When asked about her impression of him during their first meeting under the old camphor tree, Ming Sheng gave a meaningful smile. “You think that was the first time I saw you?”
“It wasn’t?” Qiao Qingyu asked, slightly surprised.
As the car turned onto the highway, Ming Sheng pressed down on the accelerator and freed his right hand to stroke the back of Qiao Qingyu’s head. “Silly, no, it wasn’t.”
“Then when did you first see me?”
A scene appeared before his eyes: in a room full of old, dim furniture, a slender girl was wearing an oversized white T-shirt, her brush flowing gracefully across rice paper with bold, confident strokes. Her skin was fair, with ink-black hair cascading over her shoulders. Though her frame was delicate, her grip on the brush was firm and determined. In the gloomy room, the girl seemed to emit her radiance, like the moon in the night sky.
“It’s been exactly seven years,” Ming Sheng turned to smile at Qiao Qingyu, his right hand once again caressing her silky hair, sliding to the tips before naturally taking hold of her hand. “The first time I saw you was on my fifteenth birthday.”
“That would be…”
“August 15, 2008,” Ming Sheng said, looking ahead and tightening his grip on Qiao Qingyu’s hand. “That day I went to my grandfather’s house and discovered that the apartment across the way, which had been empty for several months, had been rented out. I saw you writing at the dining table,” he turned to glance at Qiao Qingyu again, “You were beautiful.”
“So for me, you felt—” Qiao Qingyu tilted her head, her eyes twinkling mischievously, her voice full of expectation, “love at first sight?”
“No, I couldn’t see your face then.”
Hearing Qiao Qingyu’s soft tsk of disappointment, Ming Sheng laughed. “I’m a very cautious person, you know.”
“But back then you were so impulsive and unreasonable,” Qiao Qingyu grumbled. “Just because of a piece of paper, you made Senior He Kai unable to write for three months.”
“Perhaps,” Ming Sheng turned to look at Qiao Qingyu again, “subconsciously, I already saw him as a rival, so I was a bit harsh…”
“So it was love at first sight after all?”
Ming Sheng chuckled. “Yes.”
Satisfied, Qiao Qingyu grabbed Ming Sheng’s right hand and lifted it to her lips, giving it a loud kiss.
“Good,” she placed his right hand back on the steering wheel, “now drive with both hands.”
An hour and a half later, as they entered Huan Zhou City, Ming Sheng noticed Qiao Qingyu had fallen asleep, her delicate head nestled between the headrest and window, her long hair tucked behind her, revealing her fair neck and alluring collarbone. Several minutes later, after parking the car, he couldn’t bear to wake her from her deep sleep. He left the air conditioning running, leaned over to plant a light kiss on her cheek, and quietly got out of the car.
He was a bit tired too. They had just returned from the United States yesterday and headed straight to Sui Lake after landing to catch Qiao Jinyu’s twenty-second birthday. It was somewhat amusing that the person who kept calling him “brother-in-law” was a day older than him.
Last night, sleeping alone in the Sui Lake Hotel, Ming Sheng experienced rare insomnia. Perhaps it was the jet lag, or maybe the lingering nervousness from formally meeting Qiao Qingyu’s parents for the first time, or more likely—Ming Sheng glanced back at Qiao Qingyu’s peaceful sleeping face through the car window—because today’s moment was too important, he’d been anxious since the previous night.
Right beside him was a row of mailboxes. Ming Sheng opened box “303” and took out the accumulated stack of letters.
They were almost all bills—phone, utilities, broadband. There were also several folded supermarket promotional flyers, and—Ming Sheng’s eyes lit up—a letter addressed to him.
It was in Qiao Qingyu’s handwriting, though the sender’s field wasn’t filled in. The postmark showed it was sent from Shanghai at the beginning of the year. Ming Sheng thought carefully about early that year—he and Qiao Qingyu had passed through Shanghai after their Christmas holiday before returning to America, but they had gone straight to the airport. When would she have had time to mail him a letter?
“Oh, Ah Sheng?”
Without looking up, he knew the voice belonged to Auntie Feng.
“Summer vacation already?” The proprietress’s wife maintained her characteristically sharp gaze. “Haven’t seen you for several years, tsk tsk, you’re becoming more handsome!”
“Hello, Auntie Feng.”
“I heard from your father you’re studying medicine too?”
“Yes.”
“I heard studying medicine in America is very expensive and difficult. It’ll take you another three or four years?”
“Six or seven years.”
“Wow, such ambition, such capability,” Auntie Feng smiled, suddenly patting Ming Sheng’s arm. “With such good conditions, it would be so easy to make quick money! But you’re like your father, able to focus on the long term. You’re both meant for great things! Oh right, did your family renovate recently? I saw…”
From the corner of his eye, Ming Sheng noticed movement in the car. His attention immediately shifted there. Thankfully, Qiao Qingyu hadn’t been awakened.
“Auntie Feng,” Ming Sheng discreetly moved away from her touch and lowered his voice, “we’ll talk later. Qingyu is tired, let her sleep.”
At this point, Auntie Feng suddenly noticed Qiao Qingyu’s presence, and her face slowly broke into an exaggerated smile. She also lowered her voice, “I knew from the beginning you two would definitely…”
Just then, Qiao Qingyu woke up.
“Talk later.” Ming Sheng waved off Auntie Feng, who could only reluctantly drop the topic after receiving this dismissal. Seeing the car door open, she immediately darted to Qiao Qingyu’s side: “Qing Qing, haven’t seen you for years, you’ve changed so much! You’re getting prettier and prettier!”
“Of course,” Ming Sheng strode forward and wrapped his arm around the still somewhat drowsy Qiao Qingyu, raising his chin at Auntie Feng, “We’re going now, Auntie Feng.”
When they reached the second floor, Qiao Qingyu hurriedly wriggled free from his embrace.
“Why did you have to do that in front of Mrs. Feng…”
“To show off to that snob,” Ming Sheng said cheerfully, “see if she dares to make you cry again.”
A few seconds later, Qiao Qingyu let out an understanding “Oh.”
“Back in high school, I wasn’t upset because of what she said,” she took Ming Sheng’s arm as they climbed the stairs together. “I cried because I felt like the whole world was against me then.”
“I don’t care,” reaching the door, Ming Sheng pulled out his keys from his shoulder bag, “I just know you dislike her, so I dislike her too.”
Qiao Qingyu smiled helplessly. “You’re still so arrogant, aren’t you?”
Ming Sheng turned the key, pushed open the door, then turned to carry Qiao Qingyu into the apartment, his lips pressed against her ear: “Yes.”
Feeling Qiao Qingyu’s gentle push, he instead freed his other hand from closing the door and pulled her closer to his chest, his lips immediately sealing her slightly parted mouth as she tried to speak. As their tongues intertwined, her increasingly rapid breathing made his whole body burn with heat, and before long, he had pressed her down onto the soft living room sofa.
“Don’t… not yet, Ah Sheng,” when Ming Sheng’s burning lips were trailing along her neck, Qiao Qingyu managed to stop his hands from moving lower, “Wait… wait a moment…”
Ming Sheng looked up at her. The room was too stuffy; sweat had already formed on his forehead.
“My phone is ringing.”
Indeed, in the silence came a buzzing sound like humming bees. Ming Sheng cursed internally but reluctantly released Qiao Qingyu.
“It’s Guan Lan.” After taking out her phone from her bag, Qiao Qingyu said with slight delight, then stood up to take the call on the balcony.
Meanwhile, Ming Sheng also stood up, first carefully surveying the living room before successively walking through the kitchen, bathroom, study, and finally entering the master bedroom. With Ming Yu’s supervision, he was very satisfied with the renovation of the old house, especially the master bedroom. The walls had been painted a cool dark green, wooden frames had been added to the windows, light pure white gauze curtains hung to the floor, and with the simple new furniture, the room was layered yet spacious and peaceful, like an Edward Hopper landscape.
Qingyu would love it.
Ming Sheng walked to the bedside, took out a small velvet box from his shoulder bag, and tucked it under one of the pillows.
Then, he placed his bag on the desk, pulled out the chair to sit down, and took out the strange letter he had collected earlier.
The envelope was quite full, so he tore it open with extreme care. Three sheets of paper were folded neatly, each filled to the brim. To unravel the mystery of the letter, he first turned to the last page to check the ending:
February 7, 2010, on the high-speed train rushing back to Huan Zhou.
That was five years ago, the day of the New Concept Writing Competition finals.
Ming Sheng pulled his chair closer to the desk, placed both hands on the table, and turned back to the first page to read carefully, word by word.
Throughout his life, he had received countless letters, but all the letters he had ever sent were to Qiao Qingyu alone. That winter when they first got together, after returning to New York alone, he bought a thick stack of envelopes, paper, and stamps at once, sending her letters almost every other day. She didn’t reply much, though. Understandable—with such advanced communication methods, daily WeChat calls, and video chats, writing letters seemed like a waste of time. He didn’t know why he persisted for so long, but amazingly, writing these letters required no mental effort; once he picked up the pen, the words just flowed naturally.
When Qiao Qingyu came to New York, he discovered that his letters occupied half of her backpack.
“I know your handwriting is unmatched in the world,” she said, “but that’s enough, stop writing.”
“Didn’t you say your mom doesn’t go into your room anymore?” Ming Sheng asked, feeling a slight guilt, “Why bring them all to America?”
“I just didn’t feel comfortable leaving them anywhere else,” Qiao Qingyu answered, “When we return to China in a few years, I want my room, with walls painted cyan, and a safe to store all these letters.”
That statement, falling into Ming Sheng’s ears, sparked the recent hassle of getting Ming Yu to renovate the old house. However, Ming Sheng’s requirements for Ming Yu didn’t include a safe—in his mind, the old house was just a waystation exclusive to him and Qiao Qingyu, not their future home.
When he reached the third page of the letter, Ming Sheng’s left hand clenched into a fist, pressing against the tip of his nose.
“My youth was tasteless yet turbulent, all because you crashed into my little universe. Do you know? I’ve secretly imagined everything about you, including your soul and body. I long to be close to you, infinitely close, to embrace you tightly and pour out our hearts to each other. I want to experience everything I yearn for with you, be it grand and bright, or too shy to speak of. I want to say I love you right now. Ming Sheng, Ah Sheng, I love you.”
From behind him to the left, Qiao Qingyu knocked on the door.
“What are you spacing out about?” She walked in, joyfully surveying the room, “When was it renovated? I had no idea! No wonder you insisted on coming to grandfather’s place first… What’s wrong, Ah Sheng?”
She looked around, finding nothing unusual, then stepped closer, meeting Ming Sheng’s strange, intent gaze: “Why have you gone blank…”
Ming Sheng wrapped his arm around her waist: “Say you love me.”
“What for,” Qiao Qingyu laughed, raising her hand to playfully punch his chest, “Haven’t I said it before?”
“I love you,” Ming Sheng tightened his hold on her, his overly focused expression unusually solemn, “Qiao Qingyu, I love you very, very much.”
“Then I also… ah!” Qiao Qingyu, who had been looking down, suddenly exclaimed, breaking free from Ming Sheng to pick up the letter from the desk, “It got delivered! You’ve already read it?”
Ming Sheng nodded, watching with interest as a blush crept up Qiao Qingyu’s cheeks and ears.
“Oh my goodness,” Qiao Qingyu buried her head in his chest, giggling, “How embarrassing!”
“Back then, I didn’t dare think so much,” Ming Sheng suddenly pressed her onto the bed, “You were so wild.”
“No, I…”
“What were those things too shy to speak of?” Ming Sheng deliberately blew into Qiao Qingyu’s ear, one hand supporting half his body weight, the other caressing the soft waist beneath him, “What about the body? Tell me.”
“That… I, mm,” Qiao Qingyu turned her head away from Ming Sheng’s lips, “Ah Sheng, later… let me tell you something urgent first.”
Ming Sheng stopped.
“What is it?”
The disappointment and complaint in his tone made Qiao Qingyu laugh: “It’s about what Guan Lan just told me on the phone.”
Ming Sheng released Qiao Qingyu, falling to one side: “Mm, go ahead.”
“Do you remember the story I told you about Aunt Qin from Nan Qiao Village?”
“Of course,” Ming Sheng lay flat, looking at the ceiling, “A tragic life.”
“Aunt Qin was originally from Hebei, but she went to Beijing with her parents when she was young,” Qiao Qingyu said. “Since Guan Lan is in Beijing, I gave her the information I remembered from Aunt Qin’s diary—her parents’ names, workplace, and home address, and asked her to help check if Aunt Qin’s parents were still alive.”
Ming Sheng made a sound of acknowledgment, finding Qiao Qingyu’s hand and holding it gently.
“Just now, Guan Lan called to say she found Aunt Qin’s father, Qin Shuqing, in a Beijing nursing home. He’s in his eighties but has long been suffering from dementia, and his health is poor—likely to pass away any time,” Qiao Qingyu said excitedly. “Aunt Qin’s mother passed away a few years after she was trafficked. Her father now remembers no one, has been bedridden for years, barely hanging on, and keeps telling anyone who comes near that he’s waiting for his daughter.”
Ming Sheng sat up too.
“So,” Qiao Qingyu’s gaze was clear as water, “the urgent matter is, can we go see Old Mr. Qin together? As soon as possible, tomorrow morning to Beijing, okay?”
“Sure,” Ming Sheng agreed without hesitation, “but he has dementia, and we’re strangers…”
“We’re not strangers,” Qiao Qingyu smiled and shook her head, “At the nursing home, we’ll call him grandfather. You’ll be Xi Xi, from ‘hope,’ and I’ll be Pan Pan, from ‘anticipation.'”
Ming Sheng’s eyes brightened, then softened with endless tenderness.
“We’ll tell him that although Aunt Qin had a hard life, she had two children who grew up safely and healthily, got decent jobs, and lived good lives,” Qiao Qingyu said softly, becoming emotional, “Because I’ve read Aunt Qin’s diary, I know many things about her childhood, so the old man won’t think we’re lying.”
“Let the old man pass peacefully,” Qiao Qingyu continued, moving closer and lifting her head to kiss Ming Sheng’s chin, “Besides, you want to call someone grandfather again, don’t you?”
Ming Sheng couldn’t speak, just cupped Qiao Qingyu’s face and left a gentle, sacred kiss on her smooth forehead.
“Great!” Qiao Qingyu seemed very happy, grabbing her phone, “I’ll tell Guan Lan to guide us tomorrow.”
While she was messaging, Ming Sheng seemed to see her as he had that first time—pure and fearless, radiating a gentle light. He glanced at the bedside, where a six-claw diamond ring lay quietly in its velvet box under the pillow.
Choosing this particular day was intentional. Today was his twenty-second birthday, the anniversary of when he first saw Qiao Qingyu. After dinner, they would attend Fish Leong’s concert together, titled “Your Name Is Love.”
But why wait until all the so-called rituals of this day were complete, until Qiao Qingyu discovered the ring herself, to speak? He didn’t need such pretense. He wanted to be with this wonderful girl forever—could he? He had to confirm this right now.
Tell her now, without waiting another moment.
“Guan Lan says it’s no problem,” Qiao Qingyu said, tossing her phone onto the bedside table and standing up to stretch, walking two steps forward to lift the gauze curtain, “It’s getting dark… shall we go out for dinner?”
Hearing no response, she turned around, surprised to see Ming Sheng had moved to the bedside, standing as straight and determined as a knight, holding an open small box with something sparkling inside.
“Qiao Qingyu,” Ming Sheng took a deep breath, stepped forward slowly, knelt on one knee, and looked up into the girl’s spring-water-clear eyes, “Will you hold my hand forever?”