"Let's go." He took Zhong Hua's hand; her fingertips were slightly cool, but she gripped his hand tightly. "Let's go see that spring."

As the two stepped out of the guesthouse, the snow crunched under their feet. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, weaving golden threads across the snow, and the distant olive trees resembled frozen green mist. Zhong Hua suddenly stopped, pointed to the horizon, and said, "Look at that cloud, doesn't it look like the eagle we saw in Tibet?"

Ah Yu looked up and saw a cloud shaped like an eagle, slowly drifting out of the valley. He remembered the silver ring he bought in Tibet, which had been hidden in his pocket for three months. The bottom of the box was engraved with Lin Wanqing's words, "Be happy." At the time, he thought he would never have the chance to take it out, but now, holding Zhong Hua's hand and standing in the snow, he realized that no matter how long the wait, what is meant to come will eventually come.

“It looks like it.” He squeezed her hand, watching the cloud drift away, “but it doesn’t fly as high as that one.”

Zhong Hua smiled, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes gleaming in the sunlight. As she looked down, Ah Yu noticed her scarf slip down, revealing a jade pendant around her neck—a gift from her mother last month, said to be an heirloom, with the character "安" (peace) engraved on the back. That same day, he also received dried lavender flowers from Lin Wanqing. He held the dried flowers in his left hand and the jade pendant in his right, his palms sweating with nervousness. Suddenly, she smiled and said, "Look at the clouds in the sky, don't they look like the rain when we first met?"

The rain then and the snow now are both gifts from fate.

When they reached the mouth of the valley, the spring was indeed steaming, and the melting snow around it had formed shallow puddles, reflecting the shadows of the two of them side by side. Zhong Hua squatted down to touch the spring water, but pulled his fingertips back as soon as they touched the surface, and said with a smile, "So warm."

Ah Yu looked at her profile; sunlight fell on her eyelashes, like a layer of gold dust. He suddenly wanted to take the ring out of his pocket, but then felt that things were fine as they were—the snow had just stopped, the wind was gentle, she was right beside him, and the lip print on the rim of the glass still lingered, like an unfinished period.

“Let’s go back,” he said. “It’s time to prepare dinner. The old couple might be arriving soon.”

As Zhong Hua stood up, a snowflake clung to the end of her hair. Ah Yu reached out to brush it away, her fingertips accidentally brushing against the corner of her lips. She paused for a moment, then suddenly stood on tiptoe and gently touched his cheek, like a snowflake landing on his skin.

“So,” she said, blushing, “we now have three lip prints.”

Ah Yu touched the spot where she had touched him; it was hotter than mulled wine. The sound of a car engine came from afar; the guests who had made an appointment had probably arrived. He took Zhong Hua's hand and walked back; the snow crunched under their feet, like an unfinished song.

New smoke rose from the guesthouse's chimney, spreading into faint lines against the blue sky. The fire in the fireplace was still burning, and two empty glasses sat side by side on the stove, the lip prints on their rims translucent in the sunlight, like two drops of snow that would never melt.