The spring of 2003 didn’t begin peacefully.
By the time the news was broadcasting global warnings about SARS, fear had already been spreading for some time. The streets emptied overnight, and people hurried along, all wearing masks.
Yu Dong Ge, who had a friend working at a hospital, called her family urgently. She explained that a severe flu virus was spreading rapidly and warned them to avoid crowded places. Shao Xue, still young and fearless, wandered the streets without much concern, but soon noticed the wary and hostile glances from those around her.
"Dad," she finally couldn’t help but ask over dinner, "what exactly is this SARS thing?"
On TV, the news anchor spoke gravely: "The WHO has issued a global alert for SARS, and the atypical pneumonia is spreading rapidly worldwide."
Shao Hua and Yu Dong Ge exchanged glances. Even as adults, they didn’t fully understand what was going on.
People are often like that—until something happens right in front of them, it doesn’t seem real. One day, Yu Dong Ge rushed home, pulling out a stack of masks and some newly purchased disinfectant from her bag.
"My friend from the hospital," she said with worry as she addressed Shao Hua and Shao Xue, "got infected. This thing is like a death sentence—once you catch it, you can’t be cured. Starting today, whenever we go out, we must wear masks, wash our hands when we get home, and open the windows to air out the house every day. We can’t afford to slack off."
Shao Xue, having just finished her homework and trying to sleep, was suddenly filled with anxiety by her mother’s intense precautions. Yu Dong Ge handed her a bag of disinfectant tablets and three masks, pointing toward Zheng Su Nian’s house.
"Take these over to Aunt Jin."
Uncle Zheng had just finished cooking when Shao Xue, looking confused, walked into their home. She placed the masks and disinfectant tablets on the cabinet by the door, doing her best to repeat her mother’s words. "Uncle Zheng, my mom said SARS is getting really serious, so she bought these for you to use."
"I told you, but you didn’t believe me," Jin Ning said, shooting a glance at Zheng Jin before hurrying over to give Shao Xue some of the ribs they’d just made. "I heard it from people at the restoration office ages ago. Your Uncle Zheng pays no attention to anything happening outside. He doesn’t even care about his own life."
"Life and death are in fate’s hands," Zheng Jin said dismissively. "If real disaster strikes, who can escape it?"
"Stop talking nonsense about death!" Jin Ning scolded him, furious. "From now on, make sure you open the windows to air out the house regularly. You two can’t just stay holed up inside for days on end without ventilation."
Zheng Su Nian and Zheng Jin exchanged helpless looks, feeling that the gift Shao Xue brought only added to their sense of obligation.
But then, the very next evening, an incident occurred at Zhang Qi’s school.
Zhang Qi’s school was a prestigious institution his mother had pulled strings to get him into. Normally, it operated under semi-closed management, and students could only go home on Saturdays and Sundays. However, just at this critical moment, a boy in Zhang Qi’s class came down with a fever, and soon, six other students around him also developed colds and fevers. Out of the entire class, only two students remained unaffected—Zhang Qi was one of them.
The school panicked. Classes were suspended, and the entire class was quarantined in the dormitory, with Zhang Qi and the sick boy under special observation. When his family was notified, Zhang Qi’s mother nearly fainted. It took several colleagues comforting her to stop her from crying.
"I never should have sent him to that school," Aunt Han sobbed, clutching Yu Dong Ge’s hand. "With so many kids living together, something was bound to happen. I don’t care if he doesn’t get into a top high school anymore, as long as he comes out of this healthy."
"Don’t jump to the worst conclusions," Shao Hua tried to reassure her. "It could just be seasonal flu, and none of the kids have been officially diagnosed yet."
Zhang Qi was just unlucky. With fear spreading everywhere, it felt like he’d walked right into the storm. The dormitory supervisor delivered their meals on time, watching over the quarantined students closely and not allowing any visitors. When Shao Xue heard the news, she and Zheng Su Nian sneaked over to the school’s front office. After much pleading, they convinced the guard to deliver ten newly purchased volumes of One Piece to Zhang Qi.
"Poor Zhang Qi," Shao Xue said. "He told me the dorm’s magazines are falling apart from overuse, and his teacher told him to do some exercises if he gets bored."
"I think that’s more of a torment than his fear of SARS."
March, a time when flowers should have been blooming, was instead marked by an overwhelming sense of fear. The streets were eerily quiet, and Shao Xue suddenly asked, "Su Nian, are you afraid of dying?"
He was taken aback.
They were both just teenagers, with the future still so far ahead—who had time to think about death? He took a deep breath and slowly replied, "Yes, of course I’m afraid. Who isn’t?"
As a child, the thought had never crossed his mind. But as he grew older, he began to understand—he had parents, friends, and unfulfilled dreams. He couldn’t die, and he didn’t dare think about it.
"That’s why you have to do what you want to do first, right?" Shao Xue said quietly. "You never know if tomorrow or an accident will come first."
The empty streets echoed around them, and Shao Xue, clearly affected by the oppressive atmosphere at Zhang Qi’s school, added, "But I don’t even know what I want to do.
"I feel so anxious.
"What do I even want?"
"You’re only fourteen, Shao Xue," Zheng Su Nian said, gently ruffling her hair. His voice was calm and reassuring. "We’ll figure it out. We’ll know what we want, and we’ll know what we want to do."
They would come to understand what they were willing to sacrifice for, what they were willing to give up, the people they would fall in love with, the reasons they would part ways, the cities they would call home, and the value of life itself.
It would be a grand revelation.
Luckily, they were still young. There was no need to rush.
On April 24, schools were officially closed.
Their homeroom teacher, during the last class, repeatedly reminded them not to slack off and to make sure they watched the educational channel’s televised lessons. But no one really paid attention.
Even the homework the school hurriedly compiled was simple, filled with large blank spaces just to fill the pages. It seemed like the teachers were just as anxious as the students. When faced with a threat to human life, everyone’s minds were elsewhere. Shao Xue finished most of her assignments in just a few afternoons and then tossed them aside to go play Contra at Zheng Su Nian’s house.
Back in those days, there were no personal computers, and playing at an arcade was expensive. A game console with cartridges allowed for endless levels to conquer, making it a highly cost-effective way to pass the time. Yu Dong Ge knew Shao Xue lacked self-control, so she never even gave her the chance to ask for one.
Luckily, Zheng Su Nian had one.
Though Zheng Su Nian didn’t play much himself, he’d join Shao Xue for a few rounds whenever she came over. At that time, she was obsessed with Contra and had finally discovered a life goal: she was determined to complete the entire game.
Zhang Qi’s opinion on this: “Idle pursuits lead to ruin.”
By then, Zhang Qi had been cleared of any SARS suspicions but seemed infected by something else entirely. According to his account upon returning, after finishing the comics Shao Xue had sent him, he started playing with a Rubik’s cube, which was spotted by his math teacher. This teacher, who managed the school’s math competition team and had a peculiar personality, had graduated from Tsinghua University’s mathematics department. He gave Zhang Qi a difficult math problem. Zhang Qi stared at it for a while and solved it. Then the teacher gave him another problem, and Zhang Qi solved that one too after a bit.
It’s a common pattern when discovering a genius. After solving nine out of ten problems the teacher threw at him, Zhang Qi became the focus of the teacher’s lessons. The teacher set up a blackboard in Zhang Qi’s dormitory and officially began tutoring him in advanced mathematics.
When Zhang Qi returned, he seemed like a changed person, claiming to have discovered the beauty of mathematics. He declared that he would no longer waste his life playing games with Shao Xue but would devote his limited time to the infinite world of mathematics. His newfound enthusiasm for math didn’t sit well with his childhood friends, including Zheng Su Nian, who promptly beat him up. Only then did Zhang Qi agree that the pursuit of mathematical beauty could wait and that he would still join them for basketball and card games.
April was bright and sunny, with willow fluff drifting through the air. In the mornings, the ground was covered with a layer of white, and stepping into it made the fluff fly up like dandelion seeds. Zheng Su Nian half-drew the curtains in the room as he rummaged through a cabinet for game cartridges.
“Why are you in the mood for Tank Battle today?” he asked.
“Got bored of the other game,” Shao Xue replied, as she browsed through another row of tapes on his shelf. “You’ve got a lot of foreign tapes here.”
“They’re my mom’s,” he explained, peeking over her shoulder. “She’s got so much stuff that she leaves a lot of it with me.”
Shao Xue pulled out a tape of Russian classic songs. Zheng Su Nian glanced at the back of the tape and then grabbed the tape recorder he usually used for listening to English practice tapes. Inside the tape box was a folded lyric sheet. As if remembering something, he said, “Oh, I used to listen to this when I was little.” He placed the tape in the recorder, fast-forwarding to the third song. “The Volga River Flows Forever. My mom used to love this song.”
The lyric sheet was small and neatly folded. Jin Ning, who worked on calligraphy and painting restoration at the Palace Museum, had excellent handwriting in any style, and her penmanship was just as beautiful. Shao Xue unfolded the paper, trying to follow the words of the raspy Russian vocals as they played from the tape, deciphering the text written years ago.
“Mother once said / Child, remember / Mountains and rivers are far, you may grow weary / Exhausted, you’ll wander away / Wash the dust off in this river / The Volga River flows forever / Rushing from afar / Flowing forward, never to return / Crops bow low on either side / Snowflakes fall from the sky / The Volga River never stops / And now I am seventeen.”
Shao Xue’s generation had grown up watching Japanese anime and listening to pop music from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Jay Chou dominated the majority of their after-school earphones, and even the music for their New Year’s program came from the Naruto soundtrack. It was the first time Shao Xue had heard such a melancholy tune, in that April of SARS-stricken Beijing, in Zheng Su Nian’s room filled with old objects.
“The Volga River flows forever / Rushing from afar / Flowing forward, never to return / Crops bow low on either side / Snowflakes fall from the sky / The Volga River never stops / Now I am thirty.
“There’s my boat’s sail / There’s my family / Without them / Life would be so empty / From that bend in the river / On a silent starry night / Another boy’s song echoes.”
A song that starts in youth and sings of growing old—Shao Xue suddenly envisioned that great river. In the winds and snows of Siberia, a figure cloaked in a cape drifted further and further away along the frozen river.
“Do you like it?” Zheng Su Nian’s voice pulled her back to reality. “You don’t usually listen to music, so I’m surprised you like this. If you like it, take it. My mom doesn’t listen to it anymore.”
“That wouldn’t be right,” Shao Xue quickly waved her hands, feeling awkward. “It’s Aunt Jin’s tape, after all.”
“I’ll ask her for you after she gets off work,” Zheng Su Nian said with a smile. “I couldn’t find Tank Battle. How about watching a movie?”
“What movie?”
“King of Comedy, Zhang Qi lent it to me.”
“Sure.”
When Zheng Su Nian called Shao Xue over, she had no idea what was going on. As soon as she stepped inside, she was pulled into Jin Ning’s bedroom by Aunt Jin herself.
Uncle Zheng wasn’t home, and it was just Jin Ning and Zheng Su Nian at home. Jin Ning’s closet and bookshelf looked slightly disheveled, as though she had just been searching for something. On the bedside table sat an open box, neatly filled with books, tapes, and a few DVDs.
“Su Nian said you liked that Russian tape and asked if I still wanted it.”
“Oh, no, Aunt Jin,” Shao Xue said quickly, embarrassed. “I was just curious. You should keep it.”
“Keep it for what?” Jin Ning smiled wistfully. “I actually called you over because I have something to give you.”
With that, Jin Ning pulled the box over to Shao Xue. Inside were mostly foreign books, beautifully bound but clearly aged. Jin Ning picked one out at random and opened it to the title page. “This was a gift from a friend when I was studying in England—an original English edition of A Tale of Two Cities. At the time, he was learning Chinese, so he wrote me a little note instead of a dedication.”
Shao Xue took the book and saw a neat inscription on the title page written with a fountain pen: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness... we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going the other way."
The handwriting wasn’t particularly beautiful, but every stroke was made with care. Before Shao Xue could say anything, Jin Ning pulled out a few more tapes.
“You like Russian songs, so I found a few tapes for you. The songs are mostly about the same topics—birch trees, the Volga River, war, peace, and love. You can listen to them if you like. The cases have the Chinese lyrics I wrote inside. And here’s one from Anita Mui—a friend of mine gave it to me. These are movies—this one’s the best, Legends of the Fall, though it doesn’t have Chinese subtitles. You might want to wait until you’re older to watch it…”
Jin Ning’s words were like laying out her past for Shao Xue to see. Shao Xue had known that Aunt Jin had traveled to many places and met many people, but she never realized that her life had been so vast, beyond anything she could imagine. Watching Jin Ning’s animated expression, Shao Xue was suddenly struck by a strong feeling—
Jin Ning cherished her past.
In all the years Shao Xue could remember, Jin Ning had likely already settled into being a responsible adult, but no one could entirely let go of such a brilliant youth.
She had returned for love.
For love, she had given up the mountains and rivers she had yet to explore and was now confined to this small space.
“Aunt Jin,” Shao Xue looked up at her, “I can’t take these things. You should keep them.”
Jin Ning paused for a moment, then pressed a finger against Shao Xue’s forehead.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that little head of yours,” Jin Ning laughed. “I’ve already made my choice, so keeping these things is meaningless.”
Jin Ning stood up and walked over to her wardrobe.
The furniture in Aunt Jin’s house had all been found at antique markets by her and Uncle Zheng. Once the dull wood was polished and waxed, it looked as good as new. Good wood, when stored well, had a scent to it, and if cared for properly, the clothes inside wouldn’t grow damp or attract moths.
Standing on tiptoe, she rummaged through the top shelf, pulling out a bundle.
The package was light as a cloud, and when she shook it out, two qipaos fell into view. They were different colors—the blue one was slightly larger than the purple—but both were handmade, with intricate frog buttons, double piping, and gold embroidery along the collar.
She held the purple one up against Shao Xue’s body.
“It won’t fit anymore,” Jin Ning said. “I certainly can’t give it to Su Nian. I haven’t even worn these more than a few times; they were custom-made by a master in Shanghai. You’re tall—I’ve thought for a while that this would suit you.”
Shao Xue held the qipao in her hands like she was holding a cloud, unsure of what to do.
“Don’t overthink it,” Jin Ning urged her, turning around to close the bedroom door. “Put it on and let me see if it fits. If it does, it’s yours.”
Zheng Su Nian had just come into the living room to get some water. The water cooler hadn’t finished heating yet, so he turned around, confused by the sight of his mother smiling as she emerged from the bedroom.
“Where’s Shao Xue?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Why’d you leave her there alone? Did she take the things?”
As he spoke, he was about to head over, but Jin Ning quickly pulled him back.
“Don’t go in there,” Jin Ning said mysteriously, “just wait—I’m about to show you a magic trick.”
Zheng Su Nian shook his head, bewildered, and turned back to the water cooler, opening the hot water tap. Steam rose, and he blinked reflexively. Just as he opened his eyes, he heard the soft creak of a door hinge behind him.
When Zheng Su Nian was six, Master Sun Qi Rui had him memorize The Book of Songs. Among all the passages about women, Master Sun had taught him a single line: “There is a lady in the carriage, as graceful as the hibiscus flower.”
He had said that men in ancient times valued women who were as delicate as willows, implying that only men who weren’t strong sought out sickly women. The woman in this poem was different—she rode in the carriage with the man, graceful as a bird, her jade ornaments chiming pleasantly. What was she like? She was like a hibiscus flower.
“You’re too steady,” Master Sun had remarked, “you’ll need to find a girl like that in the future.” Jin Ning, of course, had been quick to interject, “Oh, come on, he’s just a kid! Why are you telling him this?”
For ten years, Zheng Su Nian hadn’t quite understood what it meant for a girl to be like a hibiscus.
Until now. During the Grain Rain season, he stood beside the water cooler and watched Shao Xue glide out of the other room.
The qipao was made of purple silk, making her look much more mature. Though her features still belonged to a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old, her expression had gained an unexpected touch of allure.
Shao Xue tilted her head, her long hair swept over one shoulder, exposing her collarbone and the lines of her neck.
Zheng Su Nian’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.
“How does it look?” she asked.
He responded hastily, reaching out to grab the cup that was still filling with water. Hot water overflowed from the rim, causing him to wince as the heat stung him.
Zheng Su Nian forced himself to stay calm and placed the cup steadily on the table.
“It’s... it’s okay, I guess.”
The dress still didn’t fit quite right. Shao Xue didn’t dare ask her mother to alter it, and she didn’t trust the skills of the tailors in their alley. After much deliberation, she realized only Kang Mo Shui could help.
Kang Mo Shui and Yu Dong Ge both worked in textile restoration. Originally from Suzhou and in her thirties, Kang Mo Shui was a renowned master of Su embroidery and had even been featured in the news. She had been specifically invited to restore ancient Suzhou embroidery pieces that had suffered damage over the years.
Shao Xue sought her help because Yu Dong Ge had mentioned that not only was Kang Mo Shui an expert in embroidery, but she also excelled at tailoring qipaos.
Years later, whenever Shao Xue looked back on this memory, she would laugh at herself. At the time, she had no awareness of who these people around her really were—each of them was a renowned master in the field of cultural relic restoration, especially Kang Mo Shui, a true inheritor of cultural heritage. And yet, there she was, bringing a qipao to her, treating her like an ordinary tailor.
This was Shao Xue’s first time visiting Kang Mo Shui’s apartment. It was small, with just a few pieces of furniture—an old wooden table, chairs, and a bed frame, all left behind by the previous tenant. The only new item in the room seemed to be the workbench in the middle, adorned with spools of colorful thread, several yards of white fabric, and an unfinished embroidery of a peacock.
Compared to Yu Dong Ge’s workspace, Kang Mo Shui’s setup was much more professional. Shao Xue sat at the table, admiring the peacock embroidery and couldn’t help but let out a sigh of admiration. She had never realized embroidery could be so lifelike, as though the peacock’s tail would flutter and take flight off the canvas once completed.
Shao Xue was so entranced that she didn’t notice Kang Mo Shui until she placed a chipped enamel cup of water in front of her.
“Aunt Kang, can you help me alter the waist and shoulders of this qipao?”
Kang Mo Shui looked at Shao Xue with some surprise before reaching out to take the qipao. She immediately recognized its quality. The fabric and craftsmanship were top-notch, clearly the work of a highly skilled tailor.
“Where did you get this?”
“Aunt Jin gave it to me.”
After examining the stitching, Kang Mo Shui placed the qipao on her workbench.
“Wait here, I’ll go find a measuring tape.”
Although her apartment was a studio, Kang Mo Shui had sectioned off a storage area for herself. She pulled back a curtain and went inside to search for the tape, leaving Shao Xue to idly glance around the room.
Shao Hua had once told Shao Xue that Kang Mo Shui was from Zhouzhuang, a water town in Suzhou. Back then, Zhouzhuang wasn’t as famous as it is now. Shao Xue only knew it was a small town with old stone streets, narrow alleyways, and a river winding through the town.
Shao Xue’s gaze suddenly fell on a photo frame, partially hidden behind a vase.
Kang Mo Shui’s apartment was meticulously tidy, with only the bare necessities for living. The few decorations she had—on the walls and tables—were small, handcrafted embroidered pieces. The photo frame, tucked behind the vase, seemed out of place.
Shao Xue felt herself drawn to it.
It was a wooden frame holding an old photograph. Although the people in it were clearly older now, Shao Xue could easily recognize Kang Mo Shui on the left.
What surprised Shao Xue most wasn’t the change in Kang Mo Shui’s appearance, but the smile on her face.
Shao Xue had never imagined Kang Mo Shui smiling like that, with her eyes crinkling in delight. She had always assumed Kang Mo Shui was born with that calm, composed demeanor. But in the photograph, Kang Mo Shui looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, her long black hair cascading down her back, her face brimming with happiness. Her left arm was tightly linked with a tall man’s, her head leaning gently on his shoulder.
There was a noise from the storage room, and Shao Xue hurriedly put the frame back.
Kang Mo Shui returned with the measuring tape and began taking Shao Xue’s measurements around her waist and shoulders. Shao Xue held back her curiosity for as long as she could, but finally blurted out, “Aunt Kang, is the man in that photo on your table your husband?”
Kang Mo Shui froze.
“I... I thought...”
“You don’t need to wonder,” Kang Mo Shui said calmly, refocusing on the measuring tape. “He’s not.”
The room suddenly fell silent.
Kang Mo Shui wrapped the tape around Shao Xue’s waist. As her hair brushed against Shao Xue’s face, there was a faint scent of jasmine.
“Shao Xue, when you grow up, maybe you’ll understand,” Aunt Kang whispered near her ear, “sometimes loving someone is hard. Being a little early or a little late can make all the difference. So, it’s better to leave.”
It was rare for Kang Mo Shui to speak this much at once. Her soft Wu dialect, mixed with imperfect Mandarin, left Shao Xue feeling confused and bewildered.
After a long pause, Kang Mo Shui added, “Please don’t mention the photo to anyone, alright?”
Shao Xue looked into her eyes. Those same eyes had once smiled, but now they were as still and deep as a calm lake.
“I won’t,” Shao Xue promised, nodding firmly.
As Shao Xue descended the stairs, she couldn’t resist glancing back at Kang Mo Shui’s window. Ivy crept up the walls, its buds beginning to bloom with the arrival of spring. Soon enough, the leaves would grow dense and cover the entire building.
Just like Kang Mo Shui’s heart.
Shao Xue had never met someone so cryptic, whose gaze seemed filled with untold stories, leaving her with an inexplicable sense of sadness.
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