The rain gradually subsided, and the distant roar of a generator filled the air. Several streetlights lit up one after another, casting a dim, yellowish glow on the wet pavement. On the red umbrella, the ginkgo leaf stood out vividly under the lights, its veins remarkably similar to the map of the Yunnan-Tibet Highway they had drawn during their travels. Ayu suddenly felt that this unexpected thunderstorm was like a foreshadowing planted by time, allowing all the scattered fragments of memory to be pieced back together on a rainy night.

As they reached the apartment building entrance, Zhong Hua handed A Yu a plastic bag. "The candle's on top," he said, "and your favorite tomato-flavored instant noodles." A Yu took the bag, feeling the warmth of his palm even through the plastic. She looked up at him; raindrops condensed on his glasses, but couldn't dim the light in his eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice softer than usual.

Zhong Hua shook his head, took the ginkgo leaf off the umbrella, and carefully put it into A Yu's canvas bag. "Next time we go to Dali, I'll pick up another whole one," he said. A Yu nodded, watching him turn and walk into the rain. The red umbrella gradually blended into the night, like a moving strawberry, disappearing around the corner of the stairwell.

The motion-activated lights in the hallway suddenly turned on, casting a dim, yellowish glow on Ayu's hair. She raised her hand to touch it; the water droplets were gone, leaving only a slightly damp coolness. But she knew that those sparkling glimmers, like shattered diamonds, had long since settled deep in her memory, like starlight in the frozen lake of Yubeng Village, solidifying into an eternal mark in the sedimentation of time.

Back home, Ayu lit a red candle. The flame flickered, casting swaying shadows on the wall. She opened her canvas bag; the ginkgo leaf and dried flowers lay quietly inside, next to the tomato-flavored instant noodles Zhonghua had bought. She suddenly remembered that night at Namtso Lake, when Zhonghua said that every star has its own trajectory, just like encounters between people—seemingly accidental, but actually the resonance of countless fragments of time.

The rain was still falling outside the window, but Ayu no longer felt the dampness. She unpacked the instant noodles; the aroma of hot water seemed to mingle with the sunshine of Dali Ancient City, the crispness of Yubeng Ice Lake, and the warmth of Zhong Hua's fingertips. The thunderstorms of the plum rain season will eventually pass, but the sparkling light of those tiny diamonds in the rain will forever remain in the puddles of memory, reflecting the gentle contours of time again in some unexpected moment.