Yang Junfan was also calling Beijing. In a large courtyard house, it was clear a move was in progress—they had just arrived. The doors to the main house and the side rooms were all wide open. Belongings were scattered messily throughout the courtyard and under the covered corridors. A phone rang from one of the rooms. A woman in her fifties who looked like a nanny emerged from the kitchen, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried into the room to answer it. She could be heard exclaiming with delight, "Xiao Fan! Oh, Xiao Fan, are you alright? Yes! Yes! Shun Ma is doing well, just fine! Okay, okay, Shun Ma will go get your aunt. Just you wait!"
"Aunt, is that Junfan calling back?" As she spoke, a girl of eighteen or nineteen darted through the door like a swallow. She had fair skin and a pretty face, and her two braided pigtails bounced on her shoulders from running. A long-sleeved, floral-print blouse could barely contain her well-developed, buxom figure, her chest heaving rapidly.
