Su Man's drawing paper was already rolled up and put into the tube. The top sheet was of the old pear tree she had drawn yesterday evening. The setting sun had dyed the trunk amber, and a few unripe pears hung among the branches. A cat was dozing in the shadows of the leaves. She remembered when she was drawing, Lin Xia sat beside her weaving a flower wreath, Chen Mo was holding a camera and finding the right angle, Zhao Lei was leaning against the tree playing "Childhood," and Sister Zhang was bringing over a slice of watermelon, its red flesh still glistening with cool water droplets. At that moment, a gust of wind swept through the yard, scattering pencil shavings from the drawing paper like stars scattered in the air.

"It's time to go." Chen Mo glanced at his watch; the hour hand pointed to nine o'clock, exactly the same time they arrived on their first day. Sunlight had already climbed over the eaves, illuminating the bluestone slab in the center of the courtyard, where a stain of paint Zhao Lei had accidentally spilled yesterday lay—an orange-red circle like a drop of frozen sunset. Lin Xia took one last look at the camera on the second-floor terrace; the lens was still pointed at the wild rose bushes. By now, the dew on the petals should have evaporated, leaving only the marks of sunlight.

Sister Zhang stood at the door watching them go, her apron still stained with the sauce from the preserved mustard greens, like a dark flower blooming on a blue cloth. "Be careful on the road," she called out, "Let me know when you get to the city, so I won't worry." When Lin Xia turned around, she saw a glint in her eyes, like dewdrops on lotus leaves in the morning. As Zhao Lei put the guitar case in the trunk, the strings suddenly emitted a faint vibrating sound, like a barely perceptible sigh.

As the car started, Chen Mo saw the old pear tree in the rearview mirror, its branches swaying gently in the morning breeze, as if waving goodbye. Lin Xia opened the side pocket of her backpack and took out a peach shortbread wrapped in oil paper. The aroma of oil mingled with the scent of ink on the paper, and she suddenly remembered the blue and white floral cloth at the old woman's stall, and the warm palm of her hand as she stuffed peanuts into it. Su Man opened her sketchbook; the last page showed silhouettes of four people sitting under a pear tree, with the words written in pencil beside it: "Time may grow old, but this moment will always be fresh."

As the car rounded the street corner, the white walls and gray tiles of the town were gradually obscured by the green trees. Only the cry of "Tofu pudding—" from the end of the alley remained, like a stubborn bookmark, tucked inside their soon-to-be-closed travel diary. Lin Xia pressed her forehead against the car window, watching the sycamore leaves rushing past outside. Suddenly, she realized that the veins of each leaf were just like the paths they had walked through the town over the past two weeks—winding, yet leading to some warm place.

"Do you think," Zhao Lei suddenly spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "that bottle of postcards will still be there when we come back ten years from now?"

Chen Mo paused on the steering wheel, sunlight streaming through the car window onto the silver watch on his wrist, the numbers on the dial flickering in the light and shadow. “It will,” he said, “just like the blue floral cloth at Grandma’s stall, the dried plums in Sister Zhang’s jar, and the stones on the riverbank with smiling faces carved on them, they will all be waiting for us in time.”

Su Man opened her pencil case. Inside lay a half-sharpened ochre pencil, its shaft still bearing the marks she'd accidentally made while sharpening it yesterday. She remembered Lin Xia saying under the old pear tree yesterday, "If only time could be like sharpening a pencil, slowly shaving away the excess, leaving only the sharpest point." Zhao Lei, who was tuning his instrument then, smiled upon hearing this, plucked a clear note, and said, "But without those shavings, the pencil tip can't draw a complete picture."

The car drove onto the winding mountain road, and the small town shrank into a tiny patch of color in the rearview mirror, with a few lush green trees dotting the white walls and gray tiles. Lin Xia opened the peach shortbread, and the crisp sound of her biting into it filled the car. The sweetness was mixed with a faint alkaline aroma, much like the millet porridge that Sister Zhang had cooked that morning. She suddenly remembered that when she was packing, Chen Mo had folded the blue floral scarf neatly and placed it on top of the suitcase, saying, "That way, it'll be the first thing you see when you open it."

Sunlight cast shimmering spots on the dashboard, like someone gently shaking a glass bottle brimming with memories. Zhao Lei began to softly play and sing, the same tune he had written himself, but this time there were no lyrics, only the melody flowing through the carriage, sometimes like morning dew, sometimes like the chirping of cicadas in the afternoon, sometimes like the setting sun on the river at dusk. Su Man took out her sketchbook and, using the light streaming through the window, sketched four rolling suitcases on the title page. The tracks left by the wheels formed a series of crooked ellipses, pointing to the unknown distance.

"Look!" Chen Mo suddenly slowed down, pointing to the mountain hollow on the right. The wild roses there were in full bloom, their pink and white blossoms undulating in the wind like a burning cloud. Lin Xia opened the car window, and the sweet fragrance of roses mingled with the mountain breeze, ruffling the stray hairs on her forehead. She saw a faint blue figure among the flowers—it was the picnic blanket they had forgotten to take when they left yesterday, now blooming like a giant cornflower among the green leaves.

Zhao Lei's guitar playing suddenly softened, the chords carrying an indescribable longing. Su Man sketched the roses in her sketchbook; as the pen glided across the paper, one could almost hear the soft rustling of the petals unfurling. Chen Mo raised the camera from the passenger seat, and through the viewfinder, he saw Lin Xia's profile softened against the backdrop of the flowers, a pinkish-white petal seemingly fallen from her hair, while the distant town nestled in the embrace of the mountains, like a child cherished by time.

As the car restarted, the suitcases in the trunk bumped gently, as if they were having some kind of secret conversation. Lin Xia put the unfinished peach shortbread back into its oil paper wrapping. Her fingertips touched the oil stains on the paper, and she suddenly remembered what Sister Zhang had mentioned about bayberry season. "Let's come again next June," she suddenly said, her voice tinged with excitement. "The bayberries should be ripe then, and Sister Zhang said she'd teach us how to make bayberry wine."

“Okay,” Zhao Lei replied immediately, his fingers gliding a cheerful note on the guitar strings. “I’m going to go to the riverbank to find a rounder stone and carve next year’s date on it.”

Chen Mo glanced at the two people in the back seat through the rearview mirror. Su Man was writing something in her sketchbook, her head down. Sunlight fell on her slightly furrowed brows, like a gentle snowflake. He remembered the pebble Zhao Lei had slipped into his camera bag when he was packing it. Now, it lay quietly in the bag along with the hundreds of photos he had taken, waiting to be reopened at some point in the future.

The mountain road wound its way forward, pulling the town further and further into the distance. But Lin Xia knew that some things had already been packed into her suitcase, carefully preserved along with the blue floral scarf, the stone with the smiley face painted on it, and the peach shortbread baked by Sister Zhang. Like the moonlight under the old pear tree, the sound of water on the riverbank, and the bottle of time sealed in the café, they had all left deep imprints on their hearts, becoming warm memories that would linger whenever they were recalled in the long years to come.

As the car finally left the mountains and entered the city's borders, the setting sun painted the sky with the fiery hues unique to the small town. Lin Xia opened the car window, letting the evening breeze dispel the fatigue of the journey. Suddenly, she heard Chen Mo say softly, "Look, even the sunset is seeing us off." She looked in the direction he pointed, and the layers of clouds on the horizon resembled the starry sky she had seen under the old pear tree that day. And within the folds of each cloud lay the lingering echoes of the small town that would never fade.