Sweet Oxygen - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 – Excuse

Special Service?

——

“Dad, have you also been to Yaonan Alley?”

When Qin Han asked this question, Father Qin’s phone vibrated on the table.

He didn’t unlock it, just gently placed the screen face down on the tablecloth.

Mother Qin suddenly spoke up, “Also? Xiaohan, why did you go to Yaonan Alley? That old street is run-down. Don’t eat anything from there, or you might get an upset stomach!”

The fragrance of the lilies on the dining table remained, but the air suddenly carried a hint of tension.

Sensing the shift, Qin Han instinctively lied, “I didn’t eat anything.”

Losing Hu Keyuan as a friend had affected Qin Han—she had become more sensitive.

Her intuition told her that her mother’s sudden sharpness wasn’t because she had visited Yaonan Alley but because of the way her father had placed his phone face down.

Father Qin smiled, breaking the silence. “That street is nice. There used to be an old book market there.”

Later, when Qin Han returned to her room after dinner, she faintly heard her father say, “If you’re upset, direct it at me. Don’t take it out on the child.”

This kind of conversation wasn’t meant for Qin Han to hear. She quietly shut her bedroom door.

Back in school, she had never noticed it before—leaving early with her backpack and returning late after evening self-study, she had always assumed her parents were in harmony.

In her room’s bathroom, Qin Han took a shower and dried her hair.

The nighttime temperature was cooler than during the day. She turned off the air conditioner and opened the window. The sound of cicadas, bathed in moonlight, flowed softly through the open window.

Qin Han looked up the old book market that Father Qin mentioned on the internet.

The market still existed on Yaonan Alley.

It was almost midnight when Qin Han searched about the old book market. She covered herself with a silk quilt and looked at her phone, at a photo of Yaonan Alley’s corner.

Books were piled on the ground, some laid out more neatly on checkered cloths.

They were all second-hand, but somehow, they carried more stories than new ones.

Now, the old book market was held only once a week.

On Wednesdays.

Qin Han almost felt a kind of joy as she scrolled through images of Yaonan Alley.

Zhang Yuqing wasn’t like her school classmates. Even if classmates have no excuse to meet each other, they have countless chances to meet just by going to school every day.

Qin Han suddenly felt regretful.

She had bought too many things today—almost as if she had repaid all of Zhang Yuqing’s kindness. Now, she had no reason to visit Yaonan Alley again.

She even wondered if buying a watermelon could serve as a valid excuse.

But now, with the old book market, she had a reason to go.

She didn’t even realize why she needed an excuse or why she cared so much about Yaonan Alley.

But ever since the college entrance exams ended, this was the first time she had started checking the calendar again, just like when she was in school.

On Wednesday, Mother Qin with her elegant brown-red curls pinned up, asked, “Xiaohan, do you want to go to yoga with me today?”

Qin Han shook her head. “No, I’m going to the old book market.”

A faint crease appeared between Qin Mother’s brows. “That rundown old street? Isn’t it messy? Do you need me to come with you?”

“It’s not messy. It’s actually a very peaceful street.”

“Then… let the driver take you.”

Qin Han took out a pair of brown leather shoes from the shoe cabinet. “No need, no need. The bus at the community entrance goes directly there.”

Mother Qin was a refined woman. She sprayed a bit of perfume, slung a small leather bag over her shoulder, and slipped into her high heels. She complained, “Your father is like this—there are proper bookstores everywhere now, but he still encourages you to go to some second-hand book market. Go ahead, but be careful of the heat and come back early.”

The old book market wasn’t crowded. The makeshift stalls, stacked with books, were lined up one after another on the west side of Yaonan Alley—a part of the street Qin Han wouldn’t pass by on her way to Zhang Yuqing’s shop.

She browsed for a while and squatted down at a stall, picking up a book.

The cover was an understated grayish-blue, textured unevenly like an old wall, with only three printed characters—“Little Reunions”.

The stall owner, a young man with glasses, had an air similar to Qin Han’s father. He smiled as he introduced, “This is a great book, little girl.”

Another person calling her “little girl.”

Qin Han suddenly recalled how Zhang Yuqing addressed her.

He wasn’t that much older than her, yet he always used that term.

And not in a serious way—his tone was always lazy, almost teasing.

Maybe because she had been holding the book in a daze, the stall owner asked, “This book was written by Eileen Chang. Do you know her?”

Qin Han knew of Eileen Chang—her high school Chinese teacher had mentioned her.

She had never read her works.

But she definitely knew the name.

Qin Han nodded.

The stall owner seemed pleased and continued his introduction. “This is the first edition of Little Reunions, published in 2009. It’s a great collector’s item. If I didn’t already own one, I wouldn’t be selling it.”

Qin Han flipped through the pages, confused. “But our teacher said that Eileen Chang…”

She hesitated, feeling that calling her by name directly was a bit disrespectful. After half a second, she corrected herself, “Eileen Chang Teacher passed away in 1995. How could the first edition be published in 2009?”

“You don’t know about this, do you?” The stall owner, crouching under the shade, enthusiastically explained the publication controversy surrounding Little Reunions and shared many stories about Eileen Chang’s life.

Qin Han squatted under the scorching sun, completely absorbed in the conversation, and finally pulled out her wallet to buy the book.

She needed a book—to prove that she had come here solely for the old book market.

Walking from the book market to Zhang Yuqing’s shop meant crossing the entire street, from west to east.

The weather was hot, and golden locust flowers had fallen onto the road. There were so many that the asphalt felt a little sticky underfoot.

The shop windows lining the street were simple, unadorned. Breakfast shops, long past rush hour, were now cleaning up their oil vats.

Nothing particularly special. But Qin Han felt an inexplicable sense of happiness.

When she reached Zhang Yuqing’s shop, she ran into the fruit stall owner from the other day.

Still wearing his straw hat, he paused when he saw her. “Huh? You’re here again?”

Qin Han held up her book. “I went to buy books. Just passing by.”

Maybe it was the good mood—she took the initiative to ask his name.

“Luo Shijin.”

Inside the shop, Zhang Yuqing had just sat down by the window when he heard a serious female voice, “Which Luo is it? Is it the Luo from boundless and encompassing (包羅萬象, bāo luó wàn xiàng)?”

Then came a speechless silence from Luo Shijin. “…It’s just the Luo from radish (蘿蔔, luó bo), but without the grass radical (艹).”

“Oh, then what about Shi? Is it the Shi from morning flower, evening picking (朝花夕拾, zhāo huā xī shí)?”

“…”

Luo Shijin was someone who hadn’t even finished elementary school. “Boundless and encompassing (包羅萬象, bāo luó wàn xiàng)” was already difficult enough, and now there was “morning flower, evening picking (朝花夕拾, zhāo huā xī shí).”

Zhang Yuqing found it amusing and curved his lips into a smile.

He got up and stood by the window, leaning against the sill, and answered on Luo Shijin’s behalf, “Shi as in hidden and stored away (什襲而藏, (shí xí ér cáng).”

Following the voice, Qin Han looked over and immediately saw Zhang Yuqing’s eyes filled with amusement. She subconsciously tightened her grip on the book she was holding.

Luo Shijin finally snapped back to reality. “You’re really making me think too hard. My name is actually easy to remember—it’s just like ‘assorted canned food (什錦罐頭, shí jǐn guàn tóu).’ Ever had that?”

Qin Han wanted to greet Zhang Yuqing, but she also felt it would be impolite not to respond to Luo Shijin. So, she withdrew her gaze and forced herself to focus on the conversation. “Yes, I’ve had it.”

“My family wasn’t very educated. When I was born, they thought assorted canned food was delicious, better than those big yellow peaches or whatever, so they named me Shijin (什錦, assorted).”

“I’m Qin Han.”

Zhang Yuqing noticed the book in Qin Han’s hands. “Went to the old book market?”

“Mm.”

Feeling a bit guilty, she repeated the excuse she had just given Luo Shijin. “There’s an old book market here, so I came to see if I could find anything I like. I just happened to pass by your shop, so… so I thought I’d stop by.”

Zhang Yuqing extended his hand. “Let me see.”

Qin Han didn’t understand and looked at his palm.

Clean lines, long fingers—other than the fact that his hands were particularly good-looking, she couldn’t see anything special.

Maybe her confusion was too obvious, because Zhang Yuqing chuckled. “I meant your book. Let me take a look.”

Oh.

Qin Han handed the book over. Zhang Yuqing flipped through it. “How much did you pay?”

“60 yuan.”

Qin Han was rather proud. “The bookseller said it’s worth collecting and will increase in value over time.”

“What? A secondhand book for 60 yuan?!” Luo Shijin exclaimed. “Even new books aren’t that expensive! I should quit selling fruit and start dealing in old books instead.”

Zhang Yuqing sighed, returned the book to Qin Han, and lightly patted her head, speaking in an elder-like tone, “Silly girl.”

Qin Han only felt a brief, light pressure on the top of her head. By the time she processed it, Zhang Yuqing’s hand had already slipped back into his pocket.

“This book was published in 2011—it’s already been reprinted many times. It’s not a first edition and doesn’t have much collectible value.”

Qin Han froze. “I got scammed?”

“The secondhand book market varies. Some people genuinely sell their old books, others buy secondhand books to resell, and some even try to pass off pirated copies as originals,” Zhang Yuqing explained. Seeing Qin Han visibly deflate, he paused before adding, “At least yours is a legitimate print. If you like it, then it’s worth it.”

Qin Han brightened up again. “That’s true! You can’t put a price on something you love.”

To prove that she was genuinely interested in books and not just using them as an excuse to visit Zhang Yuqing’s shop, she made a show of flipping open Little Reunions.

On the first page of the main text, there was a line—

“The sound of rain is murmuring, like living by a stream. I wish it would rain every day, so I could believe you’re not coming because of the rain.”

Qin Han was a sensitive girl. She had never experienced much hardship, but even a slightly sorrowful sentence in a book could make her feel melancholic.

Just reading this one sentence, she hurriedly shut the book, muttering, “Oh no, I don’t dare read on. Is this going to be really sad?”

Zhang Yuqing was standing a full two meters away, yet somehow, he seemed to know exactly which sentence she had just read. He spoke casually, “Go ahead and read. It’s fine. The first half doesn’t have much to do with romance.”

Qin Han blinked. “You’ve read it?”

“Are you kidding? Brother Qing has read tons of books! He’s got real knowledge!” Luo Shijin bragged beside them, crossing his arms confidently. “Do you know what kind of education Brother Qing has?”

Zhang Yuqing shot Luo Shijin a warning glance, and Luo Shijin immediately shut up.

“What kind of education?” Qin Han asked.

“My education, huh?” Zhang Yuqing answered nonchalantly. He pointed out the window at the Yaonan Alley First Kindergarten sign and made up a response. “See that place over there?”

Qin Han followed his finger. All she saw was an old sign with faded images of a beach and palm trees, and large red printed characters.

Guangming Public Bathhouse.

On the windows, there was a faded price list—

Bath: 20 yuan

Body Scrub: 7 yuan

Cupping Therapy: 10 yuan

Special Service: 20 yuan

Qin Han looked back at Zhang Yuqing in confusion. “Guangming Public Bathhouse? Special service?”