The exams lasted for two days, starting from November 18th.

The questions weren’t simple, and time was tight. A-Heng finished writing the last character just as the bell rang. She ran to her teacher to discuss how she did on the exam. Teacher Li helped her evaluate: she had made two small mistakes in basic French, but everything else was fine.

Teacher Li lived alone in a private courtyard house. Bamboo plants were growing in front of her study, and the kitchen was a separate building in the courtyard.

She had always lived alone, with reading books being her only pleasure at home.

The cabinet carried a strong smell of mothballs and housed many qipaos, passed down from the teacher’s mother. Among them was a red one, embroidered with roses in gold thread. It hung gracefully in the cabinet, its red beauty locked away, carrying a subtle loneliness.

Teacher Li handed her a cup of red tea and smiled, saying, “This was the wedding dress my mother sewed for me. Unfortunately, she passed away before she could see me wear it.”

A-Heng stared blankly at the wardrobe, then glanced at her teacher with questioning eyes. Teacher Li gave a slight nod, and only then did A-Heng reach out to gently touch the qipao. It felt smooth and tender, soft and fragrant, like a woman’s skin.

A-Heng asked, “Why didn’t you ever marry?”

Teacher Li smiled, “How do you know I never married? I did marry, in 1973. We got married and divorced right after.”

A-Heng asked, “Why?”

Teacher Li was over fifty, but her skin was still well-maintained, though it had lost its elasticity, like a flower blooming past its prime, only decline remaining.

She spoke softly: “At that time, I was teaching at a high school. I had a bad class background, belonging to the ‘Five Black Categories.’ My mother was a merchant’s daughter. In 1970, she was forced to make confessions and died from illness. Later, I changed my name, left my hometown, and came to H City to teach. There I met my love. He was my colleague, from a good family background of generations of poor farmers. Just after we got our marriage certificate, my in-laws didn’t like me and reported me. I was arrested and criticized, had my head shaved, and was beaten. They forced my love to divorce me, and then, he wrote the divorce papers.”

A-Heng felt distressed hearing this, but Teacher Li remained calm, showing tenderness only when mentioning her husband.

A-Heng asked, “Then what? Did you hate your husband?”

Teacher Li stroked her graying hair, smiling faintly: “The person is gone, what’s there to hate?”

A-Heng was shocked: “He…”

Teacher Li said, “The day after he wrote the divorce papers, he hanged himself at home.”

She smiled, tears glistening in her eyes: “Later, I was released. When I returned home, nothing was left except the qipaos in the cabinet. This red qipao I wore at my wedding had been torn by those people, but what you see now was mended by my love before he left, with golden thread.”

A-Heng looked at the qipao carefully. Indeed, the golden roses were sewn stitch by stitch by hand, cleverly concealing the previous tears. Teacher Li looked at A-Heng: “Silly child, why are you crying?”

A-Heng touched her face, finding it wet with tears. She mumbled, “Teacher if I were you, I would hate him. Why couldn’t he just live well, just… live.”

Teacher Li smiled: “When we married, he told me: ‘Li Qiang, we’ll never part until our hair turns white.’ Now my hair has turned white, but where is he? Even if I wanted to hate, there’s no one left to hate.

“I guess he just grew too tired of loving, loved until he reached a dead end.

“But why did he lie?”

Together until our hair turns white.

When winter break came, the dormitory buildings were to be closed. A-Heng applied for a room in the international student dormitory, which stayed open and had a convenience store downstairs, quite convenient.

Among the international students were many night owls who would throw parties late at night. They were also very friendly, asking for her English name as soon as they saw her.

A-Heng said, “I don’t have an English name.”

So they took the easy route and cheerfully called her Winnie.

Just like calling someone Tom, Jerry, or Harry Potter. It didn’t sound good though – Winnie, like a plague-stricken chick.

Late at night, she often heard loud knocking on her door.

“Winnie, hey, Winnie, can I borrow a lighter?”

“Winnie, Winnie, do you have any butter?”

“Winnie, Winnie, do you have a bottle opener?”

“Winnie, Winnie, you… don’t glare at me, okay, can you grill meat?”

“Winnie, Winnie…”

A-Heng was exasperated: “Listen, ‘teardrop’ and ‘clipper,’ there’s a grocery store downstairs. And just three steps outside the campus gate, there’s a lamb skewer stall run by our Xinjiang compatriots, very authentic.”

Tom, the blonde who often came knocking to borrow things, turned bright red. A freckled redhead girl peeked out from behind him, laughing heartily: “Hey, Winnie, it’s not about grilled meat or borrowing things, we just wanted to ask if you’d like to join our party, and by the way, do you have a boyfriend?”

A-Heng muttered, how is that just “by the way”?

She looked up with a slight smile and said, “I’m a bit tired, maybe another time. As for a boyfriend, well, we broke up. Hope you have fun, and, ahem, it would be even better if you could keep the dancing noise down a bit.”

Then she closed the door.

On New Year’s Eve, A-Heng bought some meat, vegetables, and flour, planning to make dumplings.

Just as she put them in the pot, that group of international students came thundering down from upstairs, blue eyes and brown eyes all gleaming like wolves.

A-Heng resigned herself: “Alright if you can help me wrap more dumplings, I might consider letting you eat some.”

Everyone cheered: “Long live Winnie!” Like a bunch of overgrown children.

In less than three seconds, A-Heng regretted letting foreigners wrap dumplings. Could it get any worse? It’s like having snails race rabbits or mice catch cats!

So that whatever-his-name-was Tom from Australia made the dumpling wrappers into kangaroo shapes; that whatever-her-name-was Jenny from America rolled the filling with a spoon into potato shapes; that whatever-his-name-was Fabio from Italy tried hard to roll the dumpling wrappers, rolling and rolling, aiming for something like spaghetti.

Tearful, so tearful.

Well, she understood they were all homesick.

A-Heng finally shooed them all away to watch TV, leaving herself to wrap the dumplings alone.

Tom said, “I’ll go buy some red wine, we can celebrate with Winnie’s feast.”

Jenny said, “I’ll go with you.” She was the redhead who had helped Tom ask A-Heng about having a boyfriend earlier.

When A-Heng was dropping the newly wrapped dumplings into the pot, Tom and Jenny returned with wine.

Just as they entered, Jenny excitedly held up a small piece of paper and asked A-Heng: “Winnie, how do you pronounce this character? Someone downstairs is looking for this person. It’s snowing outside, and that boy has been crouching in the snow for a long time, almost buried. Ms. Zhang from the dorm management won’t let him in.”

A-Heng took the paper. On it was a complex character written stroke by stroke, with places where the ballpoint pen had pierced through, presumably written on someone’s palm.

Heng.

A-Heng lowered her head and asked, “What does he look like?”

Tom thought for a moment and gestured: “Big eyes, black wool coat, wearing earbuds.”

A-Heng’s expression was complex: “This character, I don’t recognize it either.”

Italian Fabio laughed heartily: “Winnie, you’re Chinese, how embarrassing!”

Eight-Nation Alliance foreign devils!

A-Heng responded irritably, serving three bowls of dumplings: “Pork and cabbage filling, eat quickly, then get out.”

Fabio shrugged: “Winnie, did your boyfriend break up with you because you’re stingy?”

Fabio was a casual, laid-back, typically Italian-style hipster character whose family ran a restaurant. He came to study in China, majoring in marketing, simply because he heard Chinese food was delicious.

A-Heng said: “You’re the stingy one, your whole family including your Italian pasta is stingy.”

Fabio was embarrassed.

Tom handed A-Heng a glass of red wine, the shy Australian boy somewhat embarrassed: “Winnie, it’s been nice knowing you.”

A-Heng smiled and gulped down the wine: “Me too, I thought I’d be spending New Year’s alone, but having you all around makes me happy.”

Jenny also raised her glass: “I thought only Chinese people with eyes like yours were beautiful, but it turns out those with big eyes can be very good-looking too, interesting.”

A-Heng twitched: “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Why not? The boy downstairs is really beautiful.” Jenny mumbled and clinked glasses with A-Heng.

After they finished eating and making noise, it was already past midnight. As Fabio was leaving, he gave A-Heng a meaningful smile: “That character, I remember it’s pronounced ‘heng’, right, Winnie?”

A-Heng washed up and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

In the middle of the night, she had a nightmare and sat up startled, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. The digital clock showed three-thirty in the morning.

She walked barefoot to pull back the curtains. Outside was a vast expanse of white, with snow falling continuously. She looked down, searching the ground, but could only see white snow shadows, nothing clear.

She put on slippers, opened the door, and walked silently.

When she reached downstairs, the dormitory manager’s room light was off, and the key to the main door was in the small mailbox by the door, left as a spare for students. Of course, only the international student dormitory had this privilege.

She hesitated for a moment before inserting the key into the lock.

The moment she opened the door, the wind rushed into her coat.

She walked several circles around the dormitory in the snow but saw no black coat, no big eyes, nothing at all.

She rubbed her hands together and laughed at herself.

Wen Heng, how foolish are you? No, how could he be foolish?

Turning around, she saw a snow-covered figure by the convenience store entrance, with black coat edges barely visible.

She walked over.

The person hadn’t noticed her, holding a cigarette, shivering against the corner wall, using the eaves for shelter from the wind, trying to light up.

His figure was thin and worn, wearing a hat and earbuds, no longer the youth from five years ago, from two years before.

Proud and beautiful.

She never knew that Yan Xi would smoke.

She quietly watched him, watched his fingers, watched as he was numbed by cold, his movements slow and clumsy.

She gently took the cigarette and lighter from his hand. He turned around surprised, eyes wide, so wide they almost seemed to tear up, his breathing becoming rapid.

He opened his mouth but could only remain silent.

A-Heng avoided his eyes and said: “Come in with me.”

He silently followed behind her.

Snow path, stairs, slow steps, room.

The room was carpeted. Yan Xi looked at his wet clothes and shoes, thought for a moment, and said with some difficulty: “I just came to see how you were doing, I’ll leave now. See if you’re well. Today is New Year’s Eve.”

His breath was cold, his logic confused, words inadequate, but A-Heng understood.

She roughly pulled him into the room, grabbed a towel that had been warming on the heater, and threw it to him, her face cold.

After Yan Xi dried his hair, A-Heng poured another cup of hot water, gesturing for him to take off his coat and put it on the heater to dry.

When she handed him the hot water, his hands were frozen stiff and he couldn’t hold it well, breaking it on the carpet. He became flustered, stood up, and glanced at A-Heng, very carefully.

Uncertain, silent, lacking confidence – where was the shadow of that arrogant youth from years ago?

A-Heng said nothing, seeing his pale face and black hair still dripping with snow water. She took out another blanket to layer over the original one and pointed at the bed, telling him to get in.

Yan Xi shook his head: “Where will you sleep?”

She pulled him into the bed, got in herself, and said: “Sleep.”

She reached out and turned off the lamp.

His hands were very cold, and when he accidentally touched A-Heng, he quickly pulled away, afraid of chilling her.

But A-Heng reached out and held him tight. Yan Xi struggled slightly, but A-Heng closed her eyes: “Yan Xi if you move again, get the fuck out.”

The Yan Xi who never smoked learned to smoke, and the A-Heng who never cursed learned to curse.

Yan Xi always loved teaching Wen Heng, who couldn’t speak Beijing dialect, how to curse. Wen Heng always asked if smoking made men look more manly.

Once upon a time, Wen Heng could never learn to curse, and Yan Xi would look down his nose in disdain: “Who the fuck says I’m not man enough just because I don’t smoke?”

He stiffened his muscles, not daring to move, as she held him like a large stuffed doll.

Yan Xi’s fingers began to warm, approaching A-Heng’s temperature.

But her heart suddenly hurt terribly. Hurt so much she couldn’t even cry.

Her fingers gripped his sweater, perhaps hurting him, and he let out a muffled groan under the covers but didn’t pull away.

She said: “Yan Xi, are you secretly laughing? I know what you’re thinking, are you thinking how there could be such an easily fooled woman in this world, more fun than Transformers or green monsters or pianos, right? How many times have you deceived, yet still believe whatever you say? Yan Xi, you like a man and want to stay by his side, just tell me, and I’ll clean the house and send you on your way, why do you need to deceive me? You said you were deaf, only an idiot like Da Yi would believe that, did you think I would still believe it? Yan Xi, did you think I would believe it? If you fucking like men then like men, why drag me into it! Is this game so much fun, aren’t you tired after playing for seven or eight years, Yan Xi?”

She reached to pull out the things in his ears, but he spoke softly: “A-Heng if you pull them out, I won’t be able to hear you cursing at me.”

He said: “A-Heng, I want to hear you speak.”

But she bit his shoulder hard, tears falling: “You beast, still deceiving me, still deceiving me, am I that easy to bully?!”

He took out his earbuds: “A-Heng if this makes you feel better.”

In the darkness, his eyes were glistening, struggling with inescapable sadness.

But she shouted out loud, her voice breaking: “How can you be so full of yourself! How I feel or don’t feel, is that something you can see with just your eyes? Do you want me to feel better? Then fucking give me back my Yan Xi!

“Give him back, you beast, you murderous beast, you killed my Yan Xi…”