III. Raising a Glass Under the Moonlight

Zhong Hua propped his phone up on the balcony railing and started a video call. On the screen, Lin Wanqing's face and the moon overhead appeared simultaneously, the glow of the campfire flowing across her face, as if gilding her with gold.

"What time is it where you are?" Lin Wanqing's voice was muffled by the wind.

“It’s just past eleven.” Ah Yu adjusted the angle of his phone so that the camera could frame both him and Zhong Hua. “The fire in the fireplace is enough to burn until dawn, so don’t worry about us getting cold.”

Zhong Hua smiled and nudged him: "She's worried that we'll end up making the fireplace smoke again, like last time."

Lin Wanqing's laughter came from the other end of the video call, mingling with the distant howls of hyenas, creating a strange harmony. Ah Yu recalled the first time she saw her at Gu's party; she was wearing a silver dress, standing under the crystal chandelier like a block of ice. Who could have imagined that years later, she would be laughing so freely by a campfire on the African savanna?

"What's in your cups?" Lin Wanqing held up her enamel cup. "This is local fruit wine, much stronger than your apple juice."

“Who said we’re drinking apple juice?” Zhong Hua winked mischievously and brought the cup closer to the camera. “This is mulled wine with cinnamon. You can smell it if you don’t believe me—” She deliberately breathed into the microphone, causing Lin Wanqing to exclaim in surprise on the other end.

Looking at the two people on the screen, Ah Yu suddenly felt her eyes welling up with tears. The nights she spent outside the ICU, the crumpled speeches backstage at press conferences, the rain she endured on the streets of Paris—all of these now seemed like moonlight shimmering in her cup, so gentle it made her heart tremble.

"It's almost midnight," Lin Wanqing suddenly said. The camera shook as she seemed to be adjusting her position. "Shall we wait for New Year's Eve together?"

Zhong Hua held Ah Yu's hand; his palm was still rough from fixing the fireplace, yet it felt more reassuring than ever. In the distance, sporadic bells rang from the village, as if counting down to the New Year.

“3—” Lin Wanqing’s voice was tinged with laughter.

“2—” Zhong Hua’s fingertips gently drew circles on the back of his hand.

“1—” Ah Yu looked at the moon on the screen and the person in front of her.

Three different voices rang out at the same second: "Happy New Year."

In the video, Lin Wanqing raises her glass to the African moon; on the balcony, Ah Yu and Zhong Hua's glasses gently clink together, facing the Provençal starry sky. Three gazes, traversing over ten thousand kilometers, converge in the moonlight, like three rivers that were once intertwined, ultimately flowing into their respective oceans, yet always reflecting the same sky.

Zhong Hua suddenly pointed at the screen: "Wanqing, look at the bottom of your cup—"

Lin Wanqing tilted her cup downwards, and the light from the campfire shone through the liquid, reflecting a small moon at the bottom. Almost simultaneously, Ah Yu looked down at her own cup, and Zhong Hua also leaned closer—at the bottom of their cups, a complete, swaying moon lay.

"So we were drinking from the same moonlight," Zhong Hua said softly, her voice choked with emotion.

Yes, no matter if we are separated by snow-capped mountains or grasslands, by past pain or the long road ahead, some things are always the same. It is the faint trembling of eyelashes in the ICU, the blurry video hidden in the lining of the suicide note, the matching red rope tied to the prayer wheel, and the indistinguishable moon at the bottom of the cup at this moment.

A long sigh drifted from off-screen, like the wind passing through a valley, or like someone whispering unspoken words in their heart:

"A true confidante is someone who shields you from the thorns of fate and clears a smooth path for you when you are walking through the thickets of destiny."

The campfire in the video is still burning, and the moonlight on the balcony remains bright. Three cups are held in different times and spaces, each holding the same moon, as well as unspoken longings and the tenderness that will eventually settle with time.