Da Qiao Xiao Qiao
Xu Yan found an empty parking spot and pulled in.
As soon as she got out, a car pulled up crosswise in front of them, and a man wearing black-framed glasses stepped down.
He said, “It’s you again—you’ve parked in my spot again.”
Xu Yan recognized him as the neighbor who lived right across from her; his last name was Tang, she thought.
Once, his package had been delivered to her place by mistake—it was a box of mini Lego toys.
When she took it over that evening, his eyes were red as he opened the door.
She’d glanced at the TV; it was playing “Comrades: Almost a Love Story.”
Zhang Manyu was sitting on the back of Li Ming’s bike.
Xu Yan said, “I didn’t know this spot was yours; there’s no sign.”
She was about to move her car when the man waved his hand and said, “Forget it, I’ll move mine instead.”
He got into his car and started the engine.
Qiao Lin smiled and said, “He must have noticed I’m pregnant.
Now, wherever I go, I don’t have to queue—people give up their seats on the bus as soon as I board.
Once the baby’s born, I won’t be used to it.”
Xu Yan opened the apartment door.
She truly hadn’t planned to bring Qiao Lin home.
The place was spacious, with luxurious renovations—even someone unfamiliar with Beijing could guess the rent was beyond what most people could afford.
But Qiao Lin showed no surprise, nor did she comment.
She stood in the middle of the living room, head lowered, squinting as if adjusting to the bright light from the crystal chandelier overhead.
After a moment, she came to and asked Xu Yan, “What time does your show air?”
Xu Yan said, “It’s already aired; nothing worth watching.”
Qiao Lin asked, “Do people recognize you on the street and ask for autographs?”
Xu Yan said, “It’s a cooking show—who remembers what the host looks like?”
She found a new bathrobe and led Qiao Lin to the bathroom.
Qiao Lin pointed at the enormous round bathtub and asked, “Can I try it?”
Xu Yan said, “Pregnant women shouldn’t soak in baths.”
Qiao Lin said, “Alright, but I really want to spend some time in the water.”
She raised her arms to pull off her sweater, half her face showing as she smiled and said, “Can you copy your show onto a disc for me to take back?
Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mom and Dad; I’ll watch it secretly myself.”
Under Qiao Lin’s sweater was a deep blue thermal top, stretched tight over her protruding belly, round to an almost unbelievable degree.
Her transformed body, that curve expanded by life, held a kind of mysterious beauty.
Xu Yan felt a sting in her heart, as if something had pricked it.
The phone rang.
Shen Haoming was urging her to hurry over.
Hearing that she was heading out, fear flickered in Qiao Lin’s eyes.
Xu Yan assured her she’d be back soon, then grabbed her coat and left.
Xu Yan opened her eyes and saw herself lying in a hospital room.
The walls were white, the table was white, the vase on the table was white too.
Qiao Lin sat by the bed, looking at her with a sorrowful gaze.
Xu Yan sat up and asked Qiao Lin, “Tell me, what’s really wrong with me?”
Qiao Lin lowered her eyes and said, “You have a tumor in your uterus; you need surgery.”
Uterus? Xu Yan placed her hand on her stomach—this organ, where was it? She’d never felt its presence.
Qiao Lin said, “You’re only seventeen; you shouldn’t have this illness.
The doctor says it’s a hormone issue, possibly related to the poison injection they gave you at birth.”
…The doctor stood by the bed, saying the surgery had gone smoothly, but the tumor might grow back, and in the future, she could consider having her uterus removed—after having children.
But pregnancy would be difficult for her.
He didn’t say it was completely impossible, but Xu Yan knew that’s what he meant.
Once the doctor left, the hospital room fell quiet.
Xu Yan gazed out the window at a tree that had grown crooked, its branching limbs sawn off.
Qiao Lin said, “I know nothing I say will help, but I really don’t want to have children in the future.
I don’t know why, but the thought just terrifies me.”
By the time Xu Yan arrived at the restaurant, Shen Haoming was already a bit drunk, discussing with two friends what car to switch to.
Last month, he’d taken his heavily modified Wrangler to Beidaihe, and halfway there, the axle broke; now, even though it was fixed, he said he could no longer trust it.
They had an off-road convoy group, always heading out together—a dozen or so vehicles in a grand procession.
Xu Yan had gone with them once to Inner Mongolia; every night, everyone got blackout drunk, leaving piles of colorful trash on the grassland.
One evening, Xu Yan and Shen Haoming hadn’t gotten drunk; they sat on a hillside talking all night.
That’s how the two of them had met.
Xu Yan wasn’t familiar with anyone there; another girl had brought her along, and that girl wasn’t even close to her—perhaps inviting her just because there was an empty seat in the car.
By the fifth day, Xu Yan ended up in Shen Haoming’s vehicle; they talked the whole time, eventually taking a wrong turn and losing the group.
The two of them spent an unforgettable night on the prairie with the last of the smoked ham from the trunk and a few candles.
On the day they returned to Beijing, Xu Yan felt a bit down; Shen Haoming dropped her off at home, and as she watched the car drive away, she thought he wouldn’t contact her again.
She knew he was from a wealthy family, surrounded by beautiful girls; it was probably just the loneliness of the trip that had brought them together.
Perhaps from playing too hard, she came down with a fever the next day.
Lying in bed, she felt like a fuse about to burn out, ready to set the sheets aflame.
She felt an intense, unrealistic longing.
Help me, she said to the ceiling in the darkness.
Whenever she felt especially awful, she would say that.
In the evening, she received a text from Shen Haoming, asking if she wanted to have dinner together.
She dragged herself out of bed, put on some makeup, and went out.
It wasn’t a dinner for two; many of Shen Haoming’s friends were there.
She was feverish and dazed but still sat smiling beside Shen Haoming.
The gathering lasted until midnight.
On the way back, her body kept shivering.
Shen Haoming touched her forehead, scolding her for not saying something sooner, then turned the car toward the hospital.
In the corridor outside the emergency room, he held her hand tightly and said, “You make my heart ache.”
She smiled and said, “Everyone had a good time; it was a happy evening, wasn’t it?”
That summer, Shen Haoming often took her to parties.
Those parties were held in big houses on the outskirts, always with girls in short skirts bringing their foreign boyfriends.
It wasn’t until summer was nearly over that she confirmed she had become Shen Haoming’s girlfriend.
By then, she had learned to curl her own hair and added several short skirts to her wardrobe.
By late September, sitting at a roadside barbecue stall with a few old close friends, she realized she might not see them again.
In eight years in Beijing, she’d constantly met new friends, entered new circles—that feeling of continual ascent, of evolution, brought her some satisfaction.
“Do you want to go to Moscow?” Shen Haoming turned to look at her.
“Let’s drive to Moscow in the spring, okay?”
“Sure,” Xu Yan said.
She thought of the stars over the wilderness, and those nights that felt a little freer because of the drunkenness.
After the dinner wrapped up, Xu Yan drove Shen Haoming back to his parents’ house.
When he’d first rented the apartment, he had planned to live with her.
Later, he found it too far from work, so most of the time, he still stayed with his parents.
There, several nannies waited on him, and the food was to his liking.
His parents didn’t want him to move out either, as if that would mean acknowledging his relationship with Xu Yan.
