A white yacht was docked at the pier, three decks, warm-toned light strips strung along the gunwales.
The band on the second deck was testing a few notes, the strings broken apart by the river wind.
Servers threaded between the decks with trays, champagne glasses clinking softly, the fine tinkling sounds wrapped up by the wind and carried toward the stern.
The trays held caviar canapés and slender champagne flutes. The caviar on the canapés gleamed gray-black under the lights.
Dianzi picked up a canapé, bit into it, and narrowed her eyes.
Zhao Dayong also picked one up and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. He chewed twice, and his expression shifted.
"Really salty. But after the salt, there's a little sweetness."
He picked up another one, this time biting off half and chewing it slowly. Then he nodded.
A child ran across the deck, weaving between the tables and chairs. The mother called out twice but couldn't stop him.
The child crashed into a server. The tray in the server's hand wobbled. Several champagne glasses traced an arc against their walls before being steadied again.
The liquid inside swayed several times before settling.
When the child ran past Zhao Dayong, he instinctively reached out and grabbed at the air. He caught nothing.
His hand hung in the air for a second, then he pulled it back and slipped it into his pocket.
The band began playing The Stars Represent My Heart. The strings drifted down from the second deck, the river wind carrying them near and far.
Dianzi leaned against the bow railing and hummed along. After two lines, she turned to Zhao Dayong. "Can you sing it?"
"A little." He sang two lines, then stopped. The tips of his ears went red. He looked down at the glass in his hand, his thumb rubbing once against the rim.
I stood beside him, my elbow on the railing. "Not bad."
"It's been a long time. I used to be in the choir back in school. After graduation, I never sang again. No one to listen."
——When no one listens, you even forget yourself that you can still sing.
Dianzi set her champagne glass on the railing, turned around, and leaned her back against it, tilting her head up to look at the sky.
The brightest star had already come out. "Well, now someone's listening. Sing a couple more lines."
He sang two more lines, his voice a little louder than before. Dianzi harmonized with him. Their voices layered together, scattered by the river wind.
I leaned against the railing and took a sip of champagne. The river wind lifted the ends of my hair. A few ash-blonde strands brushed past my collarbone.
I raised my phone, the front camera framing Dianzi and me. Dianzi leaned her face in close. Her pearl hair clip bumped my earring.
She raised her hand in a V sign. I pressed the shutter. Afterward, I lowered my head to look at the screen and traced my fingertip lightly across Dianzi's face.
Dianzi leaned in, her chin resting on my shoulder. Her pinkish-purple stray strands brushed against my neck. The river wind made our skirts snap like flags.
💬 The maid outfit with the yacht is absolutely stunning, you two beauties!
💬 Wifey's gaze at Daughter through the lens 😭
💬 The lights at the bow are so beautiful, stay safe
💬 Did you catch the one where Daughter was holding up the V sign ❤️
The yacht slowly steered toward the center of the river. The lights on both shores grew denser.
Scattered windows lit up in the towers of Saixing District, reflected upside down on the water like two rows of glowing fences.
Zhao Dayong stood at the bow, his white suit jacket puffing slightly in the river wind. One hand was in his pocket. The other rested on the railing.
The bubbles in his champagne glass were still rising.
"Are you happy today?" I walked up beside him.
He turned to look at me. "I am. I've never had anything like this. The helicopter, the yacht, the champagne, the caviar. I'd only ever seen these in magazines before."
He looked down at the champagne glass in his hand. A fine layer of condensation clung to the glass.
He turned the glass a half-circle and watched the droplets slowly slide down, gathering into a small stream that flowed to the bottom.
"There will be more."
He didn't respond. He turned back to look at the river. The wind blew, lifting the hair from his forehead.
After a moment, he turned and looked at me again. This time, the look lasted longer than before.
His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just raised his glass and took a sip.
The band changed to a slower song. The deep notes of the cello drifted up from the deck.
Zhao Dayong glanced down at his cuff. There was a spot of caviar on the white suit jacket—a small, deep-gray dot.
He looked at it for two seconds. He didn't wipe it.
"You're not wiping it off?"
"I'll keep it. As a souvenir. First time wearing a white suit and eating caviar."
The yacht turned in the middle of the river. The hull tilted slightly.
Zhao Dayong instinctively grabbed the railing, his other hand still holding the champagne glass. The liquid inside swayed. It didn't spill.
After he steadied himself, he looked down at the glass, then at his own hand, and released the railing.
Dianzi leaned in, her chin resting on my shoulder. The tip of her nose bumped against my earring. It was cool.
"He's looser today than he was on the helicopter."
"First time is nervous. Second time gets better. That's how people are. Once you've tasted something once, you won't be afraid of it a second time."
"This girl thinks tomorrow he'll be even different."
"That depends on where we take him tomorrow."
She didn't answer, just rubbed her face a little deeper into the hollow of my shoulder.
The reflections on the river had shifted completely from gold to silver.
The yacht docked. The gangplank touched the pier. The band played its final note.
The tail of the strings hung in the air above the river for a few seconds before dissipating.
Zhao Dayong walked down the gangplank. His steps were steady. His shadow stretched long on the pier.
The white suit jacket was strikingly bright in the night. The lights on the pier made his cuff glow white.
The caviar stain had become a tiny gray speck in the light.
In the distance, the ferry horn sounded one long note across the river.
Zhao Dayong stood on the pier. The caviar stain on his cuff had dried. He reached down and touched it, his fingertip pausing there for a moment.
Then he slipped his hand into his pocket. He looked back at the yacht.
The light strips along the gunwales were still lit, casting a sheet of warm red scattered light across the river's surface.