The second day of the Lunar New Year. The sun was shining brightly.
Shen Qingyou brought a small folding stool outside and sat in the courtyard to soak up the sun. The sweater was still tucked away in the cabinet. Every time she wanted to give it to him, something always interrupted her.
Several of the neighborhood aunties were also sunbathing in the courtyard, sitting in a circle, chatting as they cracked sunflower seeds.
Shen Qingyou didn’t join them. She just sat at her own door, listening from a distance.
The sun was warm and drowsy.
She squinted her eyes, half-listening to the chatter.
“…I bought New Year’s goods early this year, so I didn’t have to deal with the crowds…”
“…That husband of mine, all he knows is drinking…”
“…Did you hear? Old Zhao’s daughter-in-law is pregnant…”
The talk rambled on—nothing but trivial household matters.
Just as Shen Qingyou was getting sleepy, a sentence floated over to her.
“Third Master Yan really dodged a bullet this time.”
Shen Qingyou’s drowsiness vanished in an instant. She sat up straight and pricked up her ears.
“Isn’t that right,” Aunt Li chimed in. “I heard on that trip, quite a few people went, but only a few came back. Third Master Yan led the group. It’s already a blessing from heaven that he returned in one piece.”
“I saw that injury of his,” Aunt Wang lowered her voice. “A gash that long on his arm. They say it was a knife wound. Any closer, and he would’ve…”
She didn’t finish, but Shen Qingyou understood.
She sat there, her whole body turning cold.
“That Third Master Yan,” Aunt Zhang sighed. “All these years, whenever he’s gone out on business, hasn’t it always been the most dangerous? People in his line of work do this for a living.”
“Living on a knife’s edge,” Aunt Li said. “That saying couldn’t be more true.”
“That’s why his business is so big,” Aunt Wang said. “But that money is bought with his life.”
“That young girl of his, Old Shen’s daughter,” Aunt Zhang said. “I wonder if she knows. The other day I saw her, still smiling and laughing, looking like she doesn’t know a thing.”
“Better that she doesn’t know,” Aunt Li said. “If she knew, she’d be scared.”
“That’s true too…”
Their voices gradually faded, shifting to other topics.
Shen Qingyou sat there, motionless.
The sun still shone on her, warm and comfortable.
But she didn’t feel warm at all.
She only felt cold.
Cold from the inside out.
Those words swirled around in her head until she felt dizzy.
She thought of the wound on Third Uncle’s arm.
He had said it was a small injury, that it didn’t hurt.
She hadn’t believed him then.
Now she believed it even less.
It was a knife wound.
It had nearly cost him his life.
She sat there, her palms slick with sweat.
…
That afternoon, Third Uncle went out.
Shen Qingyou stood at the courtyard gate, watching his back disappear into the alley.
He wore that old coat of his, his steps steady, his back straight.
She watched and watched, then suddenly took a few steps after him.
But after two steps, she stopped.
What was she running after him for?
She stood there, staring at the empty alley entrance, for a long time.
…
During dinner that evening, Shen Qingyou kept stealing glances at him.
He was eating just like usual. Picking up dishes, scooping up rice, drinking soup—his movements still crisp and quick. Except that when he raised his left hand, it was still a little slow.
She looked at that hand, thought of that wound, thought of what Aunt Zhang had said.
Suddenly, she couldn’t eat anymore.
“What’s wrong?” Yan Tingxu looked up.
Shen Qingyou paused for a moment, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
She lowered her head and forcefully shoveled down a couple of mouthfuls of rice.
After the meal, Yan Tingxu went to wash the dishes.
She sat by the table, watching his back as he washed.
She watched and watched, then suddenly stood up and walked over.
Yan Tingxu heard the movement and turned his head to look at her.
She stood behind him, very close, just staring at him.
“What’s wrong?”
Shen Qingyou shook her head.
“Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to look at you.”
Yan Tingxu’s gaze lingered on her for a moment.
He didn’t say anything, just turned back and continued washing the dishes.
Shen Qingyou stood behind him, watching.
….
That night, lying down, Shen Qingyou couldn’t sleep.
She stared at the ceiling, her mind in turmoil.
One moment she thought of Aunt Zhang’s words, the next of that wound, then of the news of his accidental death in her past life.
She turned over and buried her face in the pillow.
She didn’t know how long passed before she finally drifted off.
Then she had a dream.
In the dream, she stood in the courtyard.
The weather was bitterly cold, the wind howling, just like that day in her previous life.
Suddenly, the courtyard gate was pushed open.
Several people walked in, dressed in black, their faces grim.
The man at the front held a letter in his hand.
Shen Qingyou stood there, staring at that letter, wanting to run toward him, but her feet seemed nailed to the ground, unable to move.
The man spoke.
“Comrade Yan Tingxu has met with an accident out of town…”
She couldn’t hear the rest.
She could only see the letter growing larger and larger until it turned into a black-and-white photograph.
Third Uncle’s portrait.
Black frame, white flowers. He wore that dark gray sweater, his face expressionless.
She stood there, staring at the portrait, wanting to scream but no voice came, wanting to cry but no tears would fall.
Then she woke up.
Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped for breath.
Moonlight streamed through the window, falling across her face.
She lay on the bed, drenched in sweat, her face wet.
She reached up and touched it. Tears.
She didn’t know how long she had been crying.
She sat up, wrapped the blanket around herself, and curled into a ball.
The images from the dream still flickered before her eyes.
She closed her eyes, but the visions wouldn’t go away.
Suddenly she remembered the sweater that had been finished for so long, the one she had been too afraid to give him.
She threw off the blanket, got out of bed, opened the cabinet, and took out the sweater.
Dark gray, neatly knitted, the little flower on the chest faintly visible in the moonlight.
Holding the sweater in her arms, she stood in the room for a while.
Then she pushed the door open and walked outside.
The courtyard was very still. Moonlight coated the ground in white.
She walked to the main room’s door and knocked.
A moment of silence inside.
“Who is it?”
“Third Uncle, it’s me.”
Another pause, then footsteps approached.
The door opened.
Yan Tingxu stood in the doorway, a coat draped over his shoulders, his hair slightly disheveled, as if he had just fallen asleep and been woken up.
He looked at her thin autumn clothes and at the bundle of dark gray in her arms.
“What’s wrong?”
Shen Qingyou looked up at him.
He was alive.
Standing here, safe and sound.
Suddenly, she shoved the sweater into his arms.
“It’s for you.”
Yan Tingxu was stunned.
He looked down at the bundle in his arms.
A dark gray sweater, neatly knitted, with a little flower on the chest.
He raised his head and looked at her.
Shen Qingyou’s hair was a bit messy, her face still streaked with dried tears, her eyes glistening.
“I knitted it for a long time,” she said. “I was always too afraid to give it to you.”
“Third Uncle, will you try it on?”
Yan Tingxu looked at her for a long, long time.
Then he reached out, took off his coat, and draped it over her shoulders.
Shen Qingyou froze.
“Third Uncle—”
“Put it on,” he said. “It’s cold out here.”
He wrapped the coat tightly around her.
Then he pulled the sweater over his head.
Dark gray. Neither too big nor too small. It fit perfectly.
He looked down at himself, then looked back up at her.
“It’s good,” he said.
Shen Qingyou stood there, watching him wear the sweater she had knitted, and suddenly felt a sting in her nose.
She lowered her head and blinked hard.
When she looked up again, her eyes curved into a smile.
“Third Uncle looks really good in it.”
Yan Tingxu looked at her.
The moonlight fell on her curved eyes and red-tipped nose.
Suddenly, he reached out and ruffled her hair.
“Go back to sleep,” he said. “We have to get up early tomorrow.”
Shen Qingyou nodded.
She turned and walked back, but stopped after two steps and looked back.
Yan Tingxu was still standing in the doorway, watching her.
She waved at him.
“Good night, Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu nodded.
She ran back to her room and closed the door.
Lying on the bed, she hugged the coat to her chest, breathing in the faint scent of soap.
Third Uncle’s scent.
She closed her eyes, and this time she quickly fell asleep.
No more nightmares.
…
The third day of the Lunar New Year.
When she got up in the morning, Shen Qingyou folded the coat and returned it to Third Uncle.
She pushed open the main room’s door. He was putting on his jacket.
The dark gray sweater was underneath, with a small edge of the collar showing.
She saw it, and her heart felt warm.
Yan Tingxu turned around and looked at her.
“Made breakfast?”
Shen Qingyou nodded. “Yes.”
She placed the coat on the bed and turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She stopped and looked back at him.
Yan Tingxu picked up something from the table and handed it to her.
Shen Qingyou took it and was stunned.
It was a photograph.
A black-and-white photo, the size of a palm.
In the photo was him, wearing that dark gray sweater, standing beside the jujube tree in the courtyard, his face expressionless.
She looked up at him.
“Third Uncle?”
Yan Tingxu averted his gaze.
“Take it,” he said. “In case…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Shen Qingyou looked at the photo and suddenly understood what he had left unsaid.
In case you don’t come back, something to remember you by.
She gripped the photograph, her hand trembling slightly.
“Third Uncle,” she looked up, “you promised me yesterday. You won’t get hurt.”
Yan Tingxu looked at her, silent for a moment.
“I remember,” he said.
Shen Qingyou looked at him and suddenly smiled.
She tucked the photo into her pocket, close to her body.
“Then I’ll keep it safe for you,” she said. “When you come back, I’ll return it to you.”
Yan Tingxu’s gaze lingered on her for a moment.
He didn’t speak, just nodded.
…
That afternoon, a car suddenly appeared in the courtyard.
A black sedan, parked at the courtyard gate.
A man got out, wearing a Zhongshan suit, and exchanged a few words with Third Uncle.
Third Uncle nodded, turned, and went inside to pack his things.
Shen Qingyou stood in the courtyard, watching the man, then watching Third Uncle’s back.
She understood. He was leaving again.
Yan Tingxu packed his things and came out of the room.
He walked up to her and looked down at her.
“A few days, and I’ll be back,” he said.
Shen Qingyou nodded.
“Come back soon, Third Uncle.”
Yan Tingxu looked at her for two seconds, then turned and got into the car.
The engine started, and the car slowly drove out of the alley.
Shen Qingyou stood at the courtyard gate, watching the car grow smaller and smaller, until it finally disappeared at the end of the alley.
She stood there, not moving for a long time.
The wind blew, a little cold.
She reached into her pocket and touched the photograph.
The photo lay against her chest, slightly warm.
When she had seen him off, she had been smiling, but inside, she was terrified.