Winter Time Rendering

Chapter 10: Chapter 3: The Island’s Young Mistress and the Penguin, Part 2

If it weren’t for his age, the first thing he’d want to do is get his driver’s license and buy his own car—a used compact would be plenty.

Of course, it couldn’t be too small. The trunk needed to fit his fishing rods and a water tank. Then he’d drive all around the country and see all the scenery he’d missed over the years.

There were also some regrets he wanted to make up for. He wanted to stop his parents from worrying about him, get into a better university, and keep in touch with his close friends. But he had no intention of deliberately seeking out new acquaintances; his philosophy on friendship was that a few was enough.

Speaking of friends, Zhang Shutong wasn’t in a rush to find his best pals and reminisce. He wanted to wander around a bit first.

So he left the classroom. His school was one of the few with a four-year system. He was in Year Four, Class One, at the very front of the hallway, right next to the stairs.

Two people were talking on the stairs.

One was his homeroom teacher, leaning on the railing.

The other, across from the teacher, was a girl in a blue-green cloth robe.

The girl had a cool, aloof air about her, with long hair that fell to her waist. She was sitting on the steps.

Zhang Shutong couldn’t help but stop in his tracks.

It was only natural. Anyone would stop and stare if, just a few hours earlier, they’d been bowing to a person’s funeral portrait, only to see them standing right there, alive and well.

The girl, Lu Qinglian, seemed to have just returned from outside. Her delicate face was pale from the cold, and the hem of her coarse cloth robe was still dusted with flecks of snow.

Most people’s skin turns red in the cold, but hers was already fair to begin with. Now, it had a porcelain-like quality, giving off a flawless, cold luminescence that was even more striking against her blue-green robe.

He wasn’t the only one who was curious. More and more students were pouring out into the hallway, and quite a few of them were glancing in their direction.

After all, a girl outside the classroom who looked like she’d just returned from cultivating immortality—not to mention beautiful and mysterious—was enough to captivate everyone, boys and girls alike.

But maybe she gave off an aura that was too intimidating; no one dared to get closer, content to whisper from a distance.

Lu Qinglian, however, was completely unconcerned. It was as if the surrounding commotion had nothing to do with her. She focused on her own task, bringing her hands to her lips and gently breathing on them for warmth.

Zhang Shutong had no such qualms.

He not only sized her up for a moment but also noticed that a closer look revealed a few cracks in the facade:

She probably had several layers of clothing on underneath. It was fine when she was standing; the robe was wide enough, moving with her body as its sleeves fluttered in the wind, giving her an ethereal air. She could have really passed for a celestial maiden.

But now that she was sitting, she looked all puffy and bundled up.

The contrast was a bit jarring; her slender figure was hidden within all the layers. She looked less like a celestial maiden and more like a penguin returning from the world of cultivation.

Then, Zhang Shutong heard their homeroom teacher ask the penguin:

"Are you back from sweeping the snow at the temple?"

"Yeah. The path up the mountain was too slippery. Parts of it were iced over, so I was delayed for a bit."

Now he understood.

’So she was just helping out at the temple.’

Their homeroom teacher was a young man named Song. He was a pretty good guy and knew about the girl’s special family situation, so he was always quick to approve her requests for leave.

"I told you, you could have come tomorrow. What if you’d slipped and fallen? I can talk to your grandmother for you."

"It wasn’t her. I wanted to come."

The girl’s tone and expression were both impassive.

Teacher Song could only give a wry smile.

"Still, you didn’t have to be in such a rush. Look at you, you ran over without even changing..."

"I wore this on purpose. It’s too cold outside."

As she spoke, the girl took off her long robe, revealing her school uniform jacket underneath.

The conversation died.

"...Alright then. Warm up for a bit. You can collect yesterday’s homework in a while. My class is next period; we’ll be going over the problems."

Teacher Song instructed before he left.

Lu Qinglian just nodded, folded the robe, and stuffed it into her schoolbag. Then she held a hair tie in her teeth and pulled her loose, long hair into a ponytail.

When she looked up again, their eyes met.

"Thank you," the girl said suddenly.

’Thank you for what?’ Zhang Shutong wondered. ’For the five-hundred-yuan funeral envelope I gave you? No way. That would turn this into a straight-up ghost story.’

Then, she held out a pair of gloves.

He took them and looked them over. They had a pretty cool design—black, with padded knuckles, and almost as big as Lu Qinglian’s face.

Their full name was probably "outdoor tactical gloves." He used to have a pair himself, which he’d bought for fishing back in the day.

And this pair looked familiar.

’They seem to be mine.’

They were made of nylon, not wool which gets waterlogged easily. ’They must have been perfect for shoveling snow,’ he thought.

But even though her pant cuffs were soaked, the gloves had been wiped clean. They’d been well taken care of.

Then he noticed her hands. They didn’t have the delicate skin of others her age. They were a bit rough, marked by manual labor, and there were even a few chapped cracks on her palms and fingers from the cold.

Even though he had no memory of this at all... he nodded.

"It was nothing."

"Were you looking for me?" Lu Qinglian tilted her head. She added, "I saw you standing there just now."

Zhang Shutong really wanted to correct her.

’You were the one looking for me.’

’To be precise, it was the you from eight years in the future who brought me here with a single phone call.’

’I’ll never get that phone call now,’ he mused, ’but I don’t find it a pity anymore. At least she’s still alive.’

In truth, Zhang Shutong didn’t have anything to say to her and was about to shake his head no. But before leaving, he couldn’t help but marvel at how strange fate could be.

Eight years from now, he would have come to this small island for her funeral. Yet now, after coming back, the first person he spoke to—albeit by chance—was her.

He suddenly felt the urge to be a riddler.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"No. Why?"

"When you get one in the future, remember not to call people in the middle of the night."

The conversation should have ended there. He would then happily be on his way, leaving her to puzzle over his words in confusion, just as he had puzzled over the contents of that phone call.

But to his surprise, she actually gave it some serious thought.

"A dry joke?"

She said it, but her deadpan expression—not even a hint of a smile—showed she wasn’t humoring him.

"Hmm... I guess I just don’t have a funny bone."