Perhaps the air that poured into the room from the outside was too cold, causing Gu Jianian to shiver inexplicably. “Um… well, my grandmother asked me to bring some pastries.”
“Your grandmother?”
“My grandmother’s name is Meng Yiqing, she lives just over there.”
Gu Jianian honestly pointed in the direction of her grandmother’s house.
The elevation here was higher, and from the mountain slope, you could see her grandmother’s grey-brown two-story brick house in full view.
The man followed her gesture with his gaze.
Between the fields and the river, the brownish-red brick house appeared only the size of a card, and the osmanthus tree at the door turned into a cluster of dark green shadows.
He withdrew his gaze and looked back at Gu Jianian, his perfunctory look finally showing a tinge of patience as he sized up her face.
As if trying to recognize something.
About half a minute later, just as Gu Jianian was about to give up, he finally averted his eyes.
The man casually extinguished the cigarette on the door frame, then turned to the side, making room for her.
“Come in, take off your shoes.”
His voice was hoarse, but his tone was compelling.
Gu Jianian unconsciously followed his instructions, obediently removing her shoes outside the door and stepping in barefoot.
The windows around were covered with curtains, and there was no light source in the room. The dim vision and the cold floor stimulated both her sense of touch and sight. The faded sense of security made her feel inexplicably nervous, causing her to instinctively take a step back.
At the right moment, a “click” sounded beside her, and the light suddenly brightened, illuminating the entire room.
Gu Jianian looked inside.
The interior decoration style matched the exterior of the building, reminding her of classical European films she had seen before.
However, it was messy.
Seven or eight empty brown liquor bottles were scattered at the entrance, and the floor was covered with crumpled pieces of discarded manuscript paper, densely filled with blue-black ink, as if shouting out the despair of abandonment.
On a walnut side cabinet that appeared to have some age, two pots of long-dead potted plants were placed, their withered yellow leaves hanging down, displaying an air of neglect.
Inside the entrance was a high-ceilinged hall that led directly to the dome. A massive crystal chandelier hung like a recluse.
The windows on both sides were covered with opaque dark curtains, blocking the heat and sunlight from outside.
Gu Jianian’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to the walls of the hall. When her pupils touched upon the scene, they expanded like a reflex.
So many, so many books.
Too many to find suitable adjectives to describe.
――Three walls that reached the ceiling were lined with sturdy wooden bookshelves, towering and terrifyingly high, encompassing the entire hall with an overwhelming feeling of covering the sky. The bookshelves were crudely piled with disorderly books, intersecting horizontally and vertically, layer upon layer congested, resembling the densely packed cells of a honeycomb.
Gu Jianian’s gaze roughly scanned the spines of those books—Chinese, English, and many unfamiliar languages, like Latin-based ones.
Under the bookshelves was a massive desk of the same colour, scattered with miscellaneous books and a laptop computer on one side.
The rest of the space was filled with manuscripts covered in blue-black ink.
Wooden chairs, a black fireplace, a makeshift liquor rack brimming with half-empty bottles.
The chaotic elements crowded into her vision, and Gu Jianian held her breath as her heart suddenly skipped a beat in an odd rhythm. It was as if she had stepped into a different world within ruins—barren, crowded, quiet, and undisturbed.
No homework, no exams, just books.
Endless books.
It was only when someone spoke that she was pulled back to reality.
“I have a meeting. Just find a place to sit for a while, and don’t make any noise to disturb me.”
The man spoke as he tossed the extinguished cigarette butt into an ashtray and then settled himself behind a desk, frowning as he cleared away crumpled papers from the surface and opened his laptop.
He didn’t specify where she should sit.
By now, Gu Jianian could hardly maintain her defenses.
Her attention was completely captured by the books and the bookshelves.
She walked quietly on bare feet into the room, and after a moment’s hesitation, she found a single leather sofa in a corner of the hall and sat down. The sofa was large and leather, enveloping her entirely, offering a profound sense of security.
In front of the sofa, a white wool rug lay on the floor, soft underfoot as if she were stepping on summer clouds.
And right behind her was an entire row of bookshelves, within easy reach.
Gu Jianian closed her eyes, trying to dig up some trace from her memory.
Her grandmother had mentioned that she had stayed at Aunt Zhang’s house as a child, but she couldn’t remember anything about it, nor did the name “Aunt Zhang” evoke much in her memory.
It was no wonder Gu Jianian didn’t remember; after moving to Beilin, her school vacations were crammed with various tutoring classes, leaving no time to return to Yunmo, and no chance to visit Aunt Zhang’s house again.
Finding no relevant memories, Gu Jianian opened her eyes and turned eagerly to the bookshelves behind the sofa. They were filled with an array of domestic and foreign novels.
Her breathing quickened, feeling like a miner who had stumbled upon a vast gold mine.
Since childhood, Gu Jianian had only one hobby—reading.
And she was severely book-deprived.
After starting middle school, her parents completely reversed their attitude towards reading, believing that such “miscellaneous books” would distract her, and thus stopped buying her books and forbidding her from spending time in bookstores and libraries.
The books she brought to Yunmo were bought with savings from her allowance after the college entrance exam, some of which she had read several times.
But this gold mine had an owner.
Gu Jianian looked up hopefully at the man behind the desk.
He sat casually in front of the computer, idly twirling a pen in his hand and occasionally nodding or murmuring to the screen, seemingly having forgotten her presence.
Perhaps it was her earnest gaze, but during a break in his meeting, the man looked up and met her eyes.
Startled, Gu Jianian hesitated for a moment and then, under his gradually impatient gaze, awkwardly pointed at the bookshelves behind her and then at herself, mouthing, “Can I read?”
He looked at her face for a few seconds, almost imperceptibly nodded, then returned to his meeting.
Gu Jianian breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to pick a book.
Several books on the shelves were on her reading list, making it hard to choose.
She picked one nearby and opened it on her lap.
The inner pages of the book were pristine, without any notes, but some phrases had been lightly traced with a blue ink pen.
Those lines were marked with precision, each word striking a chord in her heart.
Lost in the story, Gu Jianian immersed herself completely.
The air conditioning covered the whole house with a humming sound, and the pleasant woody scent of aromatherapy filled the air.
Time flowed unnoticed.
When footsteps echoed, Gu Jianian was still engrossed in her book, completely unaware of someone approaching.
Only when the light in front of her was blocked did she react. Her brain switched between reality and fiction, stalling for a few seconds as she let out a soft “Ah.”
“You seem quite absorbed…”
The man casually tossed a green velvet box onto the low table in front of her and asked, “What about the pastries? I’m hungry.”
He was close enough that Gu Jianian could clearly see the straight bridge of his nose and the dense eyebrows, and she could smell the cold tobacco scent on him.
She blinked in confusion.
Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Didn’t you say your grandmother sent you to deliver pastries?”
“Oh.”
Gu Jianian snapped back to reality, carefully closed the book, and looked down to take a box of plum crisps from her bag.
The man took it from her, opened the lid, and pinched a piece of crisp to taste. After a few chews, he slightly raised an eyebrow, “Tastes good.”
He continued to eat several more pieces, clearly quite hungry.
After finishing the pastries, he habitually pulled out a cigarette pack and lighter from his pocket, then paused for a few seconds as if remembering her presence, and put them back.
He then turned his attention to the book beside her. “Reading Balzac?”
Gu Jianian nodded.
She was reading “The Cabinet of Antiquities,” a collection of Balzac’s shorter stories.
The man bent down to pick up the book. Even though he was bending over, his height was still imposing for Gu Jianian. She involuntarily leaned back, pressing against the chair to distance herself from his shadow.
While flipping through the book, he casually sat cross-legged on the carpet in front of the sofa.
Now it was Gu Jianian who was looking down at him, though she wished she could shrink into the sofa.
The sound of pages turning, the friction of pale, slender fingers against the aged paper, created a warm ambiance.
Gu Jianian began to feel uneasy.
Time seemed like a monster, consuming her courage bit by bit; the older she got, the more timid she became.
She muttered to herself that as a child, she was the leader of the kids in the village as per the villagers, always leading them into mischief. How had she become such a coward now?
Fortunately, he resumed the conversation. “What books have you read?”
“I just read randomly,” Gu Jianian said, her expression easing as she discussed books. She thought for a moment before replying, “From Balzac’s ‘The Human Comedy,’ I’ve read ‘Father Goriot,’ ‘Lost Illusions,’ and ‘The Lily of the Valley.’ Short stories by Maupassant and Joyce… also Hosseini, Atwood, Kawabata Yasunari, Yukio Mishima… I like Qian Zhongshu, Su Tong, and Yu Hua from China. I’d like to read some magical realism and stream of consciousness, but I don’t quite understand them yet.”
The man, still looking at the book, seemed to be listening intently. After thinking for a while, he nodded, “Not bad.”
For some reason, Gu Jianian felt like she had passed a test and inexplicably relaxed.
He changed the subject. “Is your grandmother doing well?”
Gu Jianian’s mood had already lightened considerably. She nodded, “Yes, except for some trouble with her legs, she’s very healthy. We made these plum crisps together.”
“That’s good,” he said, pushing the green velvet box on the table towards her, “Take this back to her, it’s a return gift.”
The box was exquisitely beautiful, and Gu Jianian hesitated to take it without permission.
“Don’t worry, it’s not for you. Just pass it to your grandmother. Make sure you give it to her personally, understand?”
Hesitantly, Gu Jianian placed the box into her backpack.
The man nodded, propped himself up from the floor, and took out a cigarette again, but he did not light it.
He just held it idly between his fingers.
It took a moment for Gu Jianian to realize he was signalling that the visit was over, so she put on her backpack and said goodbye—turning back several times to look at the unfinished book on the sofa armrest.
I could read it on my phone, right?
Though she usually didn’t like reading on her phone, finding it hard to concentrate and tiring for her eyes.
“My books aren’t for lending,” he seemed to read her thoughts, and Gu Jianian’s head drooped in disappointment, “but—”
He put the cigarette into his mouth and lit it, “—if you can promise to be as quiet as you were today, you’re welcome to come here and read.”
The author adds: Welcome to this other world.
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