Despite what Ren Jingnian had said, Gu Shunhua still found her heart gently warmed.
Ever since she had discovered the contents of that book, she had been deeply shaken. She no longer dared to fully trust this man. That was why she revised the divorce agreement, took the children, and returned alone—stubbornly and resolutely—to the capital to register their household. Through it all, she had planned and moved forward on her own.
There was no one she could rely on completely. Even her parents—though they were her parents—had their own concerns to juggle.
And now, hearing Ren Jingnian’s intentions stirred a moment of softness in her. For just an instant, she wanted to let down her guard, lean into his chest, stop thinking about everything, and rest.
But it was only a fleeting moment.
The plot of that book was too overpowering. She knew that this man’s future held too many variables.
After thinking it over, she said, “These past two days, I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a minute to spare. I haven’t even made it to the bookstore yet. I’ll stop by Xinhua Bookstore later—if I find something suitable, I’ll buy it for you.”
Ren Jingnian replied, “Take care of your own matters first. There’s no rush to buy the books.”
After hanging up, Gu Shunhua had to pay the post office again—her phone call had gone on too long.
Leaving the post office, she took the bus back to Dashilan. Dashilan, despite how it’s written, wasn’t pronounced that way by locals. It sounded more like Dàshílànr. Outsiders who called it Dàzhàlàn were bound to draw laughter.
Dashilan never seemed to be quiet. Even in such bitter winter, the streets bustled with an unbroken stream of people.
Having returned for several days, Gu Shunhua had been preoccupied with the household registration. Even when she passed through here, she hadn’t had the time or mind to appreciate it. But now, with a moment of leisure, she took in the place again. Eight years of wind and frost, the world had changed—but those old shops remained. Small door curtains fluttered, bearing witness to centuries of Dashilan’s history.
Dating back to the Yongle reign of the Ming Dynasty, it had been a gathering place for merchants, lined with prestigious shops. With Majuyuan hats overhead, Neiliansheng shoes underfoot, Badaxiang silks wrapped around the body, and Sida Heng accessories at the waist—this was the Dashilan of five hundred years, the place where Gu Shunhua had grown up.
As a child, she would be sent out by the adults to buy two taels of soy sauce and a spool of thread, clutching the money tightly as she ran through the streets. While the shopkeeper was scooping soy sauce, she would stare longingly at the glass jars on the counter—inside were lollipops wrapped in colorful cellophane, in every flavor imaginable.
Sometimes, she would secretly skim off two fen to buy one. She always insisted on getting the orange-flavored one.
Now she walked among the glittering shops of Dashilan once more, eventually arriving at the Xinhua Bookstore. She asked the salesperson, who didn’t look particularly friendly, but upon hearing her local accent—the unmistakable rhythm of a hutong native—softened a bit. Without much attitude, the salesperson even recommended a few books and brought them out for her to see.
She flipped through them. They were challenging—the clerk said they were even harder than the current high school textbooks. Still, she thought, the harder the better. Ren Jingnian might benefit from them.
The only problem was that these books required ration coupons. They weren’t for general purchase.
That reminded her—the book had mentioned an upcoming reform that would add English to the entrance exams. If that were true, shouldn’t Ren Jingnian also work on his English?
So she asked about English books. This time, the clerk rolled her eyes. “No idea.”
Gu Shunhua was helpless. The woman had likely figured out she didn’t have book coupons and didn’t want to waste her time.
But that was to be expected. These days, the so-called “Eight Great Workers” were all arrogant. She had overheard courtyard neighbors gossiping the other day about a state-run restaurant in Liulichang that had to put up a sign: “No Beating or Scolding Customers.” That was the reality now—those holding the goods acted high and mighty, refusing to look others in the eye.
Still, from what she’d read in that book, things would change in a few years.
Maybe because she knew what was coming, her mindset was calm. She didn’t feel the need to argue or take offense at the salesperson’s disdain.
People are like that—once you can see something from a higher, broader perspective, once you glimpse the future of an industry or its fate, all the petty squabbles in front of you suddenly feel insignificant.
After leaving the bookstore, she took a bus straight to Tianqiao, then walked west to Fuchang Street.
Tianqiao sat on the central axis of the capital. It was said that every year, the emperor would pass over this bridge on his way to perform rites at the Temple of Heaven—hence the name Tianqiao (Heaven’s Bridge). But by the eve of Liberation, it had become a lively commoners’ market. West of the bridge lay Fuchang Street Market, which Gu Shunhua knew sold used books. Back in the day, she and her childhood friends would run over there, spending two fen to rent a picture book and passing it around to read together.
Now, Fuchang Street still looked the same in the winter dusk—low, gray houses with faint smoke curling from chimneys. The noise of Tianqiao occasionally drifted over, and in front of those low houses with half-closed doors, a few scattered stalls remained.
These were the secondhand books. No coupons needed. Sold secretly.
Such little doors were once known as “half-closed doors.” In earlier times, everyone knew that meant brothels—soliciting behind a veil of discretion. But after Liberation, in the new society, that profession had vanished. These half-closed doors now sold books—still discreetly, of course.
Business here was always under the table. Gu Shunhua checked a few such “half-closed doors,” and finally, in a shabby little courtyard, struck gold—several books on physics: General Physics, Mathematical Physics Equations, Biological Organic Chemistry, and A Brief History of Chemistry, plus some foreign-language texts.
The stall owner, a woman in her forties, kept muttering, “These are treasures. Belonged to a top professor. Got sent to the countryside, and everything was thrown out. My mother was cleaning and snuck them out. Otherwise, how could they be sold like this?”
Gu Shunhua had gone to the countryside after middle school and didn’t know much beyond basic chemistry or physics. But flipping through, she could tell they were advanced—likely useful to Ren Jingnian. The price wasn’t bad either, two or three jiao per book (about twenty or thirty cents of one yuan; jiao is roughly the equivalent of a dime). So she bought them.
She began packing the books into a black cloth bag, but just as she was doing so, she caught sight of a signature in the corner of one title page. The moment she saw it, thunder seemed to rumble in her mind.
Three bold, sweeping characters: Yan Chongli.
Yan Chongli—that was the professor she was supposed to marry in the book.
Stiffly, she flipped through the rest. Nearly every book bore either his signature or his seal.
She even remembered clearly that Yan Chongli’s seal was carved from Shoushan Tianhuang stone, golden and delicate, with fine radish-like veins. After finishing a calligraphy piece, he would stamp it with flourish—so effortlessly refined.
The stall owner, seeing her frozen expression, thought she was about to back out and quickly clutched the coins she had received. “These books are top quality. And you already looked through them. You’ve bought them now—you can’t back out.”
Gu Shunhua took a deep breath, placed the books into the bag, and replied calmly, “I’m not returning them.”
With that, she picked up the bag and walked out of Fuchang Street.
By then it was late. As she made her way home with the heavy bag of books, she wondered what to do about this strange turn of events.
Who would have thought that in trying to buy study materials for the man she had already divorced, she would end up with books that once belonged to the man she was meant to marry?
She did the math. By now, Yan Chongli was probably still tending sheep in the countryside—but he’d be back in the capital soon.
She was determined not to follow the book’s path. She would raise her children, and she and Ren Jingnian would support one another and grow old together.
Yet now, it seemed as though the story’s plotline had a mysterious pull, guiding her to cross paths with Yan Chongli all the same.
Dusk had fallen. It was a windless winter evening—cool and tranquil. The trees ahead had all but shed their leaves; only a few dry yellow ones clung stubbornly to their branches.
Gu Shunhua glanced down at the bag in her hand. At last, she walked to the base of a wall, emptied the books, and tore out the pages bearing Yan Chongli’s name.
Then she repacked the books, carried them further down the road, and when no one was around, slipped into a public latrine and tossed the torn title pages away.
Truthfully, in the book’s story, Yan Chongli had always treated her well. Things only fell apart later, and perhaps it had been her who had wronged him.
She still didn’t understand what was going on with that book. As far as she knew, she wasn’t a bad person by nature. She acted with principles, certainly not the type to be two-faced or betray others for personal gain. And yet, in that book, she was portrayed as someone easily swayed, chasing new affections and constantly doing things that the present her found disgraceful.
Both men, by all accounts, were good people. But somehow, she had managed to end up in prison.
It was absurd.
But—
Gu Shunhua clenched her fists and let out a cold laugh.
What did that have to do with her?
That book was just a book. She was herself.
In this lifetime, she had never met Yan Chongli, had never known him, had never wronged him. Instead, she had already given birth to two children with Ren Jingnian.
So she would only take responsibility for what she had actually done. As for the people and events in that book?
To hell with them!
Her feet pounded the narrow dirt path, every step crunching loudly beneath her.
Let the book say what it would. She didn’t know Yan Chongli.
It was already late. The post office had closed, so she couldn’t mail the books right away. Gu Shunhua carried them back to the shared courtyard compound.
By the time she returned, it was dinnertime. Pots and pans clanged from every house, smoke drifted out from windows, and children ran about the courtyard in cheerful chaos. Her own two children were among them, laughing and playing with the others.
Old Madam Tong sat by the window teasing a cat. Every so often, she would glance up at the children. When she saw Gu Shunhua returning, she smiled and said, “Back already?”
Gu Shunhua chatted with her for a bit and was glad to hear the children had enjoyed themselves all day. “They’re sweet and well-behaved, and good-looking too,” the old woman said. “All the neighbors like them. Even the other kids gather around them.”
Her words made Gu Shunhua smile. She then brought up her plan to build a small house and thought it best to consult with Old Madam Tong first. The old woman pondered for a moment. “Well, that plot was originally used by your family anyway. Now you want to build a little nest there—it’s only natural. Look around our courtyard. Anyone with a bit of ability tries to expand. If you build something, no one should have much to say. Except maybe the Su family—they’ve been eyeing that piece of land too. I doubt they’ll give in without a fight.”
Gu Shunhua replied, “I’ll try to get the other households’ signatures first. As for the Su family, I’ll think of something.”
Old Madam Tong nodded. “It won’t be easy, but it’s not impossible. I’ll speak to your Grandpa Pan. If he backs you, the Su family won’t be able to stir up much trouble.”
Su Jianping’s father, Su Dameng, had pulled carts for a living when he was young. Once, he was nearly killed by local thugs, and it was Grandpa Pan who saved him. Later, Su Dameng married and, after Liberation, was lucky enough to become a driver.
So no matter how capable Su Dameng had become, in front of Grandpa Pan, he still had to bow his head and call him ye’er—grandpa.
In the older generation, righteousness mattered more than anything. A life-saving debt was something you never forgot.
Gu Shunhua had thought of this possibility too. “Grandma Tong, please help me mention it to Grandpa Pan. If I can make this happen, at least we’ll have a place to truly settle down.”
Old Madam Tong chuckled and pointed out the window. “Look, he’s out there playing with the kids. When you were little, he was fond of you. He still wants the best for you. Of course he’ll support you. Don’t worry—I’ll bring it up with him.”
Looking out the window, Gu Shunhua saw Grandpa Pan. In her memory, he had been a stern, solemn man who rarely smiled—and she had always been a bit afraid of him. But now, he was pretending to be an eagle, pulling silly faces to make the children laugh.
Perhaps it was age. As people grew older, they softened, especially toward children.
When Gu Shunhua got up to leave, Old Madam Tong pressed a package of food into her hands. She looked down and saw it was yellow millet butter fritters—a traditional Beijing snack made by scalding yellow millet flour with boiling water, mixing in egg and sugar, then frying it in butter.
When made well, the fritters were crispy on the outside and soft and sweet inside—a truly delicious treat. It had been one of Gu Shunhua’s favorite snacks as a child.
She was surprised and delighted. “Grandma, how did you make these?”
Old Madam Tong grinned mischievously. “I traded the last bit of my cornmeal for some yellow millet, and I still had a little butter left. So I made them. Eat them yourself, and give the kids a taste too. But hurry and tuck them away—don’t let anyone see.”
Then she added, “You know how all the kids in this courtyard are—they’ve all got greedy little mouths. I can’t bear to waste good things on them!”
Gu Shunhua couldn’t help but laugh. Old people really did become like children again. Old Madam Tong, now in her twilight years, was playful like a child.
But more than anything, Gu Shunhua was touched.
She had never been a child who was doted on. So she treasured the feeling of being spoiled. To be quietly handed something good, something not shared with anyone else—that feeling was precious.
Her eyes grew moist. She grasped the old woman’s hand and said, “I’ll take it home and eat it. I love these. I really do.”
Old Madam Tong raised a hand and tapped her forehead. “Look at you, silly girl. Always so greedy—just like when you were little. All these years, and your temper hasn’t changed one bit.”
As Gu Shunhua stepped out from Old Madam Tong’s room, the winter sunset bathed her in a warm golden glow. The children’s laughter filled the courtyard. Her heart felt especially light.
This life, it all depends on how one chooses to see it. Sometimes, when she let her thoughts turn dark, she would feel full of regrets and injustices. But then again, she had also received a great deal. Her barren childhood hadn’t been without sweetness and joy.
Author’s Note:
A 200-red-envelope giveaway for this chapter. I truly love it when you leave comments—very sincerely, I do.
About the housing conditions mentioned here: they’re quite realistic. In the early 1980s, as large numbers of educated youth returned to the cities, causing a sudden strain on urban infrastructure. It wasn’t unusual for three generations to squeeze into a ten-square-meter room in a shared courtyard compound.
In fact, even today, finding suitable housing in Beijing isn’t easy. Many families of three—or even four or five—live in compact 59-square-meter two-bedroom apartments. This is especially true for those buying properties in school districts. Even when families want to improve their living conditions, it’s often difficult due to the abundance of old buildings in these neighborhoods and the lack of larger units. Of course, there are spacious, modern homes in great locations with access to good schools—but those come with a sky-high price tag.
Why the specific mention of 59 square meters? Because most two-bedroom apartments built in the 1970s and 1980s fell within the 57 to 59.x square meter range. Once you got into the 70s, you were looking at a three-bedroom unit.
The famous “Type 80 Building No. 2” layout was one of the most common of that era, and its floor area generally didn’t exceed 60 square meters.
These old apartments still exist—and remain very active on the secondhand housing market.
To the point that someone might even introduce their home by saying:
“My apartment’s pretty new—it was built in 1993!”