Peaches and Plums Don’t Speak – Chapter 16

First Snow

“It’s not far, so I can come back every day. But it’s not really on the way to your kindergarten.”

Anzhi spoke up hesitantly. “I don’t like kindergarten…”

Yan Qi asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s too simple,” Anzhi said.

Pfft. The answer made Yan Qi laugh out loud. She hugged Anzhi. “I know. Kindergarten is probably way too easy for you…”

Yan Qi even thought she could probably handle the second or third grade.

“But school isn’t just about learning things,” she said. “You also have to learn how to get along with people in a group and make friends.”

Anzhi looked doubtful. But her classmates were all little kids who cried at the drop of a hat. Some of them even had to count on their fingers for half the day just to solve one plus one. They couldn’t write the characters for north, south, east, or west. Few of them could even write the characters for the numbers one through ten. Two weeks had passed, and several of them still couldn’t recite the Pinyin initials¹ and finals².

She already knew everything the teachers taught. They always picked the simplest picture books to read from, and if a child started crying during the story, the teacher would stop to comfort them. And just like that, the lesson would be over. She could only read by herself and look up any words she didn’t know. But the kindergarten didn’t even have a dictionary. She had to copy down the unfamiliar characters every day and borrow a dictionary from Great-grandfather’s study to look them up.

Is this what group life is? It seems so boring.

“So, has Anzhi made any friends?”

Anzhi pouted. “No… They’re so childish.”

Childish. My classmates are so childish. Sentence construction successful. I understand this word now.

Yan Qi smiled, completely charmed by her.

“I get it. How about we enroll you in elementary school after the New Year? We can’t rush it, though. Your household registration³ isn’t here, so there might be some paperwork to do. Leave it to me.”

Anzhi’s eyes lit up again.

“Also… you’re not actually old enough,” Yan Qi mused, not having paid attention to this detail before. She did a quick calculation. “Anzhi, you’re only five, right? You’d have to be five to be a Rabbit.”

“Huh?” Anzhi’s face was a mask of shock.

“They probably count by nominal age⁴ where you’re from. Ugh, I’ve never really understood how to calculate age that way. But generally, you have to be six full years old to start first grade. By your family’s count, that would be seven.”

Anzhi was still reeling from the shock. How did I suddenly get a year younger? Does this mean I have to stay in kindergarten for another two years?

“Also… you need to eat more. You have to grow tall quickly…”

Teased about her height again!

Anzhi was not happy. She silently puffed out her cheeks.

Yan Qi came over and ruffled her hair.

“Alright, it’s getting late, Anzhi. Go on up and sleep.”

Anzhi followed beside her, then suddenly tugged on the corner of Yan Qi’s clothes.

“What is it?” Yan Qi looked down at her.

Anzhi’s apple cheeks⁵ were flushed red. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something.

“Hm? Go on, you can say it.” Yan Qi’s gaze was encouraging.

“…Why don’t you call me Taotao anymore…” The little girl stared up with wide, watery, round eyes, tugging on her clothes like a small animal begging to be petted.

Traces of her earlier tears still lingered on her little face, and her lips had just been smiling. Children were such strange creatures, so easily showing their emotions in response to the world around them. They cried and then laughed, laughed and then cried, all in the blink of an eye.

Even a child as reserved and quiet as Anzhi would show this side of herself to her.

Yan Qi told herself she was rarely charmed by children, but seeing Anzhi like this made her heart melt into a soft puddle.

That night, Anzhi had cried nonstop. Tears streamed endlessly from beneath her closed eyelids. She cried until she was sobbing, almost unable to breathe. Yan Qi had no idea what to do except pull her into a hug.

Remembering Anzhi had said her maternal grandfather called her Taotao, Yan Qi had adopted the name for her. Little Anzhi had buried her face in Yan Qi’s chest, crying like a little milk kitten⁶, only falling asleep while clutching her shirt after much comforting.

It was the same cautious gesture.

For a child like Anzhi, Yan Qi felt, this was already a rare, rare thing.

She knelt down and asked with a smile, “Do you like it when I call you Taotao?”

At her teasing, Yan Qi saw a dusting of pink⁷ immediately appear on the little girl’s cheeks, soft as little steamed buns⁸, and her dimples⁹ deepened.

She had the look of someone who wanted to say, “I like it a lot,” but was too shy to express it. The skin on a child’s face was just too thin.¹⁰

Yan Qi chuckled and nodded. “Then I’ll call you Taotao from now on.”

Anzhi’s little face immediately broke into a wide smile.

Yan Qi took her hand and swung it gently. “It’s too late. Come on, we have to go sleepy-sleep.” The moment the words left her mouth, Yan Qi’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a little mortified.

Anzhi stared at their joined hands. The feeling of her hand being held and swung so gently made her so happy.

Yan Qi shot her a sidelong glance. “But you can’t call me Xiao Wu.”

Anzhi blinked and giggled.

Perhaps because of Yan Qi’s promise, Anzhi slowly became less afraid and anxious. She started trying to play with the twins instead of hiding alone on the third floor. The twins finally got used to her, too, and would grab her to watch Doraemon¹¹ or play hide-and-seek.

Although Yan Qi hadn’t given a clear timeline for when they would move out, little Anzhi trusted her unconditionally. The days passed quickly in this state of anticipation.

Bei City had officially entered winter. It had never snowed in the place where Anzhi was born, and she had never seen it. She’d heard the adults say that it often snowed in Bei City in the winter. Grandmother Xin told her that you could wake up one morning to find the world outside a vast expanse of white, the ground covered in a thick, soft layer of snow.

Snow. Anzhi had looked it up in the dictionary. Snow, like rain, was a natural phenomenon. She was very curious, secretly looking forward to Bei City’s first snow of the year—which would also be the first snow of her life.

It happened to be a weekend afternoon. Everyone had finished their meal, and the children were playing in the first-floor hall. The air outside was bitingly cold and the sky had grown a little dark. A cold wind howled. Suddenly, fine specks of snow, like grains of salt, began to dance in the air and drift down.

The sharp-eyed Yan Xiao Pang¹² was the first to spot it. He pointed at the sky and cheered, “Ah! It’s snowing!”

Yan Da Pang¹³ immediately joined in, shouting happily, “It’s snowing! I hope it snows a lot! Then we can build a snowman!”

Anzhi pressed her face against the glass door, her curiosity piqued. She tilted her head back and watched without blinking. The snowfall grew heavier. Anzhi watched as the tiny specks turned into feather-like flakes that fluttered down, landing lightly on the ground.

Her little mouth hung open in a soft “ooh” as she watched, mesmerized. Someone came up behind her and gently ruffled her hair. Anzhi’s soft, pale cheek brushed against her palm. Yan Qi smiled down at her. “You can’t stare for too long, or your eyes will hurt.”

The twins tugged at her sleeve, begging to go outside. Anzhi also looked at her with pleading eyes, waiting for her to nod.

Yan Qi shook her head. “No, it’s too cold. You’ll catch a chill.” Seeing the disappointment on the children’s faces, she placated them. “How about tomorrow morning? If the snow has stopped, we’ll go out and build a snowman.”

The twins cheered and jumped for joy. Anzhi’s dimples appeared as her eyes curved into a smile. She turned back to watch the snow, placing her small hand on the glass door, longing to touch it.

Since the twins had seen snow before, they were satisfied with the promise and ran off to play something else. Only Anzhi kept sneaking back to the door every few minutes to watch the snow. Right up until bedtime, she was still in her room on the third floor, kneeling by the window and watching the snow with rapt attention.

Yan Qi was making the bed. Even though the whole house had heating, she was afraid the quilt would be too cold, so she laid down a thick woolen blanket and swapped out the comforter for a heavier cotton one.

When she turned and saw Anzhi, she smiled and walked over to stand behind her. Outside the window, under the warm orange glow of a lamp, snow like goose feathers¹⁴ drifted down, thick and fast, as silent and serene as the passage of time.

Yan Qi watched for a moment before speaking. “Alright, it’s time for us to sleep.”

Anzhi was wearing thick pajamas and the woolen socks Yan Qi had bought for her. She swung her short little legs and slid off the bay window seat. “Will the snow stop by tomorrow morning?” she asked.

Yan Qi smiled to herself. Just as I thought, she’s already thinking about playing outside. “It should,” she said.

Anzhi climbed onto the bed, crossed her little legs, and scratched her foot. “Really?”

Yan Qi walked over and adjusted the socks on her feet. Each one had a rabbit printed on the toes, and Anzhi loved them.

“Yes. Now, hurry up and sleep.”

The fresh bedding was dry and warm, soft and fluffy, with no particular scent. Anzhi burrowed under the covers, feeling that the quilt was as big and soft as a cloud.

“Sleep on the inside.” Yan Qi also got in. She’d never liked sharing a bed, and she still didn’t, but while Anzhi never showed it during the day, she sometimes had nightmares and would cry silently in her sleep. Sometimes she didn’t even know she was doing it.

Yan Qi couldn’t come back every week, and the thought of Anzhi sleeping alone on those nights, possibly crying like that, made her heart ache. Even though she had asked Auntie Xin to check on her during the night, she couldn’t be one hundred percent at ease.

Fortunately, Anzhi didn’t toss and turn in her sleep, so sharing a bed with her was acceptable. And from what she’d observed, the girl had been crying in her sleep much less these past few weeks.

Yan Qi left a small night-light on, then lay down and closed her eyes.

Beside her, the little girl shifted slightly.

Yan Qi turned her head to look at her and saw Anzhi’s dark, bright eyes blinking. “Why doesn’t snow make a sound? Rain does…”

Yan Qi froze. How am I supposed to explain that?

“Well, you see, rain is a liquid, which means it can flow. So when it lands on the glass, or the ground, or the leaves, it creates vibrations, and that makes a sound. If it’s a heavy rain, the sound is even louder.”

Yan Qi actually had no idea if her answer was correct. This is a physics thing, right? Crap, my second brother isn’t here… Heavens, I’m a liberal arts student… This is too much to ask of me.

But Anzhi was blinking at her, her face full of earnest admiration. Yan Qi had no choice but to push on. “But snow doesn’t make a sound on its own. It doesn’t flow… uh… But it does make a sound when you step on it. You can try it tomorrow…”

Yan Qi felt her IQ was seriously worrying¹⁵, but she managed to finish her explanation with a semblance of calm. Thank goodness she’s still little, she thought. She won’t ask why rain can be described with sounds like ‘pitter-patter’ and ‘drip-drop’ and ‘whoosh,’ but snow can’t. If not, then what words can you use? And why?

Wait, she might ask me exactly that tomorrow when she sees the snow…

Yan Qi suddenly felt… maybe raising a child was a little harder than she’d imagined. No, a lot harder.

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