Whеn а person fееls guilty, their thоughts tend to run wild. Undеr nоrmаl сirсumstаnces, if sоmeone asked Jiang Du whаt "ghоstwriting" meаnt, she wоuld раtiеntly ехрlаin—аfter аll, such a term соuld be сlarified in a singlе sentenсe, far simрlеr thаn а mаth рrоblem.
But Jiаng Du didn’t rеaсt thаt wаy. It fеlt as if sоmеthing had struck hеr hеad, lеaving her dazеd. Like a highly аlеrt littlе foх, she immediatеlу thоught of hеr QQ usеrnаmе. Sоmе things had tо bе cоncеaled, nоt a singlе hint соuld be rеvеаlеd, even if it meаnt death.
"I don’t know. Why dоn’t you loоk it up in a diсtionаrу?" she sаid calmly, her palms sweating in the middle of winter—how pathetic.
Yet Jiang Du appeared every bit the gentle young girl, not someone who would lie. Her face was all innocence and purity.
Wei Qingyue’s smile grew even more pronounced. He didn’t say anything, whether he believed her or simply couldn’t be bothered to expose her. He didn’t even ask, "Then how did you score so high in Chinese?" Instead, he stood by the window, pointing to the large tree in front of the library, and said:
"Now it doesn’t look like a person anymore, does it?"
Jiang Du nearly jumped. Wei Qingyue was adept at such probing games, carrying them out with effortless ease, his tone casual as if making small talk. She played dumb:
"What?"
Wei Qingyue turned to look at her. She didn’t dare meet his gaze. The moment their eyes connected, hers began to dart away, blinking incessantly, her voice trembling slightly.
The boy tilted his head, studying her inquisitively for a moment before smiling again—a smile that sent shivers down her spine. Jiang Du suddenly realized how much this person seemed to enjoy smiling. She stood there, adopting a posture of gentle humility, unsure whether to step forward or turn away, her body stiff as a board. In her mind, she desperately calculated: If he stops talking to me, I’ll just leave.
And indeed, Wei Qingyue said nothing more. He withdrew his gaze and leaned against the window, letting the cold wind blow over him. His hair was styled attractively, quite long—longer than any other boy’s—each strand seeming to reflect his personality.
"I should go…" she began, but Wei Qingyue had another question for her: "Are you alone for the New Year?"
Jiang Du was taken aback. She couldn’t help but look at his face: "I’m not sure. I might go to my aunt’s house on New Year’s Eve, or I might stay in my hometown. But afterward, I’ll be able to spend time with Grandma and Grandpa."
The New Year isn’t just about New Year’s Eve and the first day of the year—it’s an emotional concept. Jiang Du subtly emphasized that she wouldn’t be alone. She didn’t want him to think she was pitiful, to be seen as someone in need of sympathy. That wouldn’t do.
"What about your parents?"
The girl’s expression faltered for a few seconds. She rubbed her nose and said, "I don’t know. I’ve always lived with Grandma and Grandpa. I’ve never met them."
A moment of silence fell between them.
Outside, the sky was covered in dark, layered clouds, with not a single ray of sunlight breaking through.
"What about you for the New Year?" Jiang Du decided to ask him as well.
Wei Qingyue replied calmly, "Same as usual. I’ll make something to eat, play some games, read a bit. I don’t know if my mom will come back this year. I do have parents."
"Make something to eat…" The phrasing was hard to describe. Jiang Du guessed that probably no one cooked for him.
Another long silence followed.
She forced a smile: "Do you think I’m pitiful because I don’t have parents?"
"Did I say that?" Wei Qingyue frowned. "I didn’t mean to imply that, did I? But yes, compared to most people, it is a bit unfortunate.""I'm also a normal person. Have you seen 'Fortune Teller'?" Jiang Du's face flushed red, as if she needed to correct something.
Wei Qingyue raised an eyebrow: "Fortune teller?"
"Not the kind under the overpass," Jiang Du said, quickly shaking her head. "Well, sort of. This documentary is about a fortune teller who's blind and has a disabled leg. His name is Li Baicheng—quite a fitting name."
At this point, unsure whether Wei Qingyue was interested in hearing more, Jiang Du abruptly stopped.
Wei Qingyue waited a few seconds, looked at her with confusion, and smiled. "Why did you stop? I'm listening."
"Alright then," Jiang Du said in her slow, deliberate tone, as if she were reluctantly continuing. "The fortune teller has a group of friends who are beggars. The director asked him, 'These people have no joy in life, so why do they keep living?' Do you know what he said? He got quite angry and replied, 'What kind of question is that? Just because there's no joy doesn't mean you shouldn't live. That's too heartless.'"
Wei Qingyue looked at her thoughtfully, let out an "mm," and a faint smile reappeared at the corner of his mouth. "You watch this kind of film?"
His expression clearly showed surprise. He had assumed girls were busy watching idol dramas.
"This film is really good. That group of people, they still live so tenaciously. You have no idea how tattered his clothes were, he..." Jiang Du's heart suddenly ached, but she suppressed it fiercely, thinking, I just don't have parents, but Li Baicheng is a hero of life. Yet she didn't say it out loud—it sounded too literary and embarrassingly sentimental—so she trailed off vaguely. "After watching that film, I realized some people live like that. But even in such conditions, they still strive to live."
Wei Qingyue kept smiling faintly, his smile making Jiang Du a bit unhappy. She felt frustrated—she wasn't the type to preach empty inspiration. She wanted to explain further but realized she had already said too much. Glancing around, she said, "Well, I should go now."
She reverted to her shy, somewhat reserved demeanor. Wei Qingyue nodded. "No more chatting?"
Jiang Du took a deep breath inwardly, pursed her lips, and said softly, "I should go home."
With that, she clutched the plastic bag of books tightly to her chest and walked away quickly, almost unable to believe she had rambled on about so many random things with Wei Qingyue. The wind stung her eyes, the cold air choked her throat, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help curling upward again and again.
Winter break had begun.
This conversation would be enough for her to savor throughout the entire holiday.
Grandpa had made sausages and hung them on the balcony. Every household had them. When the cold wind blew, the sausages became dry and hard, but when steamed with rice, each bite was fragrant and tender. Or, stir-fried with fresh garlic shoots, they offered another flavor entirely. Jiang Du went to the market with Grandma to buy groceries. As the New Year approached, prices for everything had risen, but they still had to stock up.
Fish could be chosen fresh. Grandma smiled and pointed at the fish swimming in the large basin, saying she wanted this one and that one. The shopkeeper deftly scooped them up, whacked them a few times with the back of a knife, splashing water everywhere. Every time this happened, Jiang Du couldn't help thinking, No wonder the sages said, 'A gentleman stays away from the kitchen.' Seeing such killing is truly cruel. But fish eat mayflies, and humans eat everything—that's the law of nature... I just hope the fish don't suffer too much when they die...
"Sweetie, what are you thinking about?" Grandma called her affectionately. Jiang Du snapped out of her thoughts, smiled, and shook her head.Several fish were bought, one cooked fresh that day, the rest cut into pieces by Grandpa, marinated with scallions, ginger, garlic, salt, and cooking wine, and hung on the balcony. Now, the balcony was adorned with a dazzling array.
The table was laden with dishes—meat, vegetables, cold appetizers, and hot soup. Grandma packed a little of each into a lunchbox and asked Jiang Du to deliver it to the elderly lady across the way.
The grandmother across the way was eighty years old, living alone. Her husband had passed away early, and her only daughter was abroad. Jiang Du’s family had been neighbors with the old lady for many years. She liked to leave her door half-open, seemingly unconcerned about safety, and the sound of the television was always playing inside.
When Jiang Du entered, she called out, "Grandma Weng." The old woman was sitting quietly in the living room, flipping through a photo album. Hearing the noise, she asked as usual, "Is that Jiang Du?"
"It’s me." Jiang Du walked over and placed the food on the dining table. "Grandma asked me to bring this for you. Please eat it while it’s hot."
The old woman quickly stood up to thank her, not letting her leave. She took out a beautiful square box, saying it was snacks her daughter had sent from America. Jiang Du initially didn’t want to accept it, but remembering Grandma’s words, she took it.
"Is your grandpa at home?" The old woman looked a bit embarrassed. Jiang Du understood the reason at a glance and proactively asked, "Is something broken in your house? I’ll ask Grandpa to come over. He can fix anything."
Sure enough, the bathroom faucet was broken. Jiang Du ran to the hardware store outside the residential area and bought a faucet of the same model. She told the old woman, "Once Grandpa comes back, he’ll replace it for you. Don’t worry."
The old woman thanked her profusely again, holding Jiang Du’s hand and saying, "Sweetie, if you ever want any snacks, come to Grandma’s house. Don’t be shy."
She had forgotten that Jiang Du had grown up, was no longer a child who would run to a neighbor’s house without hesitation just for a bite of food.
Her skin was dry, having lost its elasticity, so clearly covering Jiang Du’s hand—it was the feeling of old age, utterly real. As Jiang Du left, she glanced back and saw the old woman sitting quietly in her place again. The television was playing a melodramatic and lengthy family drama, noisy.
But that was already the only sign of life in the room.
For some reason, Jiang Du suddenly felt overwhelmingly sad because of that glance. She turned back and asked, "Grandma Weng, what were you looking at earlier?"
The old woman’s eyes lit up. In that moment, it was as if some switch had been flipped, and she became radiant with energy.
So, Jiang Du stayed at the old woman’s house and listened to her tell stories from the photo album for a full half-hour. In the middle, Grandma came looking for her—winter meals cooled quickly—but when she saw the scene, she quietly retreated.
On the 28th, there was still no movement at home. At noon, Grandma’s phone rang. The moment she answered, she instinctively glanced at Jiang Du, who pretended not to notice and calmly continued eating. Later, Grandma went to her bedroom, and only faint, low voices could be heard.
Grandpa, meanwhile, told Jiang Du about herding cattle when he was young. His voice was booming, and Jiang Du wondered if half the neighborhood could hear him whenever he spoke.
Whenever he reminisced about the past, every wrinkle on Grandpa’s face became vividly animated. He said, "The calves loved rubbing against the old cows, never stopping. And the old cows would lick the calves endlessly. Later, when the calves were sold, the old cows shed tears nonstop. Everyone found it strange. But strange as it was, they still had to be sold."Jiang Du picked at her rice, staying silent. Grandpa was lost in his own storytelling, ending with a long sigh, saying he too had become an old ox, nearly out of strength.
"Who wants to hear those stale, worn-out stories every day?" Grandma complained as she came out of the bedroom, tapping Grandpa's bowl. "Hurry up and eat your meal."
With that, she kicked the old man under the table and mumbled, "Nannan said she won’t come after the New Year, even though she visited for Mid-Autumn Festival. The weather’s bad too—heavy snow is expected."
"If she doesn’t come, so be it. It’s just how things are. One trip here is enough hassle." Though Grandpa said this, his eyes unconsciously drifted toward the balcony, where many cured meats and sausages hung. "Homemade ones are cleaner," was his catchphrase.
This was a sensitive topic. Jiang Du, very understanding, stood up and said, "Is there more rice in the pot? I’ll go get some more."
She entered the kitchen and looked up, only then noticing the desolate osmanthus tree outside the window.
This New Year’s Eve, she should have been very happy that she finally didn’t have to go to her aunt’s house. But was that really the case?
The weather forecast was accurate—on New Year’s Eve, heavy snow fell.
Grandma wanted to invite Grandma Weng over to watch TV with them, but Grandma Weng was unusually stubborn this time, refusing no matter what.
The snow was heavy, enveloping the world in a gentle stillness. Some households were filled with laughter and chatter behind lit windows, while others sat alone in the vast, snowy night. The Spring Festival Gala was lively. Jiang Du, tired from watching, went to the bathroom. She opened the window, and a gust of wind and snow brushed against her face, cool and refreshing.
Grandma Weng is all alone, she thought.
So, has Wei Qingyue’s mother returned?
Just after midnight, the QQ group buzzed with waves of "Happy New Year" messages. Firecrackers were banned in the city, leaving the New Year atmosphere feeling somewhat incomplete.
As the TV host counted down to one, Jiang Du silently said in her heart, "Happy New Year."
Just like those letters—no salutation, no signature—only the endless snowfall outside, quietly blanketing the world.
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