When a person feels guilty, they tend to overthink. Under normal circumstances, if someone had asked Jiang Du what Zhuo Dao meant, she would have patiently explained it. After all, defining such a word is a one-sentence affair, far simpler than a math problem.

But Jiang Du's reaction was different. She felt as if her head had been split open by something, leaving her dazed. Like the most alert little fox, she immediately connected it to her QQ screen name. Some things had to be kept secret, never to be revealed in the slightest.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you check a dictionary?” she said quietly. In the dead of winter, her palm was covered in sweat. How pathetic.

But Jiang Du had the appearance of an innocent young girl who didn't seem capable of lying; her face was a canvas of pure naivety.

Wei Qingyue's smile became more pronounced. He said nothing; it was hard to tell if he believed her or was simply too lazy to call her out. He didn't even ask, “Then how did you get such a high score in Chinese?” Instead, he went to the window, pointed to the large tree in front of the library, and said:

“It doesn't look like a person now, does it?”

Jiang Du nearly jumped. Wei Qingyue was so smoothly adept at playing these probing games, all in a casual, conversational tone. She feigned ignorance:

“What?”

Wei Qingyue turned his head to look at her. She didn't dare meet his eyes. As soon as their gazes connected, her eyes began to shift evasively. She blinked repeatedly, her voice a mere whisper.

The boy tilted his head, studying her inquisitively for a few moments, then smiled again. It was a smile that made one’s hair stand on end. Jiang Du suddenly wondered why he smiled so much. She stood there, the picture of meek propriety, unsure whether to step forward or turn away, her body rigid. She frantically calculated in her mind, 'If he doesn’t say anything else, I’ll just leave.'

And just like that, Wei Qingyue said nothing more. He withdrew his gaze and leaned against the window, feeling the cold wind. His hair was handsomely styled and quite long—longer than any of the other boys. Every single strand seemed to reflect his personality.

“I should get...” Before she could finish, Wei Qingyue asked her another question, “Are you alone for the New Year?”

Jiang Du paused, her eyes involuntarily drawn to his face. “I don’t know. I might go to my aunt’s house for New Year’s Eve, or I might stay in my old hometown. But after that, I’ll be with my Grandma and Grandpa.”

The New Year wasn’t just about New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day; it was an emotional concept. Jiang Du was subtly stressing that she wasn’t alone. He couldn’t think she was pitiful. It wasn't good to make others think you were pitiful, to invite their pity.

“What about your parents?”

The girl’s expression fell for a few seconds. She rubbed her nose and said, “I don’t know. I’ve always lived with my Grandma and Grandpa. I’ve never met them.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

Outside, the sky was filled with dark, gloomy clouds, their layers indistinct, refusing to let even a sliver of sunlight through.

“What about you for the New Year?” Jiang Du decided to ask him in return.

Wei Qingyue said calmly, “The usual. Make something to eat, play some games, read a bit. I don’t know if my mom will be back this year. I do have parents.”

Make something to eat... It was a strange way to put it. Jiang Du guessed that no one cooked for him.

Another long silence.

She managed a smile. “Do you think I’m rather pathetic for not having a mom and dad?”

“Did I say that?” Wei Qingyue frowned. “I didn’t mean to imply that, did I? But it’s true, it is a bit more miserable than what’s normal.”

“I’m a normal person too. Have you ever seen Fortune Telling?” Jiang Du’s face reddened, as if she was correcting him.

Wei Qingyue raised an eyebrow. “Fortune Telling?”

“Not the kind you find under a footbridge,” Jiang Du said, then quickly shook her head. “Well, maybe it is. This documentary is about a fortune teller. He’s blind, and one of his legs is disabled. His name is Li Baicheng, which is a pretty good name.”

At this point, unsure if Wei Qingyue was interested in hearing more, Jiang Du stopped abruptly.

Wei Qingyue waited a few seconds, gave her a puzzled look, and smiled. “Why did you stop? I’m listening.”

“Alright then,” Jiang Du continued in a slow tone, as if she were being forced to. “The fortune teller has a group of friends who are beggars. The director asks him, these people have no joy in life, so why do they keep living? Do you know what he said? He got pretty angry. He said, ‘What kind of talk is that? If there’s no joy, you just don’t live? That’s so heartless.’”

Wei Qingyue watched her thoughtfully, murmuring an “Mm,” as a faint smile once again touched his lips. “You watch these kinds of films?”

His expression was clearly surprised; he had assumed girls were all busy watching idol dramas.

“It’s a very good film. A group of people like that, still living so tenaciously. You have no idea how tattered his clothes are, he...” Jiang Du’s heart suddenly ached, but she fiercely suppressed the feeling. 'I only lack parents,' she thought. 'Li Baicheng is a true hero of life.' But she didn’t say it out loud; it sounded too pretentious and embarrassing. She ended vaguely, “After watching that film, I realized that some people actually live like that. But even then, they still strive to live.”

Wei Qingyue maintained that faint smile, which began to displease Jiang Du. She was vexed. This wasn’t some cheap, high-energy pep talk. She wanted to explain more, but realized she had already said too much. She glanced from side to side. “Well, I should go now.”

She once again took on that shy, slightly restrained manner. Wei Qingyue nodded. “We’re done talking?”

Jiang Du took a quiet, deep breath. She pressed her lips together and said softly, “I should be getting home.”

With that, she clutched the plastic bag of books tightly to her chest and walked off at a remarkably fast pace. She could hardly believe she had said so much to Wei Qingyue, all that rambling. The wind stung her eyes and the cold air caught in her throat, yet the corners of her mouth couldn’t help but curl up again and again.

Winter break was here.

This one conversation was enough for her to savor for the entire break.

Her grandpa had made sausages and hung them on the balcony. Every household did the same. The cold wind made the sausages dry and hard, but when steamed with rice, a single bite was fragrant and soft. Alternatively, stir-fried with fresh garlic sprouts, they offered a completely different flavor. Jiang Du went with her grandma to the wet market. With the New Year approaching, prices for everything were rising, but they had to stock up regardless.

They could pick out live fish. Her grandma, smiling, pointed to the fish swimming in a large basin, saying she wanted this one and that one. The shopkeeper deftly scooped one out and stunned it with a few whacks from the back of her knife, sending water splashing everywhere. At times like these, Jiang Du would always think, 'No wonder the sages said a gentleman stays away from the kitchen. It’s so cruel to witness such killing. But fish eat mayflies, and humans eat all manner of things; it’s the law of nature... I just hope the fish doesn’t suffer too much when it dies...'

“Sweetie, what are you thinking about?” her grandma called out affectionately. Jiang Du snapped out of it, smiling and shaking her head.

They bought several fish. One was cooked that same day. Her grandpa cut the rest into pieces, marinated them with scallion, ginger, garlic, salt, and cooking wine, and hung them on the balcony too. Now, the balcony was festooned with a dazzling array.

The table was laden with dishes—meat, vegetables, cold appetizers, and hot soup. Her grandma packed a bit of everything into a food container and had Jiang Du deliver it to the old grandma who lived opposite them.

The grandma across the way was eighty years old and lived alone. Her husband had passed away early, and her only daughter was abroad. Jiang Du’s family had been neighbors with the old woman for many years. The old grandma liked to keep her door ajar, apparently unconcerned with safety. From inside her apartment, the sound of the television was ever-present.

When Jiang Du went in, she called out, “Grandma Weng.” The old woman was sitting quietly in her living room, looking through a photo album. Hearing the voice, she asked out of habit, “Is that you, Jiang Du?”

“It’s me.” She walked over and put the food on the dining table. “My grandma asked me to bring this over. You should eat it while it’s hot.”

The old woman quickly got up to thank her, urging her not to leave. She brought out a beautiful square box and said it contained snacks her daughter had sent from America. Jiang Du hadn’t intended to accept it, but recalling her grandma’s advice, she took it.

“Is your grandpa home?” The old woman seemed a bit embarrassed. Jiang Du took one look at her and understood. She took the initiative to ask, “Is something broken at your place? I can have my grandpa come over. He can fix anything.”

And just as she thought, the bathroom faucet was broken. Jiang Du ran to the hardware store outside the residential community to buy a replacement of the same model. “When my grandpa gets back, he’ll install it for you, so don’t worry,” she told the old woman.

The old woman thanked her profusely once more, holding Jiang Du’s hand. “Sweetie, if you ever want any snacks, you come to Grandma’s house, you hear? Don’t you be a stranger.”

She had forgotten that Jiang Du was grown up now, no longer a little child who would run over to a neighbor’s house without a second thought just for a snack.

The skin was dry and inelastic, its texture so distinct against Jiang Du’s own hand. That was the feeling of old age, stark and real. As she left, she glanced back. The old woman was sitting quietly in the same spot, the television blaring a loud, melodramatic, and long-winded family drama.

But it was the only sign of life in the room.

For some reason, that sight made Jiang Du feel an overwhelming sadness. She turned back. “Grandma Weng, what were you looking at just now?”

The old woman’s eyes lit up. In that instant, it was as if a switch had been flipped, and her face became animated.

And so, Jiang Du stayed and listened to the old woman’s photo album stories for a full half hour. Partway through, her grandma came to look for her—dinner gets cold quickly in the winter—but upon seeing the two of them, she quietly left.

On the twenty-eighth, there was still no news from home. Around noon, her grandma’s phone rang. The moment she answered, she subconsciously glanced at Jiang Du. Jiang Du pretended not to notice and ate her meal in peace. Afterwards, her grandma went into her bedroom, from which the faint murmur of a low voice could be heard.

Her grandpa, meanwhile, started telling Jiang Du stories about herding cattle when he was a boy. His voice was so sonorous that Jiang Du suspected half the neighborhood could hear him whenever he spoke.

Whenever he recalled the past, every wrinkle on her grandpa’s face seemed to come alive. He said that a young calf loved nothing more than to nuzzle its mother, on and on, and the mother cow would lick it endlessly in return. Later, when they sold the calf, the mother cow cried and cried, which everyone found fascinating. But fascinating or not, it still had to be sold.

Jiang Du picked at her rice, not saying a word. Her grandpa was lost in his storytelling, ending with a long sigh as he said he’d become an old ox himself, almost out of strength.

“Who wants to hear those same old stories every day?” Her grandma emerged from the bedroom, complaining as she tapped her grandpa’s bowl. “Just eat your food.”

After speaking, she kicked the old man under the table and said brusquely, “Nannan said that since she came for the Mid-Autumn Festival, she won’t be coming for the New Year. The weather’s bad, too; there’s heavy snow.”

“If she’s not coming, she’s not coming. That’s that. A trip here is more trouble than it’s worth.” Though her grandpa said this, his eyes couldn’t help but drift toward the balcony, where many cured meats and sausages were hanging. “Only the ones you make yourself are clean,” was his mantra.

This was a sensitive subject. Jiang Du, ever the sensible one, stood up. “Is there any more rice in the pot? I’ll go get another serving.”

She went into the kitchen, and as she looked up, she noticed how bleak the sweet osmanthus tree outside the window looked.

This New Year’s Eve, she was supposed to be happy that she finally didn’t have to go to her aunt’s house. But was she, really?

The weather forecast was accurate. On New Year’s Eve, a heavy snow began to fall.

Her grandma wanted to invite Grandma Weng over to watch television with them, but Grandma Weng was particularly stubborn this time and absolutely refused.

The snow was heavy, lending the world a gentle serenity. Behind some windows, silhouettes gathered amid laughter and joyous chatter; in other places, solitary figures sat alone in the vast, snowy night. The Spring Festival Gala was boisterous. When Jiang Du grew tired of watching, she went to the bathroom. She slid the window open, and a blast of wind and snow hit her face, wonderfully cool.

'Grandma Weng is all alone,' she thought.

And what about Wei Qingyue? Had his mother returned?

Just past midnight, the QQ groups came alive with a chorus of “Happy New Year.” The city had banned firecrackers, and the holiday spirit always felt like it was lacking something.

The moment the host on TV finished the countdown and yelled “One!” Jiang Du said to herself in her heart, 'Happy New Year.'

Just like those letters, it had no addressee and no signature. Outside, only the snow fell without end, silently blanketing the world of mortals.