Early spring in Beijing was a season of deceptive warmth and lingering cold.
The March wind still carried a sharp chill as it blew in from the direction of Shichahai. The sky was that distinctive gray-blue of Beijing, like a piece of silk that had been washed and worn thin, draped lightly over the city.
Lin Zhiqian stood at the entrance of a siheyuan near Di’anmen, staring at the scene before him in a daze.
The willows in the hutong had only just begun to sprout their pale yellow-green buds, their slender branches swaying gently in the breeze.
A cold gust swept past, and he instinctively pulled his coat tighter around himself. When he had left the house earlier, the weather had felt pleasantly warm. But now that the sun had disappeared behind the clouds, the chill was quietly creeping back in.
That was Beijing spring for you—unpredictable. One moment the sun could be shining brightly, and the next the sky would be overcast, leaving you unable to tell what would come next.
He had passed this place many times before, but every time, the vermilion gates had been firmly shut.
Today, one of them stood open.
The red paint had peeled away in places, revealing the grayish-white wood underneath. Yet the weathered surface seemed to carry its own quiet beauty, marked by the weight of passing years.
Lin Zhiqian drew a deep breath and stepped over the high threshold.
The courtyard was quiet. Its layout had changed very little from what he remembered.
It was a standard four-sided courtyard house, facing south with its main buildings to the north. Just inside the entrance stood a screen wall, and beyond it stretched a spacious courtyard.
It was still early spring, and nature had yet to fully awaken.
The jujube tree and pomegranate tree on the western side were still there. Their branches were bare, stretching dark brown lines against the pale gray sky and lending the courtyard a somewhat desolate air.
Lin Zhiqian remembered how, in summer, the pomegranate tree would burst into brilliant red blossoms, while in autumn, the jujube tree would be heavy with bright red fruit.
How many years ago had that been?
For a moment, Lin Zhiqian found that he could no longer remember.
His gaze moved toward the base of the eastern wall, where a hawthorn tree had appeared at some point.
The tree looked as though it had been there for quite a few years. Its trunk was rough, its branches thick and sturdy. At this time of year, there were neither leaves nor fruit, only bare branches trembling slightly in the cold wind.
Lin Zhiqian frowned.
He began to wonder if his memory was failing him. He clearly remembered that there had never been a hawthorn tree in this courtyard before.
“Why are you standing out here?”
A slightly hoarse voice was carried to his ears by the wind.
Lin Zhiqian looked up.
The padded curtain covering the door of the main room had been lifted, and Zhong Jiming stood in the doorway wearing a dark gray knitted sweater.
He was a little thinner than Lin Zhiqian remembered, with a sharper jawline, but his eyes remained as deep as ever, like two ancient wells whose depths could not be seen.
Squinting against the light, Lin Zhiqian studied his old friend.
Come to think of it, how many years had it been since he and Zhong Jiming had last seen each other?
The last time had been when Zhong Jiming was transferred from the southwest to the northwest. He had briefly returned to Beijing and stayed for a few days.
That had been five years ago.
The harsh winds and bitter cold of the northwest seemed to have carved Zhong Jiming’s features into something even more defined and rugged, without making him look the least bit coarse.
His skin was slightly darker than before, which only made his handsome, commanding presence stand out even more.
After looking him over for a few moments, Lin Zhiqian smiled.
“You really haven’t changed much. Still as handsome and dashing as ever.”
He wasn’t flattering him.
Ten years ago, Zhong Jiming had been famous throughout Beijing’s social circles for his looks. At twenty-three, he had possessed features as fine as a painting and the graceful bearing of a jade tree in the wind.
Unfortunately, he had married young.
Now, ten years had passed. Time seemed to have treated him exceptionally well. It had merely added depth and maturity to his bearing without taking away any of the natural elegance he had been born with.
Zhong Jiming waved a hand, cutting him off with a smile.
“Enough with the flattery. Look at me now—dusty and worn-out. How could I possibly compare with Director Lin, who still cuts such a fine figure?”
His eyes crinkled with amusement as he spoke, his tone relaxed. For a moment, he sounded just like the mischievous young man he had once been.
Lin Zhiqian corrected him.
“Deputy Director.”
Zhong Jiming gave a soft scoff, clearly not bothered by the word “deputy.”
The two men exchanged a smile.
Some friendships needed no explanation.
Even after five years apart, even after everything they had each experienced in the meantime, the moment they met again, they slipped effortlessly back into the understanding they had shared all those years ago.
The two men entered the main room side by side.
The moment they crossed the threshold, warmth enveloped them, a stark contrast to the biting chill of early spring outside.
The room was neat and spotless. The furniture was all old-fashioned rosewood, and every table and chair had been polished until it gleamed.
A landscape painting hung on the wall. The brushwork was bold and vigorous—it was an authentic work by Qi Baishi.
On the windowsill sat a pot of orchid. Its long, slender leaves had yet to bloom, but they nevertheless gave off an understated, elegant air.
Sister Chen came out from the inner room carrying a tray with two cups of tea.
She was in her fifties and wore a dark navy cotton jacket. Her hair was neatly combed, and she had a brisk, capable air about her.
“It’s been so many years since I last saw you, Mr. Lin.”
She set the teacups on the table and greeted Lin Zhiqian with a smile.
Lin Zhiqian picked up his cup, warmth spreading through his palms.
It was Biluochun tea, its clear green color complemented by an enticing fragrance.
“You’ve been living here all this time, Sister Chen?”
Sister Chen shook her head, a touch of emotion showing in her smile.
“I’ve been living back in my hometown in Miyun all these years. I come here once a month to clean up the house and courtyard. I didn’t want the place to fall into disrepair.”
“Now that Sir is back in Beijing, I couldn’t very well leave him to manage everything himself, so I came back to look after him.”
There was a note of relief in her voice.
“He’s finally come home.”
Lin Zhiqian nodded.
“That explains it. Every time I passed by here before, I’d always take a look inside.”
The gates had always been tightly shut. The place had always been silent, almost like an abandoned house that everyone had forgotten.
Sister Chen sighed but said nothing more.
“You two go ahead and talk,” she said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”
“You go on and take care of your things,” Lin Zhiqian said, waving her off.
Sister Chen acknowledged him and left.
The room fell quiet again.
Outside the window, the sky had grown dark and gloomy. The sun had disappeared somewhere behind the clouds, leaving the room dimly lit.
Every now and then, a few birds flew past, their fleeting shadows crossing the window lattice.
Zhong Jiming lifted his teacup and gently blew across the surface.
Steam rose from the tea, curling around his face and blurring his features.
“I just got back,” he said calmly. “I haven’t even gone home to see my father yet. I contacted you first.”
Lin Zhiqian was raising his tea to his lips when his hand suddenly stopped.
Those words carried considerable weight.
Zhong Jiming’s first call after returning to Beijing had been to him—not to his powerful father.
Lin Zhiqian suddenly felt as though the teacup in his hand weighed a thousand pounds.
The more serious the matter, the calmer Zhong Jiming became.
For him to return to Beijing and not even go home, but instead come straight to see Lin Zhiqian, meant that this was certainly no trivial matter.
There could only be one possibility.
He needed a favor.
And it was a personal matter that couldn’t conveniently be handled through official channels.
Lin Zhiqian put down his teacup and became serious.
“Brother, just tell me. If there’s anything I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Zhong Jiming didn’t answer immediately.
He lowered his eyes to the tea in his cup. The green tea leaves slowly unfurled in the water, resembling tiny boats floating on the surface.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
“I’m going to Guangdong next week.”
“You were only just transferred back to the State Planning Commission, and you’re already going to Guangdong on business?”
Lin Zhiqian looked surprised.
That seemed awfully fast.