The slab building where He Chengyan lived had only been completed the previous year. It reminded Qiu Yun of the welfare housing provided by Sima Feng’s work unit where she had lived as a young child, before kindergarten. In her memory, they were much like this—mostly six to eight stories tall, with load-bearing brick walls, red brick facades, no elevators, and only staircases. The layouts were small, generally lacking a proper living room; instead, there was a tiny dining area that doubled as a sitting room. The kitchens and bathrooms were extremely cramped, though larger units might have two bedrooms. The apartment He Chengyan currently occupied followed this basic layout, but for that era, it was considered an excellent benefit, allocated only to full professors who met specific criteria. The rooms were new but lacked any modern renovation, furnished with simple, old-fashioned pieces. It was perhaps the most spartan home Qiu Yun had ever seen, yet it was filled with wonderful sunlight. The entire place was bright and airy, and outside the windows, bare winter branches reached toward the sky.
He Chengyan sat on the sofa by the window and asked, "See what’s in the fridge? Zhou Wen bought quite a lot of groceries before he left."
Liang He opened the refrigerator and said, "How about dumplings? I brought some back from my uncle’s yesterday. They’re quick, so they won't delay your nap."
"That sounds good." He Chengyan turned to Qiu Yun. "Xiao Qiu, how does dumplings sound to you?"
"That would be great." Qiu Yun nodded repeatedly and started toward the kitchen. "Teacher Liang, let me help you."
"No need," Liang He said, shedding his heavy overcoat and hanging it on a standing rack by the door. "The kitchen is small; it can't fit two people." With that, he headed inside carrying the dumplings.
He Chengyan patted the seat beside her on the sofa. "Xiao Qiu, come sit. Don't be a stranger."
Qiu Yun walked over somewhat stiffly. Once again, it was just the two of them in the room. She sat beside He Chengyan, feeling a bit constrained, facing a television set.
Qiu Yun had only ever seen this kind of TV in period dramas—grey, squat, square, and thick, with two wires plugged into the back. The screen bulged outward; in modern terms, it was a "curved" screen. As she was examining it, she heard He Chengyan ask, "Would you like to watch TV?"
"Oh?" Qiu Yun was startled.
"My legs aren't very mobile, so you go ahead and turn it on. I’ll tell you how. Press that button on the top right." He Chengyan smiled at her.
Qiu Yun did as she was told and twisted the knob. With a *zzzt* sound, the screen first filled with snowy white static before the audio kicked in, and an image slowly flickered to life—though it was in black and white, showing two people performing opera.
"Switch it to CCTV-1 and see. They should be rebroadcasting the Spring Festival Gala today."
"Alright. Where is the remote?"
"The remote?"
Meeting He Chengyan’s eyes, Qiu Yun immediately corrected herself. "I mean—how do I change the channel?"
"Turn the knob next to it."
So, this knob that felt like a fan's speed dial was actually the channel selector. Qiu Yun turned it a few times until the Spring Festival Gala appeared on the screen.
To be honest, Qiu Yun usually had zero interest in the Gala during the New Year—a few washed-up stars singing, some strangers doing crosstalk, and a few Northeast folk skits; there wasn't much to see. In her own time, the Gala's viewership had plummeted. It wasn't just the Gala; the very flavor of the Lunar New Year had faded. For several years, Qiu Yun had spent her New Year's Eve mostly binging American TV shows on her iPad; New Year's Eve was no different from any other night. But back in 1988, never mind the Gala, even watching television was a rare luxury. After suffering through the past six months, Qiu Yun finally had a chance to watch TV, and her eyes were practically glued to the screen.
"Is it good?" Liang He asked with a smile, carrying a bowl of steaming dumplings and noticing her intense focus.
"It’s... it’s actually quite good." Qiu Yun stood up. "Let me help you. Where should I get the chopsticks?"
"Help my mother wash her hands first."
"Okay." Qiu Yun turned to support He Chengyan. "Take it slow."
"I'm fine," He Chengyan said. "The bathroom is so close, just a few steps."
Even so, Qiu Yun continued to support her. He Chengyan remarked, "My health used to be quite good, but I had a stroke a few years ago, and it left me with these lingering issues."
Qiu Yun paused, suddenly remembering the family photo under the glass on Liang He’s desk. The lady in the photo had been elegant and beautiful, far more spirited than the thin, frail elderly woman before her now.
For a moment, she didn't know what to say. Before she could think of any words of comfort, she heard He Chengyan ask, "How is Liang He treating you all?"
"Oh... well..." Qiu Yun faced the washbasin. There was a mirror above it, which happened to reflect Liang He bowing his head as he set out the bowls and chopsticks. She said, "Teacher Liang is very good, though he can be quite serious at times."
He Chengyan smiled but said nothing.
This was likely the best meal Qiu Yun had eaten this entire Spring Festival. The beef and celery dumplings had thin skins and fresh, succulent filling. They were fragrant and tender, and when dipped in a bit of vinegar, they were absolutely delicious. Qiu Yun thought back to the many New Year's she had spent in the past. She ate dumplings every year—dumplings where Sima Feng personally rolled the dough and Chen Liping bought the best meat from the market. Back then, her family had been whole and happy. The scenes were vivid in her mind; those lively faces almost seemed to materialize from the rising steam before her eyes. But now... Qiu Yun gloomily bit into her first hot dumpling. As the savory flavor filled her mouth, she truly realized—it was the New Year; she had crossed from 1987 into 1988.
What about the other side?
Had they also crossed from 2018 into 2019?
And...
The long string of "ands" was something Qiu Yun didn't dare to contemplate.
After finishing the meal, Qiu Yun helped clear the table, but Liang He insisted she was a guest and wouldn't let her wash the dishes. He Chengyan sat in the living room for a short while, watching the Gala rebroadcast, but soon felt weary and went to her room for a nap. Before leaving, she told her, "Xiao Qiu, watch whatever you like. Don't be shy."
Qiu Yun wanted to watch more TV, yet she didn't dare. Of all things, why did the Gala have to be like this? It would start as a comedy skit but eventually elevate its themes into a sentimental, tear-jerking drama about homesickness. A song was never just a song; the lyrics were always about parents and family, sung with glistening eyes. These 1980s performers were far too earnest—why did everything have to strike a chord in Qiu Yun’s heart?
The more she thought about it, the more depressed she became. In a fit of pique, she simply turned the television off.
When Liang He finished cleaning the kitchen and came out, he found the living room silent. Qiu Yun was staring out the window, lost in a daze.
"Why did you stop watching?" he asked.
"Teacher He went to sleep," Qiu Yun said blankly.
"Her door is closed. It’s fine if you keep the volume low."
"I'm done watching." Qiu Yun stood up. "Teacher Liang, thank you for today. I’ve used you as free labor again, and I got to eat such delicious dumplings. I’m truly grateful. It’s getting late, and you should get some rest this afternoon. I’ll head back now."
This string of thanks caught Liang He off guard. He had hoped to sit on the sofa and catch the parts of the Gala he’d missed last night once he was done cleaning. He hadn't expected her to leave the moment he took off his apron. He slowly dried the water from his hands and asked, "Back to school?"
"Yes. I have a classmate who is also selling ancestral offerings. I need to go back and coordinate with her."
"Are you going again tomorrow?"
"I'll sell until the third day of the New Year. If business is bad on the fourth, I won't go on the fifth."
"Oh..." Liang He set down the towel. "If you run into difficulties, you can talk to the school."
"I know," Qiu Yun smiled. "There’s nothing much to do during the Spring Festival anyway; I’m treating it like social practice. Once the New Year is over and I find a locksmith, everything will be fine."
"Then let me see you back."
"No need, I know the way."
"It just so happens I need to head back to school myself." The words slipped out before he could think.
"You're going back to school too?" Sure enough, Qiu Yun looked up at him.
"To pick up a painting. It’s a gift for someone who’s returning tomorrow." Liang He’s expression was perfectly calm.
"Oh." Qiu Yun looked at him for another second before saying equally calmly, "Then let’s go."
***
