In the biting cold wind, even bundled up in thick down jackets, Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia were still shivering so hard their teeth chattered. Watching Chang Leyun sitting onstage with her bare shoulders exposed, still putting on an expression of delight as she played the violin, they couldn’t help but admire her from the bottom of their hearts.
Today was the grand opening day of the D3 Art & Creative Park in northern Suzhou, and Ning Xiaobei’s group had come to join the celebration.
They had expected the speeches from the various leaders on stage to last no more than ten minutes, but who knew these leaders could talk so endlessly? Each time someone went up, they’d start with, “I’ll just say a few words…”
But how could anything a leader says ever be just a few words? They practically turned the opening ceremony into a speech contest. One after another, they dragged on; altogether, it had already been nearly an hour.
“Ding Zheyang, aren’t you cold? Let’s go,” Fan Xia nudged Ding Zheyang, who was standing on his right. Ding Zheyang, nose constantly running from the cold, nodded but shook his head hesitantly.
“Let’s at least wait until Lele finishes playing… and there are celebrity performances later too. I need to take photos.”
Today, Ding Zheyang had come with a mission—he was helping Wang Qingyu take photos of the celebrities onstage. If he could get backstage shots, that would be even better. If Sister Wang hadn’t had to return to school today, she would’ve rushed here personally.
It was said that many big-name Hong Kong and Taiwanese stars had been invited to perform at today’s opening ceremony. Chang Leyun and the other violinists were just the warm-up acts, the real headliners were yet to come.
As for who those celebrities were, neither Fan Xia nor Ning Xiaobei recognized them. But judging from the sea of young girls outside earlier, waving light boards and signs and cheering like a tidal wave, they were clearly a big deal. After all, celebrities back then were still the real deal, there was no such thing as traffic stars yet
“I can’t take it anymore. I’m heading out with boss,” Fan Xia stomped his feet hard a couple of times, deciding to retreat indoors. He didn’t chase celebrities anyway, and after all these years of listening to Chang Leyun’s violin, his ears had practically grown calluses, why suffer through this?
This opening ceremony wasn’t open to the public; everyone present had been invited. Ding Zheyang had gotten his invitation thanks to Chang Leyun. As for Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia, they had come along with their families.
And the reason was simple, this art creative park used to be the Third Shoe Factory.
Since shutting down in the 1990s, the factory had gone through many twists and turns. It had been taken over by foreign companies and private owners in succession. But with the introduction of various environmental regulations, factories in the city center were relocated to the suburbs or other regions. This once-thriving factory ultimately faded into obscurity, becoming an abandoned site left vacant for many years.
In preparation for the 2010 World Expo, Shanghai had practically turned into one giant construction site. On both sides of the Huangpu River, skyscrapers shot up everywhere; roads were built, torn up, and rebuilt again. Grandma Ning rarely went out, but every time she did, she felt like she recognized Shanghai less and less.
Along the Suzhou Creek industrial belt, hundreds of old factory buildings, carrying a century of the struggles of Shanghai’s workers, had mostly fallen under the rumble of bulldozers, with only a portion preserved and converted into museums.
The shoe factory was fortunate. Its former director couldn’t bear to see these old buildings destroyed, and had been working tirelessly for years to save them. He raised funds, renovated the old factory buildings, and divided them into studio spaces, renting them out at very low prices to students and teachers from art academies. In the end, he succeeded in attracting a group of artists to settle here.
Gradually, the creative park gained some reputation in the Yangtze River Delta art scene, producing quite a number of avant-garde figures.
The workshops that once roared with machinery became art studios; the cafeteria where workers once ate became music rooms. Some people created sculptures here, some worked on installation art, some screened old films, and some even held late-night reading clubs.
Some time ago, through the introduction of mutual acquaintances, a Hong Kong investor expressed interest in funding the redevelopment of this park. The originally scattered studios were consolidated, several previously vacant factory buildings were expanded and renovated, and a young artists’ home project was also sponsored.
As a result, this once-declining old factory was completely reborn from the ashes, gaining attention from both the district and city governments. The park, which had gone unnamed for years, was finally officially inaugurated today as the Shanghai North Suzhou Creek D3 Creative Park—“D3” standing for the Third Shoe Factory.
From an old Shanghai cotton mill owned by Japanese capitalists, to a people’s leather shoe factory in New China, and now to an art park—these red-brick buildings had borne witness to a century of Shanghai’s transformations.
For this occasion, the former factory director had invited many of the old employees back, hoping they could see for themselves the factory’s renewed vitality
So among those listening to the leaders’ speeches today were not only the Hong Kong tycoon, but also Ning Jianguo, Zhao Jingwen, Xiao Sun, and many others. Even the once-troublesome Ma Zhiguo had come—these days, he was the owner of a seafood restaurant, long since a far cry from his former self.
As for Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia, they had snuck into the baths using their family status back in the day. Now, they similarly leveraged their family connections to attend the opening ceremony.
The two quietly slipped away from the small square and began wandering along the paths they remembered.
Most of the old buildings had been preserved, still with red walls and gray tiles, though now strange and quirky signboards hung over their entrances. Poking their heads into any random room, they saw paintings on the walls and sculptures on shelves, but not a single person in sight. Artists, it seemed, were carefree enough not to worry about theft.
There were no workers in blue uniforms, no roar of machinery. The silence felt unfamiliar.
“Wow, isn’t this the old bathhouse? Boss, do you remember? We used to come here all the time when we were kids.”
At a tall building behind the parking lot, Fan Xia couldn’t help but pull Ning Xiaobei by the shoulder.
“No cutting in line! No cutting in line! Are you family? Whose family are you to get in to bathe? Have your family come and prove it.”
“Hey! How old are you already, still coming into the women’s bath? Aren’t you ashamed?”
Squinting his eyes, he could almost see the middle-aged female attendant with a red armband standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, directing order. But the long, continuous lines of families trailing in together were gone.
It all felt like a dream.
Walking into the bathhouse hall, the two rows of wooden benches that once divided the men’s and women’s sections had long since disappeared, replaced by a massive statue of an artistic goddess.
From the three-meter-high ceiling hung a crystal chandelier, casting such brilliance on the sculpture that it was almost blinding.
Ning Xiaobei asked Fan Xia whether there had ever been such a big light here before. Fan Xia said he didn’t remember. Back then, the moment you stepped inside, everything was thick with steam, like putting on a pair of reading glasses. Light, voices—everything slowed down, softened, and blurred within the mist.
Besides, they had been so small at the time, barely reaching an adult’s waist.
Standing in the long line, all they could see were adults’ backs and waists, long braided hair trailing behind female workers, and the colorful mesh bags they carried for toiletries, filled with blue Seagull shampoo and red Fenghua conditioner.
Art doesn’t distinguish between genders, so they could no longer tell whether they were standing in the old men’s bath or the women’s bath.
Everywhere they looked were paintings and sculptures they couldn’t make sense of. Some were riotously colorful, some grotesque, some sharply black-and-white, some a chaotic blur. Only the deep blue mosaic tiles on the floor and the Roman marble columns rising straight to the vaulted ceiling stirred faint memories of their childhood.
Boys had once run naked between the columns, chasing and tumbling, sometimes slipping straight into the hot pools, only to be dragged out by an uncle or older man and scolded loudly—of course, that was Fan Xia’s memory.
Ning Xiaobei had always been well-behaved, sticking close to Ning Jianguo, scrubbing his father’s back, listening to the uncles’ endless chatter.
Suddenly, Ning Xiaobei pointed excitedly at the largest wall to the north, patting Fan Xia’s shoulder with enthusiasm.
The men’s bath had originally featured a painting of Japan’s Mount Fuji, which had been painted over with plain white after Liberation. Now, a huge painting hung there.
The scene on the wall was startlingly familiar: layered frost-tipped leaves, clear emerald pools, mist-wrapped mountains, jagged rocls, a small stream running through, reddish stone slabs resembling the folds of a beauty’s dress— wasn’t this Gu Kaige’s hometown?
“Hello, this is the work of our Chief Art Consultant. What do you two think?”
Perhaps they were too visibly excited, for a staff member approached. A girl in a black suit and heels stepped forward to ask.
“Chief Art Consultant? May I ask who that is?”
Ning Xiaobei asked curiously. Who could capture those crimson mountains and clear waters so vividly?
The girl stepped aside, and Ning Xiaobei followed the line of her gesture.
A man in a gray jacket and matching beret stood behind a small door, puffing on a cigarette and impatiently explaining something to the man beside him. His long hair hid much of his face, but Ning Xiaobei immediately recognized him.
“Teacher Peng?”
Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia exclaimed in unison.
The man jumped, instinctively flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out, only slowly realizing he was no longer a teacher, and this was no longer a school.
“It really is Teacher Peng.”
Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia walked over.
Peng Yue still wore that same languid, world-weary expression, but his attire had clearly changed. His designer clothes removed the downtrodden, reclusive vibe of his former art-student self. He now looked like a golden-caged bird nestled in a luxurious coverlet: proud, a little feral, exuding a touch of dangerous charm. That feral streak, paradoxically, made him appear more flamboyantly seductive, a strange kind of beauty.
“Oh? So you really were a teacher? I thought you were just bragging to the old man.”
The man standing beside him said disdainfully. His hair was even longer than Chang Leyun’s, and though his face was quite handsome, his expression was a bit too fierce.
“Get lost.”
Peng Yue replied bluntly.
The long-haired man let out a sneer, his eyes sweeping back and forth between Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia. He flicked his hair back, then left with reluctant, heavy steps.
For a moment, the three of them stood in awkward silence. In the end, Peng Yue spoke first.
“You probably don’t know yet, but I’m not a teacher anymore. How have you been? You… are you still in touch with Teacher Gu? How is he?”
He knew these two students had once been Gu Kaige’s prized students, and he could hardly wait to ask about him.
“Teacher Gu is doing well. We went to his hometown before the New Year… it’s right there.”
Ning Xiaobei pointed at the massive mural. “Teacher Peng, you…”
He had wanted to ask how Peng Yue had been lately, but when he saw the bleak look on his face, the words died on his lips.
How could he be? Just like this, a caged canary.
“You’ve been to Dalan Town?”
Peng Yue forced a smile. “Do you think my painting is good?”
“It’s good, it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the real scenery.”
Fan Xia answered honestly.
During the days they had spent in the mountains, the weather had been almost too good. The blazing sun shone down without restraint. Though it made the mountains and waters bright and clear, it lacked that misty, ethereal quality.
But Teacher Peng’s painting was different. It was still the same mountains and waters, yet the added mist made it feel dreamlike, like a celestial realm.
“Is that so? I’ve never been there. I only heard him describe it… I painted it based on what he told me.”
Teacher Peng lowered his head, his smile tinged with bitterness. “I didn’t expect it to win an award.”
Such a grand masterpiece could never have been completed overnight.
Ning Xiaobei could imagine how it must have been back then, one speaking softly and at length, the other painting with careful strokes, Peng Yue recreating, bit by bit, the hometown in Brother’s dreams, building a place even more enchanting than a fairyland.
Back then, they must have been deeply in love…
“Xiao Yue, you’ve got visitors.”
At that moment, a man in a white suit, a “Special Guest” flower pinned to his chest, approached, speaking Mandarin with a noticeable Cantonese accent.
The man was reasonably handsome, tall and straight-backed, with a well-maintained face that made it hard to guess his exact age. Yet the faint age spots on his hands and the wrinkles on his neck betrayed the passage of time.
Ning Xiaobei’s eyes flicked, and he immediately guessed who it was.
“These two are…”
The older man’s eyes lit up sharply when he saw Ning Xiaobei and Fan Xia. Especially when he looked at Ning Xiaobei, it was as if a spark had been lit out of thin air.
Some older people have a fondness for young, beautiful children. Spending time around them seems to draw a little vitality from the young, rejuvenating their own aging spirits. This man was exactly like that, he drew energy from the youth around him, extending his waning life.
Ning Xiaobei proudly lifted his chin, staring at him with a stern, unyielding gaze.
Unexpectedly, this only made the older man’s eyes shine brighter. A thorned rose provokes a greater desire to conquer than a clinging vine.
“They are my former students.”
Peng Yue also caught the man’s intent. Frowning, he stepped forward, putting himself slightly between the two and the older man. “Let’s go. Wasn’t there supposed to be a sculpture unveiling? The time’s almost up.”
Before his former students, Peng Yue still wanted to hold onto the last shred of dignity as their teacher.
“Ah, aren’t you going to introduce yourselves? It’s nice to meet young friends.”
The man insisted on staying and talking.
“I already said—they’re my students. Students!”
Peng Yue’s sudden rise in tone echoed through the hall, which had been converted from the old bathhouse.
Over and over, his voice collided with the painted walls, as if it absorbed the mist of the fairyland depicted in the artwork or perhaps the lingering water vapor from more than a decade ago and became damp and ethereal in the process.
“All right, all right, don’t get huffy. Let’s go to the unveiling.”
The man still thought Peng Yue was acting jealous like a lover. He grabbed Peng Yue’s hand and gently patted the back of it with indulgence.
It was like a grandfather holding his grandson’s hand.
Peng Yue turned back, giving the two of them one last glance, a sad smile flickering across his face.
The tear-shaped mole under his eye seemed almost to have turned into a real drop of tear, falling into the invisible mist surrounding him.
“Xiaobei, in that world you went to… did you ever hear anything about Teacher Peng? Did he really become a famous artist?”
Fan Xia, holding Ning Xiaobei’s shoulder, lowered his voice and asked.
The first time he heard Xiaobei speak of his story, Fan Xia thought either Xiaobei had lost his mind, or he himself had.
But the way Xiaobei told it was so orderly, so polite, and every event he recounted, whether it had actually happened or not, made perfect sense.
He even predicted the number of gold medals China would win at that year’s Sydney Olympics, and the champion of the men’s 110-meter hurdles… a Shanghai guy named Liu Xiang, who would unleash an unprecedented Chinese storm on the track.
Heaven knows Ning Xiaobei didn’t care about sports, and would never have paid attention to hurdles, but he spoke with such certainty that Fan Xia had no choice but to believe him.
Ning Xiaobei shook his head quietly.
He knew nothing about the art world, and couldn’t say whether Teacher Peng would have a place in Shanghai’s painting scene seventeen years later.
But he remembered clearly that about a year later, the news of a certain Hong Kong tycoon dying from AIDS shocked the arts and entertainment community, causing panic among celebrities across the Mainland, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. Rumors spread like wildfire, and many artists quietly disappeared from public life.
He just didn’t know whether Teacher Peng had escaped that disaster.
That night’s celebration was lively, but not the cold, formal reception at the White Magnolia Hotel with district officials and the Hong Kong tycoon. This one was at Old Ma’s Seafood City, the reunion banquet for the former employees of the Third Shoe Factory.
All the former colleagues and friends came: the factory director, the workshop supervisors, retired master craftsmen, Old Liu from the gatehouse, Ning Jianguo’s apprentices and their kids, and even Old Ma’s wife.
“Really, Jianguo’s lucky. His son got into such a good university. My little brat, compared to Xiaobei, is like night and day; he can only sell yellow croakers and hairy crabs with his dad,”said Ma Zhiguo’s wife, her trendy curls bouncing as she raised her glass with a laugh. Both she and her husband wore thick gold chains around their necks and pure-gold Kaibao1 开宝 (Kaibao): A historical Chinese coin / era name. Specifically, it was the era during Emperor Taizu of the Song dynasty (960–976 CE), and coins minted then were called Kaibao coins rings on their fingers, glittering like newly rich nouveau-riche. Hard to imagine that years ago she had once thrown a tantrum in the director’s office over a welfare housing.
“Zhao Jingwen, still single, huh? Want me to introduce you to someone? Don’t be too picky. You really think you’re Fei Xiang, don’t you?”
After retiring, union head Madam Zheng eagerly participated in community affairs, especially matchmaking. Just as she once tried to set up a textile worker with Ning Jianguo, now she wanted to do the same for Zhao Jingwen.
“Xiaobei! Fan Xia! Come here, come here, Uncle Zhao’s going to sing for you!”
To shake off Madam Zheng’s nagging, Zhao Jingwen tugged at his tie and half-pretended to be drunk, launching into a tipsy song:
≈≈≈ 2《年轻的朋友来相会》(Young Friends Come to Meet or Young Friends Get Together): A famous 1980s Chinese youth song symbolizing optimism, reunion, and generational pride; Composer: 谷建芬 – Gu Jianfen; Lyrics: 张枚同 -Zhang MeitongYoung friends, gathered here today, gently row the boats, feel warm spring breeze’s away… ≈≈≈
Uncle Zhao looked like Fei Xiang, and his singing was just as beautiful, intensely magnetic after a few drinks.
The old colleagues started keeping the beat and singing along.
≈≈≈ Oh, dear friends, to whom does this wonderful spring belong? To me, to you, to our new generation of the 1980s…≈≈≈
Yes, they had once been such a proud, ambitious generation.
“Dad, are you happy?”
Ning Xiaobei looped his arm around the slightly tipsy Ning Jianguo and leaned close to ask.
“Happy,”
Ning Jianguo nodded, swaying his shoulders to the rhythm. “I have no regrets in life. I have you, him, and Fan Xia by my side. Mother’s here too, and now the shoe factory is preserved. I’m so happy…”
“Dad…”
Ning Xiaobei couldn’t help but hug his shoulder.
Just like when he was a child, when his arm was around his dad’s shoulder, he felt fearless.
“Xiaobei, where are you going?”
Seeing Ning Xiaobei suddenly let go of Ning Jianguo and move toward the balcony, Fan Xia hurried after him.
The chorus behind them was still in full swing.
≈≈≈In twenty years we’ll meet again, how glorious our motherland will be. Sky renewed, earth renewed, spring sunlight even brighter. City and village everywhere shining…≈≈≈
“Fan Xia, I have to go now,” Ning Xiaobei said, placing his hand on the railing that led to the balcony.
“Ning Xiaobei!”
Even though he knew this day would come sooner or later, Fan Xia couldn’t help but cry out, “Will we meet again? Will we really meet again?”
Xiaobei explained that this world originally didn’t have him, that he came from another world, here to save Ning Jianguo and fulfill his heart’s wish.
Now that Ning Jianguo’s wish had been fulfilled, he had to leave, to travel seventeen years into the future.
At that moment, Fan Xia felt like Yang Guo left clinging to the cliff, while Ning Xiaobei was the Xiaolongnu leaping into the Valley of Absolute Emotion3Jin Yong’s wuxia novel 《The Return of the Condor Heroes》. He had to endure the pain of a thousand arrows piercing his heart and watch the person he loved most in his life walk away.
Yang Guo and Xiaolongnu were reunited after sixteen years, but what about him and Xiaobei? Seventeen years later, would they really meet again? Would he still exist in Xiaobei’s world?
Letting go of the railing, Ning Xiaobei leapt into Fan Xia’s arms, lifting his head to give him a deep, lingering kiss.
As if trying to pour the past eleven years completely into this kiss, as if trying to make up for the seventeen years of separation to follow. They were so absorbed, their souls merging, their hearts and blood melting together, their very marrow dissolving into breath and warmth exchanged between them—you in me, me in you.
“Fan Xia, I love you.”
“I love you, I love you…”
He opened his eyes, kissing his eyebrows, his cheeks, tracing the handsome face of the nineteen-year-old he loved, trying to carve it forever into his memory.
“Ning Xiaobei, remember me. Don’t forget me.”
Tears rolled down Fan Xia’s cheeks, caught by Ning Xiaobei’s lips.
“I’ll come back soon,” he said.
“Wait for me.”
………………
The door of time opened. Beyond it was Ning Xiaobei’s apartment.
“Alright, hurry up with breakfast, we still have to go to the hospital to pick someone up. Honestly, Uncle Ning is really unlucky. He went for a routine heart check-up and somehow got caught in a lockdown screening. Good thing the quarantine was lifted today. This COVID pandemic is such a hassle, who knows when it’ll end…”
Ning Xiaobei walked out of the bathroom and saw that Fan Xia had already tidied the bed. As he chattered on, he opened the window.
The winter morning sun poured into the room, filling it with light.
The sunlight fell across Ning Xiaobei’s face. He paused for a moment in a daze, took two uncertain steps, then suddenly seemed to remember something and hurried into the living room.
As always, Fan Xia had laid out a whole table full of snacks, afraid Ning Xiaobei wouldn’t have enough to eat.
The bottles and cans he had thrown on the floor the night before were gone; the place had been cleaned spotless.
Fan Xia’s camel-hair overcoat, which Ning Xiaobei had gotten wet, was hanging on the balcony, now basking in the sunlight.
But none of that was the most important thing.
Ning Xiaobei turned his head and looked up at the bookshelf—
The place where Ning Jianguo’s memorial photo used to sit still held the same frame.
But the photograph inside had completely changed.
That was taken on the day Grandma’s 【Qingxia Convenience Store】 opened, a photo he had taken of his father and Uncle Zhao. In the picture, his dad and Uncle Zhao wore matching custom-made suits, one black and one white. They looked radiant, full of spirit, the best version of a man in his prime.
Next to that photo, another frame had appeared at some point. It held a picture from his father’s fiftieth birthday at Wang Kai Photo Studio on Nanjing Road; beside his father stood not just himself, but also Uncle Zhao and Fan Xia.
A photo of two people had become one of four.
Dad is alive. His dad is really alive!
Ning Xiaobei shut his eyes and covered his face with both hands. The uncontrollable surge of joy made him break down in loud sobs.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying all of a sudden?”
Fan Xia rushed over in alarm, placing his hands on Ning Xiaobei’s trembling shoulders.
Before he could finish speaking, a pair of burning lips pressed against his, carrying a longing that felt like only a fleeting instant, and yet like spanning a full sixteen years.
It came like mountains collapsing and seas overturning, like peaks crumbling, seeping into the bones, sinking deep into the marrow.
Fan Xia froze for a moment, then responded without hesitation.
Outside the door, two elderly men wearing masks slowly stepped out of the elevator and walked down the corridor.
“Jianguo, I’m telling you, Xiaoxia is just making a fuss out of nothing. It’s not like I can’t drive. Did they really need to go pick you up? I could’ve brought you back all by myself. Honestly, this time you should just move back with me to the old apartment building. I heard they’re installing elevators in the Workers’ New Village, living there will be much more convenient in the future.”
The man beside Zhao Jingwen nodded. Though his neat crew cut had long since turned frosty with gray, his features were still handsome and his spirit lively. He is a dashing old gentleman.
Seven or eight white pigeons flapped past the high-rise window, the whistles tied to their tails ringing out with crisp, clear notes. A feather drifted in through the window and landed lightly on the shoulders of the two who were locked in an inseparable kiss.
“Xiaobei, Xiaoxia, we’re back.”
Wanting to surprise the two youngsters, the two mischievous old men quietly pushed open the door, only to stumble upon the scene before them…
“Fan Xia!”
Zhao Jingwen bellowed. The travel bag in his hand dropped to the floor.
Where’s my feather duster?!
………………
Author’s Note:
Ahem… rubbing hands… sorry about this, I didn’t manage to finish writing the first extra chapter in time, so there’s only one update today. Ate too many hairy crabs and ended up with a terrible stomachache. I kowtow in apology! I swear there’ll be sweet little treats tomorrow! I promise!
The D3 Creative Park doesn’t actually exist. The real-life art district by the Suzhou River is the M50 Art District at No. 50 Moganshan Road. It used to be Shanghai No. 12 Wool Textile Factory, where my mom used to work, and it was my childhood playground. Thanks to the efforts of the old factory director, it was saved from demolition and still thrives today.
After graduating from university, I changed jobs several times, and by sheer coincidence, I even worked at M50 for a few months.
Because of the pandemic, it hasn’t been easy to travel this year. When autumn just began, I took my mom back to visit the old factory buildings. She got really emotional and said: “The bathhouse isn’t the same bathhouse anymore, but the toilets are still the same toilets!” Haha… that’s where the inspiration for this story came from. It’s a tribute to those old alleyways and buildings we can never return to, and to the fiery youth of our parents’ generation in the 1980s.
Starting tomorrow, the extras begin! There’ll be lots of them this time~~ Teacher Gu, Yangyang, Grandma, Old Zhao, and Dad will all get their stories expanded. See you tomorrow!
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈ End of Main Text ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Thank you for reading. Sadly, I don’t have the raws for the extras, so this is how it ends. See you!
— dapotaturs ♥♥♥
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