Chapter Sixty-Eight: Such a Beautiful Night

Cheng Xiaoyu awoke around noon, groggy and confused, feeling as though his head might split open. He opened his eyes to find that his nose was already running down to his lips. Wrapping himself in his quilt, he sat up and grabbed a few tissues to wipe himself clean. Still feeling muddled, he lay back down to sleep some more.

The next time he woke, it was hunger that pulled him from his dreams. His stomach was painfully empty, but he had no appetite at all. Draping his quilt around his shoulders, he opened the curtains; outside, the streetlights were already on. The sky was pitch-black, and snow continued to fall in a fine, steady drizzle. Footprints trailed across the sidewalk, and if he listened carefully, he could hear distant bursts of firecrackers.

He checked his phone—it was past six. A few messages had arrived, all New Year’s greetings. Cheng Xiaoyu chose one with particularly witty phrasing, sent it to everyone en masse, then tossed his phone aside, not bothering with it anymore.

He picked up the hotel phone and called the front desk, hoping to order some food. A gentle voice told him that the kitchen had closed at three today, and now only instant noodles were available. Did the guest need any?

In his previous life, he’d eaten so much instant noodles that he’d grown sick of them. He declined without hesitation, thanked her, and hung up.

On a day like this, in such a setting, a fragile soul might have broken down in tears, overcome with loneliness. But Cheng Xiaoyu was not so easily troubled and had always been able to endure solitude. Thinking it was New Year’s Eve and nothing would be open outside, he climbed back into bed, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts wander until he drifted off once more.

In his dreams, someone rang the doorbell. Cheng Xiaoyu pulled the quilt over his head and continued dreaming of bygone days. He dreamt he was holding a pair of hands warm and smooth as jade, a sweet fragrance enveloping his senses, and a cool, refreshing breeze brushing gently past his ear. The dream was so sweet it seemed he might dissolve into it.

Again he woke from hunger, but this time he felt much better. He was soaked in sweat. Something was on his forehead—he reached up to find a rectangular folded towel. The quilt covering him had become two layers thick.

Only then did Cheng Xiaoyu realize it probably hadn’t been a dream—someone really had visited. He sat up and looked around, but no one was there. After a moment’s thought, he figured it must have been Aunt Zhou. He didn’t linger on it, turned on the TV, and saw the Spring Festival Gala was about to begin.

A few minutes later, his stomach rumbled loudly. Cheng Xiaoyu sighed—he’d have to settle for instant noodles after all. He picked up the phone, intending to ask the front desk to send some up. Just then, the door opened.

He turned to look, expecting Aunt Zhou, but it was Su Yuxi who entered.

A girl as beautiful as Su Yuxi had a way of lifting one’s spirits just by appearing, especially now, when she was carrying a small pot in her hands. At the sight of the pot, Cheng Xiaoyu couldn’t help but swallow.

Seeing him stare at the pot, Su Yuxi couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You’ve caught a cold and have a fever—why didn’t you call home?”

Her gentle smile soothed his weary spirit and body. In a hoarse voice he replied, “It’s just a minor illness; I’ll get over it.” But in his heart he thought, “That’s your home—not necessarily mine.”

Su Yuxi placed the pot on the nightstand. “I made you some porridge. Let it cool a bit before you eat.” She took a box of medicine from her pocket, handed it to him, then went to the door and poured him some water.

Sitting up with the quilt tucked under his arm, Cheng Xiaoyu called to her back, “I’m sorry to trouble you like this on New Year’s Eve.”

Su Yuxi said nothing. She brought him a cup of hot water and gazed into his eyes as if she could see his soul. Her voice was gentle: “We’re family. Please don’t use polite formalities to mask your vulnerability or build walls between us. To feel needed—that’s what family means, isn’t it?”

Cheng Xiaoyu took the water. The warmth of the cup seeped through his fingers and into his heart. He quickly raised the cup to his lips, letting the rising steam bathe his skin and moisten his eyes. He took a small sip of the warm water, and it tasted salty.

Su Yuxi took the medicine box from his hand, opened it, read the instructions carefully, and pressed two red-and-yellow capsules into his palm.

For some reason, these two pills felt as heavy as mountains; yet when he put them in his mouth, they tasted sweet.

Holding the cup, still feeling its lingering warmth, Cheng Xiaoyu lowered his head, not daring to look at her. In a low voice, he said, “Thank you.” Then, quickly adding, “That’s not just politeness—I really mean it. I’m so grateful to have a sister like you. So thank you, thank you to heaven, to Dad, to Aunt Zhou, and to you.”

Su Yuxi smiled. “Then I should thank you, too. All these years, our parents never really felt like parents until you came along. Thank you for letting them experience that.”

Cheng Xiaoyu couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you praising me or making fun of me?”

She replied, “Everything has two sides. You need to see things dialectically, not just as good or bad, praise or criticism.”

He set the cup down, as if he’d just heard a particularly dry joke, laughing as he said, “I never knew you could joke around!”

Su Yuxi seemed not to understand what he found funny. “I’m not joking. I’m serious.”

Cheng Xiaoyu looked up at her earnest face, stifled his laughter, then found it even funnier. He burst out laughing, pausing only to catch his breath. “Sister, if you ever tried doing stand-up, you’d be terrible at it.”

“So?” Su Yuxi still didn’t get what was so funny.

“That’s why it’s funny.” Cheng Xiaoyu laughed harder, picturing Su Yuxi and Xu Qinning, both utterly serious, performing a comic dialogue in traditional robes.

Su Yuxi immediately classified Cheng Xiaoyu as one of those people who are intermittently and inexplicably odd. Who else belonged to that category? Of course, Miss Xu Qinning.

Su Yuxi picked up the spoon from the pot lid with her left hand, lifted the pot with her right, checked the temperature with her fingers, and decided it was no longer hot.

Handing the spoon to Cheng Xiaoyu, she said, “The hotel kitchen isn’t really supposed to let us use their things, but the front desk girl managed to get me some rice and two preserved eggs. I made you congee with them. It’s my first time cooking, so don’t expect too much.”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, nodded, and took the spoon, leaning over to dig in.

Perhaps it was hunger, perhaps something else, but he thought this was the most delicious meal he’d had since crossing into this life—so good it almost brought him to tears.

He finished the whole pot, scraping it clean. Su Yuxi washed the pot and spoon in the bathroom, then told him she was returning them to the kitchen downstairs.

Seizing the chance, Cheng Xiaoyu dressed and washed his face and brushed his teeth.

When Su Yuxi came back, he hesitated before saying, “Xiao Xi, are you sure it’s okay not to be over there? It’s New Year’s, after all. And how did you end up coming here?”

Su Yuxi glanced at the Spring Festival Gala on TV and replied casually, “During New Year’s dinner, my mom called you a few times but you didn’t answer, so she asked me to check on you. It doesn’t matter if I’m at the old house or here; either way, I’m just watching TV. I don’t like playing cards. Mom and Dad will come over before midnight anyway. My mom even bought fireworks for you—she still sees you as a child.” She ended with a sweet smile; often, she thought her mother was more childish than she was.

Cheng Xiaoyu picked up his phone, which was still on silent. Sure enough, there were many missed calls and messages. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d set off fireworks. In this life, during his years in America, he’d never set any off himself, and had rarely even seen them. He murmured, “Fireworks… what a distant memory.”

Su Yuxi asked, “By the way, how did you catch a cold?”

Cheng Xiaoyu didn’t know that his busking and quietly escorting a little girl home yesterday had been seen by them. He replied casually, “Oh, I realized I’d lost my money on the way back yesterday. Since the hotel wasn’t far, I just walked. Maybe it was too cold, and that’s why I caught a cold.”

The hotel wasn’t far from Bronze Sparrow Terrace, so his explanation held up—he’d only spent about twenty yuan on a cab, after all.

Su Yuxi simply said, “Oh,” as if she wanted to say more but then kept silent. The two of them watched the Gala in bored silence.

As midnight approached, Su Changhe and Zhou Peipei also arrived at the hotel.

When the countdown began, firecrackers exploded outside the window and countless fireworks soared into the sky. In this world, setting off fireworks for the Chinese New Year was not forbidden.

At midnight, there was a grand fireworks show at Tian'anmen.

In the hotel’s open parking lot, the family lit the fireworks Aunt Zhou had bought. Snowflakes still drifted down over the capital, and in the snowy night, each beautiful but fleeting firework burst in the white sky.

Su Yuxi held a lit sparkler, tracing bright shapes through the air. Cheng Xiaoyu knew she was writing words, but he couldn’t make out what they were.

He lit a large firework called “Such a Beautiful Night,” and as he gazed up at the sky, it seemed as if a meteor shower was streaking across the city. The snowy night was illuminated by bursts of color; each firework bloomed like a giant parasol, flared like dazzling lanterns before fading quietly away, or scattered golden dust like blossoms drifting in the wind. Fireworks blossomed in strings across the sky, and finally, like countless meteors trailing long tails, they reluctantly slid away into the night.

Standing with his family beneath this flourishing age, Cheng Xiaoyu made his wishes for the future.

Up in the night, beyond the clouds, the fireworks flashed by like a sea of stars outside an astronaut’s window—brief and radiant, but that instant of brilliance was enough.

Cheng Xiaoyu thought quietly to himself: I am not a firework of a different color, nor am I a shooting star that vanishes in a flash.

Even if I am destined to fall, I will be the brightest supernova—like SN 1006.