Su Niannian wore the red sweater her grandmother Yun Shu had knitted by hand, layered under the cream-colored cotton coat her mother Su Minzhi had just bought. The soft fur collar framed her small face, giving her a healthy, rosy glow that made her look especially endearing.
“Niannian, stick close to your uncle—don’t run off,” Su Minyan’s clear voice rang out as he carried their luggage with one hand and held his niece’s hand firmly with the other.
He was twenty-two, an outstanding student from the architecture department. His deep-blue wool coat sat crisply on his shoulders, making his features look clean-cut and his bearing composed. It was his first time taking his niece on a long trip alone—from Shanghai to Guangzhou, over thirty hours by train—and he felt a fresh sense of responsibility mixed with some nervousness.
Su Niannian nodded. Her big, bright black eyes watched everything around her with curiosity.
A long line snaked before the ticket-checking gate; Su Minyan shepherded them forward seam by seam. In this era the stations lacked many modern conveniences. Travelers lugged big bundles, and the air was a noisy mix of instant-noodle steam and cigarette smoke.
“Train No. 50, Shanghai to Guangzhou—passengers please prepare for ticket inspection!” a hoarse voice announced over the loudspeaker.
They had booked hard-sleeper berths. Their compartment was mid-carriage: one lower berth and one middle berth.
“Niannian, you take the lower berth—it’s more convenient and you won’t have to worry about rolling off at night,” Su Minyan half-squatted and lifted her onto the sleeping bunk, slipping off her tiny cotton shoes and tucking them under the bed.
“Uncle will sleep on the middle bunk right above you—call out if you need anything.”
“Okay, Uncle,” she answered obediently, her voice soft and syrupy.
The train whistled and slowly pulled out; the platform and the farewelling crowd receded. The carriage’s earlier clamor seemed to settle into the steady rhythm of the wheels.
Su Minyan took out an architecture text and began to read. Niannian leaned by the small window, watching the Jiangnan winter landscape flash past—under a grey sky, harvested fields lay bare, and now and then a village of white walls and black tiles.
The journey was long. Each compartment held six berths, and passengers soon struck up easy acquaintances.
A kindly old couple occupied the berths across from them, busily arranging their luggage.
“How old is the little one?” the old woman asked, smiling warmly.
“Seven,” Niannian replied sweetly.
“She’s so well-behaved. Are you headed to Guangzhou?” the old woman continued.
Su Minyan said yes—they were going home for the New Year.
“Guangzhou’s lovely—warm. We’re going to see our son there as well,” the old woman said with a smile.
Soon after, Su Minyan stood to fetch hot water. The carriage lurched and he fumbled; hot water splashed onto the bedding.
“Oh!” he muttered, flustered.
“Careful, young man—don’t scald the child,” a gentle voice came from behind, followed by a clean towel being handed over. “Wipe it up quick.”
The speaker was a woman in her early forties with neat short hair and a kindly smile. She’d been sitting on the folding aisle seat; across from her sat a quiet man with black-rimmed glasses, buried in his newspaper—an honest-looking technician, who was her husband. Their berths were the two upper bunks on either side.
“Thank you, Auntie,” Su Minyan said gratefully, taking the towel.
“Aww, it’s not easy traveling with a child alone,” Aunt Wang chuckled, her gaze lingering on Niannian with genuine fondness. “This little girl is just so lively—so adorable.”
Her praise was natural and unintrusive, the tone of a warm neighbor rather than an intrusive stranger.
Aunt Wang chatted casually: “My husband Lao Chen and I are heading to Guangzhou to visit relatives. He’s quiet and not one for small talk, but a good man.” She nodded toward the man reading the paper. He glanced up and gave a simple, friendly nod to Su Minyan and Niannian.
Having read plenty of social news in her previous life, Niannian instinctively kept some wariness toward overly friendly strangers. But people in this era seemed to retain a simpler trust; she didn’t want to appear rude, so she tucked her caution away.
This couple—one outgoing and one reserved—showed no hint of impropriety. They never asked about family background or parents’ jobs; their conversation stayed on travel anecdotes and snacks. They shared treats and household remedies as if they were old acquaintances making comfortable small talk.
During the day, Aunt Wang helped the elderly across the compartment fetch hot water, hoisted a large bag onto the luggage rack for a mother holding a baby, and handed motion-sickness pills to a young man. She quickly became “the helpful aunt” of the carriage. When Su Minyan excused himself to use the restroom, she offered naturally, “Go ahead—I’ll watch the child.”
Even Niannian began to wonder if she was simply suspicious for no reason. Perhaps people truly were that kind in this era.
By the second day on the train, the landscape outside had changed from pallid wheat stubble to the green hues of the South. At dusk, Aunt Wang returned from the hot-water room carrying two enamel jugs, cheerfully offering them to the elderly couple across.
“Thanks so much—what a help,” the old woman said, grateful. “Out here, there are still good people.”
“Oh, and that calming tea you gave me yesterday really helped—sleeplessness on the train is the worst. After drinking it, I slept much better,” the woman added.
Aunt Wang waved it off with a smile. “No trouble—our hometown specialty. Dried flowers, all-natural, no side effects.”
The tea was a clear infusion, dotted with small dried blossoms and smelling faintly fragrant.
“Here, little Su, try some,” she said, handing a small sachet to Su Minyan. “Long trips drain you—sleep well tonight and you’ll have energy when you get to Guangzhou.”
Su Minyan thanked her and accepted the sachet. “I’ll try it—didn’t sleep well last night.”
Niannian watched the cup pass to her uncle and felt that small prickle of suspicion again. But Aunt Wang’s open, gentle smile eased the doubt. Besides, what could a seven-year-old say—“Uncle, don’t drink that; it might be dangerous”?
Night fell and the carriage quieted, leaving only the rhythmic click-clack of the train. From his middle berth, Su Minyan leaned down to tuck Niannian in and straighten her quilt.
“Cold? Want another layer?”
“No, Uncle. Good night.”
“Good night.” His voice overhead felt reassuring.
Half an hour later, the soft, steady breathing of someone sleeping reached them—the middle berth above began to snore in even tempo.
Su Minyan slept deeper than usual—the calming tea seemed very effective.
No one noticed the pair of eyes behind lenses in the aisle watching them coolly. Lao Chen slowly lowered his newspaper, pushed up his glasses, and his expression was suddenly icy.
He glanced at his watch, then toward the far end of the carriage. The railway police had just made a patrol; by the usual schedule they wouldn’t come by again for at least an hour.
The train sped through the night. They had passed Jiangxi and were about to cross into Guangdong.