Quarter past two in the afternoon.

Under a photinia tree at the entrance of the complex, Wang Yuxin was still going. And going. And going.

Xu Ye, running on bad sleep and an early morning of nonstop chatter, had reached his limit. He reached over and covered her mouth with his hand.

“Not another word. Say one more thing and I leave you here.”

“Mmph—”

Yuxin’s cheeks went red. She made a series of muffled sounds, eyes wide and indignant above his hand.

“Quiet!”

She deflated immediately, the fight leaving her. Her big eyes looked up at him with maximum pathos.

Xu Ye had never had strong defenses against that particular expression — especially from someone this age. His hand dropped.

And Yuxin swung a small fist directly at him.

He stepped back just in time, caught her by the forehead, and held her at arm’s length while she windmilled at him uselessly.

“You horrible brother!”

“You terrible brother!”

She threw everything she had at him. He was completely unscathed.

This was the scene Chen Qingqing observed through the car window as they pulled up.

The vehicle stopped beside them. Xu Ye straightened. “Car’s here — Wang Yuxin, behave.”

Yuxin glared at him, then turned toward the commercial van — and watched the window roll down.

A face appeared.

Yuxin’s outrage evaporated on the spot. She turned back to Xu Ye with stars in her eyes. “Xu Ye gege, she’s so pretty!”

You’re standing next to her calling her ‘older sister’? That’s a missed opportunity if I’ve ever seen one.

Qingqing was not accustomed to being complimented so directly, to her face, at point-blank range. Something faintly uncertain crossed her expression.

Xu Ye reached over and gave Yuxin’s hair a light tug, steering her back, then stepped forward and pulled open the car door.

“Quick introduction — my cousin Wang Yuxin. Just finished primary school.”

“That was sixth grade, not primary school!”

“Same thing.”

Qingqing gave a quiet “mm” and said: “Get in.”

Xu Ye rubbed his hands together, already feeling the cold air from inside. “Make room—”

“You’re in the front.”

“My cousin gets carsick. She should sit up front.”

“I do NOT get carsick!”

Qingqing said it again, flatly: “You’re in the front. She’s with me.”

“Sure—” Xu Ye had barely agreed when Yuxin shoved past him, jumped into the back seat, and settled in next to Qingqing, who shifted over without complaint.

Xu Ye stood on the pavement for a moment.

I should not have brought her.

Next time. Next time I am absolutely not bringing her.

He got in the front, registered Wang Ruxue in the driver’s seat, and arranged his face into something pleasant. “Auntie Wang.”

“Where to?”

“The pedestrian shopping street.”

Qingqing looked up. “Why not a mall?”

“Mall is all brand names. Can’t afford those. The street stalls are cheaper.”

Qingqing, who had come purely for the air and change of scenery, had no particular opinion on this. She let it go.

Wang Ruxue drove.

“Jiejie, you’re so fair!” [TL: 姐姐 (jiě jie) — older sister, used as a polite and affectionate form of address for young women who are older than the speaker.]

“…”

“Jiejie, your legs are so long — are you like 170cm?”

“…”

“Jiejie, my brother’s so dumb — how did you even meet him?”

“…”

Xu Ye pulled in a long breath and held it. “Wang Yuxin. One more word and I throw you out of the moving vehicle.”

“It’s not your car. You can’t do anything.”

He had nothing to say to that.

Qingqing caught the expression on his face — somewhere between furious and helpless — and the corner of her mouth moved.

She turned to Yuxin. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

What followed should have been awkward — a thirteen-year-old who couldn’t stop talking and a seventeen-year-old who almost never did. But somehow it wasn’t. Yuxin kept asking questions, and Qingqing, instead of shutting down, kept answering. Back and forth, one question at a time, until something resembling a conversation had materialized between them.

Xu Ye watched from the front seat and shook his head.

Okay, so she’s good for something.

Wang Ruxue observed all of it in silence and drove. By tonight she’d give Jiang Meilin a full account of how the afternoon had gone — that was part of the arrangement.

The van parked near the pedestrian street. All three got out.

Xu Ye pointed toward a hair salon up the block. “I’m going to get a trim. I’ll meet you—”

Yuxin had already grabbed Qingqing’s hand.

“You go do that. Jiejie and I are going shopping.”

“I—”

“Come on, jiejie.”

And just like that, Qingqing was being towed away by a thirteen-year-old, the two of them already talking. Xu Ye stood on the pavement, the third wheel at his own outing.

He walked into the salon.

The stylist materialized immediately. “Handsome, getting a haircut?”

In a hair salon, every male customer was automatically handsome and every female was automatically beautiful. It meant nothing.

Xu Ye nodded, went to get his hair washed, then sat down in front of the mirror. The stylist reached for the clippers.

“Hey — what are you doing?”

“Cutting your hair.”

“You didn’t ask me what I wanted.”

It’s always the same, the stylist thought. Short on the sides, shorter on top, fringe stays.

But the customer looked annoyed, so: “How do you want it?”

“A micro-parted layered cut with a soft fringe.” [TL: 微分碎盖 (wēi fēn suì gài) — a style featuring a soft, middle or side part with layered, textured top hair and a wispy fringe. At this point in 2014, it wasn’t yet a mainstream trend in China. Xu Ye is about to accidentally introduce it.]

The stylist stared at him blankly.

Xu Ye realized the term didn’t exist yet and sighed. “Fine, I’ll walk you through it. Put down the clippers.”

The clippers made him nervous. A bowl cut was not recoverable.

“Start with the sides — clip the top section out of the way first. Keep the sides at about three centimeters. The transition should be gradual.”

“Same at the back — aim for a soft C-curve so it looks full.”

“Top and fringe — leave about twelve or thirteen centimeters. Volume at the crown, texture in the fringe.”

The stylist followed instructions with the energy of a student in an exam.

What should have been a five-minute job took fifteen. Then a wash, and Xu Ye picked up the blow dryer and did the finishing himself — a simple side-part, dried into shape.

The stylist stared at the result.

That’s… actually really good.

“Hey — what did you say this style was called?”

“Micro-parted layered cut.”

Xu Ye paid and left.

He didn’t know it, but he had just nudged China’s hairdressing industry approximately two years forward.

Nearby, inside a women’s clothing store:

“How much for this one?”

“A hundred.”

“Fifty. I’ll take it at fifty.”

“Excuse me, young lady — you can’t just cut the price in half right off the bat—”

“You selling it or not? I can leave.”

“Fine, fine, don’t go, it’s yours—”

“Here’s your money.”

“How old are you? What year in school?”

“First year of middle school after summer.”

“Sharp little thing.”

“Say that again and I’m returning it.”

“That was a compliment!”

Chen Qingqing had watched Wang Yuxin reduce a hundred-yuan T-shirt to fifty yuan in under ninety seconds. The whole negotiation had been fluid, fast, and completely without embarrassment.

She hadn’t known you could bargain for clothes.

She hadn’t known a thirteen-year-old could be this efficient.

She found herself quietly impressed.

“Jiejie, let’s go.”

“Just the one?”

Yuxin smiled. “I don’t really need clothes. I want to save the rest for Xu Ye gege.”

“For him?”

She nodded, then stood up on her toes and leaned toward Qingqing’s ear.

“He’s really tight with money. This morning I saw his boxers drying on the balcony and they had a hole in them.” A conspiratorial pause. “Don’t tell him I told you. Boys have their pride.”

(End of Chapter)