If time were measured not in hours, days, or years, but in colors, then Fang Zhuo’s period of unknowing would be an ignorant white; after that came the mud-grey acquired through the tumbling and toiling of life; and now, it was as though a palette had been overturned. Every hue that had previously existed only as a definition at last had a tangible presence.

All manner of complex pigments had blended together, forming a painting that was both vivid and understated.

How to describe it?

She liked, in summer, to look up at the sky through a lush canopy of leaves — watching birds pass through the narrow gaps, watching sunlight cast the shadow of the wind, watching time flow slowly past through clear, transparent air.

The world was composed of nothing more than green and blue, yet it seemed capable of depicting every meaningful symbol life contained.

The colors that Fang Zhuo now possessed were something like this.

She had grown somewhat attached to this orderly, stable life. Even when its intensity made her tired — as though every quarter-hour on her schedule had already been assigned to study, to strive, or to rest — she remained fond of it.

The plan for the day had originally been for her and Yan Lie to go to her uncle’s stall, complete their review of the fourth English unit, and also help Ye Yuncheng sort out a few market-related issues.

Yet the moment the two of them stepped out of the cafeteria, Yan Lie ran into someone he had not expected.

The man’s appearance brought an instant silence over Yan Lie, who had been talking just moments before; his smile faded away.

This sudden, jarring change in behavior made Fang Zhuo stop alongside him. She followed his gaze and studied the newcomer for a couple of seconds, forming a rough guess as to who this person might be.

He was a handsome, tall, middle-aged man. He wore a sharply pressed suit, a black overcoat over that, and his thick, jet-black short hair made him look considerably younger than his age.

In truth, he and Yan Lie did not look very much alike — not in terms of appearance, but in terms of presence.

The wrinkles at the corners of his lips were relatively deep; his eye sockets were more defined; the overall musculature of his face had settled slightly downward, lending him a grave expression.

Fang Zhuo thought that Yan Lie would definitely not age into this. A person who smiled as much as Yan Lie did — even when old, his wrinkles ought to climb toward the corners of his eyes before they reached his lips. He would look like a kind, amiable grandfather.

The man drew near, tugged the corners of his mouth, and attempted something resembling a smile of surprise or longing — but did not quite succeed.

His emotions suffered a complete defeat when confronted with the distance between himself and Yan Lie. And he was not a good actor.

“I’m back,” he said, glancing at his watch, though his eyes did not linger on its face for long. He looked up and stated his purpose: “The timing works out. I’ll take you out to eat. Your mother is waiting at the hotel. It’s a bit late, but consider it a New Year’s celebration of sorts.”

He stiffly added: “Happy New Year.”

“You’ve worked hard,” Yan Lie replied. “Happy New Year to you too.”

Yan Lie’s father asked: “Why are you staying at school instead of at home? Is it because the apartment is too far from school? I only found out when I called your teacher today — I thought you’d gone off somewhere.”

He meant to express concern, but the way it came out tasted more like an interrogation. Yan Lie answered accordingly, with indifference: “There are more people at school. Livelier.”

This detached version of Yan Lie was like a Crayon Shin-chan who had forgotten how to cause trouble.

Numb. Listless.

Yet even this soulless performance failed to register as anything unusual to Yan Lie’s father. He turned to Fang Zhuo and struck up a conversation: “Are you Lielie’s classmate? Hello.”

Fang Zhuo gave him a slight bow as a greeting.

Yan Lie’s father asked: “Were the two of you just heading out?”

Fang Zhuo, sensing that something was off between father and son, chose her words carefully: “We were going to study English. But it’s not important. If you have things to attend to, I’ll head off first.”

Yan Lie almost lost control of his expression at her “it’s not important.” As she was about to leave, he caught hold of the strap hanging from the back of her bag and said: “Let my dad drop you off. He must have driven here.”

Yan Lie’s father, visibly more at ease with Fang Zhuo, said with a more natural smile: “Sure. My car is right at the entrance — let’s go together.”

The three of them got into the car and drove out onto the main road. The atmosphere inside the car remained stifling. Fang Zhuo could not find a single opening to speak.

Her eyes traveled between the two of them several times. She wrestled with countless possible topics in her mind and ultimately concluded that smoothing over tension of this caliber was beyond her abilities. She wisely shut her mouth.

Yan Lie’s father likely could not stand the glacial atmosphere either. He attempted to chat with Fang Zhuo to ease the mood, and by the way of it, to quietly gather information about Yan Lie’s school life and narrow the distance between himself and his son.

Midway through the journey, he asked Fang Zhuo two questions in a perfunctory way.

The first was what her parents did. Fang Zhuo answered obliquely that she was not currently living with her parents.

This question seemed to have struck something close to home for Yan Lie’s father — his voice rose a fraction, and he followed up by asking whether it was because her parents were too busy with work.

After a long pause, Fang Zhuo managed a labored reply: it was because the reconstituted family was not particularly welcoming toward her.

Yan Lie’s father was left speechless. Every carefully drafted remark he had prepared collapsed entirely. The rearview mirror reflected his deeply furrowed brow, and Fang Zhuo found herself feeling a pang of sympathy for him.

That exchange also led Fang Zhuo to two realizations:

Silence is golden.

Compared to asking after someone’s parents, “Have you eaten?” is a considerably wiser topic of conversation.

Fortunately, the journey was not long. The suffocating sensation was rescued by Fang Zhuo’s announcement of “We’re here.”

After she stepped out of the car, Yan Lie’s father exchanged a few polite words with her, then restarted the engine and merged back into traffic.

Fang Zhuo watched the tail-lights disappear from her field of vision before she scratched her head and made her way, unhurriedly, toward the stall.

By the time the two of them arrived — that is, Yan Lie and his father — the private room at the restaurant was already filled with people, and the appetizers had begun to arrive.

Besides Yan Lie’s mother, there were several unfamiliar elders — friends of theirs who had come today to welcome them back.

“What took you so long?” Yan Lie’s mother stood up to greet them. “Lielie, you’re here. Sit next to Mom — let me see if you’ve lost weight.”

Yan Lie went over and greeted everyone at the table in turn. His manner was neither cold nor warm.

Yan Lie’s mother squeezed his shoulder and placed a piece of beef in his bowl.

“This is Yan Lie? I genuinely couldn’t recognize him out on the street — blink and they’ve grown up so fast. Last time I saw him he was still a little kid.” The middle-aged man across from them laughed loudly. “I heard you’re in Year Twelve now and your grades are outstanding. Handsome and clever — perfect. Your father doesn’t even need to worry about you. Not like my rascal — every time I see that kid I want to smack him once!”

Yan Lie politely smiled.

Yan Lie’s father said: “His grades are excellent, but he’s becoming dull from all this studying. Look at him — can’t even hold a conversation with me.” The middle-aged man pointed a finger at him and said: “Hey, I’ll say it: Old Yan, that’s on you. Your son is already in Year Twelve and you’re still out running around. What do you want him to talk to you about? Derivatives? Circular motion?”

Yan Lie’s father laughed: “What — is that all your son talks to you about?”

“He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, so he deliberately uses that sort of thing to shut me up.” The middle-aged man waved his hand and took a sip from his wine glass. His words conveyed helplessness, yet the warmth barely concealed in his tone was unmistakable; he laughed and cursed: “Did he think I never went to university? That little rascal.”

Yan Lie’s father said: “This time, we’ll stay through the New Year before we leave.”

“Good. Spend more time with your son.”

The group were old friends. Talk of business, talk of children, talk of the past — the topics sprawled out in every direction, easy and lively.

Before long, no one was paying attention to Yan Lie any longer.

The room was faintly suffused with the smell of alcohol.

Yan Lie found the smell unpleasant. He made an excuse about needing the bathroom and left the private room to get some fresh air outside.

When he reached the ventilation opening at the end of the corridor, he discovered that it had started raining outside at some point.

White raindrops slanted downward, and even the sound of them striking the ground was gentle.

Yan Lie thought: it rains the moment I come home — I’ve never seen such bleak weather.

Would Fang Zhuo still delight in this long-awaited drizzle? After all, she did not have to feel sorry for his absence.

Fang Zhuo would certainly feel sorry — because it meant there was no business to be done.

Fortunately, Ye Yuncheng had checked the weather forecast the day before and had come prepared, having only planned to operate the stall for half the day to begin with. When he saw the rain approaching, he packed up early and pushed the cart back to the rented room.

Fang Zhuo explained why Yan Lie was not coming. Ye Yuncheng found himself deeply curious about this mysterious family member.

“His mattress needs to be moved back, doesn’t it — or else if his parents see something missing from the apartment, won’t they give him an earful?” Ye Yuncheng said, puzzled. “How come his parents are back but didn’t give him any advance notice?”

Fang Zhuo said: “Lend me your phone for a moment — I want to ask him.”

Ye Yuncheng was taken aback: “That urgent? He’ll be heading back to school tonight, won’t he? It’s raining today, so it’s not very convenient. You can let him reply tomorrow.”

Fang Zhuo hesitated, then said: “I’ll ask him now.”

Yan Lie had looked like someone who inspired worry.