Chinese New Year’s Eve, 2004. The Wen household was bustling with activity.

The Xin family’s grandfather and grandson, Lu Liu, Chen Juan, and Sun Peng—as if by prior arrangement—all arrived at the Wen family’s doorstep simultaneously.

The situation was peculiar, and everyone seemed melancholic.

Old Xin cast a glance at the beautiful and charming Chen Juan, wondering if this was a boy or a girl. But he didn’t dwell on it, assuming they were just one of the Wen family’s relatives. He bellowed, “Wen San’er, your old man’s here, get the tea ready!” Carrying Xin Dayi like a chicken, he strode into the living room.

Xin Dayi felt guilty, breaking into a cold sweat. He couldn’t stop his grandfather’s sudden whim to spend New Year at the Wen household, but knowing Chen Juan would be there, and given their unclear relationship, he truly didn’t want his grandfather to meet them.

Chen Juan cast a sidelong glance at Xin Dayi, fanning themselves while smirking coldly. Just as they stepped through the Wen family’s door, Lu Liu arrived.

Chen Juan turned their head, exchanging a long look with Lu Liu. They pretended not to know each other, maintaining peace as they entered the Wen residence.

Barely three seconds after everyone had settled, Sun Peng walked in, covered in snow. He cheerfully gave New Year greetings to Old Wen and Old Xin. While Mother Wen expressed delight at Little Peng’s arrival, she privately wondered—though the neighbors were close, they weren’t quite at the level of gate-crashing each other’s New Year’s Eve dinners. Of course, the Xin family’s intimate relationship with them, Chen Juan’s solitary situation in B City, and the Lu family’s thirty percent stake in the Wen family business were understandable, but what was this child’s story?

Sun Peng handed over several large boxes of gifts—expensive skincare products—saying they were to pay respects to Aunt Wen and Grandfather Wen, sent by his grandfather.

Sun Peng’s grandfather, Sun Gong, was Old Wen’s chess companion. Though they had a good relationship, it wasn’t comparable to the brotherhood forged between Yan Qin and Xin Yunliang who had fought in the same trenches.

Well, these New Year greetings seemed rather early.

Sun Peng’s phoenix eyes darted around—a street-smart youth. He said, “I shouldn’t disturb Aunt Wen, but Grandfather and the others went to watch the internal gala. I don’t like those things, and Grandfather knows I enjoy lively gatherings, so he suggested I come here. He said the Wen household attracts celestial energy, has many young people, Grandfather Wen likes children, and Aunt Wen is the most gentle and kind, so I boldly came.”

Old Xin nodded repeatedly in agreement. He also disliked the internal galas where performers always presented highbrow pieces, sang incomprehensible lyrics, and played mystifying music. In the early years, during New Year celebrations honoring meritorious veterans, he attended every time, falling asleep before each event ended, and being carried to his car by security guards while a bunch of old pencil-pushers laughed at him the whole way. After that, he refused to attend no matter who invited him, even if it were the emperor himself.

Mother Wen pinched Sun Peng’s cheeks, laughing: “This child has always been clever. Look how his words are more thoughtful than a son-in-law visiting his father-in-law’s home.”

Everyone laughed, nodding in agreement.

Sun Peng spotted Yan Xi and smiled, moving closer to him. His bright eyes darted between A Heng and Lu Liu: “How’s it going? The show hasn’t started yet, right? Am I late?”

Yan Xi’s veins popped, wanting to imitate Uncle Ma with a lion’s roar of “Get the hell out!”

A Heng, however, had been in an excellent mood all day, face flushed, smiling at everyone. While serving guests, even approaching Lu Liu, she just smiled and said, “Here’s your tea.”

Lu Liu smiled back, holding up a seed: “Miss Wen, is this a peanut or a grape?”

A Heng curved her eyebrows, answering softly like a child: “Sunflower seed.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped. Given A Heng’s personality, she would typically have responded with a half-smile: “What do you think?” This behavior must be related to someone…

Ten pairs of eyes—playful, malicious, ambiguous, worried, expressionless—all fixed on Yan Xi simultaneously.

Young Master Yan’s skin was thick; Young Master Yan didn’t blush; Young Master Yan just stared back at everyone with innocent big eyes.

After the New Year’s Eve dinner, everyone sat together watching the Spring Festival Gala.

Mother Wen poured two glasses of red wine for Old Wen and Old Xin, saying it was good for softening blood vessels and beneficial for health. Old Wen kept shaking his head, saying it wasn’t as good as baijiu, but Mother Wen gently coaxed her father-in-law to finish it.

Old Xin remembered his deceased son and daughter-in-law, his eyes reddening, frightening Dayi into walking over, making faces and somersaults, nearly performing a monkey show before finally making his grandfather laugh.

Dayi wiped his sweat: “Grandpa, why are you getting more childish with age?”

Old Xin laughed and scolded: “Get lost, you unfilial thing. Your grandfather isn’t dead yet, and you’re always threatening to run away from home. How can I count on you in the future?”

Dayi sheepishly held up one finger: “Just once, when was it ever ‘always’?”

Chen Juan’s face darkened slightly, quietly said to A Heng who sat beside them watching TV: “I didn’t know other families were like this. If I had known, I wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have gotten involved with Dayi…”

A Heng was stunned, not knowing how to console them. She knew Chen Juan and Dayi had exceeded the bounds of friendship, but she always felt Chen Juan was just too lonely, so she couldn’t bring herself to advise them to separate, thinking that with time, as both Dayi and Chen Juan matured, things might work out better.

Every year at the Spring Festival Gala, a group of people sing and dance, relying on China’s large population for confidence. Everyone watched TV for the festive atmosphere, vaguely aware that the 2004 Spring Festival Gala had gathered the most people yet—those they wanted to see and those they didn’t, relatives and enemies alike, finally achieving a reunion. Those with grudges and grievances meeting on narrow paths could settle their scores privately later.

Mother Wen felt more sentimental than others, looking at Yan Xi, thinking this child would ultimately become a stranger too.

Looking at his current appearance, she could still picture how he looked twenty years ago, raising his big eyes and clutching her skirt, barely reaching her knees. His voice was full of childish innocence, saying: “Auntie, next time at the children’s playground, take Little Xi too, okay?”

Those big eyes held both anticipation and nervousness.

Back then, she held Si Wan in her arms, who curiously and innocently looked down at this motherless child. Little Xi gave all his American-sent candies to Si Wan, smiling until his eyes curved, tiptoeing and pulling at Si Wan, saying: “Come down, come down quick, Wen Si Wan, my grandfather says children who act spoiled aren’t good children.”

Si Wan listened to Little Xi the most, squirming in her arms wanting to get down, so she put Si Wan down. But that child was incredibly crafty, reaching up with both small hands: “Auntie, carry, carry Little Xi.”

She was stunned but picked him up, and the child almost immediately wrapped his arms around her neck. The little one’s eyes brimmed with tears as he said: “Auntie, Sun Peng said my mommy doesn’t like me, that’s why she doesn’t want me. He said you don’t like me, that’s why you don’t take me to the children’s playground. I know my mommy doesn’t like me, but do you like me?”

Do you like me?

This question spun through time and space to 2010.

A two-year-old child with big eyes learned a peculiar song from the Spring Festival Gala, clapping his small hands at her with curved smiling eyes, singing, “I like you so much, do you like me?”

In that daze, twenty or thirty years, nearly half a lifetime, nothing had changed.

Yet she cried.

The child wiped her tears with his tiny hands, pouting: “Grandma, you’re crying, you don’t like baby.”

She held the child tightly in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably: “Grandma likes you, likes you so very much.”

This child, carrying a quarter of her blood, had finally become her child, precious as jade, never to be wronged or hurt again.

He stood on tiptoes, hugged her forehead, and gave it a quick kiss, looking exactly like his father when consoling someone, stroking her hair: “Grandma be good, be good, don’t cry. Mommy says crying is for bad children.”

She laughed and held her grandson tighter: “Don’t listen to your mother’s nonsense. Your father used to cry all the time when he was little, but he was truly a good child.”

As midnight of 2004 approached, A Heng and Si Er went upstairs to clean the rooms—a family tradition for welcoming the new year.

They each took one side of the second floor.

When Si Er reached A Heng’s room, she noticed a drawer wasn’t fully closed. Trying to push it shut, she found it stuck. Opening it, she discovered a letter wedged in the wooden crack at the bottom.

Pulling it out, she realized it was their father’s unsent farewell letter to A Heng.

Remembering that their father hadn’t written her an individual letter, Si Er felt a twinge of jealousy, muttering: “What’s so special about being biological? Don’t I care for you? Dad, you’re unfair.”

The letter’s edge was neat. Si Er puffed up the envelope and peeked inside, catching sight of the character “Yan Xi.” Her heart skipped a beat. She furtively glanced outside the door—the hallway was empty. With trembling hands, she quickly opened the envelope.

After reading, she stood frozen like a wooden post, face pale.

After a long while, she heard footsteps and turned to find A Heng at the doorway.

A Heng’s eyes narrowed, noticing the letter in Si Er’s hands. She sighed softly and asked: “Did you read it?”

Si Er’s mind was a tangle of thoughts. She slammed the letter on the table, her face dark: “Given how you usually act like Lao Laizi entertaining his parents, I bet your reply letter to Dad was quite spectacular. Did you dutifully obey his paternal guidance and stop associating with Yan Xi? No wonder you kowtowed so hard.”

A Heng smiled but said: “Put it back where you found it. If anyone else in the family learns of the letter’s contents besides you, whatever you like in the future, I’ll take it away.”

This was practically—no, it was an outright threat.

Si Er was stunned. She asked: “What… what did you reply to Dad?”

A Heng said: “Just one word: No.”

Si Er gasped: “Are you… still Wen Heng?”

Wen Heng was known for being pedantic and blindly filial, never disobeying her parents, disappearing when the elders disliked her, taking beatings obediently when her mother wanted to hit her, and never even capable of small acts of defiance behind their backs. Though she and Yan Xi had pleaded with their mother for a long time, she never caused her mother the slightest displeasure.

She had once mocked her: “Wen Heng, were you raised on the Classic of Filial Piety and Precepts for Women?”

The response had been calm: “I learned from the Three Character Classic.”

Thus, the Wen family’s favored eldest daughter Wen Si Er, like a defeated little hen, smoothed her feathers and no longer bothered to quarrel with Wen Heng. After all, winning brought no satisfaction. She preferred watching her and that fellow Yan Xi torments each other, applauding them as a pair of little wretches—no, a perfect match.

Si Wan had asked her: “How would you feel if my sister became your sister-in-law?”

She had laughed, saying: “I curse them to grow old together, never parting.”

Si Wan stroked her head, sighing: “You’ve grown up, little girl. Think of all the tricks you used to play… ah, you were such a troublemaker…”

She rolled her eyes: “Wen Si Wan, don’t forget you were responsible for half those tricks. Always pretending to be good and proper—if Yan Xi hadn’t caught your pigtail, would you have changed those bad habits? Hmph, I don’t believe it. It’s in your nature, you’re full of mischief, just like your dear sister!”

The conversation had strayed—back to this letter.

It barely qualified as a letter, just a cautionary message. If Father Wen could see what happened afterward, he’d probably admire his prophetic insight.

Father Wen had written: “Dad had someone calculate Yan Xi’s birth chart. He has feminine features in a male body, born under an ill-fated star, destined for loneliness. Moreover, he likes men. Child, let’s give up on this.”

Later, probably thinking about his belief in the Party and government, he felt this talk was too mystical and fake to send, which is how it became a posthumous letter.

Then, his daughter had responded with an adamant “No.”

Si Er pinched her face and unexpectedly shouted: “You stupid, stupid, big stupid!” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, turned, and ran away biting her lip, leaving A Heng standing there dumbfounded.

As the midnight bell tolled, the Wen family set off a string of ten thousand firecrackers outside the White Building.

Everyone ran outside except Old Xin, who stayed behind savoring tea and chatting with Old Wen: “San’er, your house is lively today.”

Old Wen teased his little thrush, laughing: “Look at my little treasure, even it wants to jump out of its cage.” Then he sighed at the birdcage, “Even you feel you’ve grown up?”

Xin Dayi lit a firecracker fuse and ran away quickly.

Yan Xi, standing nearby, saw the frighteningly bright red flames and remembered the past. His body stiffened and he started to back away, but someone covered his ears from behind—soft, gentle palms and a tender voice, distinct amid the thundering explosions: “Yan Xi, it’s me.”

He was held in that soft, gentle embrace, and lowered his head, his pupils dilating. Turning around, he saw A Heng through the booming fireworks.

He thought, why is it you again?

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Embarrassed, her hands covering his ears became slightly damp with sweat.

Lu Liu stood not far behind A Heng, laughing and chatting loudly with Sun Peng through the explosions. Seeing Yan Xi, he pointed to his ears, smiled with faint mockery, and silently mouthed: “You’re running out of time.”

Yan Xi stared at him, dazed and lost.

Si Wan watched all this and softly said to Si Er: “Er Er, I’m sorry, but my sister can’t be your sister-in-law anymore.”

Er Er smiled, tears in her eyes: “Wen Si Wan, you can’t imagine—that fool still thinks he’s being clever, believing that if he fools the dead, the whole world will want them to be together.”

She said: “Wen Si Wan, shall we help A Heng find someone physically whole, properly masculine, maybe not too bright, but who’ll love her wholeheartedly?”

They exchanged smiles, but Si Wan cupped her hands into a megaphone and shouted to Er Er: “We can’t! Yan Xi says he has to be the one to find this person!”

Er Er pouted, tears falling: “What’s with that? Does he think the world revolves around him? He says the Wen family will surely prosper, he says the Yan family will abandon him, he says the one he loves is Lu Liu—why should everything be as he says?”

Si Wan hugged her sister tightly.

Everything in the firecracker smoke dissolved into ashes in the final seconds of 2003.

January 25, 2004, Gregorian calendar—their sixth year of knowing each other, five years and one hundred eighty-three days since A Heng had fallen for Yan Xi—Yan Xi said: “Wen Heng, I don’t like you, and from now on, I don’t want to see you again.”

He said: “Let’s break up.”