The next time Nan Jiu saw Song Ting was at the station square. He hadn’t changed much. A black short-sleeve cardigan paired with beige casual pants, his aura still cold and stern, much like when he had seen her off all those years ago.
But every time Nan Jiu returned, she seemed like a different person. A white tank top clung to her slender frame, a red and white checkered shirt tied around her waist, denim shorts revealing her long, straight legs.
As she stepped out of the train station, her platinum blonde hair caught the blazing sun and fluttered in the wind, each strand shimmering with golden light.
Song Ting spotted her immediately in the crowd, took the suitcase from her hands, and greeted, “Sitting that long, is your back hurting?”
“Did my grandfather tell you?”
“Yeah. Let’s get in the car first.”
Nan Jiu’s gaze drifted to the SUV behind Song Ting. She circled to the back of the car and teased, “Uncle Song, are you rich now?”
Song Ting loaded the luggage into the trunk, his eyes briefly sweeping over her face. This was the first time she had properly called him that.
Once inside the car, Song Ting grabbed a soft cushion and placed it behind Nan Jiu’s waist.
Nan Jiu had taken over the school’s Street Dance Club from her Senior. Although she’d returned early to Hat Alley, she still had to manage all the club’s affairs. Song Ting wanted to ask about her back injury, but Nan Jiu kept her head down, texting nonstop.
The car moved steadily. Occasionally, Nan Jiu lifted her eyelashes and, through the reflection on the windshield, quietly glanced at Song Ting. His hair was shorter than before, the sharpness faded, leaving him looking more profound and unfathomable.
As the car turned, the muscles in his arm tensed slightly, his movements smooth and steady. When the traffic light turned red, he stopped the car. Nan Jiu withdrew her gaze and resumed texting.
The car pulled up in front of the tea house. Nan Jiu jumped out and rushed inside, calling for her grandfather. Her flowing light hair reminded Nan Jiu’s Grandfather of a golden lion mane.
He frowned, tugged at a tuft of hair, and scolded her, “So young and already with a head full of white hair, what kind of image is that?”
“That’s called bleaching. You wouldn’t understand.”
Seeing the cut watermelon on the tea table, Nan Jiu pulled out a chair and started biting into it. Song Ting took her luggage from the car and brought it inside.
“You didn’t even mention me on the phone. When you needed money, you thought of me. But normally, you only call a few times. You don’t even come back to visit during holidays.”
“I want to come back too. I just can’t.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather handed her an empty bowl; she spit the watermelon seeds into it.
Hearing this, he guessed something and asked, “Your dad hasn’t given you your tuition?”
“He left his job.”
Nan Jiu’s voice was muffled deep in her chest, and the seeds flew out fast.
“That bastard, he’s old enough to know better.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather sighed in frustration and anger.
“Weren’t you the one who told me to come to you if I had difficulties? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked you for money!”
He glanced sideways at her.
“When did I say that?”
“Just last time when you told Song Ting to bring it up.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather grew more confused.
“Which time?”
“The time you bought me the computer!”
Nan Jiu tossed the watermelon rind aside, staring at him, waiting for recognition.
He looked suspicious.
“Computer?”
Song Ting set down the suitcase and came out of the house. Nan Jiu’s Grandfather’s gaze shifted to him briefly before withdrawing without another word. He picked up a cup and sipped his tea.
Nan Jiu’s eyes flicked, framing Song Ting’s figure in her peripheral vision.
When Nan Jiu went to her room, she noticed the bedding had been changed. No longer the old bamboo mat that always left imprints on her face, but a soft light blue ice silk mat. The walls were freshly painted, the floor fitted with wooden planks, and an air conditioner installed.
Against the wall stood a new double-door wardrobe with drawers. She pulled open a drawer, ran her fingers over the spotless surface inside and out.
Nan Jiu took her clothes out of the suitcase and hung each piece neatly in the wardrobe.
Taking a shower was a luxury for Nan Jiu—a chance to clear her mind. Standing under the showerhead, letting the warm water soak her skin and seep into her pores, she felt completely relaxed, especially after such a long journey.
Song Ting noticed her lingering in the bathroom all evening. It wasn’t until midnight that he came from the attic down to the second floor to shower. Opening the bathroom door, he saw the hair near the sink tidied up, the damp floor mopped dry.
The old-style wall clock on the first floor ticked steadily. Night was deep, and Nan Jiu’s Grandfather’s room was already dark. The tea house, noisy by day, was utterly silent at night.
Song Ting finished showering and opened the bathroom door. In the dim hallway, a slender figure leaned against the staircase railing, head down, looking at her phone. The cold glow from the screen gently lit her face, like a soft veil tinged with a faint, distant chill.
Nan Jiu heard the door open, turned off her phone, and lifted her head. Her narrow, long eyes hid beneath strands of hair, a faint sparkle of golden dust flowing within.
The bathroom was warm. A few steps took Song Ting up to the attic. He came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but loose shorts, no shirt.
The interplay of light and shadow played over his dark skin. The mermaid line winding below his abs vanished into his waistband.
Droplets of water ran from his hair down his shoulders, finally resting on his sculpted chest.
Nan Jiu stared boldly, her gaze roaming over the exposed contours of his muscles—a near-aggressive masculinity, intense and mature, completely different from the boys she met at school.
It was also worlds apart from the calm, detached Song Ting of daylight.
Feeling her eyes on him, Song Ting turned slightly, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, draped it over his shoulder, and asked, “Not asleep yet? Need something from me?”
Nan Jiu straightened and stepped into the light. The childishness on her face had long faded, replaced by a lazy gaze and a faint aura of detachment.
“Did you pay for that computer yourself?”
She asked bluntly.
Song Ting lowered his eyelids, not denying it.
“And you lied, telling me Grandpa bought it. I thought maybe the old man forgot to give me a red envelope but had a change of heart!”
Song Ting looked up.
“Don’t say it like that. If I said I bought it, you’d feel guilty.”
Nan Jiu’s lips curved slightly. “Thanks for thinking I have a conscience. And telling me Grandpa said to come to him if I had trouble—I really believed you. I was even a little touched when I left.”
“That wasn’t my words, that was your grandfather’s.”
Nan Jiu tilted her neck slightly, golden hair cascading over one shoulder, her cold, translucent skin seeming almost glazed.
She recalled the day at the station when Song Ting handed her the computer, saying it was from her grandfather, then hurriedly added, “If you run into trouble, call me.”
He hadn’t said it was on Grandpa’s behalf, but because the words came after the gift, Nan Jiu had connected the two. All these years, no matter how hard things got, she never lost her composure, always believing her grandfather was there—her last line of retreat.
Now, that retreat was just a polite phrase from Song Ting back then. Thinking of it that way, it was almost laughable.
A trace of mockery appeared in Nan Jiu’s eyes.
“If you hate me going to internet cafes so much, why buy me a computer?”
Song Ting’s calm voice came from the corridor.
“Better I buy it than you going home and trying to get money the wrong way.”
Nan Jiu’s faint smile remained, but the light in her eyes hardened. She understood—Song Ting didn’t want to see her go down the wrong path, and he’d gone as far as buying the computer to stop her from doing something reckless.
The golden dust in her eyes swirled into a barely perceptible vortex, then slowly faded. She yawned, turned, and headed downstairs, her voice light as she called back from around the corner, “Thanks.”
Song Ting caught those three words. When he turned around, her figure had already vanished at the stairwell bend.
It was the first time Nan Jiu had ever said thank you to him.
***
Every time Nan Jiu returned to Hat Alley, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather hoped she would settle down and learn the art of brewing tea, tempering her temper into calm steadiness.
She had failed the first few times. The moment she sat at the tea table, it was as if needles pricked her, making her fidget and unable to sit still.
This time, perhaps because of her injured back and being unable to run around, she finally had the patience to sit with her grandfather at the tea table for a whole morning.
Tea brewing at the tea house was an art that required integration of skills. Water temperature, utensils, tea-to-water ratio, and brewing technique all varied according to the tea type.
Nan Jiu listened to her grandfather’s endless rambling all morning, finding it even more overwhelming than sitting in class for National Economic Accounting Introduction.
Seeing her drooping eyelids, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather couldn’t help but say, “Bored already? This is just the beginning. I haven’t even told you about serving guests. Look at your Uncle Song working—stop staring at your phone all day.”
Nan Jiu joked, “If I learn it, will you hand the tea house over to me?”
Her grandfather narrowed his eyes.
“Dream on. Your dad’s still around!”
Too tired to argue, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather rested for a while. As he got up, he reminded her, “You don’t know how to brew tea, but you can handle the accounts, right? After all, you’re a college student.”
“Don’t they just scan a QR code now? What accounts?”
“You do as I say. No arguments.”
Leaning on his Wutong Cane, his steps were unsteady.
Nan Jiu glanced at her grandfather’s back. The cane, once a symbol of his strength, now bore part of his weight.
In the afternoon, Nan Jiu leaned over the counter, her gaze following Song Ting’s comings and goings. This was her grandfather’s assignment—to observe how Song Ting served guests and be tested on it in the evening.
So, all afternoon, Nan Jiu’s eyes stuck to Song Ting. She didn’t pick up any tricks in guest service but noticed his tea-brewing technique.
She’d never paid attention before, but Song Ting had nimble hands. His palms were broad, easily holding several teacups, single-handedly carrying three pots of boiling water with no trouble.
That afternoon, while several tables of guests chatted noisily, Song Ting moved effortlessly among them. Multiple groups called him at once, but he stayed calm, following his own rhythm. He knew which table he’d served first and turned back to top up their hot water.
Nan Jiu’s gaze landed on his slender, well-defined fingers. His index and middle fingers pinched a tea lid, the spout hovering above a cup.
Nan Jiu recognized this as a “High Pour”—pouring water from a height so the tea froth rose evenly and the color blended smoothly.
After pouring, he lifted the pot with no drips on the cup’s edge. This was the technique for Rock Tea, which her grandfather had just explained that morning.
Song Ting noticed Nan Jiu watching and occasionally glanced back amid his busy work. Their eyes met briefly, but he didn’t pause, continuing as before.
Nan Jiu wasn’t idle either. Some elderly guests left cash behind. Though times changed, these old patrons clung to their old ways, having spent their whole lives in Hat Alley.
Later, when the crowd thinned, Song Ting relaxed. He came to a tea table and beckoned Nan Jiu, “You try.”
Nan Jiu moved from behind the counter and sat opposite him. Usually, when in the tea house during the day, Song Ting wore light-colored, textured clothes. The drape and fresh fabric gave him a steady, reliable aura.
He took a clean Gaiwan, warmed the cup, added tea, swirled it for aroma, rinsed, and brewed quietly without a word. Nan Jiu just sat and watched.
After pouring out the tea, Song Ting divided it and handed a cup to her. Leaning back, Nan Jiu stretched out her right hand to take it. Song Ting slowly raised his eyelids. His dark eyes were deep and burning, his hand gripping the fairness cup firmly.
Nan Jiu asked puzzled, “Isn’t this for me?”
“It’s for you. See if you can catch it.”
Two old men sitting nearby, regulars at the tea house, chuckled at the scene.
Nan Jiu glanced their way, and one of them waved at her. Understanding immediately, she stretched out both hands to catch the cup. Song Ting still didn’t loosen his grip; his wrist hovered above the tea table.
Nan Jiu straightened and stood up decisively to catch it, but after a long struggle, she still didn’t get to drink the tea. Though she wasn’t a big fan of tea, after sitting there for a while, watching Song Ting’s careful brewing, she wanted to taste it.
Yet Song Ting coldly watched her fumble, refusing to let go. Finally, he twisted his wrist and poured the tea out.
Nan Jiu was instantly flustered.
“Are you kidding? Why pour it away?”
“Tea should be drunk at the right temperature. Once cold, the taste is gone.”
After finishing that cup, Song Ting got up. Nan Jiu tried to sneak a sip of the Gaiwan’s contents while he wasn’t paying, but he took it away without giving her a chance.
Song Ting went inside to tidy up the cups. Nan Jiu sulked behind the counter by herself. She took out her phone and searched how to receive tea properly.
She hadn’t known how many rules there were—how elders and juniors should show respect when offering tea, and how equals should behave. Reviewing her earlier actions, she realized she’d barely gotten it right, feeling like the sun was setting on her understanding.
At dinner, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather asked what she had learned that afternoon. Holding her bowl, she cast a sidelong glance at Song Ting and teased, “I learned not to take tea from others lightly, or else it’s just a fruitless effort.”
Song Ting’s eyes twinkled with a smile but said nothing.
Her grandfather scolded her, “All you do is spout nonsense.”