The Rake’s Tale of an Orphan

That Summer She Fainted in the Moonlight

I had always found Lao Li’s daughter, Li Xue, a little too cold for my liking—but that didn’t stop me from liking her anyway.

She was in high school then, two years younger than me. Fair-skinned, delicate features, almost like a doll carved from snow. To be honest, she didn’t even look Chinese—I sometimes suspected they had Russian blood in their lineage or something.

Technically, she was my junior disciple, since we both learned from Old Li, though she never acknowledged it. She came back home just once a week, and whenever she saw me, it was like I was invisible. If I initiated a dozen conversations, she might grant me a single nasal grunt in return. That was the best I could get.

But her indifference wasn’t a deterrent—it was a challenge. The colder she acted, the more determined I became to pester her. Whenever I had time, I’d pop into Old Li’s little store and “shamelessly” harass her.

I mean, come on—I’m 182 cm tall, well-built, decent-looking except for my single eyelid (which, frankly, adds a bit of character). I knew how to be funny too, though perhaps that’s exactly why Li Xue thought I was a clown. She probably saw me as a lowlife. But I didn’t care much for people’s opinions—unless there was an advantage to be gained.

And just because she didn’t like me didn’t mean other girls didn’t. I had my own little store, interacted with all kinds of people, and sure, most were middle-aged aunties, but there were some fresh-faced pretty ones too.

Like Liu Na, for instance.

She was a transfer to the town’s legal office at the end of the year I opened my store. Smart, quick-witted, and always smiling with those beautiful black eyes of hers—she had the kind of quiet kindness that made you feel at ease. We got acquainted by chance one winter day, early in her second year.

I was in the store reading a book when she walked in. I quickly stood behind the counter. She didn’t say much, just paced in front of the shelves, looking shy. But I already knew what she wanted.

At that time, sanitary pads were a novelty. Most women still used toilet paper due to the cost, but I, with my “keen business sense,” had stocked some. As far as I knew, I was the only one in town who had them.

So I casually placed a pack on the counter and sat back down to read. Within seconds, I heard the door chime. Liu Na had vanished. The pack was gone—and in its place was a ten-yuan bill. I chuckled, pocketed the money—she had overpaid by six yuan. I figured I’d return the change next time I saw her.

It wasn’t until a week later that I did—on a weekend, no less. I was in Old Li’s shop, once again shamelessly trying to talk to my “little junior.” She sat there as cold as ever, face blank, eyes full of disdain. Just the way I liked it.

Then someone shouted from outside, “Anyone there? Is this place even open?”

I ignored it. Li Xue looked at me like I was trash, gesturing to the door with her chin. Didn’t say “get out,” but her expression screamed it.

The voice outside persisted: “Hello? Is this place still doing business?”

I sighed and stepped out. Turned out to be Liu Na.

I grinned. She blushed and snapped, “What are you laughing at, you weirdo!”

But she still followed me into the store, so clearly she wasn’t that angry.

Once inside, she wandered by the shelves again, just like last time. I figured she wanted another pack, so I slipped one onto the counter.

She froze, turned red, glared at me with those beautiful eyes and scolded, “You i***t. I came for my change!”

Only then did I remember I owed her six yuan.

Grinning, I teased, “Forget the change. Take two more packs and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

She exploded. “You dog! Spit out the money already!”

I quickly put the pads away, handed her the six yuan, and couldn’t help mumbling, “Women are such trouble…”

She just stared at me, her eyes throwing metaphorical daggers. If looks could kill, I’d have been buried ten times over.

Still, she kept coming back. Even though every time she left my shop she swore she’d never return, within a few days, she’d be back, acting like nothing ever happened.

That summer, she sometimes asked me to accompany her on walks down by the riverbank in the evening. Of course, Li Xue had a lot to say about that. According to her, I was a toad lusting after a swan.

I’d just smirk and say, “Jealous, are you, Little Xue? Want me to take you for a walk too?”

To which she’d reply with her signature six-word mantra: “You’re insane. Get lost. Now.”

Truth be told, I was still pretty innocent back then. Sure, I talked big and acted cheeky, but my heart was clean. With Liu Na, I just liked spending time with her. She was new in town and we got along. That’s all.

My heart at the time? It belonged entirely to another girl—Little Cui, the one with the long braid. She filled my whole world.

And to be fair, Liu Na was a government worker. I was a village kid running a corner store—hardly a match. I didn’t even dare think about dating her. As for Li Xue? She was still a kid.

But life had other plans.

Late that summer, Liu Na came to the shop again, asking if I could accompany her on a walk. Li Xue was on vacation and—after an impressive display of contempt—reluctantly agreed to watch the store for me.

So Liu Na and I walked far down the riverbank. The moonlight was soft, the grass beneath our feet making a gentle swish with every step. Eventually, she said she was tired and suggested we sit.

We talked and laughed, I told joke after joke—until suddenly, she let out a soft cry and collapsed onto her back. Her eyes were shut tight.

Panicked, I called her name and shook her, but there was no response. I remembered something about pressing the philtrum, tried that—nothing. Desperate, I unbuttoned her top, hoping the night air might revive her.

And then I saw them—her breasts, white as steamed buns under the moonlight. I stared, my brain buzzing like I’d been struck by lightning. My hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching out…

But I stopped myself. Snapped out of it. I bolted to the river, cupped some filthy water in my hands and mouth, then ran back like a mad horse.

I sprayed the water on her face and chest.

She jerked up with a shriek, buttoned up quickly, glaring at me not with shame—but with confusion.

“You okay?” I asked, dazed. “You feel better?”

She wiped her face with a handkerchief, visibly exhausted. “Yeah, yeah… it’s an old condition. Let’s go back.”

And just like that, she walked off, alone, no words, her figure cloaked in silence and moonlight.

As we neared the shop, she paused and said something that stuck with me for years:

“Yang Guang, you’re not who you pretend to be… you’re actually a good person. Just a little… slow. And unresponsive. But… thanks.”

I had no idea what she meant. And shortly after that, Liu Na stopped coming to my shop. I heard she got engaged. Life moved on.

Years later, we ran into each other by chance. She was a mother now—short hair, rounder figure, glowing with warmth. A little boy stood by her side.

We chatted for a long time, reminiscing. Then she brought up that summer night.

“Do you remember the time I fainted?” she asked, blushing.

I nodded. Of course I remembered.

She smiled shyly, “Do you know why I fainted that night?”

I shook my head, curious.

She looked at me, voice soft but teasing. “I planned that night for weeks. For a girl, something like that takes courage. And you—Mr. Big Talk—turned out to be a total coward. If you’d been even a little bolder… even a bit shameless… maybe things would’ve turned out differently.”

I had no words—just a bitter laugh.

Funny thing, memory. That night had faded into a blur for me. But for her? It was unforgettable.

Turns out, sometimes it's not that women remember better than men—it's just that they feel deeper.