“One New Year’s, I went with a friend to the ancient temple near our old school. But I only burned three sticks of incense and did nothing else. It seems I’ve never been willing to entrust my wishes to any god. Even gods have places they cannot reach. If it were possible, I would still want to send all the wishes of these years to you. I hope you find joy, peace, and ease — a life that goes smoothly, all the way through.”

— Sherry Lab, The Ninth Year Past the Dream

After the November monthly exam, during the break that followed, Xia Li went home after all.

Xia Jianyang had been discharged from the hospital and was recuperating at home. As a form of “protection” for him, Luo Weiguo had already arranged for his work at the factory to be put on hold.

Jiang Hong, partly to care for Xia Jianyang and partly unable to bear the cold mockery of their factory coworkers, had also taken temporary leave.

With all of this happening, the atmosphere at home was predictably heavy and subdued.

Both of them knew that Xia Li was at a critical point in her senior year, and that they’d caused all this chaos at the worst possible time. Talking to her left them with guilty, diffident edges, uncertain and overly careful.

After dinner, Xia Li went back to her room to work on holiday assignments.

In the living room, Xia Jianyang was watching television. She heard Jiang Hong admonish him quietly: “Turn it down.”

Through the closed door, the sound of the television faded, and then faded further, until it was barely audible.

The rented apartment had no air conditioning and faced directly into the prevailing wind. The walls were thin and didn’t hold warmth. After sitting for a while, her hands and feet were numb.

Xia Li made two trips to the kitchen to refill a cup with boiling water, using it to warm her hands and draw some small comfort from the heat.

Jiang Hong appeared in the doorway, holding a space heater, smiling with a slightly cautious edge. “Plug this in — keeps your feet from getting cold.”

“Don’t you only use that in winter?”

“Your dad dug it out. He said this year the cold came early.”

Jiang Hong came in, plugged in the heater, and waited until the heating element glowed red before leaving. On her way out, she gently pulled the door shut behind her.

Jiang Hong and Xia Jianyang typically slept early. At half past ten that night, she reminded Xia Li to rest soon, then went to her own room.

Xia Li worked on papers until eleven, washed up briefly, lay down in bed, turned on the bedside lamp, and flipped through a magazine to unwind.

Another knock at the door. Jiang Hong again — this time with a rechargeable hand warmer. She came in, lifted the blanket, and tucked it in by Xia Li’s feet. “Get some sleep early.”

Xia Li glanced at her over the magazine as she rose to leave. “Is he asleep already?”

“Then please close the door. I want to say a few things to you.”

Jiang Hong did as she was asked.

Xia Li set the magazine down, fingers absently rolling the corner of a page. “Are you going back to work at the factory?”

“Luo Weiguo’s suggestion is to transfer us somewhere else — a new construction site. They’ll start up after the new year. Your dad would be working security, and I’d be in the kitchen again. The conditions would definitely be worse than what we have now, and…” Jiang Hong looked at her with an expression heavy with guilt, “…it’s not in Chucheng. It’s in Yutang County.”

Yutang County was a county town under Chucheng’s jurisdiction, about three hours away by car.

“Does it have to be a job arranged through Uncle Luo? Can’t you find something on your own?”

“We haven’t got any education or connections of our own…”

Xia Li let it go. She was living off the money her parents worked hard to earn. She had no right to weigh in on their work.

Right now, what she more urgently wanted to address was: “…What about you and Dad? Is that just… it?”

Jiang Hong looked at her. “What do you mean, ‘just it’?”

“Have you considered divorcing him?”

Jiang Hong was taken aback.

Her expression made it clear this was something she had not considered for a single second.

Xia Li wasn’t surprised in the least. From the guilty way Jiang Hong treated her, it was obvious that Jiang Hong had framed this whole thing as a “trial” they were both going through together as husband and wife — not as Xia Jianyang’s unilateral breach of trust.

“He betrayed you. Aren’t you even a little angry?”

Jiang Hong murmured, “Your dad… after all, nothing actually happened with that woman. It was just QQ chat that went too far. I’ve already yelled at him about it. He says it was a momentary lapse in judgment and swears it’ll never happen again. He doesn’t have any other bad habits — he keeps himself warm in the way a husband should, doesn’t drink or gamble or hit people like some men do. Besides… if we divorce, what happens to you, Lili…”

Xia Li cut her off. “…You two are husband and wife. I’m just the child. If you want to forgive him, I have no say in it. But if you’re telling me you’re staying for my sake — I don’t accept that. I’m about to go to university. I won’t be in Chucheng forever. Whether you divorce or not makes no difference to my life. If it’s a money concern — he’d still owe child support after the divorce, and I can apply for a student loan on top of that, or get a part-time job…”

Jiang Hong’s most presentable excuse had been stripped away. For a moment, she was flustered, and her eyes grew red.

Xia Li felt as though she was being almost cruelly rational.

If this had just happened, she couldn’t have been this calm. This was her response after more than a week of turning it over in her mind.

“Do whatever you want,” Xia Li said at last. “As long as you can live with yourself.”

But as far as Xia Li was concerned, she would never again trust or rely on Xia Jianyang the way she once had.

Her parents had always been something like small, humble gods in her heart — and she had been willing to offer them the devotion of good behavior and excellence.

Now she knew with clarity: everything she did going forward would only ever be for herself.

For her own dreams, ambitions, vanity, and impossible longings.

She felt as though she had grown up overnight.

The last thin umbilical cord to her childhood — she had no more attachment to it.

Jiang Hong left the room.

Xia Li lay on her side, switched off the bedside lamp, and in the dark reached up to rub her eyes, pressing out a trace of moisture.

It really was turning out to be a harsh winter this year.

Christmas Day fell on a Friday. The weekend that followed was not a holiday, however — a monthly exam was scheduled for the Monday after, and once that was done, the monthly break would be combined with the New Year’s holiday and given together.

That Friday afternoon during English class, everyone was doing a listening comprehension exercise, when someone at the windows facing the sports field shouted: “It’s snowing!”

Everyone looked out the windows, then quickly caught themselves and looked back at their papers.

The English teacher switched off the tape recorder and said with a smile, “Shall we take a look at the snow?”

Everyone was just about to cheer when she hushed them: “Quietly! We don’t want to attract the year group director and Old Zhuang. Ten minutes’ break. You can go outside the classroom — just stay in the corridor. Don’t run off, and don’t chatter.”

Xia Li’s seat was near the classroom door. She was the first one out.

Lin Qingxiao and Xu Ning came out after her and squeezed in beside her.

The snow wasn’t heavy. It fell without a sound, dissolving into water the moment it touched the concrete below. At this rate, even if it didn’t stop, it would probably not manage to accumulate until evening self-study.

Xia Li held the back of her hand out to catch some. A snowflake — not quite the perfect kind — landed on her skin, and lingered there for a moment before melting.

Everyone followed the English teacher’s unspoken rules, keeping their voices low. Even with a good chunk of the class spilling into the corridor, they stayed relatively quiet.

But with so many people crowding the hallway, it still caught the attention of the year group director upstairs, who came down from the staircase at the far end. “Class Seven — what are you all doing!”

Their English teacher smiled up at him. “I sent them out for material. They’ll be writing a composition about it in a minute!”

The year group director frowned. “This is still class time.”

“Just ten minutes.” The English teacher kept smiling. “Surely we can find ten minutes. Don’t you think so?”

The year group director naturally couldn’t argue any further. “Keep it quiet. Don’t disturb the other classes.”

Class Seven hadn’t disturbed anyone else — it was the year group director’s booming shout that drew out even the arts track regular-class students at the far end of the corridor.

They too kept the unspoken agreement: no talking.

Then the international class students came out as well.

Yan Sishi was dressed in a long black puffer jacket. He stood there — clean and still, quietly separate from everyone else — one arm resting loosely on the railing.

Xia Li had both arms folded on the icy railing, her chin resting on them, head tilted sideways. She stared, unbothered and unguarded, toward the far end of the corridor.

She’d been staring for quite a while when, unexpectedly, Yan Sishi turned his head.

As though by chance — and his gaze met hers.

Even from that distance, she could see his eyes, clear and deep, carrying a faint and quiet luminescence in the gray winter light.

Xia Li’s heart stopped in fright. She snatched her gaze back and turned to face the railing again.

In the cold air and the falling snow, she alone was burning — from her neck all the way to the tips of her ears.

All the way until break ended, she couldn’t gather the courage to look over again.

Everyone went back inside and sat down.

The English teacher smiled. “Romantic, wasn’t it?”

Seeing snow on Christmas Day, during class time — of course it was romantic.

The English teacher said, “Now that the romance is over — write an English composition. Gaokao standard.”

For that small price of romance, everyone was perfectly willing to pay.

In senior year, naturally there was no Christmas party and no New Year’s party.

Across the sports field, the first- and second-year teaching building had colored lights strung in their windows, and the words “HAPPY NEW YEAR” sprayed in large white letters across the glass.

On this side, the senior year students went to evening self-study as usual, without a moment’s rest.

Only once the monthly exam was finished and the New Year’s holiday was imminent did everyone let out a small, long-overdue sigh of relief.

Xia Li wasn’t going home. She planned to spend the holiday in the student apartment, reading some manga, or going to wander around the shops with Lin Qingxiao and the others.

She was packing up her things to leave school when Lin Qingxiao came over with her bag already on. “On the first, do you want to come to Fu’an Temple with us to burn incense and make offerings? Are you in?”

Fu’an Temple was on a small hillside near the school — a modest little temple, but supposedly established back in the Tang Dynasty, making it a thousand-year-old site.

Xia Li had never been. She didn’t know whether it was efficacious or not.

“Who else is going?”

Lin Qingxiao: “Quite a few people, actually. You, me, Ning Ning, Ouyang Jing… Xiao Yulong and his friends are saying they’ll come too.”

“Sure.”

“See you on the first, then.”

“See you on the first.”

Xia Li gathered her things and walked out of the classroom hugging several workbooks that wouldn’t fit in her bag.

Arriving at the stairwell, she saw Yan Sishi and Wang Chen just coming out through the front door of Class Twenty.

She slowed her pace and called out a greeting. “Hey.”

Wang Chen called back a “hey.”

The three of them naturally fell into step together heading downstairs.

Xia Li said, “Are you going to Fu’an Temple on New Year’s Day to burn incense?”

Wang Chen, walking ahead, said, “Burning incense? I’m a committed materialist.”

“It’s just an offering. For the psychological comfort of it.” Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the workbooks she was holding. She glanced over at Yan Sishi, who had dropped a step behind her. “It’s supposedly a tradition for Mingzhong seniors,” she added, improvising.

Yan Sishi looked up briefly. “Sure. Let’s go.”

Wang Chen: “Fine by me, then. I’ll come too.”

Xia Li didn’t let herself look too pleased. “New Year’s Day, morning — around nine. Any later and there’ll be too many people.”

Yan Sishi said, “Okay.”

Downstairs, Xia Li was heading toward the north gate, so she said her goodbyes to the two of them. “See you the day after tomorrow, then.”

Yan Sishi: “See you the day after tomorrow.”

On New Year’s Day morning, far more people showed up at Fu’an Temple than Xia Li had anticipated.

Beyond the people Lin Qingxiao had mentioned, everyone had brought along their own friends.

Nie Chuhang had also come. He greeted Lin Qingxiao. Lin Qingxiao glanced at him and ignored him. So he stayed nearby, neither too close nor too far.

In the main hall courtyard, they burned incense in the large censer. Lin Qingxiao wanted to go inside the hall to bow.

Xia Li said she’d skip that, and wait outside.

Lin Qingxiao and Xu Ning went in together.

The week before, it had snowed, and the sky had stayed overcast ever since. Up on the hillside, the wind was strong and the air was cold.

Xia Li paced the gray stone courtyard in front of the hall, breathing in the pleasant smell of ash drifting from the censer, and every so often glancing toward the temple gate.

She didn’t know how many times she’d looked before her expression brightened.

She raised her hand and waved.

Yan Sishi and Wang Chen had spotted her and walked over.

Both of them were holding the incense sticks distributed at the gate. They walked to the censer, lit them from one of the candles, found an open spot, and planted three sticks.

Xia Li pointed toward the hall interior. “Are you going in to bow?”

Wang Chen: “Come all this way and not go in? Might as well.”

Xia Li didn’t follow. She watched as their figures disappeared through the entrance.

Looking against the light coming in from outside, she could make out Yan Sishi standing in the darker interior, before the statue of the Buddha, head slightly bowed.

That silhouette — still and reverential — had a particular solemnity to it.

Xia Li suddenly thought of what Yan Sishi had said that night — that his wishes did not bend to his own will.

She didn’t think of him as a superstitious person. But perhaps there was something — something he could not accomplish no matter how hard he tried — that left him with no other option but to pray, to appeal to some abstract and unseen force.

The thought made her ache for him in a way she couldn’t quite name.

Not far away, beneath an ancient cypress tree estimated to be a thousand years old, someone was tying a red cloth strip to one of the branches.

Xia Li looked around and found a small table where the cloth strips could be purchased, with a short line queued up before it.

On an impulse, she joined the back of the line.

She waited quite a while before it was her turn.

Ten yuan per strip.

She dropped the bill into the offering box, picked up a pen, and spread the strip flat on the table.

She wrote the character for “may,” then started on the second character — had barely finished the upper portion of the next word when a cool, slightly low voice came from directly behind her: “Your friend is looking for you.”

Xia Li startled. The breath behind that voice felt so close it seemed to hover just above her head.

Her ears, hidden beneath her hair, flared with heat.

On instinct, she covered what she’d been writing with her palm. The black marker came down twice over that half-finished character, blotting it out.

“…I’ll be right there,” Xia Li said.

Her heart was pounding so hard her fingertips were trembling slightly.

She finished writing, then looked at the strip.

May all that is wished for be granted.

Read aloud, it sounded almost like a grammatical error.

She capped the pen. Xia Li picked up the red strip and walked to the tree, looking for an unoccupied branch.

Standing on her tiptoes to reach, Yan Sishi came over. “Want me to help?”

Xia Li handed it to him. “…Then tie it up high.”

Maybe higher up, it would be more visible.

Yan Sishi nodded.

Xia Li stepped aside and watched. Yan Sishi reached up and grasped a high branch with its deep green leaves, looped the red cloth strip around it, and knotted it.

He stepped back and turned to look at her. “Is that all right?”

A breeze stirred. The bright red strip turned and fluttered high above — higher than all the others, so high she felt as though even jumping she couldn’t reach it.

High enough that the bodhisattva would surely see it.

Xia Li nodded. “That’s perfect.”

May Yan Sishi’s wishes be granted.

She completed the prayer in her heart, silently.