“Don’t worry! My parents aren’t around, but my cousin will probably come watch. This show actually came through my cousin—she reached out to my parents about it.”
“Your cousin?!”
“Calm down. I’m not close with my cousin. My uncle’s family has always stayed in our hometown, while my parents and I moved to the capital long ago. I only see my cousin once a year during the New Year.”
“I see! Still, just to be safe, you need to give me a rundown of your cousin’s background.”
Lin Shuwen took a moment to organize her thoughts and began: “My cousin’s name is Lin Shuyue. If you count by the traditional Chinese way, she’s six years older than me—so she’s 29 this year. Without that extra year, she’d be four years older—but I’ve never quite figured out that whole system, so I just treat her as 29.
She’s always been an excellent student—the classic ‘someone else’s kid.’ She got into Peking University without having to repeat a year and graduated from the Chinese Literature Department there.
Right after graduation, she joined CCTV, where she worked behind the scenes on news programs.
This year, for some reason, she started producing this variety show promoting traditional culture, and now she’s one of its directors.
The main reason I was invited is because of her.”
“Your whole family is that good at studying, huh?”
“Honestly, yeah—my family’s pretty impressive in that regard. My uncle and aunt both have associate degrees, which actually meant a lot back in the 1980s.
My dad has a master’s in biology from Sichuan University, and so does my mom. Even my aunt, who wasn’t as strong academically, still got into a decent second-tier university.
Among us younger generation, my cousin went to Peking University, my older cousin went to Beihang University, and I went to Shanghai Jiao Tong University. My youngest aunt just got married last year, so no kids yet.”
Luo Ming was silent for a long moment before saying: “Damn, that’s impressive!”
“Haha! I think so too—my family’s pretty awesome in that department.”
“Okay, okay! Stop rubbing it in. Tell me about the concert supporting act instead.”
“There’s not much to say about that. One of our senior artists from the company is holding a concert. This senior was once mentored by Sister Shan.
Now he runs his own studio under the company’s banner. For this concert, Sister Shan went out of her way to ask him for a guest spot for me, so I could ride some of his popularity.”
“What song will you sing?” Luo Ming asked.
“‘Light Years Away.’ It’ll also help promote Director Liu’s work. That senior wants to use this chance to network with Director Liu too.”
“Mutual benefit—I get it!”
“Pretty much. I get exposure from the senior’s concert, and he gets to promote Director Liu’s movie through the performance and connect with him.”
“You entertainment folks really don’t waste any opportunity, do you?” Luo Ming remarked.
“It’s called making the most of what you have.”
“Got it. I’ll work hard these next couple of days and try not to embarrass you.”
“I’m counting on you.”
“You’re thanking me too early. We don’t even know for sure if we’ll swap!”
Lin Shuwen didn’t reply—she just hung up the phone.
Putting her phone down, she rubbed her pale little face and murmured to herself: “Please let it happen!”
Luo Ming put his phone down, took a shower, and lay down on the bed.
Lin Shuwen drank a cup of brown sugar water, then lay down as well.
In the darkness, though they were miles apart, the two were thinking the exact same thing: wondering whether they would swap again.
Luo Ming even forced himself to stay awake, thinking that maybe if he didn’t fall asleep, the swap wouldn’t happen.
But when midnight struck, both of them—Luo Ming, who was stubbornly fighting sleep, and Lin Shuwen, who couldn’t fall asleep due to the cramping in her lower belly—lost consciousness almost simultaneously.
The next morning, feeling the weight pressing against his chest, Luo Ming let out a helpless sigh.
The very next second, his expression froze. He felt a dull ache creeping through his lower abdomen, along with a sore lower back and weak legs. His whole body felt drained and lifeless.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Lin Shuwen had already jumped out of bed, practically bouncing with excitement.
“Whoa! This is amazing! I got my period and swapped over here! Looks like I’m treating myself to a nice cold beer today—I’ve never been able to drink cold stuff while on my period before! I’m definitely going to enjoy this!”
Ding-dong~ A WeChat notification came in on Luo Ming’s phone.
Lin Shuwen picked up the phone and glanced at it—it was from her own account: “No wonder you were so eager to swap. So it’s that time of the month.”
“I’m just letting you experience how tough it is being a woman.”
Luo Ming read her reply and gritted his teeth in frustration.
But soon, the pain in his abdomen was so bad that he didn’t even have the strength to clench his jaw.
“Don’t worry! My period usually lasts about four or five days. Today’s already day three—you’ll only be uncomfortable for at most two days. By the time you go to the capital on Wednesday, the pain should be gone.”
“What do I need to watch out for?”
“First, definitely drink plenty of hot water—no cold drinks, especially ice water or iced beverages. Also, make sure to stay warm. If you catch a chill, your period could last longer. Chuchu should be preparing some ginger-brown-sugar water for you today. Just drink it—it’ll help ease the cramps.”
“I really want to take an ice-cold shower and take you down with me!”
“Go ahead! But honestly, you’d probably collapse before I got back. Anyway, ‘Miss Lin,’ remember to drink plenty of hot water! I’m heading to work now—you don’t want the boss to be late on the company’s first day of operations, do you?”
Luo Ming looked at her reply and felt his abdomen ache even more.
How had he never noticed this side of her before?
Around 10 a.m., the Chen sisters arrived. Chen Sizhu had specially cooked some millet porridge with red dates in it. Luo Ming had two bowls and felt noticeably better.
“Sister Wen, let’s keep practicing Tang poems today. Sister Shan said you need to memorize all 100 famous Tang poetry lines she listed,” Chen Sizhu said, handing him a piece of paper.
Luo Ming glanced at it and tossed the paper aside.
“Sister Wen, I know you’re not feeling well, but we’re filming the show on Thursday—it’s for CCTV. You can’t—”
“Stop. I already know all of these.”
“Huh? You do, Sister Wen?”
“I graduated from Shanghai Jiao Tong University, you know. It’s pretty normal for me to know some ancient poems.”
“Then can I quiz you?”
“Go ahead.”
Chen Sizhu picked up the paper and randomly picked one: “Sister Wen, what’s the next line of ‘Filled with tender feelings, only the moonlit courtyard in spring…?'”
“‘…Scatters blossoms upon the parting one.'”
“And what’s the next line after ‘When shall we trim the wick by the west window together…?'”
“‘…And talk of the night rain in the Bashan mountains.'”
“Next: ‘From generation to generation, human life knows no end…?'”
“‘…The river moon looks so similar year after year.'”
“Last one: ‘Once you enter the noble house, it’s as deep as the sea…'”
“Stop! You said it wrong,” Luo Ming cut her off.
“Wrong? No, I didn’t!”
“That line’s so famous, it’s easy to misquote. A lot of people mistakenly remember it as ‘deep as the sea.’
Actually, anyone with a basic understanding of poetic meter would know this is a seven-character quatrain. The position where ‘like’ (rú) appears must be a level-tone character.
But ‘sea’ (sì) is an oblique-tone character, so it clearly doesn’t fit there. The poet definitely wouldn’t make such a basic mistake.
The correct line is: ‘Once you enter the noble house, it’s as deep as the ocean—from then on, that young man is just a passerby.'”
