After a good night’s sleep, Miss Yang called him the next day. She was a female classmate he had met abroad and had just returned to the country. A modern woman, she was confident and easygoing, and Zhou Jun considered her a close friend. He happily accepted her invitation.

Before leaving, he thought for a moment and told the housemaid, who was cleaning the house, “If any calls come in, please make sure to write them down. I’ll return the calls tonight.” The housemaid, holding a cloth, looked a bit confused. She knew he received many calls, but he had never specifically asked her to take notes before.

The housemaid wiped her damp hands on her apron and asked, “Sir, should I still respond to them as usual?” In the past, he had said it was fine to just respond casually, and he would take care of it when he got back.

He was dressed in a fitted suit, leaning over to grab his umbrella. When he heard her question, he turned and smiled, though it was unclear why. After a while, he replied, “No, just tell them I’m out for an appointment and may not be back until tomorrow.”

In a good mood, Zhou Jun drove to pick up Miss Yang. They had arranged to meet at a Western restaurant. After their meal, they didn’t go dancing because Miss Yang didn’t like that. She had grown up abroad and was very interested in the culture of her home country. After lunch, he took her to see a shadow puppet show. They strolled through the streets and alleys, and while wearing a suit, he sat on the street and learned how to make sugar figurines from an old man selling them.

However, it was too difficult, so in the end, he cleverly made a rose as a gift for the beauty. Miss Yang was very happy, her lovely face turning pink as she softly whispered sweet words in his ear. Zhou Jun couldn’t say he wasn’t moved, but that feeling was like a tiny splash of water; it spread out a bit and then quickly faded away.

Miss Yang smelled very nice, but he felt something was missing. Later, they went for a boat ride. Miss Yang held a parasol and wore lace gloves as she sat in the swaying little boat. The tulip-colored skirt was puffy and nearly reached Zhou Jun’s knees.

Under the deep blue sky, a dark brown boat carried a beautiful woman, like a classic Western oil painting. It looked lovely, but something felt off. Then, Miss Yang took a long lady’s cigarette from a silver box and lightly tinted the tip with a soft red. The cool, fresh scent of smoke surrounded them. At that moment, he felt like everything was right, but he didn’t think too much about what exactly felt right.

Miss Yang leaned against the bow of the boat, as if recalling something, and said, “Stinson, I saw Allen at the theater the other day. He seems to be pretending to be British for some reason.” Zhou Jun, holding the oar, replied in surprise, “Allen came to China?” Miss Yang responded with a bit of mockery, “He probably couldn’t make it in German, so he’s come to China to play tricks.”

Allen was their university classmate, but he had a bad reputation. Zhou Jun didn’t have much contact with him; he had only heard of Allen and didn’t know he had come to China. He asked, “What’s this about pretending to be British?”

Miss Yang squinted and thought for a moment. “I heard people around say he is a businessman from Britain who works closely with the military. Who knows? Maybe at a party, he was bragging, counting on others not knowing his background.”

Zhou Jun didn’t ask much and quickly changed the topic. Before long, they moved on to another subject, talking about the international concessions and national affairs, eventually mentioning student demonstrations. Miss Yang strongly agreed with such demonstrations, seeing them as a sign of people fighting for freedom through their own ideas. She believed that only with one’s own thoughts and wisdom could people understand the world and recognize the ignorance and injustice in society.

Miss Yang’s opinion was that the demonstrations wouldn’t get violent, but if it made it to the newspapers, the students’ efforts and public pressure might push those in power to change their decisions.

Zhou Jun thought that those in power wouldn’t be swayed by a small march organized by a few students. In the end, the situation would likely just be brushed aside and downplayed. However, he didn’t argue with Miss Yang. Whatever she said, he would listen and occasionally respond. Even though he disagreed in his heart, he didn’t show his true feelings.

Upon returned home that night, he reheated the pasta the housekeeper had cooked, treating it as a late-night snack, and ate it on the sofa. He picked up his notebook, which had a few missed calls listed. There was a Ms. Li, a Miss Wen, and even Ms. Alice, but no one by the name of Yong.

Zhou Jun twirled the pasta on his fork and put it in his mouth. As he ate, he contemplated his standing in Yong Jin’s eyes. He finally decided he couldn’t continue to humiliate himself and needed to act normal again. He couldn’t even finish the pasta and ended up tossing half of it into the sink.

He brewed himself a big cup of tea, feeling that the housemaid’s cooking had lost its usual quality. The pasta felt terrible; no wonder he couldn’t eat it. He changed into his robe. Usually at a time like this, he would read a few books, listen to music, drink red wine, or do something else to pass the time and relieve his boredom.

However, he now felt a deep sense of loss. He walked around the room, opened the window, and looked outside. The street wasn’t empty; there were many pedestrians wearing hats, skirts, and cheongsams of various colors. It was as if he finally realized what he wanted to do, and an impulse surged within him.

Once he decided to act, he went for it. Zhou Jun picked up the living room phone and dragged it into the study. The long phone cord trailed along the floor, occasionally getting caught in corners, making him bend down to untangle it. But he didn’t feel impatient at all; for the things he wanted to do, he was remarkably patient. A growing sense of anticipation gradually excited him.

In the study, there was a piano covered with a deep green velvet cloth to keep off the dust when it wasn’t in use. He placed the phone aside and lifted the cloth. The soft material fell to the floor, resting on his bare feet. It was then he realized he had forgotten to wear his slippers. His light blue slippers had been left under the sofa, and ever since he opened the notebook, he had been feeling restless.

He dialed the Yong residence and told the person who answered that he was looking for Major General Yong. When the familiar voice finally came through the line, Zhou Jun fell silent. He set the receiver down beside him and let his fingers glide over the piano keys. He began to play “Clair de Lune,” a melancholic and wistful piece of classical music.

The more he played, the redder his face became, and soon he could barely continue. The music was a jumbled mess and Zhou Jun felt utterly embarrassed. With a thud, he released the keys and closed the piano lid. He quickly hung up the phone, but he thought he heard a ringing, so he picked up the receiver again.

In reality, there was none—no ringing, no incoming calls. It was just another illusion, which made him feel extremely disappointed. So he soon hung up the receiver once more.