Day broke.
The first thing Shen Qingyou did when she opened her eyes was get up and look out the window.
The yard was quiet. The door to the main room was still closed.
She stared blankly for a moment, then put on her clothes and pushed the door open.
The cold wind hit her face. She shrank her neck and walked to the main room door, knocking.
No answer.
She pushed the door open. The room looked exactly as she had seen it the day before. The quilt on the bed was folded neatly. The enamel mug on the table had long gone cold. He hadn’t come home all night.
She stood in the doorway, looking at the empty bed, and felt a strange emptiness in her heart.
Maybe Third Uncle was busy with business and couldn’t make it back.
With that thought, she turned and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
After cooking, she served two portions. She ate one herself and left the other covered in the pot to keep warm.
Then she went back to her room, took out the sweater, and placed it at the head of her bed.
When Third Uncle came back, she would give it to him.
…
At noon, she went to check the main room again.
Still no one.
She made lunch and left it warming in the pot.
In the afternoon, she sat in the yard, holding the sweater in her arms, waiting while soaking up the sun.
The sun slowly moved westward, the shadows growing longer and longer.
She glanced toward the entrance of the alley. Once. Again.
Still no one.
By evening, she cooked another meal.
Three meals sat warming in the pot. They cooled, so she reheated them. Then they cooled again.
The sky darkened. She stood in the yard, staring at the closed door of the main room.
The wind was bitterly cold, stinging her ears.
She stood there for a while, then slowly walked back to her room.
Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, her ears straining to catch any sound from outside.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep.
…
Another night passed. When Shen Qingyou woke up, the first thing she did was look out the window.
The door to the main room was still tightly shut.
Shen Qingyou lay in bed, staring at that door for a long time.
Then she got up, put on her clothes, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.
After cooking, she left Third Uncle’s portion warming in the pot. She ate a couple of bites herself but couldn’t finish.
She went to check the main room. Everything was still the same. It looked as if the occupant had only stepped out for a moment and would be right back.
She stood at the door for a while, then gently pulled it closed.
As she walked into the yard, she ran into their neighbor, Aunt Zhang, who had come out to dump some water.
Aunt Zhang saw her and greeted her with a smile.
Shen Qingyou hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Aunt Zhang, do you know where my third uncle went?”
Aunt Zhang paused. “Third Master Yan? Probably off on business. Those businessmen—it’s normal for them to be gone for days at a time.”
She paused, then added with a smile, “Don’t worry. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”
Shen Qingyou nodded and said thank you.
Aunt Zhang left. Shen Qingyou turned and went back to her room.
But that day, she couldn’t focus on anything.
She couldn’t read. She couldn’t eat. She would sit in her room for a while, then stand up and walk to the yard. She would stand in the yard for a while, then walk back inside.
The sweater lay at the head of her bed. Every time she looked at it, her heart tightened.
When Third Uncle came back, she would give it to him.
She told herself this, over and over.
…
The sky darkened again.
Shen Qingyou lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
She stared at the ceiling, her ears straining for any sound from outside.
Still nothing.
She closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep.
But the more she tried, the more sleep eluded her.
Her mind was a jumble of thoughts—where was Third Uncle, when would he come back, had he eaten, was he cold…
Then, suddenly, a thought surfaced.
In her past life, Third Uncle had also gone out on business like this, and then…
Her whole body went rigid.
Her eyes flew open. Her heart was pounding wildly.
No.
She told herself: this life is different.
But the thought took root like a weed and wouldn’t go away.
She suddenly felt cold all over.
The wind howled outside, a mournful moan—just like that day in her past life.
She wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, but she was still cold, so cold that her teeth chattered.
She didn’t know how she got through that night.
…
The thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month.
New Year’s Eve.
When she got up that morning, Shen Qingyou had dark circles under her eyes.
She went to the kitchen and made breakfast, leaving Third Uncle’s portion warming in the pot.
Then she stood in the yard and, out of habit, looked toward the entrance of the alley.
No one.
The sun rose. Then it set.
In the distance, sporadic firecrackers popped—children setting off smal firecrackers.
The New Year was coming.
She sat in her room, listening to the firecrackers, her heart feeling hollow.
The sweater lay on her lap. She lowered her head and ran her fingers over the little flower, again and again.
Third Uncle, when are you coming back?
…
Late at night.
The firecrackers had stopped. The silence around her was even deeper, broken only by the wind.
Shen Qingyou lay on her bed in her clothes, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
She had stopped hoping.
Tomorrow was the first day of the New Year, and Third Uncle still hadn’t come back.
She didn’t know what to do.
In her past life, she had waited like this too. What came was a letter.
In this life, she had thought she could change something.
But she couldn’t change anything at all.
She closed her eyes. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and soaked into the pillow.
And then—
A creak came from the yard gate.
Shen Qingyou’s eyes flew open.
She froze for a second, then sprang up from the bed and ran outside barefoot.
She pushed the door open. The cold wind hit her face, but she didn’t care. She darted across the yard and ran to the gate.
In the moonlight, a figure stood there.
Tall, upright, with stern and handsome features.
He stood there, reaching back to close the yard gate.
Shen Qingyou stood in the yard, looking at him.
He heard the noise and turned around.
The moonlight fell on his face—still that cool, indifferent expression, those dark, deep-set eyes.
But Shen Qingyou’s tears suddenly began to fall.
She stood there, barefoot on the freezing ground, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face, unable to utter a single word.
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
She was barefoot, wearing only a thin autumn shirt, her face stained with tears.
He frowned slightly and strode over to her.
“Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”
But Shen Qingyou only cried harder.
She stood there, watching him approach, and suddenly forgot all her fears. She threw herself into his arms.
Yan Tingxu’s entire body went stiff.
He looked down at the head buried against his chest, felt her trembling, her tears soaking through his clothes.
His hands hovered in mid-air, unsure where to go.
After a moment, he slowly raised his hand and gently patted her on the back.
“What are you crying for?” he said. “I’m back.”
Shen Qingyou didn’t answer. She just cried.
He didn’t ask any more questions. He simply stood there, letting her hold him, his hand gently patting her back again and again.
The moonlight shone over the yard, over the two of them.
In the distance, another firecracker went off—someone, somewhere, staying up to welcome the New Year.
A long time passed. Shen Qingyou’s crying gradually subsided.
She pulled back from his embrace, keeping her head lowered, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
As she wiped, she suddenly noticed her bare feet.
They had turned red from the cold, standing on the frozen ground. She hadn’t even realized it.
She looked up, about to say something, when she noticed Yan Tingxu’s brow furrow slightly.
He stood there with his body slightly turned, his left hand hanging at his side, subtly tucked behind him as if trying to hide it.
Shen Qingyou froze.
In the moonlight, she thought she saw that the sleeve of his left arm was a shade darker than the rest.
Before she could get a clear look, Yan Tingxu spoke.
“Go put on your shoes,” he said. “It’s freezing out here. You’ll catch a cold.”
Shen Qingyou looked at him and suddenly felt that something was wrong.
But he stepped back and turned toward the main room.
“Third Uncle—”
She called out to him.
Yan Tingxu’s footsteps paused. He didn’t turn around.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Go to sleep now.”
With that, he pushed open the door and entered the main room.
Shen Qingyou stood in the yard, watching the door close in front of her.
The wind was still howling, bitterly cold.
She looked down at her feet. They were red and numb, barely feeling anything anymore.
She slowly walked back to her room, climbed into bed, and wrapped the blanket around herself.
The sweater was still at the head of the bed. She picked it up and held it against her chest.
Third Uncle was back.
He had come back.
She closed her eyes, and tears streamed down her face again.
But these were tears of joy.
Only…
Something about Third Uncle seemed off.