haven't seen you for a long time

Time slowly matures in "Safe Haven" like wine. Xu Yan gradually becomes the shop's true pillar, memorizing the preferences of regular customers with precision. His unique "Coast" series of special blends has even been featured in food magazines. When headhunters offer high salaries to poach him, he simply smiles and shakes his head—this place is about much more than just a job.

Late one night during a typhoon, Lin Wanqing pushed open the door, her wet suitcase in tow. "School's closed early," she said, taking off her dripping bucket hat. Her eyes flicked to Lin Shuyin, who was wiping a cup. Lin Shuyin immediately put down his work, took the towel, and gently wiped her hair.

“You didn’t even tell me in advance…” Lin Shuyin’s tone was filled with resentment, but her hands carefully brushed away the strands of hair stuck to her forehead.

"I wanted to give you a surprise." Lin Wanqing raised her face, and they smiled at each other.

Xu Yan silently mixed a glass of mulled wine and pushed it over. In the steamy air, he watched them lean against the booth, sharing the same pair of headphones. For the past two years, Lin Wanqing had returned every holiday. From the initial unfamiliar "Sister Lin" to the natural hand-holding they now enjoyed, a tacit understanding had quietly grown between them on those typhoon nights.

Another year passed, Xu Yan had saved a lot of money and became a well-known bartender in the industry, and was occasionally invited to be a guest in other places.

One day, Xu Yan received a special invitation to a newly opened boutique hotel, Qitong, in a tourist city known for its old town and slow-paced lifestyle. He was asked to help create the opening menu for its bar. Located at the end of an ancient bluestone street, the hotel is owned by a young chef who aims to incorporate local customs into modern culinary experiences.

On the first day here, the young owner Susie had high hopes for Xu Yan: "I don't want the classic wines you see everywhere. I hope the wine here can taste the flavor of this street - damp moss, the scent of ink from old books, the smell of afternoon sun on wood..."

This abstract requirement left the team somewhat bewildered. Xu Yan didn't start immediately. Instead, after closing for the day, he spent a long, solitary walk through the old street. He touched the damp bricks, stopped at a used bookstore, savored the local snacks, and quietly absorbed the unique atmosphere of the place.

The next day, instead of mixing drinks, he took Susie to the local market, where he bought fresh bergamot, fragrant Litsea cubeba, and local osmanthus honey. He even found a spice called "Lao Shan Tan" in a spice shop that was rarely used in cocktails and had a stale woody aroma.

Back at the bar, he began experimenting with flavors. The team watched as he used a local rice wine as a base, infusing it with the freshness of bergamot, a touch of litsea cubeba for a strangely penetrating note, and finally, using a blowtorch to roast a small piece of aged sandalwood, infusing the smoke into the drink.

On the opening night, Xu Yan presented two signature cocktails:

Paulownia:

Inspired by the sycamore trees in the hotel's courtyard, this whisky is smoked with sandalwood, paired with the sweet aroma of elderflower liqueur, and finished with a dash of bitters to simulate the coolness and subtle bitterness of the tree's shade. The full-bodied whisky leaves a lingering woody finish.

"echo":

Inspired by rainy days in Old Street, this drink uses aged rum as its base, blended with the acidity of lime and homemade bamboo leaf syrup. Finally, a fine rim of sea salt and ground moss powder (edible) is applied to the rim. The drink is salty, fresh, and refreshing, like the scent of a cobblestone pavement after rain.

A well-known food critic happened to be present and exclaimed after tasting it: "I've lived in this city for forty years, and this is the first time I've had a cocktail that captures the local soul so accurately."

Xu Yan declined Susie's offer of a long-term collaboration, but he took away a deeper realization: true creativity stems from a nuanced appreciation of life. This experience gave him a clearer vision for his craft and the future of "Safe Haven."

Before leaving, Susie gave him a jar of local osmanthus honey: "Thank you for bringing back the taste of our memories for us." This simple gift made him feel more satisfied than any reward.

This winter didn't seem too cold. In a week, it would be his birthday, and the day before his birthday would be the anniversary of his mother's death.

He took a leave of absence and decided to go back to the north, to where he once lived - his mother's tombstone was still standing there.

When his friends learned why he was leaving, they all felt a bit mixed. Gu Yan patted him on the shoulder without saying much. Lin Wanqing quietly organized everyone to celebrate his birthday in advance at the bar after closing time the night before he left.

"I can't let you celebrate your birthday alone on the road!" She smiled, but there was concern in her eyes.

The lights were warm, the laughter was endless, and everyone gathered together to cut the cake and give gifts, using the excitement to temporarily push away the heavy moment that was about to come. Xu Yan smiled and accepted the heartfelt blessings one by one.

When the party was over, he stood behind the bar and mixed himself a drink. Not a sweet celebratory drink, but a Margarita with tequila, lime juice, and a pinch of salt. He raised his glass and offered a silent toast to the southern night sky outside the window.

Respect death and also respect rebirth.

When he was about to leave with his simple luggage, Lin Shuyin, who had been silent all the time, walked up to him and hugged him gently.

"Yanyan," her voice was muffled and nasal on his shoulder, "Remember to come back early." She paused, tightened her arms a little, and added the most important words:

"We'll miss you."

Xu Yan raised his hand and gently hugged her back.

"Yeah." He responded, his voice soft but serious.

The northbound train sped through the night, the lights outside the window blurring into a blurry streak. Xu Yan leaned against the window, unconsciously clutching the amulet his friends had given him. As the carriage rocked rhythmically, he closed his eyes.

On one side are the warm words of a friend, on the other is the cold tombstone he is about to face. Birthday and death anniversary, only one day apart, like a kind of helpless footnote in his life.

He didn't know if he would meet someone he shouldn't meet this time. He only knew that he had to go back.

The train broke through the night, taking him away from the current stability and heading towards a time that was deliberately sealed away.

The northbound train jolted all night amid the roar of the rails. Xu Yan barely slept, watching the scenery outside the window change from the humid south to the bleak, until the sky took on the cold, grayish-white light characteristic of a northern winter.

It was already bright when we arrived. Today was the anniversary of my mother's death.

Without stopping, he bought a bunch of white lilies, his mother's favorite, at a flower shop on the outskirts of the city, and then set out on the road to the cemetery without hesitation.

The cemetery seemed even quieter and older than he remembered. A cold wind rustled through the dead branches, making a whistling sound. He walked slowly toward the familiar tombstone. In the black and white photo, his mother's smile was as gentle as ever.

He leaned over and gently placed the lily in front of the grave, as if afraid of disturbing a peaceful sleep.

"Mom, I'm back." He began, his voice a little dry in the cold air. Then he sat down in front of the tombstone, as if he had finally returned to a harbor where he could drop all his pretense.

"Two years... I went to a city far away in the south. It's not cold there in winter and there is a sea." He paused, as if he was organizing his words, or as if he simply needed to take a breath.

"I'm a bartender now, and I'm doing pretty well. I was even featured in a magazine... If you knew, you'd be so proud. Oh no, you'd probably be sad. I'm sorry I didn't go to college."

He spoke intermittently, describing the moist southern air, the warm yellow lights of his "safe haven," and the friends who, despite their diverse personalities, treated him with sincerity. He only reported good news, not bad news, never mentioning his past struggles and despair. Instead, he described the past two years, a life that had been polished by time, gradually unfolding for the person sleeping beneath the tombstone.

After leaving the cemetery, he walked aimlessly like a wandering soul in this city that carried all his past.

He went to the old neighborhood where he and his mother had rented a house. The aroma of food and his mother's voice still seemed to linger in the corridor. He walked past the middle school where he had studied, and it seemed as if he could still see himself carrying a schoolbag and feeling nervous.

Memories flooded back like a tide, carrying with them the warmth of the past, but also the stinging pain of a changed world. He stood there for a long time, until snowflakes fell all over his shoulders, then he turned and left silently.

The next day was his birthday.

The sky was still gloomy and the snow had not stopped falling. He came to his mother's grave again, and it seemed as if he still carried the frost of yesterday's wandering.

He slowly knelt down, looked at his mother's eternal smile on the tombstone, and said softly:

"Mom, today is my twentieth birthday."

The sound was soft, falling on the silent snow, yet it carried a thousand-pound weight. Twenty years old should be an age of blessing and celebration, but now, in front of the cold tombstone, I can only whisper my last words to the person I miss most.

He just knelt there quietly, as if waiting for a response that would never come.

At some point, tiny snowflakes began to drift down from the leaden sky, landing lightly on his hair, shoulders, the cold tombstone, and the pure lily petals.

He didn't hold an umbrella.

The cold penetrated his thin clothes and penetrated his skin. His fingers, exposed to the air, soon turned red and numb. But he still reached out his hand and used his stiff red fingers to stroke his mother's name and photo on the tombstone over and over again, very slowly and carefully.

The icy touch reached his heart from his fingertips, yet strangely, it brought a kind of painful comfort. It was as if, through this method, he could once again touch that distant warmth, and complete a silent embrace across life and death and time.

Snowflakes fell silently, covering the cemetery and him. He sat there like a snowman forgotten by the world, only the gentle touch and low voice proved how longing had crossed the boundary between life and death, solidifying into eternity at this moment.

He knelt before the tombstone, snowflakes already forming a thin layer on his hair and shoulders. The chill penetrated his skin, as if to freeze him in the silence.

Suddenly, the falling snow stopped.

No, it didn't stop. A shadow gently enveloped him, blocking out the falling snow. He could sense someone standing quietly behind him.

Xu Yan's fingers, stroking the tombstone, paused for a moment, but he didn't turn back immediately. He maintained that posture, as if gathering the courage to stand, or perhaps calming the turbulent emotions that had suddenly surged. Finally, he slowly, almost stiffly, stood up and turned around.

The first thing that caught his eye was a steady black umbrella, which provided him with a snow-free sky.

Looking down, he saw a finely crafted black coat, a dark gray cashmere scarf that accentuated the visitor's fair complexion. Finally, he saw a pair of eyes that seemed so familiar to him, yet seemed like they had never been seen before. Those eyes held a complex mix of emotions, churning with surprise, understanding, and a hint of hidden pain. They were now locked firmly on his face, calm, yet carrying a tremendous weight.

The wind and snow howled silently between them, and time seemed to be stretched and solidified at this moment.

Lu Ziyi, holding an umbrella, looked at him, at his reddened fingertips and nose, at the unmelted snow on his eyelashes, and his Adam's apple rolled slightly. After a long while, he finally spoke, his deep voice penetrating the snow and falling clearly into Xu Yan's ears, carrying a long-lost, restrained undercurrent:

"haven't seen you for a long time."