Nian An

The balloons for the first birthday party swayed gently in the warm light, refracting tiny specks of light like scattered stars. Ah Yu held his daughter, wrapped in a red silk swaddling cloth, his fingertips hovering above her soft cheeks, hesitant to touch her—for the past year, he had always been afraid that his rough fingertips would disturb the little life in his arms, as if she were not a crying infant, but a dewdrop on a blade of grass in the morning, which would break at the slightest touch.

"Everyone's here, time to cut the cake." Zhong Hua gently wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, her hair brushing against his ear, carrying the scent of freshly baked cream from the kitchen. Today she was wearing a moon-white cheongsam, with delicate magnolia blossoms embroidered on the collar, the fabric that Ah Yu had helped her pick out last year in the old streets of Suzhou.

Ah Yu turned her head and saw the pearl hair clip tucked behind her ear. She suddenly remembered the day her daughter was born. Zhong Hua was lying in the hospital bed, her face as pale as paper, but she insisted that he find this hair clip and put it on her. "You said that pearls are fragments of the moon," she said, her voice still trembling at the time, "our daughter should be as clean and peaceful as moonlight."

As the banquet hall doors opened, a gust of wind blew in like a string of silver bells. Lin Wanqing stood in the doorway, carrying a gilded lacquer box, her camel coat still speckled with snowflakes—Beijing had had a rare spring snowfall today. "I'm late, I'm late," she said, waving the box in her hand, her stray hairs flying wildly in the wind. "I was buying a longevity lock for the little birthday boy on the way here, and I was overwhelmed by all the choices."

Ah Yu reached out a hand to take her coat, and when she caught a glimpse of the gold-embossed pattern on the lacquer box, she suddenly smiled: "You're still the same as always, you always have to include a story behind your gifts."

"Of course." Lin Wanqing leaned closer to look at the baby in the swaddling clothes. Her fingertips were about to touch the little arm that looked like a lotus root when she pulled back as if she had been electrocuted. "This little guy has eyes like yours. When he smiles, the corners of his eyes curve up like two little crescent moons."

Zhong Hua walked over carrying a plate of freshly cut osmanthus cake, the porcelain plate tapping softly on the mahogany table. "Try it quickly, Auntie made it especially to your preferred sweetness." As she spoke, her eyes glanced at the calendar on the wall. At this time last year, Lin Wanqing was still distributing epidemic prevention supplies in a refugee camp in Africa. The background in the video was full of earth-yellow tents, but she was holding up a half-eaten mango, saying that the local mangoes were so sweet they could kill you.

"By the way, have you thought of a name yet?" Lin Wanqing asked vaguely, biting into an osmanthus cake, crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth, like a little squirrel stealing a bite.

Ah Yu lowered his head to tease his daughter in his arms. The little one was sucking on her tiny fist, drool dripping down between her fingers. "I thought about it for more than three months, and only decided yesterday." He suddenly moved the child closer to Zhong Hua, as if to let her hear more clearly, "Her name is Nian An. Nian means to miss, and An means peace."

Zhong Hua gently pressed her fingers on her daughter's soft head, where the baby hair hadn't grown thick yet, like a layer of fine down. "The day she was born, the magnolias downstairs at the hospital were in full bloom," she said softly, as if afraid of disturbing something. "I held her and watched her all night, and I thought, isn't what people seek in this life just peace and safety?"

Lin Wanqing paused, a piece of cake still clinging to the tip of her chopsticks. “Nian’an,” she repeated, then suddenly laughed, “Zhong Hua, your naming skills are becoming more and more like an old lady’s.”

These words made Zhong Hua blush. She remembered that in college, Lin Wanqing always laughed at her poems for being too plain, saying that her writing lacked a touch of everyday life, like an uncolored ink painting. Back then, they shared a dormitory room. Zhong Hua's desk was always neatly arranged with notebooks, while Lin Wanqing's drawer was filled with postcards from all over the world—there were snow-capped mountains in Tibet, rice terraces in Yunnan, and the rose window of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.

“What do you know?” Ah Yu reached out and adjusted Zhong Hua’s cheongsam collar, his fingertips brushing against the warm skin on the back of her neck. “This name holds her mother’s thoughts.” He remembered last month when Zhong Hua couldn’t sleep at night, sitting on the bay window flipping through a dictionary. The moonlight stretched her shadow long, like a thin silhouette. “Look at this character ‘念’ (nian),” she pointed to the seal script in the dictionary at the time, “the top part is ‘今’ (jin), and the bottom part is ‘心’ (xin). It means to live in the present and guard your true self.”

Lin Wanqing suddenly put down her chopsticks and took out a silver lock from the lacquer box. The lock was carved with a lotus scroll pattern, and the clasp was engraved with two very small characters: Chang'an. "This gift of mine seems to match your names perfectly." She gently placed the silver lock beside the child's hand. The little one had woken up at some point and was looking at her with his bright, dark eyes. "Nian'an, Chang'an, it's like a promise between the three of us."

The air suddenly went still. Ah Yu remembered three years ago in Paris, when Lin Wanqing showed him the design draft of this silver lock by the Seine, saying that she would give it to someone important when she had the chance. At that time, Zhong Hua was in the Louvre looking at the Mona Lisa, and through the crowd of people, her smile was faintly visible in the reflection of the glass display case.

“Speaking of which,” Lin Wanqing suddenly leaned back in her chair, picked up her teacup and took a sip, “I met an old professor in London last time who said that a name is the shortest spell, and if you call it out often enough, it can really come true.” She looked at the child in Zhong Hua’s arms, the little one was shaking her finger, “Then let’s call her Nian’an every day from now on, maybe she can really live a peaceful and safe life.”

Zhong Hua lowered her head and kissed her daughter's forehead, the warmth of which felt like a cotton quilt sun-dried in spring. "Wanqing, do you remember?" she suddenly asked, her voice tinged with amusement. "The year you graduated from university, you said you wanted to go to Africa to do charity work, and we had a fight."

“How could I not remember?” Lin Wanqing laughed, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes rippling like water. “You said I was being ridiculous, giving up a perfectly good job to go and suffer like that.” She paused, her gaze falling on the snow falling outside the window. “But now that I think about it, being able to live according to one’s own wishes in this life is already a great blessing.”

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