New, old, borrowed, blue

Lin Yue's message arrived as expected.

Almost the day after she had adjusted to the time difference, Panqiu returned from the library and a WeChat message popped up. It was from a small group of three people that Lin Yue had just created. The group name was simple and direct: "Panqiu's belated birthday celebration".

He said in the group:

"I didn't even know you guys last year, so I missed Qiuqiu's birthday. But this year, it's only a few days short, so we'll make up for your belated birthday."

"Friday night, Flamingo restaurant downtown, I've made a reservation, no backing out."

This is a newly opened trendy restaurant in the city center. Lin Yue sent several photos: a pink theme, flamingo decorations, a blackboard-written menu, and cocktails with colors so exaggerated they looked like a palette.

Zhiwei asked in the group chat, "What gift does Qiuqiu want?"

Panqiu put down her water glass, stared at her phone for two seconds, and then playfully typed a line:

"Old, new, borrowed, blue."

After sending it out, she laughed at herself first—she'd been brainwashed by the "wedding mantra" from "American Dreams in America" ​​all those years ago, and her first reaction was still to this old joke.

Zhiwei immediately responded with a string of punctuation marks: "??? You're getting married???"

Lin Yue immediately followed up with a "shocked cat" emoji: "I actually understood this meme too, showing my age. I was quite addicted back then."

Pan Qiu laughed even harder: "Just treat it as a riddle, let's see how you interpret it."

He added, "Gifts are optional and shouldn't be too expensive."

Zhiwei sent a "received" emoji, and didn't forget to add insult to injury: "Then don't blame us for sending something abstract."

Lin Yue: "I'm best at abstract thinking."

Panqiu suddenly felt a little excited for Friday to come quickly.

At 5:30 p.m. on Friday, the three people appeared on time at the entrance of Flamingo restaurant.

The sun hadn't completely set yet, and its orange-pink afterglow slanted across the street, casting long, thin shadows. The surrounding area was a small neighborhood on the edge of the city center, with a row of old red-brick houses converted into restaurants, galleries, and cafes, their windows displaying antique chairs and handcrafted pottery. At the street corner stood a golden ginkgo tree; a gust of wind blew, and its leaves fell like rain, crunching underfoot.

Flamingo is tucked away in a corner of this old street. The storefront is small but eye-catching—a light pink border is drawn around the wooden door frame, and a flamingo-shaped neon light hangs above the door; next to it is a handwritten blackboard menu, the chalk writing crooked and not very legible, and next to it are photos of diners, smiling in all sorts of colors.

As soon as the door opened, a wave of heat hit you. The store was a mix of "tropical and industrial styles": palm leaf wallpaper covered the exposed brick walls, pink LED strips wrapped around the fans, colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and flamingo patterns everywhere—from the menu cover to the chair back cushions, to the huge graffiti on the walls, and even a flamingo wearing sunglasses painted on the door of the restroom, with the words "Hot but calm" written below.

The music is a light, upbeat rhythm with a touch of funk and electronic, seemingly deliberately creating the illusion of being on vacation. Bottles clink against the bar, and the bartender smashes ice with an ice hammer, the crisp sound like a metronome ticking in your ear. The air is filled with a medley of aromas—chili oil, grilled corn, lemon, mint, and a hint of fiery caramel, the soul of some dish I couldn't quite place. Small candles are lit on each table, their pink filters bathing the entire place in a twilight-like glow.

"Not bad." Lin Yue squinted and glanced around. "It's like a combination of a hot pot restaurant and a bar."

Zhiwei sniffed the air: "It smells so good... and it seems a little spicy."

Pan Qiu looked down at the menu, and before she could even see the names of the dishes, she was amused by the spiciness ratings.

"Mildly spicy / Spicy / Very spicy / Extremely spicy"

The three looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing at the same time.

As soon as they sat down, Pan Qiu was drawn to a blackboard above the bar: today's specials were handwritten in a row, each with an emoticon: a chili pepper meant spicy, a flying chili pepper meant extremely spicy, and a skull meant "think carefully about life."

She stared at one of the dishes for a long time—"Regret Chicken Wings," with a note next to it: "For the brave only."

Lin Yue leaned closer: "Want a challenge?"

Zhiwei chimed in, "Give us an extra spicy one!"

On the other side is the cocktail menu, with equally outrageous names:

"Flirting Flamingo" (Pink Lychee Liqueur + Soda + Rosemary Bubbles)

"Cactus Kiss" (Tequila + Lime + Chili Sugar Edge)

"Berry Sunset" (Three kinds of berry liqueurs + orange juice + edible gold leaf)

"Midnight Coconut Shadow" (dark rum + coconut milk + a drop of mystery spice).

Zhiwei pointed to the "Flirting Flamingo" and grinned mischievously at Lin Yue: "This drink suits you perfectly."

A waitress approached; she was a blonde girl with curly hair, wearing pink-rimmed glasses, sweet yet professional. She was wearing the store's uniform: a pink short-sleeved T-shirt (with a dancing flamingo on the back), a navy high-waisted skirt, and white sneakers. Pan Qiu glanced around; almost all the waitresses looked like a "vacation-style model group," uniform yet each with their own unique style.

Pan Qiu glanced at herself—a long floral dress, blue with white flowers, layered with a light blue denim jacket, and off-white ankle boots; Zhi Wei leaned towards American retro style: a blue and white checkered shirt layered under a navy cardigan, paired with dark straight-leg pants and retro sneakers; Lin Yue wore a white sweatshirt with jeans. A strangely harmonious yet strangely incongruous combination, like someone who had stumbled into the tropics from autumn—the air was thick with the scent of chili peppers and fruit wine, and the air was filled with Latin drumbeats and laughter.

She couldn't help but blurt out, "The three of us are like an anthropological expedition that's come in the wrong season."

Lin Yue laughed out loud: "Precise."

Zhiwei pinched her arm: "Then you'll be in charge of the human observation notes."

They started with "Regret Chicken Wings" as an appetizer, but all three decided to avoid the "skull-shaped" version and opted for the medium spicy instead. The waiter brought it over, thoughtfully adding, "The tissues are here, and so is your regret."

The aroma of the chicken wings filled the air as soon as they were served. The deep red sauce had a strong vinegar flavor and a subtle fruity aroma, like an unexpected combination of pomegranate and chili. The skin was slightly crispy, and the meat was extremely tender—first sweet, then sour, and finally the spiciness slowly crept in. Lin Yue couldn't help but sniff the air after eating the third one, her eyes slightly red: "Not bad, this spiciness has a lingering effect." As she spoke, she quickly grabbed a tissue.

Zhiwei ate carefully, making a soft "ah" sound with each bite, but she couldn't stop: "It's very American spicy—it looks scary, but eating it makes me want to jump up and down."

Pan Qiu, who usually couldn't handle spicy food, forced herself to eat. She was on the verge of tears after just one bite. Lin Yue watched as she struggled to maintain her composure, her eyes already red, a soft hiss lingering at the corner of her mouth, as if she were fighting to the death. He paused, his heart suddenly softening. Without thinking, he instinctively grabbed a tissue and leaned over, his movements almost instinctively gentle.

"Don't move," he whispered.

Pan Qiu was frantically searching for tissues when a figure suddenly blocked her view—she instinctively looked up and met Lin Yue's eyes. They were very close, close enough to see the curve of his eyelashes and a faint mole at the corner of his eye. He frowned, intently wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye, his touch gentle, without a trace of teasing, even carefully avoiding her lower eyelashes.

She froze, as if in a first-person perspective from a movie: his earnest and patient face, his clean skin, his slender fingers, and the small navy blue thread on the cuff of his white sweatshirt. Time seemed to stand still for a beat.

Just as things were quiet, Zhiwei's voice drifted out: "Tsk—I'm dressed too brightly today, I shouldn't have come."

Lin Yue burst out laughing, and the air resumed its flow.

Pan Qiu lowered her head and whispered, "...Thank you." Her voice was so soft it seemed she was only speaking to herself.

The main course arrived quickly.

Zhiwei ordered "Black Pepper Shrimp Cheese Macaroni". When the cheese stretched, she exclaimed like a cartoon character while looking at her fork: "Oh my god, it smells so good!"

Lin Yue ordered the "Bacon Pineapple Beef Burger," which was ridiculously thick, with layers of bacon and cheddar cheese stacked on top, and a slice of pineapple grilled to a crispy edge. He took a picture with his phone, intending to post it on his WeChat Moments to prove that "you can still enjoy the spirit of a barbecue stand in America."

Panqiu ordered "pan-fried salmon with mango hot sauce," its golden-brown crust slightly bubbly, accompanied by roasted bell peppers and mashed potatoes. She took a bite, and the mango hot sauce was surprisingly harmonious—the spiciness was mild, and the sweetness lingered, a kind of satisfaction that made her close her eyes slightly.

Cocktails are definitely not to be missed.

Zhiweidian's "Berry Sunset" has gold leaf on the glass and its pink color is very photogenic: "You have to help me post it on WeChat Moments."

Lin Yue ordered "Cactus Kiss," and before it even arrived, he examined the ingredients on the chili sugar rim. After taking a bite, he coughed twice: "Uh, it really feels like I'm kissing a cactus."

Panqiu's glass was a "birthday special," served last—a layered gradient like a miniature sunset: peach liqueur at the bottom, sparkling ice wine in the middle, and a candied rose floating on top. A few colorful sugar beads adorned the glass, shimmering like stars under the light. The waiter lit a golden cold sparkler, softly saying, "Happy Birthday," before stepping back.

The cold fireworks flickered silently, and suddenly the cup became the center of attention. Pan Qiu felt a little embarrassed, yet couldn't help but laugh. Before the fireworks faded, she took a sip through the straw—first smelling the subtle sweetness of rose mixed with peach, then the cool bubbles bursting on her tongue, slightly sour and delicate, gentle yet intense, refreshing without being noisy. She blinked, genuinely surprised.

The waiter cleared away the empty plates, and Zhiwei solemnly announced: "Alright, it's time to check the homework—let's see if you've completed the 'riddle homework': old, new, borrowed, blue."

"I'll go first." Lin Yue pushed a beautifully packaged bag in front of Pan Qiu. The bag wasn't heavy but it was sturdy. Opening it—a familiar logo: a SMEG mini coffee machine, glacier blue body, antique rounded lines, the control knob like a small pocket watch, a row of small metal buttons in front, even the font had an antique style, as if it was made for taking pictures.

Pan Qiu paused for a moment, then looked up: "Isn't this... a bit too expensive?"

Lin Yue casually remarked, "I earned quite a bit during my summer internship. Most importantly—I have a gut feeling you're a sucker for good looks, so I'll definitely like it."

Zhiwei immediately added insult to injury: "You talk as if you're not a sucker for good looks."

Lin Yue smiled and pointed to the side of the box: "There's another sentence: 'Start your morning with a smile.' I hope you'll smile every morning when you see it."

Pan Qiu's heart suddenly softened. (—"New," complete.)

Zhiwei took out a small box from her bag, neatly wrapped in linen paper, sealed only with a tulip sticker: "My 'old' one. I spotted it at an antique shop next to the school—it felt like it had your name on it."

When disassembled, it reveals an antique metal frame: the distressed copper edges have a warm, dark gold hue, the edges are carved with delicate leaves and small star patterns, and a small gray-blue gemstone is set at the top, emitting a soft, cool light.

“It’s empty,” Zhiwei said. “You can put your most cherished moments here.”

Pan Qiu's fingertips lightly touched the photo frame, as if a tiny electric current ran through her heart: "I've made up my mind. Let's take a picture together later, and I'll develop it and put it in the frame." (—"The old one," complete.)

Lin Yue pulled out an old book with a transparent cover from his canvas bag: "It's 'borrowed' by me. I like it very much. Remember to return it to the library after you've finished reading it."

The cover is slightly worn, and the title is "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." In the corner, it is prominently written: "Don't panic."

Lin Yue chuckled, resting his chin on his hand: "On the surface, this is a funny space adventure, but it's actually quite philosophical and full of counterintuitive ideas. For example, 'The ultimate answer to life is 42,' but what's the question... I won't tell you. Isn't it like writing a thesis? If you take it too seriously, you'll easily get stuck. When you can't write anymore, flipping through this book might give you a flash of inspiration."

Pan Qiu looked at the words "Don't panic" and was suddenly struck by a jolt. (—"Borrowed," complete.)

Just then, the waiter brought out a blueberry yogurt cake. The creamy white cake had delicate swirls when scraped, and was decorated with a few lines of blue and purple jam. A few fresh blueberries were scattered on top, like stars hanging low in the night sky.

Zhiwei clapped her hands: "'Blue' has arrived!" (—"Blue" is complete.)

Zhiwei handed over a number candle, which only had a "2": "Happy 22nd birthday! It's also your second birthday here."

Pan Qiu smiled and nodded, placing the small candle in the center and lighting it. Just as the flame ignited, the background music in the shop switched to a jazz version of "Happy Birthday"—a blend of upbeat drumbeats, languid piano, and relaxed saxophone, softening the entire atmosphere. Some of the waiters stopped clapping, and several tables of diners joined in, humming and clapping along, the rhythm like the flickering candlelight.

At this moment, gazing at the small cake adorned with blueberries, she suddenly recalled last year's birthday—a celebration with a touch of melancholy; and the meal in Shanghai a few weeks prior—lively yet feeling like a mere formality. But the present moment made her wish to freeze time: just the right amount of time, gentle and perfect. Growth is also a kind of encounter—having a few people genuinely celebrating with you is perfect.

Lin Yue raised his phone's front-facing camera: "Come on, let's record this great night."

Pan Qiu subconsciously sat up straight, about to remind everyone to make certain expressions, when Zhiwei grabbed her shoulder and said, "Don't pretend, relax!"

Lin Yue leaned in as well, his other hand naturally resting on her other shoulder. She was caught in the middle, wanting to laugh but also a little flustered. The shutter clicked—

The three of them sat around the cake, laughing in unison, like a candid still from a teenage movie.

This photo will one day be developed, put into that old brass frame, and placed in the corner of her desk.