As they were talking, they arrived at Compassionate Heart Hospital. Ignoring Wen Tingli’s attempts to stop her, Huang Yuanshan bought a pile of tonics and went in to visit Wen Desheng.

The moment Huang Yuanshan left, Wen Desheng immediately asked Wen Tingli warily, “What does that woman do? She doesn’t look like a student or a teacher, wearing those strange sunglasses on her face — she doesn’t look like a proper person at all. How did you come to know her?”

Wen Tingli didn’t mention that Huang Yuanshan wanted her to act in a film, only saying, “She’s a visiting professor for our school’s drama club. She happened to be passing by, and hearing you were sick, stopped in to visit. She meant well — why think so badly of her?”

Wen Desheng still looked wary. “Society’s gotten so chaotic these days, and with Father sick right now, you’re still young — don’t let some flashy con artist fool you.”

Wen Tingli sat down and opened her textbook without a word. “Father, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

Wen Desheng struggled to lift his head to say a few more words of caution, but seeing his daughter’s expression, he paused, taken aback — her eyes were still dark and clear, but at some point they had also taken on a certain steadiness.

That kind of composure usually only appeared in adults who had weathered real hardship. When had his daughter come to have such eyes…

He mulled this over sadly for a while, then drifted back into confused sleep once more.

Sister-in-law Zhou came back with Xiao Taozi after washing up in the public washroom. Wen Tingli took out the chocolate Yan Zhenzhen had given her and handed it to Xiao Taozi. “Our little Taozi has been so well-behaved these past few days — Sister’s been wanting to reward you. This is from Belgium, brought back by my classmate’s father — try it and see if it’s good.”

She patiently helped her little sister peel back the foil wrapping around the chocolate, then discussed the weekend’s move with Sister-in-law Zhou.

The place Mrs. Qiao had rented was rather run-down — a dark gray old house, its walls and iron pipes covered in mold, crowded with many tenants. Mrs. Qiao had rented the ground floor for the Wen family; several other households were crammed into the floors above.

The only advantage was that the house was very close to Wushi Middle School — only a seven- or eight-minute walk to school — likely Mrs. Qiao’s deliberate choice, to make it easier to keep an eye on Wen Tingli.

On moving day, Sister-in-law Zhou sat on the edge of the bed, panting, arms full of bags large and small.

“Miss, won’t this place be too…”

Such a place could hardly even fit a Western tailor shop, let alone comfortable daily living.

“The rent’s cheap enough.” Wen Tingli opened the wardrobe door and began putting clothes inside. “Besides, we can’t run the tailor shop anymore anyway — no need for a big place like before. Sister Zhou, you and Xiao Taozi take this bigger room. I’ll take the one next door. The one across the hall will be for Father once he’s out of the hospital. See, it’s so convenient for buying groceries here too.”

Sister-in-law Zhou, infected by Wen Tingli’s optimism, cheerfully joined in tidying the rooms.

She had originally worried whether the Wen family would keep employing her after the move, but the night before, Wen Tingli had paid her that month’s wages in advance, and told her, “Sister Zhou, just focus on taking good care of Xiao Taozi. As long as I have food to eat, you’ll always have your share too.”

Holding those few silver coins, Sister-in-law Zhou felt a complicated mix of emotions.

She was a woman with no one to depend on. She had married once, years ago, but her husband was sickly, and the couple had no children together. After a few years, her husband died, and her in-laws, insisting she was cursed with bad luck, cruelly threw her out of the house. She’d followed a fellow villager to Shanghai by train to find work, first landing a job at a Japanese cotton mill. The Japanese foremen were notoriously harsh on workers, forcing them to work over ten hours a day, with terrible food on top of it.

Once, when she came down with pneumonia and tried to get money from the mill’s workers’ committee to see a doctor, those Japanese suspected she had tuberculosis instead and threw her out.

That day it was pouring rain; she had a fever and a cough, and collapsed unconscious in the street. By chance, Wen Tingli’s mother was returning from the fabric market and saw her, a lone woman lying pitifully in the rain, and hurried to get her to the hospital, bringing her meals every day after. Once she recovered, Sister-in-law Zhou committed herself wholeheartedly to working for the Wen family.

Mrs. Wen had treated her extremely well — providing food and lodging, and a reasonable wage every month besides.

But good people don’t always live long — not long after giving birth to Xiao Taozi the year before last, Mrs. Wen passed away. And now Mr. Wen too…

Fortunately, from what she’d observed, the eldest daughter had even more sense than the adults in the family. Having no children of her own, she had already come to feel something close to motherly attachment toward Wen Tingli and Xiao Taozi. The day before, when Wen Tingli tried to give her the wages, she’d pushed the money right back without hesitation: “With Miss saying this, Sister Zhou is reassured. As long as you employ Sister Zhou for a day, Sister Zhou will look after this family for that day. The master’s still sick, and there’s need for money everywhere right now — don’t rush to pay me, we can settle up once things are easier.”

But Wen Tingli insisted on giving her the wages anyway: “Just take it and don’t worry. However hard things get, we can still afford your wages.”

By the time the move was finished, it was already evening. To thank the neighbors of Ping’an Lane, Wen Tingli treated everyone to a meal at a small restaurant near the alley. After the meal, she took Xiao Taozi’s hand and said goodbye to the uncles and aunties one by one.

After exchanging a while of parting words, the two sisters left the old alley they’d lived in for years, looking back again and again under the neighbors’ watchful gazes.

The next day at noon, Wen Tingli was having lunch in the cafeteria with Yan Zhenzhen and the others when the school porter came to find her.

“Classmate Wen, a Miss Huang is outside looking for you.”

Coming out, she found not only Huang Yuanshan but also Meng Qiguang. One leaned against the car, the other sat with his head bowed, looking at something inside.

Coming closer, she saw Meng Qiguang was flipping through a thick book. His face lacked his usual cynical smile; instead, his expression looked somewhat strange.

Huang Yuanshan spotted Wen Tingli coming out and triumphantly waved a stack of official letters in her hand.

“Look, once other schools heard Wushi was taking the lead, they all followed suit and signed on too.”

Wen Tingli’s heart lifted with joy as she took the letters to look them over.

She also nodded toward Meng Qiguang reservedly. “Mr. Meng.”

Huang Yuanshan looked pleased with herself. “Next it’s all up to Miss Wen. Tomorrow the Film Association and our company will jointly issue a statement, and within a few days the school will notify the drama club members to enter the competition. To build up publicity, I’ll also get a few newspapers to give it a big write-up — that ought to stir up plenty of interest among Shanghai’s youth in film. Let me say upfront — the competition will be absolutely fair. If someone outperforms Miss Wen, I won’t give you extra points just because we know each other.”

“I’d be worried if you did show me favor! I want to win on my own merit — if it’s not fair, I don’t even want to enter.”

Huang Yuanshan laughed loudly and rapped on the car window. “Qiguang, you hear that, you hear that? I told you Miss Wen is an interesting one. No wonder Xingchu he—”

Her voice cut off abruptly.

Meng Qiguang said nothing, lowering his head to strike a match to light a cigarette, glancing sideways at Huang Yuanshan and Wen Tingli before tossing the cigarette back into the pack.

Huang Yuanshan rubbed her hands together awkwardly and casually picked up the thick book from Meng Qiguang’s lap.

“I brought the script for A Beauty from the South. There are still two months before filming starts, so take a look yourself, Miss Wen. As for me, I still need to go arrange the competition venue — that’s all for today.”

Meng Qiguang looked at the script in Wen Tingli’s hand as if he wanted to say something, but in the end said nothing at all.

Wen Tingli turned back through the school gate, and recalling Meng Qiguang’s strange expression along the way, couldn’t help opening the script.

The script’s title was A Beauty from the South.

She hadn’t gotten far before her brow furrowed tightly.

The lead was indeed, as Huang Yuanshan had said, a schoolgirl — but before long, due to various misfortunes, the heroine was forced to become a prostitute.

Startled, Wen Tingli snapped the script shut with a clap. She couldn’t quite accept this — after all, she was still just a student.

Huang Yuanshan’s films were so popular that if she really took on such a role, people would forever associate her with prostitution wherever she went. Having lived through what happened to her mother, she understood all too well how harshly society judged such unfortunate women.

No, no, no. She couldn’t take this risk. She still had to get into university, still had to study medicine, still wanted to become a skilled and compassionate doctor like Superintendent Deng one day.

Had the class bell not rung, Wen Tingli might have rushed straight out to find Huang Yuanshan right then and there.

But once back in the classroom, thinking it over calmly, she realized refusing the role simply wasn’t an option.

The reason Huang Yuanshan had organized this drama competition was half because she’d adopted Wen Tingli’s suggestion that day, and half because she wanted Wen Tingli to agree to star in her film.

For this, Huang Yuanshan had called in every social connection she had. Now that the competition was already underway, if Wen Tingli suddenly refused to take the role, she could hardly imagine how Huang Yuanshan would react.

So, whether she wanted to or not, this role was hers to play. That evening after class, Wen Tingli hurried to Compassionate Heart Hospital. Just as she reached the hospital gate, she unexpectedly spotted Superintendent Deng, apparently just getting out of a car, a black briefcase in her right hand, standing before a fashionable, wealthy-looking lady — none other than Mrs. Qiao.

Mrs. Qiao held Superintendent Deng’s hand, her tone intimate: “You’re an old friend of the Qiao family — of course my son should personally deliver your wedding invitation.”

Spotting Wen Tingli approaching, Mrs. Qiao’s smile froze for a moment; she gave Wen Tingli’s Wushi school uniform a cold once-over, then turned back to Superintendent Deng with a renewed smile.

“It’ll be at the Majestic Hotel. The wedding will be Western-style — we’ve invited the American consul and the chairman of the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce as witnesses. We’re planning for two hundred tables. Considering our guests’ varied tastes, Liyun has decided on three separate menus — Chinese, French, and American. Xingchu’s been busy too, these past weeks — helping Liyun choose her wedding dress, her ring, her shoes, keeping himself run off his feet. Even the wedding bouquet was specially chosen to be Liyun’s favorite lilies… That boy — these days his heart and mind are completely full of Liyun. And it should be — Liyun’s inherent refinement alone is something none of those disreputable types out there could ever match.”

Wen Tingli scoffed inwardly, pretending not to know Superintendent Deng well, and walked past them without a sideways glance.

Only once she reached the ward did she learn that Superintendent Deng had adjusted her father’s medication regimen again during the day. That evening, with the caretaker and Sister-in-law Zhou looking after him, her father had managed some porridge, and his spirits had visibly improved.

Sister-in-law Zhou told Wen Tingli, “This Superintendent Deng is truly meticulous. When she came by on rounds this morning, she personally checked every single wound — she can tell at a glance if a dressing hasn’t been changed promptly. She remembers changes in the master’s condition even better than Dr. Thompson, the one in charge of his bed.”

The caretaker chimed in, “Superintendent Deng has always been like this. Before, a fellow villager of ours had his toes crushed by a machine, and by the time he got to Compassionate Heart Hospital, the wound had already festered — the smell filled the whole ward. The doctor in charge of his bed couldn’t help retching several times during the examination, and in the end it was Superintendent Deng herself who applied the medicine.”

Wen Tingli listened with one ear while checking on her father’s complexion, and once he’d finished eating, urged Sister-in-law Zhou to take Xiao Taozi home to sleep, staying behind herself to read.

Around nine o’clock, she went out to buy a late-night snack and headed to find Superintendent Deng. The hospital at night was much quieter than during the day. She found her way to the office on the fourth floor and was just about to knock when she suddenly heard low voices from inside.

It seemed Superintendent Deng had another visitor. She was about to turn and leave when the door opened from inside.

“Who is it?” A middle-aged woman in a coarse cloth qipao stood cautiously in the doorway, looking out.

Wen Tingli blinked in surprise. “I’m a patient’s family member. I came to ask Superintendent Deng about my father’s condition.”

Just then Superintendent Deng’s voice called from inside: “Oh, it’s little Wen. Chengying, let her in.”

The woman named Chengying opened the door a little wider. “Miss Wen, please come in.”

By the time Wen Tingli entered, Chengying had already picked up a briefcase, ready to leave. “I’ll be taking my leave now, Superintendent Deng. Do get some rest early.”

There was nothing particularly striking about this woman’s dress or appearance, but her eyes were sharp and clear, her posture straight as a pine — she inspired an immediate sense of goodwill.

The moment she stepped out, she proactively shook Wen Tingli’s hand. “Hello.”

Her tone was warm, almost as if she already knew her.

Wen Tingli, puzzled, smiled and shook her hand. “Do you know me?”

Chengying smiled but did not answer, closing the door carefully behind her as she left. Wen Tingli set the late-night snack down on Superintendent Deng’s desk.

“Superintendent, who was that just now?”

“A remarkable woman. If there’s ever an opportunity, I’ll properly introduce the two of you.”

Wen Tingli, sensing it wasn’t her place to press further, let it go. “I brought you something different tonight for a change: pigeon egg dumplings and mung bean and lily soup. There’s mint candy inside the dumplings, and the lily soup helps calm the nerves — you work too hard during the day, this should help you sleep better tonight. You must still be busy — should I leave you to your work?”

“No, sit down. I have something to tell you.”

Wen Tingli happily sat down on the sofa. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Qiao Xingchu and Bai Liyun are getting married this weekend.” Deng Yi paused briefly, gesturing at the invitation on her desk. “I imagine you already know.”

Wen Tingli gave a flat “mm.”

“Did what Mrs. Qiao said upset you?” Deng Yi studied Wen Tingli closely.

“I’m not upset at all. If anything, I think she’s rather pitiable.”

“Oh?” Deng Yi smiled. “Why do you think she’s pitiable?”

“They say Mrs. Qiao was educated too, once.” Wen Tingli said clearly. “But now she’s become this bitter, sharp-tongued woman. I think there must have been some admirable qualities in her originally, but they’ve been worn away over the years by that feudal extended family and her husband. Her husband kept failing at his investments, and she suffered right along with him. To win back the old patriarch’s trust in the eldest branch of the family, she’s pinned all her hopes of a turnaround on her children’s marriages, and it’s turned her into someone so fierce and defensive — but really, underneath it all, she’s quite hollow. Otherwise why would she care so much about a powerless little girl like me? It’s honestly rather laughable.”

Deng Yi said nothing for a long moment. Wen Tingli stole a glance at her. “Do you think my thinking sounds a bit naive?”

“No. I’m glad you have your own views on this matter.”

She paused with a smile — Mrs. Qiao’s narrow-mindedness touched on complex social issues; once this child was exposed to more progressive ideas in the future, she’d come to understand such matters more thoroughly.

So she kindly changed the subject: “The reason I asked you here tonight is I have several matters to discuss with you. First — yesterday I spoke with Bai Liyun.”

Wen Tingli’s expression tensed.

Deng Yi raised a hand, pressing down gently. “Don’t be nervous. It was a brief conversation, and a discreet one — you needn’t worry it’ll get back to Mrs. Qiao. I know you’ve long wanted to warn Liyun about the risks of this marriage, but your position made it impossible to speak plainly. Since I already knew about the matter, I naturally wanted to speak with Bai Liyun myself, as an outside observer. But to my surprise, Liyun turned out to be remarkably clear-eyed about the whole thing from start to finish.

“She told me: she knows perfectly well that Qiao Xingchu doesn’t love her, but this marriage concerns the interests of both families, and as the eldest daughter of the Bai family, she has no room to resist. She’s already weighed the pros and cons carefully. She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Wen Tingli fell silent.

“As outsiders, we have no right to make any decisions on her behalf.”

“Well, if she already knows what she’s doing, then I don’t need to risk Mrs. Qiao beating me to death just to warn her — better to spare us both the trouble.”

Deng Yi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Also — these past two days, I’ve reached out to some friends in the legal field on your behalf.” She leaned forward and handed Wen Tingli a business card. “This is Attorney Bao Yaming of the Shanghai Dawn Law Firm (note). I told him about your father’s situation, and he’s agreed to help.”

Wen Tingli started. This Attorney Bao had earned his doctorate in law in America and, upon returning home, opened his own independent law firm. Having won several high-profile cases that made headlines across Shanghai, his reputation had soared — but he was said to charge exceedingly high fees, and were it not for his regard for Superintendent Deng, he likely wouldn’t take on a case for ordinary people like them.

Deng Yi gave her a reassuring look. “Don’t worry about the fees. Bao Yaming is an old friend of mine — he’s happy to do this favor. By the way, in a few days I might have to go to Beiping for a conference. If anything comes up, you can call the Dawn Law Firm directly — they carry considerable weight locally, even the Bailong Gang thinks twice before crossing them.”

Wen Tingli held the card in both hands, silent for a long moment. “Thank you.”

Superintendent Deng sighed inwardly, then cheerfully picked up the bowl of pigeon egg dumplings and took a sip, praising, “This is really good. Which shop is it from?”

“Aguan Sweet Water Shop,” Wen Tingli said, brightening. “The owner’s from Guangdong — I know them well. If you like it, I’ll bring you some every day. Here’s the towel, mind it’s hot.”

Deng Yi, touched by the girl’s sweet, cheerful smile, said fondly, “You’ve been at Wushi a few days now — how are you settling in?”

“Settling in! Couldn’t be better!” Wen Tingli patted her chest proudly. “The classmates and teachers have all been very kind to me, and I’m keeping up with my studies just fine.”

She had already decided that from now on, she would only report good news to Superintendent Deng, never bad. The Superintendent had helped them so selflessly, time and again — how could she trouble her further over something as small as Michelle giving her a hard time? On second thought, though, she added, “It’s just — there’s one thing I’d like your opinion on.”

She took the script out of her book bag. “Director Huang Yuanshan wants me to act in a film, but after reading the script, I found out the lead character is a poor prostitute. I’m not sure what to do — I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“You’re worried that playing such a role might have a negative effect on you?”

Wen Tingli nodded, troubled. “Miss Huang said filming would start after I finish the joint exam at the end of August, but right after that I still have to go to university. I don’t know how the teachers and classmates at school will see me once they learn I played that kind of role. You know how deep the prejudice against prostitutes and actresses still runs in society today.”

Deng Yi took the script from Wen Tingli’s hands, glanced down, and paused in surprise. “Yue Zhaoshui?”

“You know this author?”

“I met her in Beiping.” Deng Yi adjusted her glasses. “She’s an extremely witty, delightful, and talented woman. She has real ideas, and her writing is sharp. If she wrote this script, I doubt it’s just some shallow romance story — there’s likely real social significance in it.”

“Are you saying you support me taking the role?”

Deng Yi looked up; the girl was watching her nervously, clearly placing great weight on her opinion.

“From what I know, there are no shortage of progressive-minded young people among actors.” Her tone softened. “At the very least, I’ve never once looked down on the acting profession. Recently a number of thoughtful new films have emerged in Shanghai, sparking real reflection across society. If you can portray this heroine’s suffering convincingly, the impact it has in exposing society’s dark side might be even greater than you imagine — and as an actress, you’d gain a great deal from it too. If you’re asking my opinion, I support you taking the role.”

Wen Tingli’s gaze grew steadily more resolute. “I’ll think carefully on what you’ve said.”

She looked up at the Western clock on the wall. “Oh, it’s already ten! I always lose track of time chatting with you — I’m keeping you from your work again.”

She rose hastily to gather up the food box on the desk. Deng Yi laughed and picked up the other bowl of mung bean soup. “No rush, let me finish this soup first.”

Wen Tingli patiently handed her towels and tea, and for the first time noticed how lonely this old woman looked under the lamplight.

She had heard that Superintendent Deng’s original surname was Zhou — she was the daughter of a wealthy gentleman from Jiangnan, with a brother who held a high official post in Beiping.

In her younger years, Superintendent Deng had studied abroad in England, earning a medical doctorate after years of diligent study, and upon returning home had gone straight to work at the Red Cross Hospital.

But then, for reasons unknown, Superintendent Deng suddenly broke ties with her family, changing her surname to Deng, and before long opened an independent clinic under the name “Deng Yi.” Given her exceptional medical skill, her reputation quickly rose across the city, and after decades of tireless effort, she finally built this now-famous Compassionate Heart Hospital. The only thing people ever seemed to gossip about, aside from praising her character and medical skill, was that she had remained unmarried her whole life — a fact many still found utterly shocking.

Yet Wen Tingli felt that Superintendent Deng had always walked this path with unwavering resolve. Lost in thought, she realized Deng Yi had already finished her bowl of mung bean soup, and now picked up the documents on the desk with renewed vigor. “Alright, now I’ve got the energy to review one more file.”

Wen Tingli silently laughed at herself for thinking, just moments ago, that Superintendent Deng seemed “lonely.” This old woman’s eyes had seen every pain and injustice this world had to offer — she had long since forged a broad, resilient inner world of her own.

“I’ll get going,” she said, picking up the food box.

“Have you decided about the film?”

“Yes! I’ve made up my mind.”

Just after ten, the ward lights went out on schedule. Wen Tingli had just slipped back into her father’s room when the caretaker hurried up to whisper, “A girl just called saying there’s an urgent matter — she wants Miss Wen to call this number back.”

Wen Tingli assumed it was some old classmate from Xiude calling, and hurried to take the note — but the number was completely unfamiliar. She went to the nurses’ station to borrow the phone and dialed. A man’s voice answered: “Hello.”

“This is Wen Tingli. May I ask who was looking for me?”

The man said with a laugh, “Miss Wen, this is Xiao Gao. Mr. Meng has something he needs to discuss with you.”

Wen Tingli glanced at the clock on the wall in surprise — so late.

“May I ask what it’s about?”

“You’ll find out once you come outside, Miss Wen.” As if it hadn’t even occurred to him that Wen Tingli might refuse Meng Qiguang, Xiao Gao hung up without further ado.

Wen Tingli stood there holding the receiver, stunned for a moment. Meng Qiguang had helped her several times before — it seemed rather rude to ignore him now. So she went back to her room, grabbed a German flashlight, and quietly slipped out of the ward.

Just as she reached the hospital entrance, a black car pulled up from the shadows across the street. Wen Tingli leaned toward the window. “Mr. Meng.”

Meng Qiguang pushed the door open and got out, instructing Xiao Gao, “Drive the car over there. I’ll just have a few words with Miss Wen by the roadside, then head off.”

The two of them stood facing each other on the street. There was no wind or moonlight that night; a single silvery-white streetlamp shone directly above their heads.

Meng Qiguang, hands in his pockets, glanced around at the surroundings, then looked at her rather casually. “I imagine Miss Wen has already read the script Huang Yuanshan gave you?”

Wen Tingli nodded.

“Huang Yuanshan’s obsessed with film, but she’s not unreasonable either. If you really don’t want to take that role, I can speak to her on your behalf — it’s just a drama competition, no big deal.”

Wen Tingli was taken aback — was this small a matter really worth him making a special trip out here in the middle of the night?

She suddenly felt an itch in her throat and quickly turned her head aside. Slow as she was, she was beginning to understand.

The thing was, it had all been done so naturally that at first no one would notice the calculation behind it.

Qiao Xingchu, someone else’s request — all of it, an excuse.

This man really was unfathomable.

As it happened, she could only be thankful she’d gone to see Superintendent Deng tonight. After hearing the old woman’s opinion, she now saw the matter of acting in a completely different light.

Had this been an hour earlier, she might well have turned to Meng Qiguang for help. And then she’d have owed him yet another great favor.

But her instincts told her Meng Qiguang was no charitable soul.

A favor accepted from him would have to be repaid someday.

She had nothing to her name — what could she possibly repay him with?

Meng Qiguang waited a good while without getting an answer from Wen Tingli, then glanced at her. “Do you want to act in it? If not, no one can force you to.”

Wen Tingli lowered her head. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Meng, but I’ve already decided to take the role.”

The moment the words left her mouth, an odd stillness fell over everything around them.

For a moment, Wen Tingli felt herself held completely still under Meng Qiguang’s steady gaze; the very air around them seemed to thicken.

She could barely withstand his stare, and even her breathing grew careful.

But she was determined not to back down.

To her surprise, he soon spoke again, seemingly unbothered: “Since Miss Wen has already made up her mind, then there’s no need for me to interfere further.”

His tone betrayed no discomfort whatsoever. Wen Tingli let out a great breath of relief, quickly looking up with a smile. “But I still want to thank you, Mr. Meng, for being willing to help.”

Meng Qiguang walked down the steps and whistled toward the street corner; Xiao Gao drove the car back around.

“It’s late — you should go back in, Miss Wen.” Meng Qiguang got into the car.

Wen Tingli stepped back and waved politely at Meng Qiguang. “Goodbye, Mr. Meng.”

She turned and ran back through the hospital gate, walking a good distance further before she heard the sound of the car starting up across the street.

Wen Tingli pressed a hand to her chest and, still slightly dazed, let out a long breath.