Overdo

A large bruise had formed on her leg, and the next day she accidentally bumped it against the barre, gasping softly in pain. After two hours of practice, the pain in her leg worsened, forcing her to stop. With the New Year approaching, everyone felt a bit lazy. When the afternoon session ended, the director announced he was treating everyone to a meal, and they all went cheerfully. Only then did they realize the hosts were several businessmen sponsoring the Dance Troupe. Fortunately, the crowd was lively, and the noise of laughter and chatter drowned out even the singing and storytelling on stage.

Susu sat in a corner, where she could clearly hear every word. Having been away from her hometown for so long, the Suzhou dialect was like scattered wildflowers in her memory—a branch here, a branch there, swaying loosely in the wind. The pipa’s notes were crisp and pleasant, plucking at her heartstrings. The meal passed in a daze, and it wasn’t until the shark fin soup was served that she heard someone beside her ask softly, "Are you from the south, Miss Ren?" Startled, she saw it was the Mr. Zhang Mulan had mentioned. She replied softly, "Yes." Mr. Zhang said, "What a coincidence, so am I," and began to vividly describe the scenery and customs of their hometown. His eloquence was captivating, and even those nearby were drawn into his stories. Susu had moved to Wuchi with her uncle at a young age, and her childhood memories had long faded into a vague nostalgia, so she listened with particular attentiveness.

After the meal, everyone played cards in the private room. Susu, who didn’t know how to play, excused herself to leave. Mr. Zhang, intending to follow her out, said, "I have a car; let me take you home, Miss Ren." Susu shook her head and replied, "Thank you, but I’ll take a pedicab. It’s quite close." Mr. Zhang didn’t press further and personally hailed a pedicab for her, even paying the fare in advance. Susu felt uneasy but had no choice but to thank him.

The next day, when Mr. Zhang invited everyone out again, she declined, claiming a headache. Alone at home with nothing to do, she idly warmed an orange by the stove in the cold weather, the faintly sour fragrance wafting through the air, though she had no appetite to eat it. Bored, she looked around. With the New Year approaching, the damp walls had developed many black spots, so she mixed some paste from flour and began covering them with white paper. After pasting a few sheets, she heard someone outside ask, "Is Miss Ren home?" Peering through the window, she saw it was Mr. Zhang. Surprised that he had come to her home, she felt somewhat uneasy but had to invite him in. Smiling, she said, "I’m sorry, the place is a mess." Mr. Zhang took in the situation and immediately understood, rolling up his sleeves and declaring, "How can I let a young woman do this kind of work?" Without waiting for a response, he moved a stool and began pasting the paper for her.

Unable to refuse, she could only hand him the paper. As he worked, he chatted with her, and she learned that his name was Zhang Mingshu, his family ran an industrial business, and he had recently returned from studying abroad. Seeing his demeanor, she suspected he was someone who had never done manual labor, let alone such rough work, and she felt a twinge of guilt. By the time the wall was fully covered, it was almost dark. He jumped off the stool, clapped his hands, and looked around the room with a touch of pride. "It’s much brighter now," he said.Susu said, "You've been troubled for half a day—let me treat you to a meal." Zhang Mingshu heard this with unexpected delight and, without any polite refusals, simply replied, "Alright then, but I get to pick the place."

In the end, he took her to a side street to eat dan dan noodles. Dressed in a Western suit and leather shoes, he stood out conspicuously in the small shop, yet he paid no mind, only exclaiming with delight at the spiciness, his temperament remarkably open and cheerful. After finishing the noodles, he walked her back. The winter night market was quite desolate, with only a few small stalls at the street corners selling wontons and sweet rice balls. A vendor selling pinwheels was carrying his frame home, with only three pinwheels left inserted into it, spinning and whirring in the wind—the sound was quite pleasant. Noticing her glance at the pinwheels twice, he immediately said, "Wait a moment." He took out some change, bought all three, and handed them to her. She finally gave a faint smile, "Why buy all of them?" He said, "I’ve thought it out for you: one to stick on the fence so you can hear it from afar, one on the windowsill so you can hear it inside the house, and one for you to play with."

Such a childish toy, because no one had ever bought one for her before, brought her genuine joy as she held it in her hand. All the way back, the wind blew, making the pinwheels whir softly, while he chattered on about this and that. She had never met anyone so talkative, able to speak incessantly. He shared amusing stories from his time studying abroad, embarrassing incidents at the factory, and tales about his family. Only when they reached the gate of her family’s courtyard did he finally stop, still looking as if he had more to say. "Ah, we’re here already," he remarked, then added, "You have no training tomorrow—I’ll come find you to go eat taro at North City Corner. I guarantee it’s authentic." Though he seemed careless by nature, he had surprisingly noticed her fondness for taro at yesterday’s dinner.

The next day, he indeed came again. The weather had turned overcast, and he wore a plaid suit over his sweater. As soon as he entered, he said, "It might be colder today than yesterday—don’t just wear a lined jacket." She had only worn a plain lined jacket the day before, so at his remark, she had no choice but to fetch her overcoat and put it on. The two of them walked again. Though the distance was far, with such a lively person chatting along the way, she didn’t find it dull. By the time they reached North City Corner, they had walked for nearly three hours, traversing most of the city just to eat sweet taro. Susu found herself smiling unconsciously at the thought. He happened to look up and see it, staring in surprise for a long moment before asking, "What are you smiling about?"

Susu said, "I’m smiling because we walked so far just for this." He grew apologetic and said, "That’s my fault. You might end up with sore feet later, but if we’d taken a car, we’d have arrived in no time, and then I wouldn’t have been able to talk with you much." She hadn’t expected him to confess so frankly and slowly lowered her head.

Seeing her reaction, he fell silent for a while before saying, "Miss Ren, I know I’m being presumptuous, but you know I can’t keep things to myself. Ever since I met you last time, I’ve known in my heart that the wife of my dreams is you, Miss Ren."

Susu’s heart was in turmoil. After a long pause, she said, "You are a very good person, but I’m not worthy of you."

Zhang Mingshu had long anticipated she would say this and replied, "No, I have no regard for social status—my family is very open-minded. If it’s too soon to speak of this now, as long as you’re willing to give me some time, I’ll prove to you how sincere I am."Susu felt a pang of heartache, that suffocating lump once again choking her throat. She merely whispered, "I'm not worthy of Mr. Zhang. Please don't come looking for me anymore." He gazed at her blankly and asked, "Was I too presumptuous?" Then added, "Do you dislike me mentioning my family situation?"

No matter what he said, Susu only shook her head. Refusing to believe it was irreparable, he ultimately showed no discouragement and said, "Then can we at least be ordinary friends?" His eyes held almost a plea. Susu's heart ached with pity; she neither nodded nor shook her head.

That afternoon, she took a pedicab back, truly too exhausted to walk. When the vehicle reached the alley entrance, she got off and bid him farewell, saying, "Please don't come looking for me anymore." He didn't respond, instead handing her a paper bag. The sugar-roasted chestnuts inside were still warm. Clutching the bag, she walked home and spotted the pinwheel stuck on the fence from afar, whirring like a child sobbing. She took out her keys to unlock the door, but it was slightly ajar. Worried she'd forgotten to lock it, she found the inner door also slightly open. Pushing it open, she entered, the chestnuts in her arms emitting a faint warmth that instantly dissipated into the cold air. Holding the paper bag, she stood there and murmured, her voice as soft as a dream, "Why are you here?"

He asked, "Where have you been?"

She hadn't noticed if there was a parked car at the alley entrance. "I went out with a friend," she said.

He asked again, "What friend?"