The late autumn wind whirled the golden ginkgo leaves, rustling past the flower-covered gate of the prime minister's residence. Jiang Yan sat on a rattan chair under the porch, his bony fingers repeatedly pinching the oil-paper package in his sleeve pocket, his fingertips stroking the fragments inside through the oil paper, as if he were protecting some precious treasure. The golden glow of the setting sun filtered through the grape trellis, casting mottled spots of light through his silver hair, like a handful of broken diamonds.

"Miss Jinli," he suddenly stood up, the corner of his robe brushing against the chair leg with a small sound, and stumbled towards the main room, "Look what I brought you."

Su Jinli was mending a moon-white shirt by the window when she heard a sound and looked up to see a strange light in her husband's eyes. It was a light that resembled the warm yellow light of malt sugar in his eyes when he squatted in front of the sugar painting stall on the street fifty years ago.

"Look!" Jiang Yan unfolded the oil-paper package like he was presenting a treasure. The sweet-scented osmanthus cake inside had already crumbled into crumbs, mixed with dark brown candied sugar. "It's from Li's on West Street. It's what you loved most when you missed Li. I went all the way around to buy it for you."

Su Jinli took the oil-paper package, her nose lingering with a stale sweet fragrance, mingled with a faint hint of medicine. She recalled that rainy night twenty years ago, when Jiang Yan rushed into the room, draped in a soaking raincoat, clutching a triple-wrapped osmanthus cake wrapped in oilcloth. Rainwater still dripped from his temples, yet he smiled like a child: "Jinli, try it! It's still warm." The oil-paper package remained the same, but the person who had handed it had forgotten the passage of time, forgotten that she was no longer a pregnant woman who needed to carry cakes to satisfy her craving.

"Thank you." Her fingertips rubbed the wrinkles on the oil paper bag, and her voice trembled slightly.

"You're welcome." Jiang Yan scratched his head, ruffling his silver hair even further. He then pulled out a darkened gardenia from his other sleeve pocket. The petals were curled up like wrinkled paper, and the calyx was still stained with dried soil. "This... is for you. It smells as good as your eyes."

He had picked those flowers in the garden last month, the same way he'd done back then, squatting beside a rose bush and carefully selecting them, muttering, "I'll pick the most fragrant one for Jinli." Su Jinli took the flower and pinned it to her hair. The dry petals brushed against her earlobe, bringing a slight chill and tingling sensation.

"It's really beautiful." She raised her face, letting the light of the setting sun fall on her face, trying to make her smile more genuine.

"Miss Jinli," Jiang Yan suddenly grasped her hand, the warmth of his palm coming through the fabric, carrying the slight coolness that only an elderly person can feel. "Will you marry me?"

Those words pierced Su Jinli's heart like a rusty needle. She looked at the pure anticipation in her husband's eyes. It was the unvarnished starlight of a thirty-year-old top scholar, not the turbidity of an eighty-year-old. "I do." She heard her own voice tremble in the autumn breeze, just as it had when she first promised him in the dilapidated temple fifty years ago.

From outside the corridor came Xiaoyue'er's clear voice: "Grandma! Did Grandpa bring you another 'treasure'?" The little girl, wearing a pomegranate-red jacket, held a crystal-clear sugar-painted phoenix in her hand. The syrup shone amber in the setting sun. "Look! This is Old Man Zhang's new apprentice from the street ahead. He said he knew you when you were young!"

Jiang Yan stared at Xiao Yue'er warily, pulling Su Jinli behind him like a mother hen protecting her chicks: "Who are you? Why are you approaching my girl with a sugar painting?"

"I'm Xiaoyue'er! Your eldest granddaughter!" The little girl handed him the sugar painting, the phoenix's tail feathers swaying gently in the wind. "Grandpa, look, this phoenix is ​​much more beautiful than the one you drew back then!"

Jiang Yan stared at the sugar-painted phoenix, a flicker of confusion in his cloudy eyes. He seemed to remember something, grabbed Su Jinli's hand, and walked out, his steps stumbling but resolute. "Miss Jinli, let's go buy some sugar paintings!"

Su Heng and Su Qingyao hurried over from the moon cave door and saw Jiang Yan pulling Su Jinli out. They glanced at each other and Su Heng hurriedly followed: "Sister, slow down! Jiang Yan, are you confused again?"

By the time the group reached West Street, dusk had already settled. Where Old Man Zhang's sugar painting stall once stood, a rouge stall now stood, and the vendor was packing up painted boxes. Jiang Yan stood at the base of the empty wall, his fingers unconsciously scratching the cracks in the bricks, muttering, "Sugar painting... Where's Old Man Zhang? He should be here..."

Su Jinli stared at his bewildered profile, her throat clogged with cotton. Fifty years ago, right here, he'd squatted in front of Old Man Zhang's stall, arguing with her over the last of his phoenix sugar paintings. Back then, his blue shirt still stained with the scent of ink, his eyes filled with the cunning of youth.

"Old man Zhang has gone home to hug his grandson." She patted Jiang Yan's back gently, her fingertips touching the protruding corners of his shoulder blades.

"Oh..." Jiang Yan's shoulders slumped, but suddenly he excitedly pulled her to the stone table on the street, where someone had dropped a half-broken piece of chalk. "Then let's draw it ourselves!"

His hand trembled violently as he grasped the chalk, dragging a crooked line across the slate. The setting sun stretched his shadow, and his silver hair fluttered in the wind like a faded flag. A twisted "earthworm" gradually emerged on the slate, its tail still clinging to a few chalk lumps.

"Look, Miss Jinli!" Jiang Yan pointed at the slate, a childlike grin spreading across his face. "It's a dragon! Even more majestic than the one Old Man Zhang drew!"

Su Jinli looked at the familiar "earthworm dragon" and recalled her sixteen-year-old self, crouched on the ground, drawing crooked lines in a fit of anger, which he had mocked as "earthworms undergoing tribulation." Back then, he'd doubled over with laughter, the hem of his blue shirt brushing the slate. But when she turned around, he thrust his own sugar painting of a phoenix into her hands.

"It's a really nice drawing." She squatted down and gently brushed her fingertips across the chalk drawing on the slate. The chalk dust fell down, like the dust of time.

Jiang Yan was praised and drew an even more distorted "bird" next to it, with one wing longer than the other and its head tilted to one side: "This is a phoenix! For you!"

My dear, there is more to this chapter. Please click on the next page to continue reading. It will be even more exciting later!