They arrived at the homestay, dragging that rickety suitcase with snowflakes drifting down around them and the pungent aroma of lamb soup clinging to their clothes.
As soon as they stepped into the room, a narrow full-length mirror confronted them.
The mirror’s surface was old and yellowed, reflecting their rumpled, dirt-streaked clothing, their weary faces, and their disheveled, travel-worn appearances.
It was like they were a pair of refugees hauling luggage through a pitch-black, gale-force night—abandoning it in the middle of a highway for a massive blowout fight before parting ways in a huff, only to slink back later and snatch it up in humiliated defeat.
The inopportune metaphor floated into Fu Tingli’s mind.
She let out a laugh at the two blurry, wavering figures in the mirror, reminded of Zhu Muzi and Zhu Manda, whom she had once likened to desperate lovers on the run.
Fu Tingli found her own amusement ridiculous. Her entire body throbbed with a dull ache, yet here she was, drawing comparisons.
Kong Liyuan noticed her laughter and stared at her through the grimy mirror surface.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing,” Fu Tingli replied. “I’m just worried you might not be used to it. The place is too small.”
She released her grip on the suitcase and set it down on the floor, casually placing the plastic bag from the supermarket on top.
Fu Tingli took in the surroundings of the cramped room.
The homestay room had been temporarily rented by the Guide from a local family, and the space felt oppressively dingy and gray.
A feeble bulb dangled from the ceiling, illuminating diamond-patterned tile floors and walls papered over with faded grayish-yellow floral stickers.
A low wooden table sat squarely in the center, while a wide, squat bed dominated most of the room, shoved up against one wall. It was piled with thick quilts and several pillows embroidered with vibrant red-and-orange floral patterns.
The room carried a traditional, old-world ethnic charm.
“There’s nothing I’m not used to,” Kong Liyuan said.
True to form, she casually removed her beanie and face mask, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and paid no mind to anything around her.
Fu Tingli nodded and peeled off her gloves to test the quilts’ thickness.
They seemed thick enough to split into two beds, which eased the tension she’d been holding since their arrival.
Back at the restaurant, the Guide had sent a WeChat message saying he’d found a room—a small one in a local home, recently vacated because the eldest daughter was working away.
Fu Tingli had asked where the Guide was staying. He’d replied that he was at a wooden cabin guesthouse, but it was full, then sent photos of both options for them to choose.
The guesthouse was a commercial operation, but with crowds thick over the past couple of days, it was filthy—not just unclean, but with walls smeared in a patchwork of dingy yellows and god-knows-what shades.
On second thought, putting Kong Liyuan up there might expose her to all sorts of unsavory characters.
In the end, they opted for this homestay: cleaner, safer, and occupied only by a local woman.
The heavy snow had stranded plenty of travelers, so snagging a tidy room like this was already fortunate. They could hardly complain or make more demands of the Guide, who had been dashing about on their behalf.
Which meant she and Kong Liyuan had to share the bed.
Kong Liyuan hadn’t offered any opinion on the matter, but Fu Tingli still felt a twinge of apprehension.
They’d shared a bed in California before, but this wasn’t like those carefree, haphazard sleepovers of the past.
Still, no matter how uneasy she felt, she couldn’t very well go sleep in the snow.
With that realization, Fu Tingli instinctively glanced up at Kong Liyuan.
Her eyes met the other woman’s in the dim glow—a gaze that had apparently lingered on her for some time, hovering somewhere between a smile and nothing at all.
Her heart lurched.
It was as if the ground had suddenly caved in beneath her feet, stirring the already charged air into something even more heady and disorienting.
Fu Tingli looked away first. She snatched up the red plastic bag she’d been clutching and thrust it toward Kong Liyuan, mumbling incoherently,
“You go ahead… wash up first.”
Then she buried herself in rummaging through the suitcase.
From the chaos of the previous night until now, neither of them had changed clothes. They were still wearing the filthy outfits from crawling through the snow.
Only now, in this comparatively comfortable space, did the grime start to bother her.
“What’s this?”
Kong Liyuan’s voice drifted down from above, lazy and relaxed as she leaned against the windowsill to speak.
Fu Tingli nearly looked up.
But her peripheral vision caught the hazy mirror by the wall.
In it, the woman’s indistinct silhouette stood behind her, holding the bag Fu Tingli had handed over. That gaze softened into something fuzzy and illusory.
As if it were flowing right through the thin glass, trickling down her spine and sending an itch across her back.
Fu Tingli coughed, suddenly aware of a fierce tickle in her throat. “I found some clean clothes for you to change into. You don’t have any luggage, right?”
She kept her head down after that. No sound came from behind her, so she continued digging through the suitcase in a frenzy.
At last, she pulled out two thick sweaters and a pair of gray sweatpants for Kong Liyuan to wear the next day. Then a base layer shirt and cotton pajama pants to serve as sleepwear.
As for more intimate garments…
“Well, you can’t wear my used underwear. That plastic bag contains…”
She glanced up and caught sight in the mirror of the hazy figure opening the bag, her index finger hooked through the transparent nylon tag.
A brand-new pair of cotton panties slipped free, dangling from those slender, elegant fingers.
Kong Liyuan glanced over, and this time she truly smiled—even if it was at her reflection in the blurry, yellowed glass.
Fu Tingli could make it out clearly: the mirror seemed to ripple like fragile water, trembling along with the laugh.
“I picked it up at the supermarket. The quality doesn’t look great, but after all these days, you have to change sometime.”
She’d even bought a couple extras.
Fu Tingli stood up and handed over the clothes she’d gathered, keeping her composure.
“You’re right,” Kong Liyuan said.
Her laughter faded, and she fished out another item from the bag: something wrapped in a small packet. Inside were a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
This one seemed to surprise her even more.
She stared at it for a moment before shaking the cigarette pack and lighter in her hand.
“When we get to Kanas, I’ll pay you back.”
“There’s no need,” Fu Tingli said, shaking her head. “It didn’t cost much. Prices at the supermarket here are cheap.”
“It’s not your usual brand, though. There aren’t any ladies’ cigarettes here—just these rough, rugged ones.
“I asked a few of the old guys squatting outside drinking and smoking. They all said this was the mildest and sweetest in the bunch, though it was also the one they griped about the most—and the one the shopkeeper couldn’t sell.”
Then Fu Tingli remembered something else. “Oh, right—I forgot. Didn’t you say you only smoke that one brand?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s cheap. If you don’t want it, just keep it.”
She rattled on, but Kong Liyuan suddenly called out,
“Fu Tingli.”
“Yeah?”
Fu Tingli was still crouched by the suitcase, now sorting her own change of clothes.
“Why did you really buy these for me?” Kong Liyuan asked from behind her.
“It’s nothing—just a pack of smokes,” Fu Tingli replied. “I had to buy some stuff anyway, so I wandered the aisles a bit and grabbed them on impulse.”
“As for this lighter…” Here, she trailed off.
“What’s wrong with the lighter?”
Fu Tingli chuckled. “I meant to get you a nicer one, but this will have to do for now.”
After that incident, she never wore that swimsuit again.
Whenever she thought back to the lighter she’d pawned off, she figured one lifetime of such lopsided barters was enough.
She hadn’t expected it to happen again—and with the same woman, no less.
Kong Liyuan fell silent behind her, simply watching.
Fu Tingli didn’t pursue the topic. Once she’d gathered her own clothes, she noticed Kong Liyuan still standing there.
“Aren’t you going to wash up?” she asked, puzzled.
Then her eyes fell on the new tag dangling from Kong Liyuan’s hand, and realization dawned.
“Oh, right—shouldn’t new stuff be washed first? Wearing it straight out of the package isn’t exactly clean.”
Kong Liyuan seemed to snap out of a daze, replying offhandedly,
“I’ll wash it tonight and hang it to dry overnight—see if it’s ready by morning.”
“Then what about tonight?” Fu Tingli asked without thinking.
Kong Liyuan shot her a glance and smiled, just like old times.
“Tonight,” she said, “I can go without.”
~~~
Fu Tingli finished her shower and blow-dried her hair halfway in the living room before returning.
Kong Liyuan had changed into that plush purple old sweater of Fu Tingli’s and was cocooned in the quilts.
There was no telling from the outside whether she was wearing anything underneath.
The room’s single dim bulb cast a hazy, murky light, evoking the texture of an aged film scene.
Kong Liyuan sat quietly on the edge of the bed, gazing out the small, battered window at the snow still drifting down relentlessly.
Her freshly washed black hair was still a little damp, fluffing softly against the back of her neck and obscuring most of one side of her face.
Fu Tingli couldn’t make out her expression, but with the light so dim and her whole figure tucked into this narrow, worn, and cramped space, Kong Liyuan seemed somehow forlorn.
Two separate quilts had been laid out on the bed. Kong Liyuan must have just come back and spread them.
And the one belonging to Fu Tingli even had two extra thick fleece blankets draped over it.
Right after finishing her shower, Fu Tingli had run into the homestay’s Apa, who had given her a kindly smile and asked in halting Chinese, “Is little sister still cold?”
Kong Liyuan must have gone to Apa and asked for those two fleece blankets to cover her.
There were two beds—why put both on hers?
Fu Tingli thought, her gaze inevitably drifting back to the neatly made quilts. Kong Liyuan lazily lifted her eyes to meet hers.
Their eyes locked.
Fu Tingli suddenly remembered her saying she wouldn’t wear anything. On a whim, she averted her gaze.
Then she froze.
When she finally shifted her eyes away again, she heard Kong Liyuan let out a soft chuckle, and her ears grew hot.
Pretending not to hear, Fu Tingli touched her ear and climbed into bed in her sweater and pajama pants.
She burrowed into the thick layers of bedding, and warmth flooded through her instantly. It felt so good that she lay there stiffly, not wanting to move.
“Huh? Why is it so warm?”
Kong Liyuan was propped up against the wall on her adjacent quilt, her long hair fluffed out and nearly brushing Fu Tingli’s ear.
“How warm?”
“Not cold at all. I never warm up a bed quickly—usually takes me forever lying there before it heats up. But this one was cozy the second I got in.”
“Good as long as you’re not cold.”
“Kong Liyuan.”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Kong Liyuan asked.
“For warming the bed for me.” Fu Tingli wasn’t so oblivious that she wouldn’t notice the bedding had been deliberately preheated.
“So how are you going to thank me?”
“Is a verbal thank-you not enough? If not, there’s still that pack of smokes.”
Fu Tingli said it casually, then nuzzled her chin into the toasty bedding. She stared at the shifting light on the ceiling for a good while before remembering to ask,
“Are you cold?”
Kong Liyuan chuckled. “Only now do you think to ask me?”
“Then we’ll split a fleece blanket.”
Without asking if she wanted it, Fu Tingli reached out from under the covers and tugged at the top fleece blanket, trying to slide it toward Kong Liyuan.
But she hadn’t moved it far.
Before a warm hand pressed down on hers. The feverish heat hit like a fired bullet straight to her pulse, overwhelming her.
Fu Tingli yanked her hand back. A second later, she felt like she’d pulled away too quickly. It wasn’t like she’d touched a roaring blaze—did she really need to flinch like that?
Lost in thought, she heard Kong Liyuan’s voice from right above her and looked up.
“I don’t need that much cover. I’m not as cold-sensitive as you.”
She registered the voice first, then saw Kong Liyuan still leaning against the wall.
Perhaps because she was sitting a bit higher, she was looking down at Fu Tingli with her head slightly tilted, dim light and shadow playing across her lashes.
“Two quilts are plenty.”
Kong Liyuan emphasized, then slowly released her hand.
Fu Tingli narrowed her eyes, trying to spot any hint of pretense on Kong Liyuan’s face.
But there was none. Kong Liyuan really didn’t seem as sensitive to the cold as she was—her hand had indeed been warm.
“Fine, leave it in the middle then.” Fu Tingli conceded, letting go of the half-pulled fleece blanket.
“If you get cold at night, you can just tug it over.”
“That works.” Kong Liyuan didn’t object this time. She nodded, then glanced at Fu Tingli’s wide-open eyes.
“Are you sleepy?”
“A little, but not really in the mood to sleep.” Fu Tingli had slept like the dead at the relief station and had just eaten and drunk her fill, stuffed with mutton soup.
She pulled out the phone she’d tucked under her pillow and checked the time. “Wow, it’s not even nine yet.”
