This afternoon, Wen Tingli left school, hailed a rickshaw at the school gate, and hurried home.

She was a student at Xiude Girls’ Middle School, and had recently gotten a boyfriend named Qiao Xingchu, the eldest grandson of Qiao Peiying, head of a prominent Ningbo textile family.

Tonight the Qiao family was preparing a banquet to entertain Shanghai’s high society, and since Wen Tingli was Qiao Xingchu’s young girlfriend, she was also on the guest list. She was determined to make a good impression on the Qiao family, and worried she wouldn’t have time to properly dress up after school let out, so she simply took a sick leave from school.

“Faking illness” might be difficult for others, but Wen Tingli had always been skilled at it.

Since childhood she’d had a talent no one else possessed—whenever she wanted to cry, she only needed to blink and crystalline tears would stream down in strings, and that pitiful, tearful look would soften anyone’s heart completely. Then she’d rub her face hard, and her nose and cheeks would flush red, which paired with her swollen, teary eyes made her look every bit like someone who’d suddenly fallen ill. Every time she faked sickness, it worked without fail.

This time was naturally no exception. Once home, Wen Tingli didn’t even bother changing clothes—she first proudly made a face at herself in the mirror.

“You liar! You’ve swindled me out of my money, and stolen my heart too—”

These were lines and gestures from a civilized drama called The Phoenix Pair that she’d seen recently. She never put much effort into her schoolwork, but she memorized theater lines faster than anyone.

After performing for herself in front of the mirror, Wen Tingli laughed happily, set down the qipao in her hands, and picked up an ivory-white French silk dress instead.

Qiao Xingchu had agreed to drive over and pick her up at five o’clock—she still had an hour to get herself ready.

It was a day in June, and the weather was unusually fine. After lunch, the women in the lane gathered at the public water tap, chatting and laughing as they did their laundry.

Listening to the lively noise, Wen Tingli felt an indescribable happiness. Of all four seasons, she loved early summer best—for no other reason than that everything seemed especially vivid in this season. Like now: outside the window, wisps of white cloud hung against the blue sky, their color so clear it hardly seemed real, and there before her lay all sorts of dresses spread out, a splendor that only summer could bring.

She was cheerfully changing clothes in front of the mirror when the noise downstairs suddenly fell silent—the neighbors seemed to have spotted something unusual and collectively shut their mouths. Finally someone coughed and said, “Looking for Tingli, are you? She’s home, she’s home.”

Wen Tingli peeked down secretly and heard her wet nurse, Zhou Sao, knocking at the door outside: “Miss, you have a visitor.”

Along with Xiao Taozi’s babbling shout: “Sister…”

Wen Tingli opened the door and swept Xiao Taozi into her arms, but wouldn’t let Zhou Sao in, and shut the door again in the same motion.

Xiao Taozi had napped all afternoon, and seeing her sister now made her overjoyed—her little hand gently patted her sister’s face, babbling nonstop. Wen Tingli kissed her little sister’s cheeks a few times, set Xiao Taozi down on the floor, found some chocolate for her to eat, and returned to the mirror to keep fussing over her outfit.

Xiao Taozi sat nearby looking up at her sister, her face full of curiosity.

In the midst of her busy preparations, Wen Tingli caught sight of Xiao Taozi’s silly expression in the mirror and couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you want to help your sister decide too? Then tell me—should sister wear this one, or that one?”

Downstairs, Wen Desheng was attentively entertaining Qiao Xingchu. Besides Qiao Xingchu, several well-dressed classmates, both male and female, had come along, using the excuse of a fellowship gathering to invite Wen Tingli out.

Wen Desheng was quite pleased in his heart.

That this young man surnamed Qiao would arrange things this way showed, at the very least, that he understood how to protect a daughter’s reputation.

As it happened, this was Qiao Xingchu’s second visit to the Wen household. Wen Desheng had already looked thoroughly into the Qiao family’s background after their first meeting, and regarding this young man—whether it was his family’s standing or his appearance—Wen Desheng couldn’t find a single fault.

But warm as things were between them, he absolutely would not let Qiao Xingchu set foot up the stairs. His daughter’s reputation mattered too much—he didn’t want the neighbors gossiping filth about her someday.

This time, just as before, he threw open his own front door and used tea and refreshments to keep the group of young people corralled downstairs, one eye fixed on Qiao Xingchu, the other occasionally darting to the shadowy figures outside the door, his whole manner seeming to announce to the neighborhood: “See that? My daughter, Wen Desheng’s daughter, is thoroughly proper.”

Fortunately, Qiao Xingchu was also quite versed in etiquette—let alone finding an excuse to go upstairs to find her, he didn’t even let his eyes wander upward once.

Watching this, Wen Desheng’s gaunt face gained a bit more of a smile. In his whole life, Wen Desheng had only accomplished two things he was proud of: marrying a wife after his own heart, and fathering two daughters as lovely as flowers and jade.

Last year his wife had passed away from illness, and he too had fallen gravely ill afterward, at one point wanting to follow her in death, only barely holding on for the sake of his two underage daughters.

Now he hoped for nothing else but that his daughters would find good families to marry into someday.

He looked down on the poor.

Having lived most of his life, he himself had eaten his fill of poverty’s bitterness. Back then he’d fled with his wife and his sworn brother from Nanjing to Shanghai, and it had taken several years of struggle before he’d saved enough to open a Western clothing shop. The couple worked hand in hand, and the shop’s business grew better year by year. Now, mention the “Desheng” Western Clothing Shop and it was known far and wide—but only he and his wife knew the bitterness and sweetness behind it all. If his daughter married some poor young man in the future, wouldn’t she suffer just as her mother had?

Speaking of the sworn brother who’d come to Shanghai with him back then, one couldn’t help but sigh at how fate plays tricks—this man was named Qiu Dapeng. He’d made his fortune not long after arriving in Shanghai: driving a car, living in a mansion, even his cigarettes were only the “Craven A” brand. And as it happened, the Qiu family’s mansion wasn’t far from his own home, so they came by often with the wife and son in tow, just to visit.

While Wen Desheng still took pride in taking his daughters to the Great World amusement park once a week, Qiu Dapeng’s son had long since become a regular at Ciro’s nightclub. His household employed two chefs, Chinese and Western, cooking up various delicacies every day; whenever they wanted some pastry, one phone call and the waiter from the Federal Café would deliver expensive Western desserts straight to the door in boxes.

Wen Desheng watched with envy, but his wife had always kept a cool distance from the Qiu family.

The year before last, after Mrs. Qiu passed away from illness, father and son came around even more often. Slow as he was, it was only then that Wen Desheng began to see what the Qiu family had in mind.

In recent years, as Tingli had blossomed into a graceful young lady and gotten into Xiude Girls’ Middle School, Qiu Dapeng had clearly intended to arrange a match between his son and Tingli. But his wife had said Qiu Dapeng was no decent man, and flatly refused to agree—before she died, she’d glared fixedly at him, forcing him to swear he’d never let Tingli marry Qiu Lingyun before she’d close her eyes.

But that hadn’t stopped Qiu Lingyun from pining after Tingli. Over the past two years, that young man had made a habit of driving to her school to intercept her. Tingli was a clever little thing and always found ways to give him the slip, but as her father, he’d still worried plenty over the matter.

Fortunately, his daughter had proven capable enough to bring home a boyfriend on her own, without any fuss. Compared to this Young Master Qiao before him now, that Qiu Lingyun was nothing but a worthless punk. Qiu Lingyun, probably fearing further humiliation, hadn’t shown his face near his daughter’s school again ever since Young Master Qiao appeared at her side.

The thought brought a faint unease creeping into Wen Desheng’s heart. His wife used to often tell him: better to offend a gentleman than offend a petty man… He wasn’t sure whether Qiu Dapeng counted as a petty man, only that offending people was never good—maybe he should take a gift over to the Qiu house one of these days?

As the group exchanged pleasantries, footsteps sounded on the stairs—it was Wen Tingli coming down, holding Xiao Taozi’s hand.

Qiao Xingchu looked up, and a smile couldn’t help but rise in his eyes. After all that fussing in her room, in the end she’d chosen the most conservative-looking outfit—a rose-pink loose-fitting qipao, paired below with a pair of apricot-white flat leather shoes. She wore no jewelry at all, only a single pearl hairpin in her hair. She looked just like a lily in a vase—incomparably graceful and slender.

Seeing her now, Qiao Xingchu was reminded of the scene from months ago, the first time he’d seen Wen Tingli.

That day, several girls’ schools in Shanghai had jointly organized a patriotic performance, and his younger sister’s school had a program in it too. It was his sister’s first time on stage and she was rather nervous, so she’d forced her older brother to come watch.

Because so many people had come to see the performance that day, his sister had specially saved him a seat in the east-side VIP section. He’d found the small passage and was about to enter when the crimson velvet curtain stirred, and a girl walked out from inside.

The girl was cradling a bundle of lilies in her arms, and not paying attention, nearly ran straight into him.

The girl stopped herself abruptly. Qiao Xingchu also came to a halt, and looking down, was caught off guard by an extraordinarily beautiful face—beneath long lashes, her eyes seemed to hold starlight, her gaze shifting in a way that made one’s heart give a start.

The girl, seeming to confirm she hadn’t actually bumped into Qiao Xingchu, only laughed once and ran off.

Later, during one of the programs, Qiao Xingchu saw the girl again. It was a Shakespeare play—this girl played Juliet, while another Xiude Middle School student played Romeo in disguise.

Everyone’s performance was solid, but Qiao Xingchu’s gaze could hardly move away from the girl—her performance seemed to hold some kind of magic, every look and smile easily drawing people into the drama.

He heard someone behind him say to another in a low laugh: “Lives up to her reputation, doesn’t she? That’s the school beauty of Xiude Middle School…”

He was still lost in thought there when Wen Tingli came over, holding Xiao Taozi’s hand, greeting every classmate as she came—except Qiao Xingchu, whom she ignored entirely. Finally she handed Xiao Taozi off to Zhou Sao, hooked her arms through two female classmates’, and headed for the door, calling out, “Dad, we’re off.”

Qiao Xingchu smiled faintly, crouched down and took Xiao Taozi’s little hand, then handed her a large gift box. “Your sister says you like reading picture books?”

But Xiao Taozi’s attention had already been drawn to the table behind Qiao Xingchu, piled high with the colorful pastries he’d brought.

Wen Desheng politely demurred a few times, but couldn’t really stop them, and watching the group prepare to leave, he didn’t see them off in person—only called out with a smile from the doorway: “Be back by nine sharp. Miss Liu, Miss Chen, Mr. Qiao… I’ll trouble you all to look after Tingli, then.”

Two cars were parked at the mouth of the lane.

Qiao Xingchu’s cream-colored two-door Austin could only hold two people. The group made a show of discussing arrangements, and the classmates all piled into the other car in a rush.

Qiao Xingchu, ever the gentleman, opened the door for Wen Tingli first before getting in from the other side. Once seated, he glanced at her a few times and asked with a smile, “Why aren’t you wearing the dress I bought you last time at Sincere Department Store?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? A student should look like a student.”

That Western dress had been the only one of its kind even at Sincere—anyone could easily guess Qiao Xingchu had given it to her. They weren’t even engaged yet, and if this got into the wrong ears, it would be her reputation that suffered in the end.

Qiao Xingchu’s smile faded. “You’ve always been proud—whenever I give you something, you refuse to accept it. That’s my oversight, but—”

He turned serious. “My grandfather arrived from Ningbo yesterday. Tonight I’m bringing you to my family precisely so I can announce, in front of all our relatives and friends, that you’re my fiancée. From now on you needn’t hold back—whatever clothes I give you, wear them whenever you like.”

Wen Tingli’s heart beat faster. She turned to look out the window and said, calm and composed, “But I haven’t decided whether to say yes to you yet…”

Though she managed to keep the smile off her face, she couldn’t suppress the laughter in her heart. It took some effort to compose herself and sit properly again, though a trace of amusement still lingered in her eyes.

In truth, she’d already seen Qiao Xingchu half a year earlier. That day he’d come to her school, and a classmate had said that was Qiao Baoxin’s older brother, just back from studying abroad.

Around that time she’d grown thoroughly sick of Qiu Lingyun’s harassment. Her father was no help—the foreign police in the concessions would never bother with ordinary people’s private affairs. A classmate had come up with a bad idea: “Wen Tingli, you have so many suitors—young masters, doctors, bank managers… plenty of outstanding men. Just pick one of them to be your boyfriend, and I guarantee that punk won’t dare bother you anymore.”

Wen Tingli hadn’t thought much of the idea—was she supposed to find just anyone to be her boyfriend, all to avoid one scoundrel? What if this person’s character was also bad—wouldn’t she be throwing herself into the fire? Besides, her standards were high; she looked down on ordinary families too.

It was right then that Qiao Xingchu appeared. A little inquiry was all it took to learn that the Qiao family was one of Shanghai’s most prominent and wealthy households—many at school knew the Qiao siblings.

The wealthy young ladies at school, when it came to Shanghai’s playboys, usually had nothing but scorn to spare—but she’d rarely heard them say anything improper about Qiao Xingchu.

And so, not long after, came that “chance” encounter at the New Citizen Theater—all of it carefully engineered by her. She’d calculated exactly which passage Qiao Xingchu would take to find his sister, and had waited there in advance, holding that bouquet, pretending to accidentally bump into his arms…

They’d “run into each other” like this several more times, until finally it was Qiao Xingchu’s turn to pretend to “run into” her…

She had no idea Qiao Xingchu had been watching her all along too.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking.” Wen Tingli looked down at herself. This qipao had been made at home—not exactly fashionable in style, but the fabric was first-rate. Wearing it to the banquet tonight would be both proper and not overly extravagant.

As for everything else, she’d always been more confident than most people. She was certain the Qiao family would like her.

“Are you nervous?”

Wen Tingli smiled but said nothing.

“Nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be by your side all night. You’re so lovely—the elders at home are sure to like you.”

Wen Tingli let out a breath of relief and hummed a pleased little “Mm.”

The Qiao family home was a stately traditional Chinese mansion, but the garden was arranged in Western style, strings upon strings of crystal lamps lighting up the night sky as bright as silver.

Qiao Xingchu personally led Wen Tingli and the others inside, attentive to her every step of the way. Just as they entered the main hall, a fashionable, powder-and-rouge-bright middle-aged woman came toward them and seized Qiao Xingchu by the arm. “Where have you been running off to? Your father has people out looking for you everywhere.”

Qiao Xingchu laughed. “I just went to pick someone up. Auntie, this is Miss Wen Tingli—she’s also a student at Xiude. And these are Miss Chen and Miss Liu, my sister’s classmates.”

Then, turning to Wen Tingli, he said, “This is my aunt. My uncle’s surname is Li—why don’t you… call her Mrs. Li for now.” Both his gaze and his tone were unusually gentle.

Wen Tingli bowed properly to her. “Mrs. Li.”

Her manner was dignified, but her smile was very sweet.

Mrs. Li’s expression turned complicated at once, looking Wen Tingli up and down. Qiao Xingchu coughed beside her, and Mrs. Li came back to herself. “Welcome, welcome. Baoxin’s playing bridge in the flower parlor—I’ll have Steward Wang take you all there.”

Before Qiao Xingchu could say more, she pointed abruptly toward the French windows across the room. “Liyun’s back.”

Qiao Xingchu froze for a moment. Curious, Wen Tingli looked over—outside in the garden, two plump cherubs burbled water from a fountain in the pool. By the pool’s edge stood several beauties, one of them in a beige Western dress, peering through the glass window at them.

Qiao Xingchu quickly recovered his composure and said gently to Wen Tingli, “I’ll come find you in a bit.”

Wen Tingli walked a few steps and glanced back, just in time to see Mrs. Li murmuring something to Qiao Xingchu, his face growing darker by the moment.

The small flower parlor was even livelier than the hall outside. Young people packed the begonia-colored sofa, but Qiao Baoxin wasn’t the center of attention—instead everyone had gathered around a man in a black suit, who looked to be about twenty-five or twenty-six. He was handsome, with a charismatic air about him, lazily turning a champagne glass in his hand.

Qiao Baoxin spotted Wen Tingli and the others the moment they entered and hurriedly pushed through the crowd to greet them. “Ah, you’re here! Let me introduce everyone. This is Chen Aisha, that’s Liu Qizhen, and this is Wen Tingli—they’re all my classmates.”

Those seated all stood up to greet them—only the man in the suit didn’t move. Qiao Baoxin lowered her voice deliberately. “Don’t mind him, he’s my little granduncle—his generational rank is much higher than mine, you know.”

Everyone in the room laughed. The young man laughed too, finally setting down his champagne glass and bowing formally to the girls. “Miss Liu, Miss Chen, Miss Wen—I was rather rude just now. Allow me to apologize.”

Another round of laughter followed. Qiao Baoxin happily pulled Wen Tingli and the others to sit down. “My granduncle likes to joke around—he’s actually very easygoing.”

Wen Tingli met the man’s half-smiling gaze, and suddenly realized why he looked so familiar.