Extra Chapter: A Gentle Breeze Sweeps Through the Alley, Old Memories Linger with Fragrance

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The early winter wind, carrying a slight chill, swept past the curtain of "Yanshan Dessert Shop." Xue Su was squatting on the steps outside the shop, opening a can of tuna food for the stray cat "Naigao." A few drops of oil clung to her fingertips, but she didn't mind, only smiling as she poked the kitten's soft chin: "Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you—just so you know, Xu Yanchi made a new chestnut Mont Blanc today, I'll scrape some scraps for you as a snack later."

Milk Cake meowed in response, its tail circling the tip of her shoe. Xue Su looked up, basking in the rare warm sunshine, the ends of her hair swaying in the wind—Xu Yanchi and Xiao Fuzhou had just gotten their marriage certificate last week. When the red book was slapped on the counter, both of their ears were red, which reminded her of her student days, when she always saw Xiao Fuzhou taking a long way to take Xu Yanchi home, his schoolbag strap slung across his shoulder, walking with a touch of youthful exuberance.

As she was playing with the cat, her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a message from home, asking if she was coming back to the old house for hot pot this weekend. Xue Su tapped on the screen and replied, "Yes, and I'll bring two boxes of tiramisu made by Yan Chi." Just as she put her phone away, Xu Yan Chi poked his head out of the shop and called out to her, "Xue Su! These butter cookies are freshly baked, try them and see if they're done!"

She responded, dusted off her hands, and stepped inside. A warm, sweet aroma instantly enveloped her. Xu Yanchi handed her a cookie, and she took a bite. The crumbly texture mixed with the buttery fragrance spread on her tongue, and she couldn't help but squint her eyes: "Wow, your skills have improved again—that kid Xiao Fuzhou, back in the school sports meet, ran three laps around the track to snatch half a cookie from your hand, and now he gets to eat ready-made desserts every day."

Xu Yanchi chuckled and playfully slapped her. The two huddled behind the counter, flipping through baking books, until they came across an old photo tucked between the pages—a high school graduation photo. In the back row, Xiao Fuzhou stood ramrod straight, his white shirt collar neatly buttoned, but secretly making a bunny ear gesture behind Xu Yanchi's back. Xue Su pointed at the photo and laughed, not noticing a figure in a beige coat flitting past the window, carrying a sketchbook, walking slowly past the dessert shop entrance towards the old house at the end of the alley, covered in ivy—Chen Ningyi's home, the place where she and Xiao Fuzhou had grown up together.

This was Chen Ningyi's third time passing by Yanshan Dessert Shop. A pleasant aroma always wafted from the shop's entrance; the unique, sweet scent of milk lingered on Chen Ningyi's nose, making her slightly itchy. Her mouth watered, but she ultimately just glanced at it, shook her head, and continued walking. That night, when she opened the door, two faded sets of keys hung on the hook in the entryway—one set was hers, and the other, a silver set, belonged to Xiao Fuzhou when he was a child. The keychain was a chipped sword, a thank-you gift she had bought with half a month's savings after he helped her retrieve a kite from a tree.

She placed her sketchbook on the old sofa in the living room, her fingertips tracing a faint scratch on the armrest. She seemed to smell the delicate fragrance of Yanshan Dessert Shop again, the scent carried away by her thoughts. It was when she was eight years old, Xiao Fuzhou had rushed into the house carrying a soccer ball, leaving a scratch from his cleats. He had been terrified, his face pale, grabbing her wrist and saying, "Ningyi, please don't tell Aunt Xu! I'll carry your sketchbook for you every day from now on, okay?" But the next morning, he brought over half a bag of White Rabbit candies, squatted beside her, peeling the wrappers for her while staring at the scratch with worry: "I should have known better than to play soccer! You broke your sofa! What if you won't play with me anymore?"

Those days seemed to be always immersed in the fragrance of locust blossoms at the end of summer. The two families lived across the street from each other, and every morning Xiao Fuzhou would call from downstairs, "Chen Ningyi, hurry up! You'll be late for school!" On the way home from school, he would always give her half of the orange soda in his schoolbag, while he ate the red bean buns made by her mother, mumbling, "Your mom's are better than mine, I'll come back for some tomorrow." In her first year of learning to draw, she couldn't draw lines well and would sit in the yard crying. Xiao Fuzhou would move a small stool and sit next to her, clumsily drawing little ducks on paper with a pencil: "Don't cry, look, the tree you drew is much prettier than the ducks I drew. When you become an artist, I'll be your first audience."

When did she begin to feel that this "growing up together" was different? Perhaps it was when she was twelve, she had a high fever, her parents weren't home, and Xiao Fuzhou carried her on his back to the community hospital. Sweat soaked his back, but he was still panting as he told her, "Don't be afraid, I'll run fast, the doctor will be able to cure you." Or perhaps it was when she was thirteen, she got her first period and cried in the school toilet in a panic. Xiao Fuzhou overheard a few words from a classmate, blushed, and ran to all the nearby convenience stores. He stood at the toilet door with a pack of sanitary napkins and hot milk tea, his voice barely audible: "I asked the lady at the front desk, and she said this can be used... The milk tea is hot, drink some to warm your stomach."

Even later, when Xu Yanchi was by his side, she didn't immediately realize that her feelings were "love." On Christmas Eve of their senior year of high school, Xiao Fuzhou knocked on her door, holding a beautifully wrapped apple in his hand, scratching his head and saying, "Ningyi, this is for you." Chen Ningyi looked at it and jokingly said that Xiao Fuzhou had secretly hidden an apple in his hand. Xiao Fuzhou touched his face a little embarrassedly and said frankly that it was for Xu Yanchi. She couldn't describe how she felt at that moment as she took the apple. Seeing the redness on the tips of his ears as he turned around, she suddenly realized that the little boy who used to follow her around calling "Ningyi" had learned to hide his tenderness for someone else.

That night, she put the apple in the glass jar on her desk, neither eating it nor telling anyone—just like the drawings she hid in her sketchbook: drawings of his back as he walked ahead carrying his easel, drawings of his profile as he squatted in the yard feeding stray dogs, drawings of him in his school uniform, smiling as he handed Xu Yanchi water by the playground. But in every drawing, Xiao Fuzhou never looked directly at the camera; his gaze, in every single one, was directed towards some unknown place, his smile dazzling. These drawings were unsigned, and in the corner of each one was a small orange—the taste of the orange soda he often shared with her when she was little.

Chen Ningyi opened the drawer of her desk. Inside was an iron box filled with old objects: his keychain with its peeling paint, the first little duck she had drawn for him, and the apple from their senior year of high school—long dried into a specimen, yet still showing its original bright red color. She took out her sketchbook, turned to the latest page, and drew the old locust tree in the old courtyard. Under the tree stood two small figures, one carrying a drawing board, the other holding a soccer ball. Sunlight fell on them, warm like the old days.

A gust of wind outside the window swept up a few fallen leaves, which landed on the windowsill. Chen Ningyi picked up a pencil and added a small orange to the corner of the drawing paper. She paused, then gently drew a faint smile—she had long understood over the years that this affection, quietly rooted since childhood, was not a regret, but the tenderest memory hidden in old keys, old sofas, and the scent of locust blossoms. Just as Xiao Fuzhou had said, he was her first audience, and she would always remember that boy holding a soccer ball and carrying White Rabbit candies, who was the brightest light in her entire youth. Years later, she finally understood that this bittersweet unrequited love had been a one-sided affair, with only her participating from beginning to end. Looking at the countless Xiao Fuzhou drawings in her hand, Chen Ningyi's lips moistened.