Jiaqi stands. On the TV is a village dirt road, a dog standing by a field. Subtitle: In 1921, Li Jisheng was born to a farming family in this village. His mother had been widowed three months before this. All the villagers knew about her was her name, Liang. The dog turns to glance at the camera then sprints away. A black-and-white shot of scattered village houses, which could still be in 1921. They’ll dub this with a baby crying, Jiaqi thinks. It’s so quiet in here. She hears another sigh, or maybe that’s the wind shaking the curtains.

She walks out and sees Cheng Gong standing in the corridor, an unlit cigarette in his hand.

“It’s all over,” she says.

Cheng Gong lights his cigarette, saying nothing.

“I’ll phone Peixuan later. She should still come back,” says Jiaqi.

“Yes, I’m sure the funeral will be a big production.” Cheng Gong stares at the flame in his hand.

“Hang on, I need to close the windows.”

She comes back out, and shuts the door behind her. They go down the stairs. At the ground floor, Cheng Gong pauses and looks around the empty hall. “The social dance we saw that time—that was here?”

“Yes.”

“The music teacher liked sitting by the east window. The overhead light made her look like she was in a Rembrandt painting. She must have known, that’s why she always chose that seat.”

“You boys all thought she was beautiful.”

“And the girls?”

“We thought she was so-so.”

“She got esophageal cancer later. I tried to see her while she was dying, but she didn’t want any visitors.”

“She didn’t want to say goodbye in those circumstances.”

“Now I feel that every time I saw her in the dance hall, under that light, it was a sort of goodbye.”

“It’s all over,” Jiaqi says. “Did I already say that?”

“Yes.”

They reach the front door. Jiaqi reaches for the umbrella leaning against the wall.

“You don’t need to walk me out,” says Cheng Gong.

“I could do with some fresh air, I’ve been indoors too long.”

The snow is ankle-deep. Ahead of them is a blur of white.

“I was thinking, you could actually stay at the white mansion for a while,” says Jiaqi. “No one will know you’re here.”

“What about you? Will you stay too?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go when I’ve dealt with everything.”

“Where to?”

“The south.” She smiles. “Somewhere warm, where I won’t have to think of anything.”

They keep walking till they reach the crossroads.

“Let’s toss for it.” Jiaqi pulls a coin from her pocket and hands it to him. “Heads you go to the train station, tails you stay in the white mansion with me. I’ll bring you food. I’ve learned how to make egg fried rice.”

“Can I have noodles?”

“No, I don’t like noodles.”

“Zhajiang noodles. Learn how to make them. It’s really easy.”

“Deal? Flip the coin, then.”