Chapter 181 We'll Meet Again Someday (Ending)

Five years have quietly changed the texture of Donghua Town.

At 6:30 in the morning, the Lao Chen Rice Noodle Shop in the town center was already packed. Steam rose from the large cauldron, mixing with the rich aroma of bone broth and the pungent flavor of chili oil.

"Aping, why are you here so early today?" Old Chen, the owner of the rice noodle shop, was skillfully boiling rice noodles while greeting regular customers.

"Of course. We have a photography group here today. They're heading up the mountain early to capture the morning mist." The young woman, known as Ah Ping, swiftly scanned the QR code to pay. "Same old rules, add a fried egg and plenty of pickled beans."

She was one of the first young people in town to leave for work, spending eight years working in an electronics factory in Shenzhen. Now, back in Donghua Town, she's transformed her old house into a boutique B&B. "It's great to be back," she often says. "I earn just as much as I did outside, and I get to watch my kids grow up."

The shop door opened again, the sound of wind chimes rang softly. Three teenagers in the uniforms of the town's No. 1 Middle School walked in, their schoolbags casually tossed behind them.

"Uncle Zhang, three bowls of signature dishes, one without onions, and one with more chili!" The leading young man's voice was still hoarse from voice change.

"I know, I know. For you seniors, this is the old rule." Old Chen responded with a smile, the colander in his hand rising and falling in the boiling water.

The three teenagers were seniors at the town's No. 1 Middle School, at a crucial juncture in their lives. While waiting for their rice noodles, they enthusiastically discussed:

"Did you solve that physics problem last night?"

"I figured it out. I used the law of conservation of energy. I'll show it to you when we get to school."

"I want to apply to the Agricultural University and come back to do ecological farming in the future."

"I want to study urban and rural planning. Our town will definitely need professional talent in the future."

At exactly seven o'clock, Niu Niu, a second-grade elementary school student, walked into the store alone with a small schoolbag on her back.

"Grandpa Chen, I want a vegetable bun and a cup of soy milk." She stood on tiptoe and put a five-yuan coin on the counter.

Old Chen took the money and put the warm buns and soy milk into her cloth bag: "Why did you come alone again today?"

"Mom says I'm already a big kid," Niuniu said, puffing out her chest proudly. "And there are cameras on the roads, and Grandpa Zhao is on patrol."

The Grandpa Zhao she was talking about was none other than Old Zhao, a retired community patrol volunteer. He was strolling past the rice noodle shop, carrying freshly bought vegetables. Seeing Niuniu, he smiled and waved at her.

Morning exercises had already begun at the Zhong Family Martial Arts School at the east end of the town. It was no longer the small courtyard it once was, but a replica of an ancient building nestled against the mountain. In the courtyard, over twenty students were practicing Ba Duan Jin, their movements in perfect unison. Zhong Ling moved among them, occasionally giving gentle corrections:

"Grandma Li, raise your arms a little higher. Yes, just like that."

"Little boy, don't let your knees go beyond your toes."

Today, she was wearing a navy blue training suit, her hair neatly tied back, beads of sweat on her forehead. Five years had shed her initial immaturity, and given her a more mature look.

At nine in the morning, a line formed in front of the Taoyuan Chinese Medicine Clinic, including not only local elderly people but also many tourists from other places.

"I've had acupuncture for my chronic cold legs for three months from Dr. Li, and they're much better this winter." An old man said to the young man standing behind him.

The young man was live-streaming on his phone: "Look, everyone, this is the Chinese medicine clinic I told you about last time. They grow all their own herbs..."

In the plantation behind the Chinese medicine hall, Li Mingyuan is instructing several interns on how to identify medicinal herbs. Although he is now a key physician at the academy, he still visits the herb garden every week.

"This is Salvia miltiorrhiza. Look at its cross section. It has bright color and a strong fragrance. The soil and water here are particularly suitable for growing Salvia miltiorrhiza..."

At that moment, Xia Wu was jogging along the newly constructed riverside trail. The trail winds along the clear Donghua River, interspersed with wooden benches and signs introducing local flora and fauna. She passed an art student sketching an early autumn landscape on his easel by the river; a young parent strolling with a baby in a stroller; and a few mountain bikers pausing to take photos.

"Mom!" Xiao Jinyue, already a fifth-grade student, caught up with her from behind. "We have to make an illustrated guide to local plants for science class, and Grandpa Qin promised to take me to the back mountain this afternoon!"

"Okay, remember to bring your sketchbook." Xia Wu wiped the sweat off his face and looked at his daughter's rosy face.

As evening fell, the town square gradually became lively. Not with the clamor of square dancing, but with small groups of people: elderly people playing chess on stone tables, young people sweating profusely on the basketball court, and children playing and laughing on the slide.

Zhou Qianqian finished her day's work and was chatting with some neighbors under a sweet-scented osmanthus tree. Her "Zhou Ma Noodles" now has a standardized factory, but she still maintains the habit of visiting the store every day.

"I heard that your Xiaolin ranked among the top ten in the grade in this monthly exam?" asked the neighbor.

Zhou Qianqian laughed so hard that she fell forward and backward.

As dusk deepened, the aroma of food wafted from the kitchen in the courtyard by the well. Liu Guizhen busied herself at the stove, stewing mountain mushrooms and home-raised chickens. Yang Guojun sat on a low stool in the yard, carefully trimming the withered leaves of a pot of orchids in the last ray of daylight.

Xia Wu and Ji Yunzhou walked into the yard one after another, followed by Xiao Jinyue who was chirping like a little sparrow.

"Grandma, grandma! Grandpa Qin promised to take me to identify herbs tomorrow! He said that the pinellia I found last time was the right one!" Xiao Jinyue rushed to the kitchen door and reported excitedly.

"Oh my, our Yueyue is amazing!" Liu Guizhen turned around, smiling so hard that the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were squeezed together. "Go wash your hands quickly, it's almost time for dinner. Today we have your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs."

Xiao Jinyue cheered and ran towards the pool.

Ji Yunzhou walked to the stove naturally: "Mom, let me help you serve the dishes."

"No, no, it's just one vegetable. It will be cooked as soon as it's put into the pot. Just go and set the table." Liu Guizhen waved the spatula.

Xia Wu walked over to his father and squatted down to look at the pot of orchids: "Dad, this pot is growing really well, the flower arrows are all coming out."

Yang Guojun hummed, without stopping his hands, but raised the corner of his mouth slightly: "The soil on the mountain is good."

The meal arrived, a simple four-course meal and a soup, all made with homegrown ingredients, and the aroma was fragrant. Everyone sat together, and Xiao Jinyue couldn't wait to tell about the fun things that happened at school that day, like which classmate had fallen while running, and what new gadgets the science teacher had brought.

"Eat slowly, don't choke." Xia Wu picked up a piece of vegetables for his daughter with chopsticks.

"Mom, can we go to Sister Zhong Ling's place this weekend to learn some new boxing techniques? She said she would teach us a set of boxing moves like little monkeys!" Xiao Jinyue asked vaguely with food in his mouth.

"Finish your homework first." Ji Yunzhou replied gently.

"I know!"

There was no discussion of the town's grand future, nor any lament about the passing of time, but only the trivial conversations of ordinary people, about children, about food, and about what to do tomorrow.

Meanwhile, the town's nightlife is just beginning. Not with the neon-lit bars, but with a different kind of excitement.

The lights at the "old place" rice noodle shop were still on, leaving a sip of hot soup for those who came home late. In Zhong Ling's martial arts hall, the students had just dispersed from the evening class, and she was carefully wiping the weapon rack with a rag. In the duty room of Taoyuan Traditional Chinese Medicine Clinic, Wang Baoyu sorted through the day's medical records while chatting with his family on his phone. "When the time comes, you and Dad can come over. It's so comfortable to retire here!"

In Yanggou Village, the morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and the air was filled with the unique bitter aroma of mugwort. Village Party Secretary Yang Guofeng walked through the dew, his washed-out undershirt damp with mist, his footsteps deep and shallow along the recently widened village road.

"Uncle Guofeng, are you out looking at mugwort so early again?" a young man, washing up in front of his newly built two-story house, greeted with a smile. His name was Yang Lei, who had just returned from a construction site in the provincial capital last year and, using his savings and a village subsidy, had opened a farm stay.

"Go check it out, and I'll feel at ease." Yang Guofeng stopped, his face as serious as usual, but his eyes gentle. "Did the construction team come to check on the waterproofing on your roof a few days ago? The rainy season is coming soon."

"I've seen it, uncle, don't worry!" Yang Lei nodded repeatedly, "Thanks to your leadership, the road in our village has been repaired and the houses have been renovated. This is why my farm tourism business is booming."

Yang Guofeng nodded and continued walking. The Yanggou Village before him was no longer the isolated and dilapidated place it had been five years ago. Smooth cement roads led to every household, and many families had built new houses. Their exteriors were uniformly painted an elegant off-white, and their roofs were covered in dark gray tiles. They retained a traditional charm while remaining clean and beautiful. Most striking was the newly built standardized mugwort processing plant and drying yard at the village entrance, the source of Yanggou Village's vitality.

All this change began with Xia Wu's "Mugwort Project." She provided seedlings, technology, and underwriting channels, while Yang Guofeng, along with the villagers, transformed weed-covered slopes into continuous mugwort fields. He personally oversaw every step of the process, from planting to harvesting and drying, maintaining an almost unwavering quality standard. When someone complained about his rigidity, he would sternly say, "If the product isn't good, it's a blow to the reputation of Yanggou Village. I'm sorry, Mr. Xia, and even more sorry for my own conscience!"

Today, Yanggou Village's high-quality mugwort not only enjoys a steady supply to the Taoyuan Traditional Chinese Medicine Clinic, but also, through channels developed by Shao Yun, is sold abroad and has even established a small brand. "Yanggou Mugwort" has become a highly sought-after item online. The village has established a cooperative, which also provides year-end dividends. More and more young people like Yang Lei are returning to their hometown to start businesses, opening farmhouses, e-commerce shops, and traditional handicraft workshops. This once-dormant village has regained its vitality.

That afternoon, the town's organization committee member came to Yanggou Village in person and talked with Yang Guofeng in the village committee's simple but tidy office.

"Old Yang, the organization has noticed your achievements in Yanggou Village over the past decade, especially in recent years. After research, we want to transfer you to the town's agricultural office as deputy director, responsible for the development of the town's agricultural industry. Your abilities and experience can play a greater role on a larger platform." The organization committee member said sincerely.

This was undoubtedly an important promotion. The other village cadres in the office looked at Yang Guofeng with congratulations and expectations in their eyes.

Yang Guofeng was silent, his dark face expressionless. He walked to the window and looked out. In the yard, several elderly people sat under a tree, leisurely weaving bamboo baskets for packaging moxa. In the distance, the endless fields of mugwort glowed silver-green in the sunlight. Even further away, curls of smoke rose from the cooking stove of Yang Lei's farmhouse.

After a long while, he turned around and said in a low but remarkably clear voice, "Commissioner Li, thank you for the organization's trust and regard. But I'm over fifty years old, and I'm afraid I can't keep up with the pace if I go to the town. I should give way to the younger people."

The organizing committee member was a little surprised and wanted to persuade him again: "Old Yang, this is a good opportunity..."

Yang Guofeng waved his hand, interrupting him with a rare, almost clumsy smile on his face. "I don't have much education, I just guard this little piece of land and look after these crops. Yanggou Village's industry has just started to pick up, just like a sapling that has just taken root. I have to watch it grow more steadily. I know all these old guys and young people in the village. They trust me, and I can't do without them." He paused, his eyes cast on the mugwort field outside the window again. "As for me, I just think that I can see the mugwort in our village grow better, and see the young people earn money at their doorstep and take care of their wives and children. This is better than anything else."

His words were plain, even a little rustic, without a single grandiose rhetoric, yet they stilled everyone in the office. The organization committee member, looking at his determined and calm eyes, finally nodded and patted him firmly on the shoulder. "I understand, Old Yang. I respect your choice. Yanggou Village is blessed to have you."

The news quickly spread throughout the village. In the evening, Yang Lei came to Yang Guofeng's house with two bottles of wine and some braised dishes.

"Uncle, you really aren't going?" Yang Lei asked while pouring wine.

"Why go? It's nice here." Yang Guofeng took a sip of wine, and the spicy taste made him squint his eyes.

"The conditions in town are so good..."

"A home of your own is worse than your own," Yang Guofeng said, picking up a handful of peanuts. "I've watched our village go from not even having a decent road to what it is now... It's like watching your own child grow up. No one else can understand the feeling." He looked up at Yang Lei and said, "Now that you're back, do a good job. This village will rely on young people like you in the future."

He didn't say anything more, but Yang Lei, looking at the secretary's hair, slightly graying under the light, and his hands, rough and cracked from years of hard work, suddenly understood. This wasn't some noble act of self-sacrifice, but a deeper emotion—his roots had long been tightly intertwined with this land and its people, unable to separate, and unwilling to do so.

A few days later, Xia Wu came to Yanggou Village to check out the new equipment at the mugwort processing factory, and Yang Guofeng accompanied her.

Walking along the ridge of the field, Xia Wu looked at the thriving wormwood and said with a smile, "Uncle Guofeng, I heard you rejected the town's transfer order?"

Yang Guofeng hummed, bent down and pulled out a weed on the edge of the field: "I still feel at ease here."

Xia Wu patted the responsible old secretary on the shoulder and said, "It's time for you to have a good rest."

My name is Ji Jinyue, everyone calls me Yueyue. I live in a magical town.

Really, I'm not kidding. The streams here sing, the stones tell stories, and even the wind carries the sweet scent of osmanthus. My mother said I was found beneath a sweet-scented osmanthus tree, hence the "Yue" character in my name, like the little osmanthus spirit that stole over the hills to find me.

My paradise is the "Little Seed Camp" in the back mountain. Grandma Zhang says that every seed holds a dream. We're not learning; we're helping seeds find their dreams. We plant the sunflower's dream by the fence, and it manages to grow taller than the house. We plant the pea's dream on a bamboo frame, and they join hands and climb up to the sky, hoping to touch the clouds.

The buffaloes in the mountains are my good friends. They drink spring water and eat dew-soaked grass, so their milk is sweet, like clouds melting in your mouth. The smallest, Xiaobai, has fur like freshly fallen snow. He said his dream was to see the ocean. Later, a man drove up and actually took him to see the ocean. He even sent me a postcard, showing him standing on the beach, smiling happily.

Sister Zhong Ling, a town girl, possesses magical powers. In the mornings, with a few gestures in the square, she can awaken the lazy sun and make the arms and legs of many grandparents as nimble as twigs. Her martial arts school houses a laughing wooden figure and a never-tiring sandbag.

The most magical thing is the Chinese medicine hall. Grandpa Qin's beard is like a misty mountain in winter, and his drawers contain the secrets of the entire mountain. A leaf can drive away a cough, a small flower can cure a stomachache. There, Uncle Li learned to talk to the mountains. He can understand the whispers of the wind and know which herb is in the best mood today.

By the way, our town breathes.

In the morning, it exhales white mist, carrying the aroma of red bean paste buns made by Aunt Zhou in the bun shop;

At noon, it exhales the scent of warm sunshine, mixed with the bitter fragrance of the wormwood field;

At night, it inhales gently, taking in the firefly-like light coming through every household's windows and the aroma of cooking, then takes a contented nap.

Dad said it wasn't like this here before. The stars used to be asleep and didn't dare to fall into our dark valley.

I don't quite understand what Mom does. The adults say she's amazing, but I think her greatest skill is making everyone smile. Aunt Zhou's smile is as warm as a steamed bun fresh from the oven; Uncle Yang and Aunt Zhao's smiles are like two candies that have finally found each other, clinging to each other, inseparable. Even Grandpa Yang, who always has a stern face, smiles like the earth warmed by the sun when he sees the lush green mugwort in the field.

That night, I had a dream. My mother wasn't just my mother, but a gigantic gardener. Our town was the biggest seed she'd planted. She watered and fertilized it every day, and then the seed sprouted, giving rise to my beloved uncle, who would take beautiful photos of me, to my boxing-savvy sister, Zhong Ling, and to my beloved family... All of us were the leaves, flowers, and fruits that grew from this seed, swaying joyfully under the magical starlight.

I told my mother about this dream.

My mother smiled, her eyes like the crescent moon. She didn't say anything, just picked me up and held me high.

Looking down from such a high place, I saw our sparkling town. It really looked like a big glowing seed surrounded by stars.

A magical seed that is always growing and blooming.

Yang Hongwen's presence is like a constant, low frequency in the background music of Donghua Town. He is Xia Wu's older brother, a man in his thirties, yet possesses a childlike gaze and a quietness that stands out from his surroundings. He is not good at speaking, and socializing is a complex puzzle for him. Crowds make him uneasy. But he has an old camera: it is his eyes, his mouth, and his single-plank bridge to the world.

He often appeared alone in every corner of the town. In the early morning mist, he squatted by the stream, his camera trained on the dewdrops condensing on the grass, for half an hour. In the scorching midday sun, he hid in the shade of a tree, capturing the dance of light spots across the bluestone slabs. In the evening, as smoke from cooking fires rose, he stood on a high vantage point, silently recording the gradual lighting of the town. His images possessed a detached, tranquil beauty, with sharp angles and rich colors, as if he were viewing the world through an invisible filter. To outsiders, he was like a quiet breeze: arriving, observing, and departing, leaving no trace.

Zhong Ling's appearance was like a swift and powerful lightning, breaking through the quiet background that Yang Hongwen was accustomed to observing.

She has a powerful presence. Whether it's her clear shouts as she leads a group in boxing practice in the square or the rustle of her sleeves rustling in the wind while practicing alone in the martial arts hall, they are all deeply penetrating. Her movements are sweeping and her emotions are vividly revealed, embodying the "noisy" part of Yang Hongwen's world that he usually blocks out.

At first, he simply "watched" her from afar, using his camera. In the lens, Zhong Ling's figure was brought closer, frozen in moments brimming with tension—the way her toes stretched straight as she leaped, the resolute gaze as she delivered a punch, even the vivid expression of patience and strength on her face as she instructed the elderly man. From the safety of the camera, he observed this vibrant fire of life that he could not comprehend.

Their first direct encounter took place on a drizzling morning. Under the eaves of the martial arts gym, Zhong Ling was practicing a new set of boxing techniques. Her movements were as smooth as flowing water, yet they contained explosive power. Yang Hongwen stood in the shadow of a large tree across the street, his camera pointed at her, the shutter click barely audible.

The rain gradually intensified. Zhong Ling gathered her strength, breathing lightly. She glanced up and saw the man opposite her, who always appeared quietly, turning to leave. His camera lens was still pointed in her direction.

"Hello!" Zhong Ling shouted subconsciously, her voice sounding particularly clear in the humid air.

Yang Hongwen's body stiffened and he stopped, but he didn't look back, like a frightened animal.

Zhong Ling crossed the street in a few steps, the rain dampening her hair. She walked up to him, still steaming from exercise. "Why do you always take pictures of me?" she asked directly, without malice, just pure curiosity.

Yang Hongwen lowered his eyes, his fingers tightly gripping the camera strap, his lips pressed into a line. After several seconds, just as Zhong Ling thought he wouldn't answer and was about to walk away, he suddenly raised the camera, quickly pressed playback a few times, and then handed it to her.

On the screen, instead of the complete fist posture she had expected, there was a series of close-ups.

Her hair, wet with sweat and sticking to the side of her neck; her brows slightly furrowed from exerting force during practice; even at a certain moment of finishing a move, when she looked towards the distant mountains, a flash of confusion flashed across her eyes, which she herself was not even aware of.

Zhong Ling was stunned. These photos weren't so much about her as they were about her fluid "states" of movement, subtle moments that even she herself hadn't carefully examined. There was a strange feeling of being seen through, but not an unpleasant one.

"You..." She didn't know what to say for a moment.

Yang Hongwen put the camera away, still not looking at her. His voice was so low it sounded like he was talking to himself, but it reached Zhong Ling's ears clearly: "...It's like the weather in the mountains."

After saying this, without waiting for Zhong Ling's reaction, he turned around quickly like a real shadow and disappeared in the misty rain and the gradually brightening morning light.

Zhong Ling stood there, the raindrops falling on her face, cool and refreshing. She pondered the words—"like mountain weather." Did they mean she was unpredictable? Or was she... natural? She suddenly felt that the always silent man might not be as oblivious to his surroundings as he appeared. He was simply "feeling" in a different way.

After this, there seemed to be an invisible and extremely subtle connection between the two of them.

Yang Hongwen still came to "photograph" her, but he no longer hid in the distance. Sometimes, he would sit quietly in a corner of the martial arts school courtyard, with the camera on his lap, not always raised.

Zhong Ling was used to this silent gaze and continued to practice her boxing, occasionally glancing in his direction when she took a break to drink water. He still didn't say anything, but she would wave her water bottle at him, or give him a knowing, sweaty smile when he suddenly raised his camera to capture a wonderful move.

From that day on, the gently blowing wind met the rushing spring water.

The story of this land continues.