The winter wind in the twelfth lunar month was bitterly cold.
Shen Qingyou carried an old rattan suitcase, traveled thousands of miles from the countryside by train, and arrived at the Yan family home.
All her family had passed away, leaving her completely alone.
But since she was still a minor, she came here to board, to be taken care of by her father’s friend, Yan Tingxu.
The Yan family courtyard was very large.
There were four rooms just in the backward-facing section, neatly arranged east and west wing rooms, and three large tiled rooms serving as the main hall.
Green bricks paved the ground, gray tiles capped the roofs—it was truly imposing.
Two bicycles were also parked in the courtyard: one Flying Pigeon, one Forever.
In those days, owning even one bicycle meant you were a family of considerable means.
Shen Qingyou looked down at the black cloth cotton shoes on her feet. The uppers had been newly stitched before she came, taking her three sleepless nights.
In her previous life, standing in this courtyard, she had been so uneasy she could barely stand still, feeling utterly out of place.
Later, she lived in this courtyard for three years.
During those three years, she tiptoed through life, afraid to take an extra step or speak an extra word.
She knew the master of this house was no ordinary man.
Everyone called him “Third Master Yan.” When they met him, they were unfailingly polite and kept their voices low.
She didn’t know what that meant back then. She only knew that people were always coming to his room to discuss business, and small cars were often parked outside his gate.
Then, later, he died.
When the news came, many important people arrived at the courtyard.
There were small cars, men in wool overcoats, men wearing glasses.
They stood in the main hall, speaking in very low voices. She crouched beneath the window to listen and only caught one sentence: “What a shame—Third Master Yan built such an empire.”
And then—
Shen Qingyou closed her eyes, pressing down the bitterness in her heart.
And then, she was married off to Third Uncle’s nephew.
Before the wedding, that man was endlessly attentive. Afterward, his true nature was revealed.
He drank, gambled, and when he lost, he beat her.
She endured five years until her body was ruined with illness, unable to get out of bed.
She was only twenty-three when she died.
But then she opened her eyes and found herself back at fifteen, standing in this very courtyard, waiting to see that ill-fated Third Uncle.
Shen Qingyou took a deep breath. The cold air of the twelfth month rushed into her lungs, stinging painfully.
The pain was good. The pain told her this wasn’t a dream.
In this life, she was different.
She stood very straight, her gaze firm and determined as she stared at the cotton curtain hanging ahead.
After a short while, the cotton curtain of the main hall was lifted.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit by the light.
Shen Qingyou’s gaze fell on him and couldn’t move away.
He wore a dark blue Zhongshan suit with crisp fabric and a perfect tailor-made cut.
Just standing there, he emanated an indescribable presence, like an iceberg that had yet to melt.
Shen Qingyou recognized that presence.
In her previous life, after that man got drunk and beat her, he would curse and grumble about how glorious his Third Uncle had been—how the entire Beijing business world had to show him respect.
“Come in.”
His voice was low and very pleasant to hear.
Shen Qingyou obediently picked up her suitcase, lifted the curtain, and walked inside.
The room’s warmth hit her in the face. The hardwood square table gleamed with polished lacquer. The armchairs had dark blue cushions draped over them. Against the wall stood a single bed with a plain cotton mattress cover, the blanket folded neatly.
On the table sat a blue-and-white porcelain teapot and cups, half a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes, and a radio—a Red Lamp brand, wiped completely clean.
In those days, a radio was a rare thing. Ordinary families couldn’t afford one, and even if they could, they might not be able to get a ration coupon.
The man had his back to her, adding coal to the stove.
The stove was new, its iron surface gleaming, flames whooshing upward.
After adding the coal, he straightened up, hung the stovehook back in place, and turned around.
Their eyes met.
His eyes were dark and heavy, like a twelfth-month night. His face showed no expression.
His gaze swept from the top of her head down to her feet, then back up again.
Shen Qingyou stood there, letting him look.
She knew what she looked like in others’ eyes.
Thin, sallow, wearing a blue cotton jacket that had been washed so many times it barely had any padding left. Black cloth cotton shoes on her feet. Her hair tied up with a red string. The picture of rural plainness.
Compared to the furnishings in this room, she looked like someone who had walked through the wrong door.
“My name is Yan Tingxu,” he said. “Your father was my friend. You can call me Third Uncle.”
Shen Qingyou nodded. “Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu’s brow twitched slightly. He didn’t respond.
He walked to the table, picked up a cup, poured a bowl of hot water, and handed it to her.
Shen Qingyou reached out to take it. His fingers brushed against the back of her hand. He paused for a moment, then pushed the bowl a little further into her grasp.
Her hand was slender and ice-cold.
He didn’t say anything, just withdrew his hand and pulled out a brown paper envelope from the drawer.
“This is the money your father left—six hundred yuan in total.” He placed the envelope on the table. “I’ll keep it for you. If you need any, just say the word.”
Shen Qingyou looked at the envelope but didn’t reach for it.
In her previous life, he had said the exact same thing.
Back then, she hadn’t dared to ask for a single cent.
Later, after he died, that money had disappeared somewhere, and she never received a penny of it.
“Third Uncle,” she looked up, “can I hold on to it myself?”
Yan Tingxu gave her a glance.
It wasn’t exactly cold, nor was it warm.
Shen Qingyou didn’t look away. She met his gaze head-on.
“All right.” He pushed the envelope a little closer. “Keep it yourself. Don’t lose it.”
Shen Qingyou took the envelope, opened it, and glanced inside. It was a stack of crisp new bills—ten-yuan notes, exactly sixty of them.
She closed the envelope and tucked it into the inner pocket of her cotton jacket, close to her body.
“Thank you, Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu watched her put the envelope away, then turned and walked to the cabinet. He opened the door and took out a brand-new quilt.
He pulled a camp bed out from under the bedframe, set it up in a few quick motions, spread the new quilt over it, and patted it down a couple of times.
Shen Qingyou watched him, momentarily stunned.
“Third Uncle, that’s—”
“Just make do for tonight,” Yan Tingxu cut her off, straightening up. “Tomorrow, I’ll have someone clear out a room for you.”
As he spoke, he picked up his wool coat from where it hung over the back of a chair and shrugged it on.
Shen Qingyou looked at the camp bed.
It was covered with a new mattress pad and a new quilt—navy blue, thick and soft, carrying the scent of fresh cotton.
Suddenly, she felt like crying.
In her previous life, he had been exactly like this.
That time she had a high fever, he carried her on his back to the hospital in the middle of the night and stayed with her in the corridor the entire night.
Later, a neighbor auntie told her that Third Uncle had originally been scheduled to discuss a major business deal that day. He called to cancel, and when someone asked why, he said his child at home was sick.
His child at home.
She wasn’t his child. He could have simply not bothered.
“Third Uncle,” she began, her voice a little hoarse, “will you be back by tomorrow morning?”
Yan Tingxu’s footsteps halted. He turned his head to look at her.
The girl stood by the table, clutching the bowl of hot water he had handed her earlier, her eyes fixed on him.
The room’s yellow lamplight fell across her face. Her eyes were glistening, unbearably beautiful.
No one had ever looked at him quite like that before.
As if she was afraid he wouldn’t come back.
He remembered Old Shen, on his deathbed, gripping his hand. He could barely speak, just kept mumbling over and over: “My daughter… my daughter…”
Yan Tingxu looked away and turned up the collar of his coat.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he said. “You get some sleep. Keep the doors and windows shut.”
With that, he lifted the curtain and stepped outside.
Shen Qingyou stood there, listening to his footsteps fade away, disappearing toward the courtyard gate.
She looked down at the bowl in her hands. The water was still warm, just the right temperature to drink.
She lifted it to her lips and took a sip, her throat tightening.
Yan Tingxu was a man of his word.
In her previous life, he said he would be back by morning, and the next day, he was.
Later, he made many “by morning” promises, and he kept every single one.
But the last “by morning” he never came back.
Shen Qingyou finished the water, set down the bowl, and walked over to sit on the camp bed.
The bed frame was hard. The quilt was soft.
She pulled the blanket over herself and wrapped it tightly around her.
Outside, the wind was still howling, a low, mournful sound.
She closed her eyes.
In this life, she was going to keep Third Uncle alive.
She would make sure he came back every single “morning.”
…
The next morning, Shen Qingyou was woken by the sound of voices in the courtyard.
She opened her eyes. The windows were already bright with daylight.
From beyond the cotton curtain came a man’s laughter—loud and hearty, with a touch of Beijing accent.
“Third Master, I hear you took in a young girl last night? Old Shen’s daughter?”
“Mm.”
“Tsk, I’ve met Old Shen before—honest and kind, what a shame. How old is his daughter?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen, she should be in school, right? Now that she’s staying in our courtyard, we’ll have to look after her—”
Shen Qingyou sat up, put on her cotton jacket, smoothed her hair, lifted the curtain, and stepped outside.
Three or four men were standing in the courtyard, all dressed in Zhongshan suits or cotton coats, gathered around Yan Tingxu in conversation.
The moment she appeared, all their gazes turned toward her.
“Oh, so this is Old Shen’s daughter?”
“She’s thin. Needs more nourishment.”
“Little miss, if you ever need anything, just say the word. We’re all friends of your Third Uncle—”
Shen Qingyou stood there, feeling a bit uneasy under all those eyes.
Yan Tingxu glanced at her, then said to the men, “Alright, that’s enough. Everyone go on now. We’ll talk at the teahouse later.”
The men dispersed with laughter, still stealing glances back at her as they left.
Shen Qingyou walked up to Yan Tingxu and lifted her face. “Third Uncle, good morning.”
Yan Tingxu grunted in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping across her face.
After a night’s sleep, the girl looked a bit better than yesterday—less pale.
Her hair was a little messy, though. One strand stuck up, trembling slightly in the wind.
He reached out and pressed that strand of hair back down.
Shen Qingyou froze for a moment and looked up at him.
But he had already withdrawn his hand and was pulling a stack of ration coupons from his pocket—grain coupons, meat coupons, sugar coupons, all sorts, held together with a rubber band.
“Go get some breakfast first, at the street corner.” He handed the stack over. “State-run restaurant. Just use my name.”
Shen Qingyou looked at the stack but didn’t reach for it.
In those days, ration coupons were precious. Ordinary people only got a fixed, meager amount each month.
This stack in his hand was enough to feed a person for half a month.
“Third Uncle, I have money,” she said. “The money my father left—”
“That’s your money. Save it for later.” He pressed the coupons into her hand. “Go eat. When you come back, I’ll take you to handle your school transfer.”
Shen Qingyou clutched the stack of coupons. They were still warm, carrying the heat from his pocket.
“Third Uncle,” she suddenly asked, “is the school far?”
“Not far. Right around here.” Yan Tingxu said. “The conditions are decent. There’s a cafeteria and dorms. If you want to board at the school, that’s fine too.”
Shen Qingyou shook her head. “I don’t want to board.”
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
“I want to come back and live here,” Shen Qingyou said. “I want to come back and cook for you.”
Yan Tingxu’s brow twitched.
“I don’t need that.”
Shen Qingyou was taken aback.
She said, “Third Uncle, I’m a very good cook. Please let me cook for you. It’s the only way I can repay you.”
This was the honest truth in Shen Qingyou’s heart.
In her previous life, her only regret was that she had never properly repaid Yan Tingxu.
It was only on her deathbed that she realized—those three years living in his home had been the happiest days of her entire life.
And Yan Tingxu, though he seemed cold and distant, was the person who had given her the most warmth.
Yan Tingxu looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
This girl had some nerve.
Last night she had been as meek as a little quail. This morning, she was already offering to cook for him.
“Fine,” he said. “Cook, then.”
Shen Qingyou’s eyes curved into a smile as she tucked the stack of coupons into her pocket.
It was a winter morning in the twelfth month. The sun had just risen, gilding the gray tiles of the courtyard with a faint, delicate golden edge.
Shen Qingyou followed behind Yan Tingxu as they walked toward the courtyard gate.
At the gate, she turned her head and looked back.
The courtyard was truly bright and beautiful—green bricks and gray tiles gleaming in the morning light.
A small black car was parked outside the gate, polished to a high shine.
In her previous life, she had lived in this courtyard for three years but had never once dared to look at it closely.
In this life, she wanted to take a good look.
“Let’s go.” Yan Tingxu’s voice came from ahead.
Shen Qingyou turned her head and trotted to catch up.
She watched his back.
Broad shoulders, an upright posture, steady footsteps as he walked.
The collar of his dark blue coat was turned up, revealing the clean collar of his shirt beneath.
He walked quickly, but after a few steps, he slowed down, waiting for her to catch up before continuing on.
Shen Qingyou watched that figure waiting for her, and the corners of her lips curled upward.
Third Uncle.
In this life, it’s my turn to protect you.