Please provide the text you would like me to translate.

Not long after starting her shift in the morning, Tan Yang was in the consultation room seeing patients when a nurse came to tell her that someone was calling for her in the office.

Tan Yang picked up the receiver, said hello, but there was only silence on the other end. Almost instinctively, she knew who it was. She wound the telephone cord around her finger, uncertain what to do, when his concise voice finally came through: “Nannan is ill. She was looking for you all last night.” He didn’t wait for her response, simply hung up gently.

At once, Tan Yang’s heart was thrown into panic. She hurried next door to her own consultation room; during her illness, Lin Zhiju had hired an elderly pediatrician to cover for her. Now, with the hospital crowded with patients and her health only just recovered, she was grateful for the old gentleman’s help. She hastily handed over her remaining patients to him, told Lin Zhiju her daughter was sick and she needed to leave, then rushed off in a flurry. Her anxiety was overwhelming. It was difficult to hire a rickshaw, so she jogged through the streets, searching for a ride. By the time she finally climbed into a car, her clothes were drenched with sweat.

Tan Yang arrived at the Bi residence, and as she pushed open the door to her daughter’s room, Yan Qin was asleep. Bi Qingtang sat at the bedside, gazing down at the child, his face drawn with fatigue and stubble shadowing his cheeks. From the look of things, Tan Yang knew her daughter had been ill for more than a night. She moved closer, placed a hand on Yan Qin’s forehead, and whispered, “She seems to have a bit of a fever.” Bi Qingtang didn’t look at her, just lowered his head and said, “Pneumonia. The fever was higher last night.”

At the mention of pneumonia, Tan Yang’s heart ached—partly from the thought of her child suffering as she herself just had, and partly from self-reproach, fearing she had passed the illness to her daughter. As she grieved, Bi Qingtang said quietly, “It’s not serious. I’ve called in two foreign doctors, both listened to her lungs and said the inflammation isn’t severe. It was my carelessness. The maid who brushes Nannan’s hair caught pneumonia last week—I had no idea.” Tan Yang recognized he was trying to comfort her, so she forced back her tears and sat beside her child.

Yan Qin’s little face was flushed with fever, her sleep uneasy, brows furrowed as if in great distress, even in her dreams. In her hand, she clutched the nightgown her mother always wore at home. Seeing this, Tan Yang could no longer hold back her tears.

Bi Qingtang watched Tan Yang with a vacant gaze, her presence so close and real—his little sister, once again so vivid and within reach. He closed his eyes briefly, and in that moment, all his taut nerves and exhausted body relaxed. Sleep overcame him, and he slumped into a deep slumber at the corner of the child’s bed.

When he awoke, it was already midday. Opening his eyes, he saw Yan Qin clinging to Tan Yang’s neck, mother and daughter speaking softly, cheek to cheek. He leaned quietly at the side, smiling as he watched for a long time. Only when Tan Yang noticed he was awake did he rise and leave the room.

When he returned, he was freshly washed and shaven, dressed in clean clothes, his spirits and complexion much improved. He called for food to be brought, intending to feed Yan Qin and announced he had already eaten, urging Tan Yang to go down for lunch.

In the dining room, on the long, grand table, there was only a single covered porcelain bowl, its appearance oddly earnest and somewhat comical. Tan Yang sat down, lifted the lid, and a fragrant aroma wafted out—a steaming bowl of wonton soup. She was relieved. With her daughter ill and her heart anxious, she wouldn’t have been able to stomach a lavish spread. Something simple was best. She ate in silence, and in the end, finished the entire large bowl. Only after setting down her spoon did she realize that the wontons in this one bowl had at least seven or eight different kinds of fillings.

Yan Qin’s pneumonia wasn’t severe. Having seen her mother as she wished, by afternoon, though still feverish, her spirits were much revived. She pouted to Tan Yang that she’d been cooped up in her room for days and wanted to go downstairs. Reaching out her little hands, she pleaded. Tan Yang laughed, wrapped her daughter in a small blanket, and was about to lift her when Bi Qingtang stepped forward and picked up the child first. Yan Qin muttered softly, wanting her mother to carry her. Bi Qingtang sighed and said helplessly, “You know, your mother is so thin now, how could she manage to carry you?”

That evening, as the clock downstairs struck ten, Tan Yang lay beside her sleeping daughter, gently feeling her forehead. Bi Qingtang entered quietly and asked, “How is she? Still feverish?” Tan Yang nodded, “A little warm still, but not high. I took her temperature before bed.” “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight,” he said. “No need, I’ll stay with Nannan,” she replied. Seeing her insist, Bi Qingtang frowned and ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, “I will! Go to sleep.”

Tan Yang knew his temperament; if he was set on something, no one could change his mind. Besides, she was indeed exhausted, so she sighed, stood, and walked out.

Suddenly, Bi Qingtang realized how brusque his tone had been—almost as if they were still a family. He felt a pang, but turned and explained, “Sister, I slept after dinner, I’m not tired. You’ve only just recovered; you need more rest.” Tan Yang nodded slightly. Then, as if offhandedly, he said, “Sleep in the bedroom, not the guest room.” He knew she was particular about beds. After a pause, he added, “I’ll sleep in the guest room these days.”

When Tan Yang opened the bedroom door, she saw dishes of simple congee and vegetables arranged on the sofa table—plain, homely, and inviting. With the child unwell, worried the girl might get indigestion if she slept early, they’d eaten dinner earlier too. After a busy day, seeing the food, Tan Yang suddenly felt hungry. She sat on the sofa and ate the congee, which was just the right temperature. On the table was a thermos; inside were peeled roasted sweet potatoes, broken into bite-sized pieces, their warm, sweet aroma making her throat tighten.

After her late-night snack, she broke out in sweat again—she’d sweated during the day hurrying after a rickshaw, and coaxing her daughter to take medicine. Her illness had only just passed; she was weak and sweated easily. She decided to bathe before bed, but hadn’t brought a change of clothes in her haste. Hesitant, she opened the wardrobe where she used to keep her clothes, wondering if she could find one or two old dresses to wear for now. But as the doors opened, she was startled. Half her clothes had been taken away already, yet now the wardrobe was packed tightly with brand-new cheongsams and Western dresses.

The sharp scent of mothballs tickled her nose. She pulled out a sapphire-blue cheongsam trimmed in matching silk, the style simple and unadorned save for a white diamond floral clasp at the collar—a design that had just become fashionable this winter. She’d seen several stylish ladies wear such dresses after her recovery. She took it down and held it up; the cut was narrower than before. Perhaps news of her weight loss had reached the tailor.

She took a nightgown into the inner room, intending to bathe and sleep. On the bedside table, she noticed a small white wicker basket covered by a handkerchief, a knitting needle poking out underneath. Lifting a corner of the handkerchief, she saw the half-finished silver-grey sweater she had begun knitting for Bi Qingtang before leaving home.

Everything in the room seemed to stubbornly declare that the lady of the house had never truly gone far—off to study, to visit family or friends, but after a brief absence, she would return to live here for years to come.

He always said she was still his wife. Perhaps it wasn’t arrogance or lawlessness; perhaps he was simply deceiving himself, wishing the past had never happened and believing that, one day, his little sister would return.

Lying in bed, surrounded by familiar scents—threads of tobacco mingled with the warmth of his skin—she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and woke only when daylight shone bright.

If the separation of a resentful couple is like scraping poison from the bone—painful, but leaving one free and healthy—then what of a loving husband and wife? Beyond the tearing agony, they must learn to live crippled, adapting to meals, nights, and even the very air, now so altered, all over again.

Two afternoons later, Bi Qingtang, who had hardly left the house in this period, was in the study discussing business with the department store’s manager and accountant, when Uncle Chen came in to announce that Xu Zhizhong had arrived to pay a visit. At this, Bi Qingtang’s eyes widened with annoyance. “What’s he doing here? Chasing after my sister all the way to my house! I’m busy; tell him to do as he pleases!”

Over an hour later, after the manager and accountant had left, Bi Qingtang happened to glance out the window. A black sedan remained motionless at the avenue in front of the residence. He asked Uncle Chen, “Why hasn’t he left?” Uncle Chen shook his head, “He said he’d wait outside since you’re busy. He’s polite; I didn’t feel it right to send him away.” Bi Qingtang snorted, “Let him in then. Let’s see what he’s up to!”

When Xu Zhizhong entered, Bi Qingtang was sitting in his large chair, toying with a cigarette. Xu smiled, then reached out a hand in greeting, “Mr. Bi, it’s been a while!” Bi Qingtang stood, extended his right hand as if to shake, but then bypassed him to pick up a lighter from the desk, lighting his cigarette with deliberate calm.

Unfazed, Xu Zhizhong withdrew his hand, took two steps back, and sat down on the single sofa at an angle to Bi Qingtang. As Bi exhaled smoke and looked up, Xu’s face grew serious. “Mr. Bi, I was reckless that day and offended you. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Bi Qingtang shot him a glance without replying. Xu continued, his tone softer, “And I did misjudge you. Before knowing the truth, I made subjective assumptions and was rude in my words and actions. I hope you’ll not hold it against me.”

After a long pause, Bi Qingtang replied lazily, with a hint of sarcasm, “Misunderstand? Misunderstood what?” “I thought you had grown fickle and broken Yangyang’s heart, and then wanted to have your cake and eat it too. But now?” Xu answered sincerely, ignoring the sarcasm. Bi Qingtang scoffed, “And now? No misunderstanding?” Xu nodded solemnly. “Yes. Yangyang told me everything.”

Hearing this, Bi Qingtang realized he was at a disadvantage—they knew everything, while he had been willfully avoiding the truth. He sighed, feeling uncertain, but maintained a facade, sneering, “So that’s why you came! If I’d gone astray, fallen for some other woman, with my ability and our feelings, we’d make up eventually. But as it is, I’ve given you the perfect opportunity. No wonder you’re so pleased!”

Xu Zhizhong looked taken aback, troubled. After a moment, he spoke with more candor, “Maybe to Yangyang, this reason is even more cruel and hopeless. But for me, as long as your feelings for her are genuine, you’re a man I can respect.” Bi Qingtang’s face remained impassive, but Xu continued more earnestly, “It’s human nature. What you treasure most, you can’t bear to see others belittle. But if there are circumstances beyond control, a destiny that can’t be denied, that’s another matter. In life, everyone faces a game they can’t win. But Mr. Bi, even if you lose, you’ll lose so valiantly that your opponent sighs in regret for you.”

Bi Qingtang listened closely, feeling a mournful relief. For a year, he had wanted to talk to someone, but the only two people available—one, despite her age, remained childish, whining and crying, only adding to his distress; the other, always calm and rational, used a lifetime’s worth of logic to judge him, leaving him with no solace.

Xu’s words soothed him, as if a man desperate for opium had finally grasped his pipe, and with a deep drag found a moment’s peace.

Yet, this messenger was, in truth, the least welcome.

Snuffing out his cigarette, Bi Qingtang spoke with cold detachment, though the earlier sarcasm was gone. “Did you come for my sister?” Xu shook his head. “No. I heard Nannan was ill. Yesterday, Yangyang called Dr. Wu at the hospital about pneumonia, so I thought her condition might be serious. I came to see her.”

Hearing Xu Zhizhong refer to Nannan so familiarly irritated Bi Qingtang. He waved him off impatiently, “There’s no need for your concern, Major Xu. You’re busy with military matters. I won’t keep you.”

Sensing the change in Bi Qingtang’s demeanor and guessing its cause, Xu stood up. From where he stood, he could see the garden, the wicker chairs outside dusted with the season’s snow. After a long pause, he pointed to the chairs, recalling, “The year we graduated secondary school, we came to your home to see Nannan. Yangyang was a new mother then, so blissful. I was foolishly stubborn, pressed her with questions—if I had pursued her before you, if I had entered her life before you, would things have been different?”

He lowered his voice, almost to himself, “I thought she would laugh at my childishness, or tell me sternly that there are no ‘ifs’ in this world. But she smiled, and told me the answer would have been the same. Because she was certain—there would never be another person, unrelated by blood, whom she could trust and rely on so unconditionally. Because of you, she never pitied herself when alone; because of you, this dazzling, chaotic city felt gentle and kind. In the end, she asked me—if even this doesn’t count as love, then what in the world does?”

“Mr. Bi, after hearing her, I knew that, as far as her feelings for you went, I had no chance. But I was selfish too. I thought, perhaps you weren’t worthy of such devotion. So, when I heard you’d divorced, that you’d done wrong by her, my first reaction was—what a scoundrel, betraying Yangyang! She may have been young and mistaken, but she’d wake up eventually. I was wrong again.”

“So, after learning the truth, I hesitated. I’d hoped my return could redefine love for Yangyang, who’d failed in her marriage. But the truth made me realize it was wishful thinking. When I was at a loss, Yangyang fell ill. I don’t know what a man’s deepest feeling is when he loves a woman, but for me, it’s heartache—the kind that makes it hard to breathe when she coughs. So, when she was at her worst, I told her—let’s spend the rest of our lives together as companions, more intimate than best friends, a little more distant than ordinary spouses, and I’d be content. You always cherished ‘The Suiyuan Poetry Talks’—a book you read at your father’s desk, took with you even to Germany, calling it your childhood home. So, for the decades ahead, I’ll read it with you, give you a Suiyuan, a home. Will you accept?”

Xu Zhizhong looked at Bi Qingtang and spoke from his heart, “Mr. Bi, I believe you are experienced and shrewd, but whenever you encounter Yangyang, you lose all reason—loving her, marrying her, watching her leave. I hope you’ll consider: with all that has happened between you, with Yangyang’s nature, is reunion truly possible? You may keep things as they are for a year, five years, ten, or longer. You have a daughter, connections, status, and business. Even if you lost everything, you would survive. But what about Yangyang? In this world, a woman alone will grow old and ill. Have you thought about what her life will be in twenty years? I ask little. If Yangyang and I can be closer than the best of friends, a little more distant than most couples, I would be satisfied.”

With that, Xu Zhizhong turned to leave. As he reached the doorway, he heard Bi Qingtang’s low voice from within, “Nannan is upstairs, the third room on the right.”

As Xu approached Nannan’s room, Tan Yang was reading a storybook to her daughter. Xu placed a cellophane-wrapped doll by Yan Qin’s pillow and asked Tan Yang about the child’s health. Before he left, Yan Qin suddenly asked, “Uncle, are you one of mama’s doctors at the hospital?” Xu smiled and shook his head, “Nannan, doctors don’t dress like me. I’m your mother’s friend.”

Hearing this, Yan Qin threw the doll to the floor and clung to Tan Yang in silent distress. Smiling, Xu picked up the doll, gently placed it on the cabinet with the others.

After her fever subsided, Yan Qin coughed for a few more days. By the time she had fully recovered and Tan Yang left the Bi residence, it was already mid-December.

At the hospital, Lin Zhiju caught Tan Yang in the corridor and briefly explained the recent events. As Tan Yang was about to enter her office, Lin Zhiju remarked casually, “We were all worried you’d be overwhelmed—just recovered yourself and then tending to your daughter. But you look healthier, even a bit rounder!”

On her desk, Tan Yang found a note hastily scrawled by Xu Zhizhong: “Urgent business calls me to Nanjing from Shanghai. Date of return uncertain. Don’t worry, Yangyang.”

That evening, as she left work, Tan Yang heard newsboys shouting headlines—the shocking event that had occurred days earlier, on December 12, 1936: the leaders of the Northeastern and Northwestern Armies in Xi’an had detained Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, an incident that would go down in history as the Xi’an Incident.