it today. I asked the manager if I could stay in the reading area for another ten minutes. She agreed.
So I sat back in the soft chair and continued reading. The students had all left, and staff members came in to quickly wipe the tables and straighten the chairs. After they left, I was alone in the reading area, and the air instantly became quiet.
I hurried to finish the last three paragraphs and stood up, only to meet eyes with a girl walking in. She looked about thirteen or fourteen, with shoulder-length layered hair, and gave me a friendly, natural smile. At that moment, I was shocked, my knees weakening, almost cried out.
The girl walked straight ahead and placed a slender vase she was carrying in the center of the long table directly across from me. A boy followed, inserting a vibrantly fresh red rose into the vase.
“Dad suddenly cleared half a day to rush back from Shanghai, and we thought he was coming to pick us up,” the boy looked out the floor-to-ceiling window, complaining softly, “who knew he came back to look at this tree?”
He appeared to be sixteen or seventeen, tall and graceful, with a jade-like complexion, extremely handsome.
The girl laughed: “Mom said she first saw Dad on this exact date, under this tree.”
“No wonder,” the boy shrugged helplessly and shook his head, “too lovey-dovey, can’t stand it…”
“Anniversary first, picking us up second,” the girl patted the boy’s shoulder in consolation, “This is just how our parents are, accept it, brother.”
Her face was extraordinarily beautiful, worthy of being called nation-toppling gorgeous, overlapping with the girl in my deep memories. Almost identical, wasn’t she?
But not the same person. The girl before me looked pure and simple, unlike that student from many years ago who, despite smiling brightly, still had an incongruous melancholy in her eyes that didn’t match her age.
Perhaps because my gaze made the girl uncomfortable, she turned around warily, tugging at the boy’s sleeve, and they both left the reading area.
I returned the book to the shelf and also walked out.
I wanted to chat with the manager, but she kept staring at the bookstore entrance, distracted. A few minutes later, a couple appeared at the door, and she rushed over joyfully.
The couple was striking, their entrance like a pebble dropping into a pond, creating small ripples among the bookstore staff and customers. After they entered the reading area, the manager returned to her post, and I asked, “Is your boss’s wife’s surname Qiao? Called Qiao Qingyu?”
“Yes,” the manager seemed surprised, “How did you know? She’s very low-key, never uses her photo or real name when publishing works.”
“I could tell from seeing her and her daughter.”
As we spoke, I cast my gaze again toward the boy and girl nearby—they hadn’t followed their parents inside.
“How amazing,” the manager exclaimed, “Mr. Cao, was she your student?”
I smiled mysteriously, watching the girl standing on tiptoe to reach for a book by the shelf, and said nothing more. The distant image of Qiao Baiyu crying while smiling gradually became clear in my mind, too heartbreaking—I lost focus.
After all these years, her sister specifically setting up this “Warm Island” to help students must be related to her, right?
When Qiao Qingyu and her husband walked out of the reading area, the sunset had already fallen, and I was still wandering on the bookstore’s first floor. As the family of four climbed to the second floor, I followed them.
“Excuse me… please wait a moment!”
Turning back to see me, the boy immediately moved to shield the girl behind him—probably because I had looked at the girl too many times earlier, he took me for a suspicious old man. The boy’s action caught the man’s attention, and he silently stepped forward, shielding his wife and children behind him, his gaze filled with vigilance and suspicion as he looked at me.
I instantly felt very awkward.
Behind the man, Qiao Qingyu’s features resembled Qiao Baiyu’s, and her gaze held no scrutiny, much softer than the man’s.
Meeting her eyes, I asked if I could speak with her for a moment.
“Of course.” She agreed readily.
She followed me to one side, while the man didn’t come along, staying by the bookshelves with the children, occasionally casting concerned glances our way.
“Um…” I suddenly didn’t know how to begin, “You have an older sister called Qiao Baiyu, right?”
She blinked in surprise: “Yes.”
I nodded: “I used to teach her.”
“You were my sister’s teacher?” Her voice was very soft, and she placed a hand over her chest as she spoke.
“A student teacher,” I smiled slightly, “Over thirty years ago, I spent two months in Li Fang Township when she was just starting eighth grade.”
“Eighth grade…” she repeated, her pupils losing focus slightly as if falling into deep thought.
“Yes, I taught English and was her class’s intern homeroom teacher.”
Suddenly Qiao Qingyu let out an understanding “Oh,” opened her mouth, then hesitated, as if something was stopping her from speaking.
I could guess what she was concerned about, so I took the initiative: “In your family, do you also have a brother called Qiao Jinrui?”
Qiao Qingyu slowly nodded, her expression turning serious.
“Well… there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell Qiao Baiyu’s family, it’s…”
Meeting Qiao Qingyu’s deep, grave eyes, I closed my eyes briefly, tearing open memories sealed for many years, returning to that stormy afternoon.
The day I first saw Qiao Baiyu—
I was twenty-four when I went to Li Fang Township as a student teacher, a failed graduate school candidate who had tried twice. The day I arrived at Li Fang Central School, the sky was filled with dark clouds, threatening rain at any moment. I was assigned to Class 2, Grade 8. 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 stomach ache,” a boy answered with a grin, “you know, girl stuff.”
“Woman stuff,” another boy corrected. Many male students giggled, the classroom filled with the ignorance and vulgarity of pubescent boys.
I nodded, didn’t ask further, and returned to my dormitory after introducing myself. Generally, young male teachers easily bond with male students, but I had no interest in getting close to students. Partly because I rejected their crude behavior, and partly because I was only staying for two months—doing my duty was enough, no need to waste energy building teacher-student relationships.
So, on the first afternoon of free activities, while other student teachers actively stayed with their classes, I wandered freely around the school grounds.
Li Fang Central School sat between two gentle slopes, with a narrow country road outside the gate, parallel to a crystal-clear stream. I first walked upstream along the river, and after turning a bend, saw stone steps leading to the hill behind the school, so I turned to climb up. After about a hundred steps and another turn, a deep green reservoir suddenly appeared before me.
I let out a small gasp—not just because of the suddenly open view, but because there was a figure in a white dress by the reservoir.
Though too far away to see the girl’s face clearly, I could still sense she was incredibly beautiful. The appearance of such a beautiful girl in the empty mountains was somewhat chilling, and I dared not go forward. However, just as I was about to turn back, the girl noticed me and, as if frightened, ran away first.
The stone steps ended at the reservoir, and the girl stumbled along the mountain path on the other side, clearly inexperienced at mountain climbing. I came to my senses, cursed myself for being cowardly, and continued toward the reservoir.
“Hey!” I called out to her, “It’s going to rain! The mountain paths are dangerous when slippery!”
The girl stopped and turned around, one hand still holding up her dress as if afraid of dirtying the hem.
I walked to the reservoir’s edge, to where she had been standing, and saw two names carved on a stone: Qiao Jinrui, and Qiao Baiyu.
Between the names was a heart.
It seemed the girl might have just been through heartbreak.
“Are you Qiao Baiyu?” I asked uncertainly—because this girl was tall and graceful, with a breathtaking beauty that didn’t seem like a thirteen or fourteen-year-old middle school student.
From a distance, the girl nodded.
“I’m a new teacher, don’t be afraid,” I called out to her, “It’s dangerous in the mountains, let’s go back to school.”
She slowly came down the mountain, walking toward me, not looking at me but staring at the stone beside me. To ease her burden, I smiled casually and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.”
Up close, I could see her face was beautiful but young, clearly a middle school student.
Suddenly she looked at me and smiled gently: “Thank you, teacher.”
“My surname is Cao, I’m the English teacher, your intern homeroom teacher,” I said, pointing at the sky, “It’s about to rain, let’s go back to school.”
But she sat down on the stone, her posture like she was crouching on the ground.
“Teacher Cao,” she looked up at me, “Qiao Jinrui is my brother. I fell in love with my brother.”
I heard clearly but couldn’t believe it, so I exaggeratedly asked as if I hadn’t heard properly: “What?”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Qiao Baiyu turned her head, gazing at the dark green, calm water surface, murmuring four words: “Heaven cannot allow it.”
“It’s going to rain,” I grew anxious, “If you’re troubled, let’s process it slowly back at school.”
“Teacher Cao, will you tell anyone my secret?”
“No.”
She seemed relieved. After a few seconds, she stood up and asked if I could go first, saying she’d return to school in a few minutes.
I asked why, puzzled.
“If you walk with me, people will talk.”
“A teacher and student can’t walk together?”
“I’m a dirty girl who doesn’t respect herself.”
I was slightly surprised and somewhat angry: “A person should never look down on themselves, no matter what.”
She was silent for two seconds, then said: “Teacher, actually, I need to… use the bathroom, I need you to give me privacy…”
I had no choice then but to go ahead, climbing the stone steps, turning down the ridge, and waiting where I couldn’t see her. The thunder grew closer, and I checked my phone—five minutes had passed, and she hadn’t come.
Six minutes, still no sign.
A thunderclap exploded overhead. Suddenly I understood, panicked, turned back, and ran toward the reservoir.
Raindrops crashed down, and Qiao Baiyu was nowhere in sight. Then, in the middle of the reservoir, her head surfaced, her hands struggling constantly.
I shouted and sprinted to jump into the water, swimming toward her with all my might.
Dragging her to shore nearly exhausted all my strength. Qiao Baiyu lay still, her chest quiet, no longer breathing.
Without thinking, I began compressing her chest, and opened her mouth, repeatedly performing CPR. In the downpour, I shouted her name. Just as I was about to break down in despair, her chest heaved violently, and she awoke.
After waking, she didn’t look at me, just stared at the sky, her pale lips curving as if in a slight smile, but her eyes were red, heartbreaking. Unable to bear looking, I stood up and carried her down the mountain on my back, back to school.
I thought saving her had solved the problem, but returning to school created more issues. In front of her parents and the principal, Qiao Baiyu said she had accidentally fallen into the water and I happened to save her. Before everyone, considering her dignity, I didn’t voice my suspicions.
A few days later, when increasingly exaggerated rumors about our “intimate contact” spread among students, I specifically sought her out to ask why she had lied.
“I didn’t deliberately jump in.” She looked at me, completely composed.
“If you want me to keep your secret,” I said, “you need to tell the truth.”
“Whether I fell or jumped,” she said, her eyes full of hatred as she looked at me, “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.”
Absurd.
I had already heard rumors about Qiao Baiyu from students and colleagues. Her parents lived in Shun Yun with her younger siblings, leaving her alone in the countryside. They said she had an abortion in seventh grade, missing half a semester of PE class citing stomach pain. Thinking of the names she had written and the term “brother,” cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
“Teacher wants to help you,” I told her, “if your brother hurt you…”
“My brother didn’t hurt me,” she firmly denied, “Teacher Cao, you should stay away from me.”
I kept my promise to her, never telling anyone about the names she had written. I knew what it meant for a village girl if such things came out—it meant eternal condemnation from thousands.
Meanwhile, I always wanted to talk with her. A middle school student’s suicide attempt wasn’t a small matter, and I felt that as a teacher, I had an obligation to help her emerge from her inner darkness.
But she always avoided me.
Unable to find her, and after too many attempts, my colleagues’ looks changed as if they thought I had been bewitched by Qiao Baiyu, and the principal even had a special talk with me.
Among students, rumors spread that Qiao Baiyu liked me because when the boys in the class were dissatisfied with me, she spoke up for me, saying I was a good person.
I had never been gossiped about like this, and it deeply troubled me. In the end, I had to cut off any attempts to communicate with her, keeping my distance from this thorny rose from then on.
Just newly called “teacher” and already involved in such an unsavory matter, I began to seriously doubt my abilities and future teaching career. As soon as the two-month internship ended, I fled Li Fang Township and submitted my resignation to the school that had hired me.
Because I was a coward, unable to help even a bullied girl who wanted to commit suicide, unworthy of the title “People’s Teacher”—
Facing Qiao Qingyu, I asked the question that had haunted me for years: whether Qiao Baiyu had been hurt by that “brother.”
“Teacher, did you know that my sister still left in the end?”
“I heard,” I said, “At age twenty, acute appendicitis, what a pity.”
Qiao Qingyu froze slightly, then slowly shook her head.
“She left in the way she chose.”
Carefully pondering these words, I understood.
“So she still…”
“Yes.” Qiao Qingyu softly interrupted me, “It was my cousin who destroyed her.”
Guilt crashed down like a mountain, and I took several deep breaths before finally mumbling: “If I had known, back then I should have…”
“You already saved my sister once,” Qiao Qingyu spoke gently, “Besides, she never admitted to you that she jumped into the reservoir, right?”
“Then,” I asked anxiously, “do you not believe what I’m saying? If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do—only the clouds in the sky would know.”
“I believe you,” she smiled faintly, “Nothing in this world is purely sudden.”
After a moment of silence, she added: “Teacher Cao, thank you for telling me all this.”
“Seeing Warm Island makes me emotional,” I said, “You are a person of great love. Ah, what a pity, such a beautiful life… By the way, I hope I’m not offending you, but I think your daughter looks very much like Qiao Baiyu.”
“Yes,” Qiao Qingyu’s face brightened somewhat as she looked back at her family waiting by the bookshelves, “I feel my daughter is fate’s greatest blessing to me.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Her name is Qiao Yuan,” after a pause, Qiao Qingyu added, “Yuan means ‘kite,’ the bird of prey.”
What a wonderful name.
She thanked me again, invited me to visit the store more often, and bid farewell to join her family who had been waiting nearby.
Watching their retreating figures, especially the girl’s, I felt deeply moved.
Sometimes the world is just this wonderful, isn’t it?
Under the warm and strong protection of this family, that girl who looks so much like Qiao Baiyu will surely grow strong wings and have a free, happy, and brilliant life.
[The End]