Wang Luxi had a portrait photography session scheduled for the afternoon, which she hadn’t mentioned to Yuan Bei in advance.
“I’m already so grateful that you accompanied me to visit Beihai Park,” Wang Luxi pressed her palms together, “the portrait shoot might take a really long time. You should find a coffee shop to enjoy some air conditioning this afternoon, or just go home? I’ll come find you after I’m done in the evening and treat you to dinner! Something fancy!”
Because the restaurants near the scenic area were packed and they couldn’t get a table, the two had resolved their lunch on a park bench. Besides snacks and drinks, she had also bought egg sandwiches and grilled beef rice balls from 7-Eleven that morning, which had been squished in her bag all morning and looked somewhat worse for wear. When she let Yuan Bei choose, she could clearly see him frown.
Wang Luxi didn’t know the real reason, but that frown made her feel a bit embarrassed.
“Aren’t you tired?” Yuan Bei picked up the deformed sandwich.
“Not really, look at my step count these past few days.” Wang Luxi extended her wrist toward Yuan Bei’s eyes. Her fitness tracker showed that every single day had been over twenty thousand steps.
“How about that?” Wang Luxi waited for praise.
Yuan Bei took a sip of water and stood up: “Mm, impressive.”
Yes! Exactly right!?
Wang Luxi caught up, ran in front of Yuan Bei, and raised her hand to snap her fingers—it was that “nin” (formal “you”). She found Beijing dialect pleasant, especially the way people addressed others, with all those “nin lai nin qu” (coming and going with formal address), quite stylish and nice. So she asked Yuan Bei: “Could you say a few more phrases for me to hear?”
Yuan Bei casually slung her backpack over his shoulder. The rather large bag looked small on Yuan Bei. He grabbed her collar and pulled her aside to avoid the oncoming crowd.
“Say what?”
“Let me think… oh, that one, that that that, ‘Paris Baguette, AUV! Authentic…’ (mimicking Beijing accent from viral videos)”
Yuan Bei didn’t pick up the conversation.
But Wang Luxi swore she saw Yuan Bei roll his eyes.
“Too many short videos,” Yuan Bei offered this assessment and then checked the time on his phone. “Where’s the photo shoot?”
“Huh?”
“The photo shoot, where is it?”
“Oh, just ahead! Shichahai!”
Actually, the two places were right next to each other. Walking north a few steps from Beihai Park led directly to Shichahai.
Divided by Silver Ingot Bridge, Shichahai was split into Front Lake and Back Lake. The lotus flowers were most famous—every midsummer, the view was filled with verdant green leaf canopies, with lotus flowers rising higher than the leaves, standing tall in scattered formation. Wang Luxi had actually been here with a tour group a few days ago, because the itinerary included Prince Gong’s Mansion, which was nearby.
Prince Gong’s Mansion was the largest princely residence of the Qing Dynasty, also Heshen’s (richest and most corrupt official of the Qing dynasty) private residence, and a must-visit spot for many tour groups. However, Wang Luxi had frequently zoned out during the guide’s explanation that day. What she cared more about was that Prince Gong’s Mansion had formerly been a filming location for “Princess Pearl,” with many famous scenes. Her desire for a photo shoot also stemmed from childhood nostalgia.
Yuan Bei ended up following along after all.
During the photo shoot, he stood in the shade scrolling through his phone, occasionally gazing into the distance.
There were many girls having photo shoots at Shichahai. You could encounter one every few steps, all wearing similar princess costumes with Manchu-style headdresses. At first glance, it looked like accidentally wandering onto a period drama set. Wang Luxi was particularly afraid of losing Yuan Bei, so she frequently looked in his direction. The assistant photographer teased her: “Your boyfriend is right there, I’m keeping an eye on him for you!”
Wang Luxi waved the round fan in her hand and told the truth: “He’s not my boyfriend…”
She glanced at Yuan Bei again.
Then another glance.
The photographer finally couldn’t take it anymore: “The camera is over here, sister!”
Wang Luxi’s face immediately flushed red.
After finishing the shoot and removing her makeup and styling, she practically ran non-stop to Yuan Bei’s side asking for water.
The mineral water Yuan Bei handed over was ice-cold, freshly bought.
Wang Luxi tilted her head back to drink, and from the corner of her eye caught Yuan Bei’s gaze falling on her neck—just briefly—before he looked away.
She lowered her head to screw on the bottle cap while Yuan Bei continued looking into the distance, as if their eyes had never met.
…
“Yuan Bei, have you seen ‘Princess Pearl’?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe it. Who hasn’t seen ‘Princess Pearl’? Even boys should have watched it, childhood and all.”
Yuan Bei took the water bottle from her hand: “Post-2005 childhood?”
“Yeah,” Wang Luxi got Yuan Bei’s meaning, “but that’s ‘Princess Pearl’—TV stations broadcast it every summer vacation. People have been saying I look like Little Swallow since I was small. Don’t I?”
A face suddenly moved close.
The false eyelashes from the photo shoot were still on. Wang Luxi deliberately widened her eyes and fluttered them. Yuan Bei was obviously startled for a moment, then pushed her face away: “The restless energy is quite similar.”
“Right! You have seen it after all!”
Wang Luxi began educating Yuan Bei about the numerous palace-themed idol dramas she’d watched since childhood, which touched on Yuan Bei’s knowledge blind spot. In his memory, whenever the remote was turned to “Princess Pearl” as a child, Grandpa would furrow his brow—how could this girl be so crazy and manic?
The only TV drama whose plot he could completely remember was probably “Emperor Kangxi,” which he’d watched with Grandpa, and “The Eloquent Ji Xiaolan.” When the opening theme played, watermelon from the fridge would be brought out. The fan and bamboo mat at home had been used for many years, and when the fan blades turned, they sounded like an old person’s murmuring. Evening, hutongs, watermelon, toilet water, large palm-leaf fans, red popsicles… these were Yuan Bei’s childhood.
There used to be an unflattering term called “hutong wanderer.” Yuan Bei felt he was one—as a child, he was familiar with neighbors, and classmates and childhood friends all lived nearby. When visiting anyone’s house, he never knocked, just lifted the door curtain and entered, and could even mooch a soda.
From Shichahai, passing through Yandai Oblique Street, was Nanluoguxiang, also a must-visit place for tourists. It was a very commercialized street with various internet-famous snacks constantly updating and changing.
Yin San Bean Juice had launched a bean juice flavored ice cream, which Wang Luxi was very curious about. While queuing, Yuan Bei suddenly spoke: “My home is nearby.”
Wang Luxi turned around: “Your home?”
“Mm, my childhood home,” Yuan Bei said. “Want to go see it?”
“Sure!”
…Actually, it wasn’t particularly close. Or perhaps once they entered the hutong, Wang Luxi literally couldn’t find which direction north was in.
She remembered a sentence she’d seen online: to visit Beijing, just find any hutong, anywhere would do, plunge right in, keep walking until you can’t see shop signs anymore, until it becomes deserted, until the bricks and stones are mottled and several generations’ traces of life appear before your eyes—then congratulations, you’ve found the real Beijing.
Wang Luxi never knew that so many residents still lived far from the commercial areas.
Unlike the recent noise, the depths of the hutong were still.
She didn’t even dare speak loudly, only quietly asking Yuan Bei: “Do your family members still live here?”
Yuan Bei shook his head: “It’s empty.”
“Did everyone move away?”
“They’re gone.”
Wang Luxi was momentarily surprised. Out of politeness, she didn’t ask for details, but Yuan Bei voluntarily told her: “I lived with my grandparents in my childhood. The year I graduated from university, both grandparents passed away.”
After saying this, Wang Luxi became even more afraid to make a sound.
However, she didn’t detect sadness or grief on Yuan Bei’s face.
Probably because this person never showed emotions on his face, always maintaining that indifferent demeanor.
He even chatted casually with Wang Luxi about the relocation policies of the time, old city renovation—many hutongs were demolished, people moved away. Those remaining areas that weren’t designated for redevelopment also had it tough, especially young people. No one wanted to live in these old houses, but moving away was also quite difficult, with Beijing housing prices worth a fortune per inch.
Yuan Bei didn’t know whether to consider himself unlucky or fortunate.
He had no impression of his father, growing up with his grandparents. His mother remarried and moved abroad, with little contact, though she could provide some financial support—like the house he currently lived in. The community and location were both good, and his mother had helped pay the down payment.
Growing up, becoming an adult, understanding reason, attending a decent university, finding a passable job at an internet company with high pay but correspondingly high stress. Paying the mortgage while saving a little for himself, living between home and work. When people asked him out, he’d meet them; when he didn’t go out, he’d stay home growing mold.
Yuan Bei actually didn’t like socializing. His social circle was limited to the group of people he’d grown up with since childhood—no new friends. He seemed to have no expectations or dreams for life, just living day by day. It couldn’t be called exciting or otherwise, with no great achievements. The happiness that should come would arrive, and the troubles that should come couldn’t be escaped either.
So when Wang Luxi evaluated him as a low-maintenance person, Yuan Bei thought it was quite accurate. Not only low-maintenance, but also boring and mediocre.
“Wow, Yuan Bei, you’re so humble-bragging,” Wang Luxi said, eating the nearly melted ice cream. “I think your life is great, with absolutely no points worth complaining about. Your grandparents watching from heaven would probably think, ‘Wow, our grandson is really amazing!'”
This comment made Yuan Bei laugh.
He took out a tissue from his bag and handed it to her, pointing to a drop on the front of her shirt: “When did I say my life wasn’t good?”
He was unwilling to be that pretentious person who, despite having enough food and drink, still complained about everything daily, acting as if the whole world owed him a chance to start over. It was just a matter of values, which determined a person’s perspective on the world.
Some people treated life like an addition problem, starting from zero, with every experience and every bit of positive emotion serving as proof that life was worthwhile.
Others treated life like subtraction, presetting a perfect life in advance, and deducting points for any dissatisfaction, then complaining about how unsatisfactory this lifetime was.
Yuan Bei envied the former, despised the latter, but had to admit he was neither.
He seemed more like an observer, coldly watching his own life unfold like a mystery game, page by page, unable to find any joy in it, yet not radical enough to want to flip the table and start over.
Literary works often used “trauma” to explain the causes of a character’s pessimistic personality, but that was, after all, a literary expression not applicable to Yuan Bei. He had never felt his first twenty-something years held any trauma—personality was innate.
Just a process, seemingly meaningless.
…What meaning could a mystery game have?
…
“Yuan Bei, you’re like a capybara.”
“?”
“Capybara! Beijing Zoo has them—that creature, very zen,” Wang Luxi said, “and you’re worse, all gloomy and depressed.”
She finally finished that bean juice ice cream. Honestly, it tasted good, much better than actual bean juice. She had originally gotten two spoons, but Yuan Bei hadn’t touched a bite, so it all went into her stomach, which made her dissatisfied.
“I get it now, you lack spark.”
A few years ago, Pixar’s movie “Soul” had this concept: people first had to find their own “spark” before they could dedicate themselves to this world—that was the meaning of this journey.
A spark was small, not necessarily achieving fame and success, and very likely just that the pizza was really good one day, the sunlight was nice one day, or hearing a really beautiful song.
Because of such a moment, you felt life was worth it, felt you hadn’t made this trip in vain.
“Haven’t found it yet,” Yuan Bei admitted frankly.
“Then just keep looking,” Wang Luxi wiped her hands.
There was no trash can nearby, so the tissue stayed crumpled in her hand. Yuan Bei gestured for her to give it to him, but just as he extended his hand, she slapped it away.
Wang Luxi lowered her voice and told Yuan Bei, “Shh, don’t turn around.”
“You really do attract cats,” she stared behind Yuan Bei. “Behind you, on the roof, such a fat cat!”
Yuan Bei breathed a sigh of relief.
Beijing’s old hutongs had the most cats—nothing unusual, and it was a tabby cat too, all of them agile. He turned around and indeed made eye contact with the cat. Its amber eyes squinted as its tail stood up like an antenna.
Unfortunately, just as Wang Luxi raised her Polaroid camera, the cat scampered away, leaving only blue sky in the frame, protruding eaves, and someone’s house with a grape vine on the roof, with lush, thriving leaves.
“Didn’t get it.”
“Wait, it might come back,” Yuan Bei said.
As soon as he finished speaking, someone emerged from the neighboring courtyard—an old man in a tank top, startled by Yuan Bei and Wang Luxi’s sudden appearance in the depths of the hutong: “Oh my… what’s going on here? Can’t find your way out?”
He assumed they were lost tourists.
Having moved away too many years ago, Yuan Bei no longer recognized the neighbors, and obviously the other party didn’t recognize him either.
Yuan Bei smiled and told a white lie: “Yes.”
“Then follow me. I’m just heading out.”
…
Wang Luxi remained silent, following behind the old man with Yuan Bei, listening all the way as Yuan Bei made conversation: “Sir, there are quite a few cats around here.”
“Mm, loads of them…”
…
From tranquility, back to bustling noise.
The old man led them all the way out of the hutong to the main street, by the subway station.
People coming and going, tourists streaming by, bicycles whooshing past them, leaving only a trail of jingling bells.
After Yuan Bei thanked the old man, he turned to look at Wang Luxi, who had been suppressing laughter the whole time, and tapped her forehead: “What are you so amused about?”
“Nothing,” Wang Luxi waved her hand, “just found it quite fun. That old man just now kept saying ‘AUV,’ and I asked you to say a few phrases for me, but you refused.”
Yuan Bei was somewhat speechless and pushed her toward the subway entrance: “Aren’t you hungry?”
Today’s itinerary finally came to an end, and Wang Luxi showed no signs of tiredness whatsoever.
“Sure, what do you want to eat?” She showed Yuan Bei her saved restaurants. “You choose. As agreed, I’m definitely treating this meal.”
At the top of the screen, a WeChat message popped up.
It was from the portrait studio. Assembly-line shooting, assembly-line photo editing—efficiency was high. In this short time, the photos were already ready.
The subway car was crowded. Wang Luxi scrolled through them one by one, occasionally showing them to Yuan Bei standing behind her: “What do you think? Worth it?”
In the photos, Wang Luxi wore the princess costume, holding a round fan. Unlike others, the sample photos the studio usually provided were all by Shichahai’s half-acre lotus pond—graceful ladies, serene and far-reaching. But hers were different—not a single one showed her posing quietly. The tassels by her head were practically flying, and the photographer had been forced to resort to candid shots.
“Should this one be retouched more? Are my front teeth this prominent when I smile?”
She bared her teeth and turned around, wanting Yuan Bei to compare, but as soon as she turned, she realized they were standing too close.
The subway car was strongly air-conditioned. Yuan Bei stood behind her, shielding her from the crowd. In front of her was the aggressive cold air, behind her was Yuan Bei’s warm breath falling from above her head.
Wang Luxi stood at this boundary between hot and cold, suddenly feeling her heart sway gently with the subway’s turn.
Yuan Bei was looking at her.
His gaze fell on her hastily pursed lips.
Just for an instant, Wang Luxi hurriedly turned her head back. The subway’s electronic announcement came on: “Next station, Chaoyangmen.” The barbecue restaurant they planned to visit was near Workers’ Stadium—one more stop—yet she felt as if the charcoal fire was about to burn her face.
What was wrong with Beijing’s subway? How many times a day were these car windows cleaned? How could they be so spotless?
They were so clean that when she looked straight ahead, she could clearly see Yuan Bei standing behind her in the reflection, those light, beautiful eyes staring at her, very seriously, never shifting for a moment.
Two gazes converged on the glass window.
Wang Luxi couldn’t think why she was the first to lose.
She looked up—Yuan Bei was still watching her.
Looked up again—still watching.
Wang Luxi had no choice but to hold her breath, pretend to be calm, and lower her head to continue replying to messages, discussing photo editing opinions with the portrait studio.
Until the subway’s arrival announcement ahead.
The electronic broadcast covered Yuan Bei’s voice.
But she still heard it.
“Yuan Bei, I heard that.” She still kept her head down. “You’re so lame. If you have the guts, say it louder.”
A soft laugh came from behind.
Yuan Bei repeated his words from just now, his steady voice entering her ears with a slight tickle: “AUV, where did this Little Swallow come from.”
tl: AUV is basically saying “oh my” in a Beijing accent
tl: Little Swallow (xiao yanzi) is the main character in Princess Pearl