AOI 26

After finishing the dinner that Xu Minghai had brought him, Qiushi began his homework at the table under the window. He wrote while keeping an ear out for the sound of the courtyard gate.

But a long time passed, and even the round, bright moon had risen, yet Zhou Yingying still hadn’t returned. Only the incessant chirping of unidentified birds filled the yard—normally pleasant, but now inexplicably irritating.

Just as Qiushi wrote the last line in his exercise book, the courtyard gate suddenly creaked. He looked up quickly and saw Zhou Yingying walking toward him through the yard, bathed in a floor of clear, pale moonlight.

Perhaps because he’d been exposed to some knowledge about “dating” today, Qiushi for the first time stepped outside the perspective of a son and observed Zhou Yingying objectively. He realised that his mother really was exceptionally beautiful—more so than any woman he’d ever seen. In that moment, it seemed he suddenly understood Li Yandong’s seemingly baseless hostility.

What Qiushi didn’t know was that when Zhou Yingying was sixteen or seventeen, she wasn’t just beautiful—she was as pure and lovely as an early spring magnolia bud. That was why, walking down Wangfujing Street, she’d been “chatted up” by Yang Weian, who was then in his prime and had his nose in the air.

Back then, young men were full of energy and desire. When they gathered, the most popular pastime was to meet girls around Dongsi, Shichahai, and Wangfujing. Though it sounded like hooliganism, most of them didn’t resort to force, coercion, or poaching. They relied solely on their silver tongues and pure personal charisma to win over the opposite sex—quite gentlemanly in its way.

Zhou Yingying, being the most striking among the girls, was long accustomed to this. As long as she ignored them, they’d retreat in defeat. But occasionally there’d be one or two persistent ones who’d shamelessly follow her all the way to her alley entrance. At that point, Chen Lei would step in and beat them off.

It happened on an ordinary winter day. A gang of arrogant youths—wearing boots, general’s uniforms, and straddling Forever bicycles—were shouting to their friends on the street, releasing their uncontainable hormones.

Someone suddenly yelled: “Hey! Hey! Look at that one! She’s a real stunner!”

It was at that moment that Zhou Yingying’s fate began to churn.

Yang Weian followed the gaze, and for some reason, the first time he laid eyes on Zhou Yingying, it felt as if a sun had been planted in his chest—a searing heat burned through him. His telltale blush was immediately caught by his buddies, who refused to let it go.

“Not claiming there’s no girl in all of Beijing you can’t charm, are you?” someone shouted. “Commander Yang, show us what you’ve got!”

Yang Weian took a deep breath, strode forward, and stopped Zhou Yingying in her tracks. Outwardly, he looked dashing and composed; inside, it felt like a hundred rabbits were bouncing around in his stomach.

“We… we’ve met somewhere before.”

The lamest pick-up line, coming out of Yang Weian’s mouth, was instantly transformed into the romantic opening of a nightingale’s serenade. Zhou Yingying’s heart gave a sudden lurch. Her magnolia bud had bloomed, in a daze.

What happened next was, in a way, clichéd.

Yang Weian, who’d always had a strained relationship with his father, refused to join the army as his father wished and instead insisted on going to Heilongjiang as an educated youth. He begged Zhou Yingying to go with him, and she, against everyone’s objections, gave up a ready-made job in the city to travel with him to the distant northeast.

But less than a year in, Yang Weian couldn’t take it anymore. The hard life in the fields had stripped this son of a high-ranking official—who’d never done a day’s manual labour—back to his bare bones. He fled back to the city, using his father’s connections. At that time, under the historical circumstances, Zhou Yingying could have submitted an application to return with him, but she couldn’t just leave on her own. So she was left behind in the village. Yang Weian promised to arrange her papers once he got back, but day after day, three years passed, and nothing ever came.

In the end, Zhou Yingying’s heart turned to ash, like a paper offering fluttering in the wind. Home became a distant, unreachable place. She accepted her fate, married, and a few years later, had Qiushi.

As time went on, the policies for returning to the cities grew more lenient. Zhou Yingying’s husband was sentenced to prison for stabbing someone. Before he went in, he finally had a change of heart, agreed to a divorce, and let her go home.

Returning after half a lifetime, the once-spirited, beautiful girl had become the mother of an eight-year-old boy. Then, on another ordinary evening, she saw again the person who’d made her heart flutter—the one she’d loved, hated, and already forgotten.

The dim streetlights stretched their shadows impossibly long, as if mourning those bleeding years of youth.

Yang Weian slapped himself hard across the face several times, his voice choked with tears: “I’m a grown man who couldn’t protect his own woman—you don’t think I suffered? But I really had no way out. Yingying, I knelt before my father all night, kowtowing until dawn, and he still wouldn’t help me. There was nothing I could do… Later, I couldn’t even bear to think about it. I did business and always avoided the northeast…”

What a cruel twist of fate.

The door opened, and Zhou Yingying finally came in. Qiushi was about to speak when he was startled by the tears streaming down his mother’s face.

“Mum, did that uncle hit you?!”

“No.” Zhou Yingying turned and closed the door behind her, her quiet sobs still continuing.

“Then why are you crying?”

“There are times to laugh, and times to cry,” Zhou Yingying said, gently stroking her son’s head. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Qiushi didn’t know when he’d ever understand his mother’s tears. All he knew was that from that day on, Zhou Yingying grew increasingly silent. Sometimes she’d stop mid-task, staring blankly into space for ages before coming back to herself. Once, she even brought up the Children’s Palace and asked Qiushi if he wanted to join the choir.

Her unusual behaviour made Qiushi uneasy. He wanted to share his worries with Xu Minghai, but with less than two months until final exams, Xu Minghai was being tormented by his parents and teachers to the point of looking like death warmed over. Qiushi didn’t dare bother him with such vague concerns.

The one thing that brought comfort was that the “Great King” and “Second King” in class had gone completely quiet—they wouldn’t even meet Qiushi’s eyes, sitting as meek and still as quails all day.

One day after school, just as Qiushi and Xu Minghai came out the front gate, they spotted Zhou Yingying in the distance. Standing beside her was Yang Weian. Unlike the man who’d lost his composure that day, he now looked spirited and radiant.

Seeing Zhou Yingying wave at them, Qiushi and Xu Minghai ran over, and Yang Weian said he was taking them to Xinqiao Hotel for Russian food.

Xu Minghai, never one for formality, immediately asked: “Is that the place famous for its stewed sausages?”

“Yes. Besides stewed sausages, there’s baked assorted meats in cream, braised beef in a casserole, pan-fried fish…” Yang Weian listed.

The more dishes he named, the brighter Xu Minghai’s eyes grew—but in the end, they dimmed. He waved his hand and sighed: “Forget it. If I go with you today, my mum will burn Xinqiao Hotel to the ground. For the sake of ensuring Beijingers can still get their authentic stewed sausages in the future, I’d better go home and do my homework.”

Yang Weian chuckled: “Then your uncle will pack some for you, and Guozi can bring it back.”

“Really?” Xu Minghai grinned, his dimples showing. “Uncle, you’re a real stand-up guy!”

Qiushi watched Xu Minghai wave goodbye and sprint off toward home. As his figure grew smaller and smaller, that unsettling, adrift feeling surged back up in Qiushi’s chest.

Familiarity breeds ease. This time, sitting in the purplish-red car, Qiushi no longer looked around. The three headed south and arrived at Xinqiao Hotel.

It was Qiushi’s first time eating foreign food. The waiter spread a white napkin over his lap and brought out pre-meal bread and small pats of butter. Then, one steaming dish after another was served, including that famous stewed sausage dish.

For some reason, faced with so many delicious things, Qiushi lost his sense of taste and enthusiasm for food. All his attention was on the two adults. He couldn’t understand why, whenever Yang Weian brought up the past, Zhou Yingying’s eyes would fill with an indescribable sadness.

Listening, Qiushi caught his own name.

“The Children’s Palace is no big deal—as long as Guozi enjoys it,” Yang Weian said to Zhou Yingying. “Don’t worry.”

Qiushi was taken aback. But Zhou Yingying gave her first smile of the night, turning to look at him: “Guozi never even sang a proper song for his mum, and here he went and sang in Shouhuang Hall.”

Qiushi asked if Zhou Yingying had ever been there, but it was Yang Weian who answered.

“Your mum and I used to go to Jingshan all the time when we were young,” he said, his voice steeped in lingering old feelings. “Standing in Wanchun Pavilion, looking out over the Forbidden City, Beihai, the whole old city… It feels like yesterday.”

But at those words, the smile on Zhou Yingying’s lips vanished in an instant, as if it had never been there.

In any case, the meal felt strange. Before they left, Yang Weian kept his promise and packed stewed sausages for Xu Minghai, then drove mother and son back to Zhiyuan Hutong.

Yang Weian walked with them to the courtyard gate. At parting, he called out to Zhou Yingying, softly said “let me know when you’ve decided,” and waved goodbye.

Back in the yard, Qiushi took the food straight to Xu Minghai’s little room. Peering through the window, he saw his friend lying on the bed, moaning.

The knot of tension in Qiushi’s heart instantly loosened. He pushed the door open, kicked off his shoes, and jumped onto the bed, kneeling beside him. “What’s the moaning for?”

Xu Minghai was glad to see Qiushi back, but kept up his woebegone expression: “What else? I’ve studied till I’m about to puke—barely ate any dinner.”

Qiushi quickly opened the box in his arms, picked up a sausage scored and coated in rich sauce, and held it to Xu Minghai’s lips: “Aah…”

Xu Minghai opened his mouth wide enough to nearly bite Qiushi’s fingers off, then smacked his lips and commented: “Delicious. Definitely different from what we make at home.”

Qiushi fed him a second one.

“By the way, what did Uncle Yang talk about at dinner?” Xu Minghai asked between bites.

“They talked about things from a long time ago.” Qiushi recalled the atmosphere at the table and added: “Just now at the gate, Uncle Yang told my mum to let him know when she’d decided.”

“Hmm…” Xu Minghai’s eyes darted. “That makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“The way Uncle Yang was all swaggering around today—he’s probably trying to become your stepdad.”

Qiushi’s first reaction was that compared to his biological father, Qiu Jiawang, Yang Weian treated his mother far better. But why did she still seem unhappy?

“Maybe… your mum’s afraid you might not go along with it.”

There was a girl in Xu Minghai’s class whose father was getting remarried. When she found out, she made a scene every day and stopped going to school. Xu Minghai told Qiushi this story, then asked: “Guozi, if Uncle Yang really did become your stepdad, would you be okay with it?”

Qiushi tried to imagine what a family of three would look like. He didn’t have any particular feelings about it.

“I don’t know either… But as long as my mum’s okay with it, I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re right—it’s the grown-ups’ business.” Xu Minghai nodded in agreement, then muttered to himself: “But why do I still feel kind of uneasy…”

While the two boys whispered together, there was a knock on Zhou Yingying’s door. She opened it to find Chen Lei and invited him in, offering him water.

Chen Lei held the porcelain cup in his hands, turning it over and over, unable to find the words. Finally, Zhou Yingying spoke first: “Are you here to ask about Yang Weian?”

“You two… went out together tonight?”

Zhou Yingying lowered her head: “Yes. I took Guozi to have dinner with him. Wanted them to get to know each other.”

The unspoken implications in that sentence caused Chen Lei’s firm features to crumble bit by bit. “This is so sudden… Have you really thought it through?”

“I’ve thought it through.”

“Yingzi, I’m not trying to stop you,” Chen Lei began to stumble over his words. “It’s just… Yang Weian, that guy… He’s let you down before. You…”

Zhou Yingying looked up, her normally gentle eyes suddenly sharpening: “I’m not afraid of being let down again.”

Chen Lei froze: “What do you mean?”

“Yang Weian said he was powerless back then, that he’s sorry, and he wants to make it up to me. He also said he got divorced a few years ago; his ex-wife went to America. He has no kids—he wants to treat Guozi like his own son, send him to the Children’s Palace, transfer him to the best schools, even send him abroad for university.”

Zhou Yingying’s voice, trembling slightly, seemed deafeningly loud in the silent night. She used the nickname from her childhood to address Chen Lei.

“Shitou Ge, my life was over a long time ago. All those impractical things—love and feelings—I buried them deep in the mountains of Heilongjiang. I chose this path myself, and I don’t blame anyone. But Guozi is smart and hardworking. He loves to study, he loves the Children’s Palace, he loves standing in Shouhuang Hall singing with his classmates. If Yang Weian is willing to help, Guozi can carve out a completely different future for himself, one step at a time. So I don’t care whether Yang Weian truly still has feelings for me, or if he just wants to ease his own conscience, or something else entirely… As long as Guozi can have a better life, I’d die for it.”

Hearing Zhou Yingying’s words, Chen Lei’s throat was instantly clogged with a suffocating sense of inadequacy. So this girl wasn’t naive at all—she understood far too well.

It turned out that nothing had really changed. The bodhisattva’s willow branch was still in Yang Weian’s hands; even the smallest of his alms was something an ordinary person could never hope to match. There was no logic to it—some people simply had the world at their feet.

Chen Lei lowered his gaze, unable to bear Zhou Yingying’s shattered expression. Forcing himself to gather up the old debris in his heart, he asked: “So what’s your next plan?”