When Qiu Yun finally emerged, the McDonald's was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief; she truly disliked being stared at by a crowd of strangers, especially with Liang He among them, and especially when she was in such a pathetic state. Catching a glimpse of herself in the restroom mirror, she saw a sallow face and greasy hair. It was just a bout of stomach trouble, yet she looked as though she had been utterly dissipated. She tidied her hair slightly and checked the time. Da Chen should be finished with her date by now, or perhaps they were still in the middle of a lovey-dovey moment? Regardless, it wasn't the right time to disturb her. The tricycle was still outside the McDonald's, so she pedaled slowly back toward the school—it was better to just go back and lie down.
The weather during the first two days of the New Year was quite pleasant, with blue skies, white clouds, and abundant sunshine. In Qiu Yun's memory, perhaps influenced by old black-and-white films, she had always assumed that in 1980s China, the sky was gray, the clouds were gray, and the entire world existed in monochrome. Little did she know that after traveling back in time, she would find an era without so much automobile exhaust, industrial pollution, and smog. The environment was far better than the era she had come from; the sky before her eyes truly lived up to the description of "blue sky and white clouds."
What was this realization called? Qiu Yun thought it was likely a "misunderstanding of the era." Future generations looking back at their predecessors are always limited by their channels and resources, making it difficult to objectively experience the current environment with a sense of immersion. This was why history held so many mysteries, and why so many unofficial histories existed alongside the formal ones. Her thoughts inexplicably drifted to Liang He, and to what Wu Liu had told her about his youth—was that the whole story? And was that "whole" actually true? Could there be other discrepancies due to information asymmetry?
And what might those discrepancies be? Qiu Yun let her thoughts wander as lazily as the white clouds in the sky. For instance, what if Liang He’s wife wasn't a lesbian, and they had actually been an enviable couple? Or perhaps the change in Liang He’s temperament wasn't due to a broken heart, but some other reason? Or maybe... Liang He and Lu Xialan weren't in a relationship, or... at least... his heartbreak hadn't been caused by her...
*Agh...* Why was she thinking like this? Her train of thought had veered much too far. She tried to rein in her mind, but it refused to obey, suddenly recalling the sentence that had haunted her both last night and today at McDonald's. It was like a demon, stuck in her throat and itching to break free. How could she—
"Ah—!"
How could she not watch where she was going?!
Qiu Yun concluded that this Spring Festival was fraught with misfortune, likely because 1988 was the Year of the Dragon and she was born in the Year of the Dog. Back in the day, the blind fortune teller at the entrance of her alley had said that the Dragon and the Dog were in conflict. At the time, she had snorted and dismissed it as feudal superstition, but now, lying immobile on Wang Chen’s bed, she found herself starting to believe it.
Indeed, Qiu Yun hadn't been looking at the road while cycling and had fallen straight into a large pit. Not only was her face bruised and her limbs scraped, but she had also successfully sprained her ankle. Not only did her sales of New Year decorations have to stop the next day, but even her three daily meals now depended on Wang Chen’s care.
"Should I go to Guiyun Zen Temple in the eastern suburbs to burn some incense and pray to Buddha for you?"
"If you have that much free time, you'd be better off peeling an apple for me."
Wang Chen gave Qiu Yun a teasing smile, picked up a fruit knife, and handed it to her.
"What's this for?"
"Your ankle is sprained, but your hands are fine."
Qiu Yun had no choice but to peel it herself, sighing as she worked. "Da Chen, this Spring Festival has been truly miserable for me. Not only am I homeless, but I had no New Year's Eve dinner. I spent the first and second days of the New Year rushing around doing business, had a mysterious bout of diarrhea on the third, and then I went and fell like this."
"You're just too tired. You haven't rested well or eaten well. When a person is fatigued, their resistance drops, and accidents happen easily," Wang Chen comforted her. "Just stay in bed for these few days. Once school starts, you should apply to Teacher Liang; the school has work-study grants."
The apple peel in Qiu Yun's hand snapped right on cue. She hadn't seen Liang He again since leaving McDonald's. That was normal, wasn't it? It was the holidays; why would they see each other every day? Even at school, they didn't necessarily meet daily. Besides, what did it matter whether they met or not?
She adjusted her grip and continued peeling. "I'll see when school starts. Oh, right, Da Chen," she remembered something and stopped. "Have you seen my gloves?"
"Gloves?"
"The black leather ones. You've seen them."
"Oh, I remember now. The ones Liu Dan gave you. What, are they gone?"
Qiu Yun sliced off the last bit of skin, cut the apple in half, and handed a piece to Wang Chen. "I can't find them."
In fact, Qiu Yun did not see Liang He again until the start of the semester. Naturally, she didn't find the gloves either. Once her leg had healed, she went to the McDonald's to ask if anyone had found them, but the answer was no. Between the McDonald's, the pit she fell into, and the road she cycled on, she wasn't even sure where she had lost them. Moreover, after so much time, even if someone had picked them up, they certainly wouldn't be returned now. She felt quite dejected, silently blaming her own carelessness. As the weather gradually warmed, the chilblains on her hands began to heal, occasionally becoming unbearably itchy. Whenever that happened, Qiu Yun would think of the gloves and the brief warmth they had once brought her.
The city's department store opened on the eighth day of the first lunar month. Qiu Yun visited on the eighth, the tenth, and again on the twelfth. Finally, on that day, she steeled her heart and bought a brand-new pair of men's black sheepskin gloves. The brand was the famous Xidelong; they were lined with thick fleece, felt premium to the touch, and the price gave Qiu Yun a sharp pang of financial pain—a full eight yuan! One must realize that in this era, a monthly salary was only thirty or forty yuan. Spending eight yuan on a pair of gloves was an absolute luxury, especially since she was currently short on funds. But school would start after the Lantern Festival, and she couldn't very well not return something she owed.
The new semester arrived quickly.
Wednesday was still sketch class. Qiu Yun arrived very early, but there was no sign of Liang He. He didn't even show up for the usual classroom supervision. Qiu Yun was surprised and a bit confused. Walking out of the classroom, she overheard a few students talking.
Student A: "Why didn't Teacher Liang come today?"
Student B: "I don't know. I went to his office yesterday and didn't see him either. His desk was very clean."
Student C: "At the end of last semester, I heard there was a training program for young backbone artists. Did he go to attend that?"
Qiu Yun’s ears immediately perked up.
Student A: "Oh, that’s possible. That one teacher from the department, Mr. XX, seems to have gone too..."
Student B: "How long is the training?"
Student C: "I don't know. Usually, this kind of training lasts at least a month or so. It's the kind where they hold actual classes..."
So that was it.
Qiu Yun looked at the gloves in her hand—the shiny black leather, soft and warm—but felt a sense of loss in her heart.
University students had a great deal of free time outside of classes. It was because of this spare time that Qiu Yun quickly found another job to support herself.
It happened like this: when school started, Qiu Yun explained her family situation to the class monitor, Gao Zhifei, hoping to get some financial assistance from the school. Had this been the 21st century, Sima Qiuyun would have been low-profile but proud; she wouldn't have approached the school even if she were in trouble. But in this era, she seemed to have become much more pragmatic. If she had no money, she had no money—who would let their pride get in the way of their stomach? After hearing her out, Gao Zhifei immediately took on a solemn, empathetic expression. He explained the situation to the department the next day, and by the third day, Qiu Yun had secured a work-study job—as a model.
Yes, a model. But don't misunderstand; the art academies of this era were nowhere near as open as they are now. As for being a model, even if you wanted to take your clothes off, it wasn't allowed. The modeling Qiu Yun did was portrait modeling—sitting perfectly still for two hours as a subject for portraits.
To be honest, the Qiu Xiaoyun of 1988 didn't look much like the original Sima Qiuyun of the 21st century. Back when Sima Qiuyun was in university, although her grades were average and she kept a low profile, her innate temperament and looks were anything but. On a scale of 100, she was definitely in the 90-plus range. But looking at Qiu Xiaoyun, by Qiu Yun’s standards, her looks could only be considered slightly above average. Her skin was ordinary, her face ordinary, her nose ordinary, her eyebrows ordinary, and her style of dress was very plain. Compared to Lu Xialan, the difference was stark. Her only redeeming feature was her eyes—double-lidded and not particularly large, but very spirited. In the words of Professor Chen Jingtao from the department, they possessed an irrepressible "lingqi"—a spiritual aura. Of course, Qiu Yun could objectively admit that Qiu Xiaoyun’s figure was quite good. At 163 cm, she was definitely tall for her generation, and her legs were long and straight. It was just a pity that there were no clothes in this era to accentuate her figure, wasting her curvaceous silhouette and long legs.
