That year on New Year’s Eve, Jiang Hong was full of energy — she was up early to prepare the ingredients, and had Xia Li running in and out alongside her in the process.

There were only three of them at the table, but Jiang Hong had made an entire spread, saying the leftovers didn’t matter — it was better to have more, to ring in the new year with abundance.

In the quiet moments in between, Xia Li would send Yan Sishi a message.

The topics were thoroughly unremarkable, yet neither of them stopped.

Yan Sishi didn’t always reply immediately — sometimes he’d take half an hour to respond, explaining that he had been sitting with his grandfather watching television.

In the evening, the sound of incoming messages became a constant backdrop. Xia Li sat listening to the television as she worked through her replies to New Year’s greetings one by one.

In the new development zone, fireworks were still permitted. A little past eleven, the sound of them exploding in the distance began — the sky brightening and fading in turns.

Xia Li filmed a short video and sent it to Yan Sishi.

Jiang Hong and Xia Jianyang were usually asleep by ten, but staying up to midnight was their limit for the new year. Before the Spring Gala program on television had ended, they’d already gone to wash up and turn in.

Xia Li went to shower as well, switched off the television and the living room lights, and lay down in her room.

That was when Yan Sishi’s reply arrived — he said he had been out walking with his grandparents just now and hadn’t been paying attention to his phone.

Sherry: Already in bed. But not sleepy yet.

YAN: Don’t fall asleep.

Her message asking “are you really coming?” went unanswered — he had probably started driving and wasn’t looking at his phone.

Perhaps there were few cars out on New Year’s Eve, because in barely twenty minutes a new message appeared: Yan Sishi said he had arrived and asked for her building number.

After she replied, he told her to come down in five minutes — no need to change, just throw a coat on over whatever she was wearing.

He just wanted to see her. He would head back right after.

Xia Li got up, took the long down coat from her wardrobe, and pulled it on over her pajamas.

Her footsteps were very light going out. She didn’t turn on the living room lights.

She took the elevator down and pushed open the main door. Yan Sishi was standing just outside — a black down coat, a solitary clarity against the dark, like a lone moon.

She walked up to him. Before she had even registered the chill of the night air, he had opened his coat and folded her inside.

She looked up at him — his gaze quiet and warm beneath its composure — and rose on her toes to kiss him. “You really came.”

“Mm.”

From somewhere far off, another round of fireworks climbed into the sky. The explosion made them both turn.

A building was blocking the view; the fireworks couldn’t be seen properly. Xia Li said she wanted to find a spot with a clear line of sight.

“You’ll get cold like this.”

“I won’t. It’s just a few steps.”

Yan Sishi took her hand, and they walked toward the complex gate.

The fireworks were being set off somewhere around the sports park. It looked close, but it was still a good kilometer’s walk.

Yan Sishi’s car was parked nearby. He offered to drive her over for a better look.

They got in. Xia Li opened her window and leaned out along the sill, looking out at the night. The bracing air touched her face, but she didn’t feel cold. The closer they got to the park, the bigger and clearer the fireworks became.

They found a spot with a good view, and Yan Sishi pulled the car over to the side. He opened his own window and propped his elbow on the sill, looking over at her.

At that moment, a vast, brilliant yellow burst of fireworks bloomed — like rays of a star spreading outward, lighting up half the night sky.

She turned to him in delight: “Look!”

Yan Sishi didn’t look at the sky. He looked at her eyes — bright as that, burning like fireworks themselves.

The next second, he reached out abruptly, pressed the release on her seatbelt, caught her wrist, and pulled her toward him, bending close to kiss her.

The fireworks were very quickly forgotten.

All that filled Xia Li’s ears and her heart was the sound of Yan Sishi breathing.

She resented the center console between the two seats for keeping them apart. In the pause between breaths, her chest rising and falling quickly, she said: “…Move your seat back.”

Yan Sishi seemed surprised, but pressed the seat adjustment button on the car door as she asked.

The seat slid back, leaving space between him and the steering wheel. Xia Li arched her body, swung herself over the console, and settled directly across his lap, sideways, leaning into him.

Yan Sishi closed both windows. The din outside fell completely silent. He wrapped both arms tightly around her slender waist, tipped his head up, and kissed her with something that felt close to urgency.

With their bodies so near, every shift in the other was felt with absolute clarity.

Xia Li’s outer coat had half-slipped from her shoulders and hung from her arms. The top two buttons of her cotton pajamas had come undone. In the dim light and enclosed space, she finally dared open her eyes and look down.

She lifted her hands — clearly intending to push him away — and instead found her fingers deep in his dark hair.

Continuing like this was only torment for both of them. In the end, Yan Sishi drew back. Xia Li held onto him, face buried in the curve of his neck, trembling faintly like a leaf caught in a gust.

Yan Sishi’s breath at her ear was warm, his voice slightly unsteady: “…You always make me forget what I came to do.”

He had only meant to come see her for a moment.

“…Is that my fault?”

“Not yours. Mine.”

Yan Sishi lifted his hand and, with his long fingers, did up the buttons she’d lost at her collar. He pressed a kiss to her warm ear. “Should I take you home?”

Xia Li gave a quiet nod.

She drifted back upstairs in something of a haze, turned her key with deliberate care, tiptoed back to her room, and lay down.

A message came from Yan Sishi telling her to get to sleep soon.

She replied saying she’d wait for his message to tell her he was home before sleeping.

There were still some unanswered holiday greetings she had no energy to deal with. She flipped over and buried her face in her pillow.

She kept turning over one moment in her mind — in the car, just then, when Yan Sishi’s hand had been beneath hers. The back of his hand, the same shade of pale as her own skin.

And on those defined, articulate fingers, he wore the silver ring she had given him.

That single image was enough to make her mind go completely blank.

Before long, a message arrived from Yan Sishi.

Xia Li replied goodnight and told him to rest soon.

Yan Sishi replied: Can’t sleep. I’ll try.

Xia Li laughed so hard her phone nearly slipped from her hands.

The abundance of Jiang Hong’s New Year’s Eve spread had not fully been consumed even by the third day.

But company was coming on the fourth, so all of it was cleared away to make room for something fresh.

Xia Li could feel how seriously Jiang Hong was taking this — more, even, than she had taken the New Year’s Eve dinner itself. She assured her mother to relax, that Yan Sishi would be far more easygoing than she imagined.

“That’s his business,” Jiang Hong said. “Our manner reflects on us, not him.”

Xia Li gave up and let her be.

Yan Sishi arrived precisely on time.

Xia Li went down to meet him and saw the gift boxes in his hands. She couldn’t help smiling.

Asking someone like him — someone who seemed to belong to another plane of existence entirely — to turn up with a selection of gifts like tea, spirits, and health tonics was, in its own way, wonderfully incongruous.

She knew he was willing to observe these courtesies only for her sake.

Upstairs, Jiang Hong and Xia Jianyang were braced and ready as though awaiting the arrival of a distinguished guest.

Once Yan Sishi had presented the gifts, introduced himself, and suggested they call him “Xiao Yan” as other elders did, and accepted the cigarette Xia Jianyang offered, the atmosphere eased into something more normal.

Jiang Hong was occupied in the kitchen. Xia Jianyang received their guest in the living room — but he was not a talkative man by nature, and had been placed in the position of assessor, which left him feeling decidedly at a loss.

Especially when the guest in question was Huo Jizhong’s grandson.

Xia Li took charge of the situation with natural ease, weaving topics together and filling in the details about Yan Sishi’s studies and work.

Xia Jianyang asked, “Starting a business — isn’t there quite a bit of risk in that?”

Yan Sishi said, “Of course there’s risk. But it won’t affect Xia Xia’s life.”

Xia Jianyang had asked precisely because he’d heard of people who’d failed in business and been left buried under hundreds of thousands in debt, and he was worried Xia Li might get pulled into it. He hadn’t expected Yan Sishi to be so perceptive — to see through his question and go straight to the heart of his concern.

Xia Li said lightly, “If the business fails, there’s always going back to regular employment. Stable income, right?”

Xia Jianyang nodded.

Before long, lunch was ready and everyone moved to the dining room.

Xia Jianyang wasn’t comfortable with the ritual of toasting and drinking, so the two men had only a couple of glasses together.

Jiang Hong was the more talkative one, and her questions over the meal were more precise — though much of it Xia Li had already briefed her on in advance. Still, she seemed to need to hear it from Yan Sishi himself before she could feel settled.

Yan Sishi answered everything with patience, and without hesitation.

Finally, Jiang Hong said, “All the help you gave us with my surgery — we really can’t thank you enough.”

Yan Sishi said, “Please don’t say that, Auntie. There’s no need for such formality.”

By the end of the exchange, the pleasure in Jiang Hong’s expression had overflowed. “I heard Xia Li had some dealings with your maternal grandparents?”

Yan Sishi nodded, saying that Huo Jizhong and Dai Shufang liked Xia Li very much, and that they would like her to come with him that evening, as they were also celebrating his birthday. He asked if Xia Li would be available.

Jiang Hong said eagerly, “Of course, of course — she has nothing else on this evening.”

Xia Li laughed. “Did you ask me before saying I had nothing on?”

“Do you have something on?”

“…”

After the meal, Xia Li brought out the cake she had ordered in advance.

Two days earlier she had specifically tracked down, through classmates still living in Chucheng, the best bakery in the city — one that had opened again on the third day of the new year.

She knew Yan Sishi didn’t really like cake. But the ritual was something she wanted to give him in full, without a single piece missing.

Yan Sishi cooperated with perfect willingness — blowing out the candles when the time came, making a wish when required.

After the cake, Xia Li brought Yan Sishi to her room.

Yan Sishi was still taking in the room when she placed a small gift box — and a tin about thirty centimeters long and fifteen centimeters tall — on the desk in front of him.

She gave the tin a light pat. “This is a second gift I decided to give you last minute. No wrapping — you’ll have to excuse the presentation.”

The tin was clearly not new. Where the paint had chipped, rust showed through.

“Can I open it now?” Yan Sishi was curious.

“You can, but if we stay too long in here, my mom will come knock and have something to say about it.” Xia Li smiled.

Yan Sishi decided he would bring it home to open.

Over the past few days, with nothing in particular to occupy her, Xia Li had reorganized all the books that Jiang Hong and Xia Jianyang had moved over and left in disarray. Yan Sishi went to look at the bookcase now. One shelf was lined with issues of a film magazine — all of them in chronological order, 2007 through 2010, arranged with perfect neatness.

Yan Sishi’s gaze moved along the 2009 section, and found — unsurprisingly — that the May issue was missing.

He reached out and tapped the gap. “One’s missing.”

“…So there is.”

“Where did it go?”

Xia Li smiled. “Where did it go? I’m not sure.”

“Did you give it to someone?”

“I think so… though I wonder if the person who received it threw it away.”

Yan Sishi gave a light laugh. “A book that appeared out of nowhere — of course it was thrown away.”

Xia Li’s eyes widened. “…Really?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask whoever you gave it to.”

“…”

At that moment, Jiang Hong’s figure appeared in the doorway. She smiled and asked Yan Sishi whether he’d like some tea — she’d put on a fresh pot.

Yan Sishi said, “Please. Thank you.”

Xia Li gave a helpless shrug and said without a sound: Let’s go back out.

By around half past two in the afternoon, Xia Li and Yan Sishi left.

They had film tickets booked for the Spring Festival season. After the film they would go to Yan Sishi’s maternal grandparents’ home — the timing worked out perfectly.

Coming out of the cinema, the sky had long since gone dark.

The forecast a few days ago had mentioned possible snow. In the end there had only been a cold wind sweeping through relentlessly.

Now the wind was sharper still. Perhaps it really would snow.

They arrived at the Huo family home to a warm reception. Huo Jizhong and Dai Shufang had been expecting them.

Dai Shufang took their coats, handed them off to be hung, and patted Xia Li’s hand. “Cold out there, was it?”

“We came by car. I wasn’t cold at all.”

“Then Xiao Yan, take Little Xia to wash her hands. We’ll sit down to eat in a moment.”

The Huo family home had been designed in the European style fashionable some years back, but the space was large and the ceiling high, and the furniture was all of fine quality — there was nothing crowded or gaudy about it, only a sense of genuine grandeur.

The dining table was spacious. Atop a royal blue brocade runner sat a white vase, holding a lovely spray of pale pink gardenia with many layered petals.

Like the midday meal, this evening’s table was also laden with dishes.

Xia Li had met the two elders before, so by comparison she felt more at ease with them. And relative to those earlier meetings, they were now noticeably warmer toward her.

Dai Shufang smiled and asked, “After the new year you’ll be going to Bincheng, is that right, Little Xia?”

Xia Li nodded. “Once I’ve resigned and finished handing over my work, I’ll head over.”

“Bincheng is wonderful — by the sea, mild climate, the air is fresh.”

Xia Li said, “You should come visit.”

“Once Xiao Yan is there too, I absolutely will.” Dai Shufang smiled.

After dinner, Dai Shufang had the housekeeper bring out the cake.

Xia Li, knowing they wouldn’t be able to finish a large one, had ordered a modest size. But the one Dai Shufang had prepared was another matter entirely — as though anything smaller by so much as an inch would be an injustice to Yan Sishi.

The exact same sequence of events, played out a second time. Xia Li could tell Yan Sishi was already internally resigned to the ritual.

But he remained perfectly cooperative, not the slightest hint of impatience.

After cake, they sat with the two elders in easy conversation. By half past nine in the evening, the housekeeper came in and mentioned that it had begun sleeting outside.

Dai Shufang went quickly to part the curtains and look, then urged Yan Sishi to take Xia Li home before the weather worsened.

The two of them said their goodbyes.

The moment the door opened, wind and sleet hit them full in the face. Yan Sishi told the two elders to stay inside, it was cold.

Dai Shufang and Huo Jizhong stood in the doorway and told Xia Li to visit whenever she had the chance.

They got in the car. Yan Sishi turned the heat up high, set the wipers going to clear the windshield, then asked: “Home now?”

“Do you want me to go home?” Xia Li looked at him. In her eyes, two small moons seemed to shine.

Yan Sishi said nothing. He signaled and started the engine.

After turning out of the complex, Xia Li recognized that the car was not heading in the direction of her family’s home.

By the time they reached Yan Sishi’s apartment, the sleet had turned to small flakes of snow, though they melted the moment they touched the ground.

She took her gifts. Yan Sishi held her hand and led her inside.

The lights came on, and the warm glow made the cold outside feel entirely imaginary.

Xia Li went to the window to watch the snow. Yan Sishi mentioned that the upstairs study had a large floor-to-ceiling window with a better view.

In the study, from the floor plan she could now see that Yan Sishi’s bedroom had another door that connected directly to this room.

The study was nearly as large as the living room below. Drawing back the velvet curtains revealed a full wall of glass.

Xia Li stood at the window for a while. The snow was still too light to amount to much. She turned instead to look at the shelves of books that lined the wall behind the desk.

The books had a little age to them. The top two rows were matching sets of classic novels in collector’s hardcover — probably not Yan Sishi’s own choices; they had the look of decorative purchases made during the renovation.

On the more accessible shelves below, Xia Li found many titles on psychology and mental wellness. Beside those, technical books on computer programming.

There were also consecutive issues of a software magazine, a complete run of a manga series called Mushishi, and non-consecutive issues of a film magazine.

Xia Li spotted the May 2009 issue immediately and pulled it from the shelf.

When she opened it, a folded slip of paper flew out and fell to the floor.

Yan Sishi bent and picked it up before she could.

He held the note and read it closely.

Xia Li felt heat rise to her face. She reached out to snatch it — “…Don’t read it—”

Yan Sishi held it at arm’s length, out of her reach. A soft laugh. “Was the handwriting done with your left hand?”

Xia Li said nothing.

“Why did you send it without a name?”

“…Obviously I had to be anonymous. You seemed to be in a bad mood that day. I was afraid if I gave it to you directly, you’d refuse.” Her voice was quiet.

It was as though she had become, in that moment, the girl she had been back then — full of things she couldn’t say, finding the most roundabout way possible to say them.

“I wouldn’t have refused.” Yan Sishi looked down at her. “Not if it was from you.”

Xia Li’s lashes trembled faintly, like the wing of a cicada. “…Really?”

“Really.”

Somehow that answer gave her courage. She hesitated for a moment. “Do you want to look at the birthday gift?”

Yan Sishi nodded. He walked over to the desk and lifted his hand to the tin.

Xia Li’s breath softened slightly. She realized she still couldn’t manage to sit there and watch him go through it together — not while facing him directly. She held the magazine and walked to the armchair across from the floor-to-ceiling window, affecting a casual air. “…You look. I’ll be over here.”

Yan Sishi lifted the lid of the tin.

The very first thing he saw made him go still.

A book wrapped in brown paper, its cover carrying a row of letters, faded to near invisibility — he squinted to read them: “FroY.”

He turned it over. Inside was a single volume of a manga called Soul Eater.

Between the pages, two slips of paper had been tucked: one was a vocabulary list with English words and their Chinese translations; the other was a computer parts specification sheet.

Beneath that, an MP3 player — no recognizable brand, the casing worn with use, but otherwise seemingly in good condition. He suspected that if someone charged it, it might still turn on.

Beyond that, two photographs, both laminated. One was the group photo taken at the end of the performance of The Xi’an Incident. The other was a single portrait, blurry in a way that suggested a low-quality camera — the person in it wore a white sportswear outfit, but Yan Sishi had no recollection at all of when it had been taken.

At the very bottom of the tin lay a notebook titled “Hundred-Day Sprint Study Plan,” inside which was tucked an envelope.

The paper had yellowed. It was a plain envelope with a red-lined border — the most ordinary kind — and on it, written out in full:

For Yan Sishi’s eyes only.

Yan Sishi paused for a moment, and then opened it.

All those small, carefully preserved objects, carrying the weight of years, had already set a tide moving in his chest.

Yan Sishi:

Hello.

I’m Xia Li.

We’ve known each other for nearly two years now. I hope that when you read this, you won’t be too surprised.

The paper is very formal — it even has the Mingzhong school crest printed on it. I wonder if I’m the only person in the world who has written a love letter on such plain, official stationery.

Yes — this is a love letter.

Forgive me for stating it plainly at the outset. If I don’t, I’ll spend the whole letter talking in circles, going off on tangents, and ultimately lose the nerve to say it at all.

When did it begin?

If I said from the very first moment — does that make me seem shallow?

At the time, I didn’t even know your name.

But the first time I saw you, I had a strange feeling — the way I’d sometimes be sitting by the window doing homework, and a white-feathered bird would suddenly fly past the treetops outside, so swift and light I couldn’t even catch its shadow.

The second time was the day you transferred in. You didn’t notice me — which was fortunate, because I was a complete mess that day.

But that day, I learned your name.

Yan Sishi — as in “the rivers and seas grow calm, I am glad to be born in this moment.”

Is that what it means?

Your name is so beautiful.

I love your name.

I love the surprise of finding your figure in the crowd during the long break between classes.

I love your silhouette, the way you walk. The way the wind falls silent when you bow your head. The white hem of your shirt lifting in the breeze.

The shadow you make — always somehow a little lonely. The way you prefer to be alone. The songs you listen to, which carry the same quality you do.

Your eyes, which seem like a puzzle. The gentleness you show, but only to those you’ve let inside.

You sitting by the window reading, drifting off sometimes into a kind of bored reverie. How green the trees were that day. The light choosing you especially.

…

I could list a hundred things I love about you.

I envy every thing that gets to be close to you — your friends, your earphones, your silver lighter, your coat, the pencil between your fingers, the frozen lemon drink you hold, every book you open, every song you hear, every landscape that falls into your eyes…

I love you in this selfish, narrow-minded way.

Am I your friend? Perhaps.

Because of that, I have to hide even the way I look at you — careful, always careful — afraid that if you notice, I’ll lose even the chance to be near you.

But I’ve decided to tell you anyway. Because I don’t want to fail all the moments I spent moving toward you.

Every story only becomes complete when the final period is written.

Could you — once you’ve finished reading this — tell me: what should the final period of my story look like?

Xia Li February 23, 2010

This letter had arrived in his hands eight years late.

Yan Sishi read it too quickly, barely managing a first pass before he was already moving — letter still in hand — toward where Xia Li was.

Xia Li had her arm propped on the small table beside the armchair, her cheek resting in her hand, gazing out the window.

Waiting, with a kind of quiet apprehension — that feeling, like being sent back to 2010.

She had imagined the scene: she would stop Yan Sishi in the breezy corridor, hand him the letter.

What he would say after reading it, she hadn’t known.

Only that all the things she had kept buried would, in the end, find somewhere to land.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Xia Li turned — and Yan Sishi was already beside her. He caught her wrist and lifted her to her feet in one motion.

She had no time to react. She was simply pulled into his arms.

Like colliding with the wind.

Like that imagined moment — the summer of 2010.

In the laughter and noise of the crowd, paper fluttering down the corridor — the summer breeze passing between the two of them as they stood facing each other, then rushing outward into the distance beyond.

This was his answer.

Her period.