At anchor in the evening, the setting sun dyed the canal a molten gold. Si Yan finally calculated the cost of the silk thread for the Suzhou embroidery workshop. The small account book was filled with dense notes and even a crooked abacus was drawn. Nian Li made a sachet with the candied osmanthus flowers that Uncle Hu had given her. It was sewn crookedly, but she insisted on hanging it on Jiang Yan's belt. Jiang Yan set up a small ebony table at the bow of the boat and placed it on the pickled goose and bayberry preserves that Uncle Hu had given him. The red juice of the preserves stained the white porcelain plate, like a sunset glow. The fishing lights in the distance lit up one after another, like stars scattered on the water, swaying with the waves.
"Dad, can the embroiderers in Suzhou really embroider nursery rhymes on brocade?" Nianli licked her fingers that were dipped in candied fruit, and the corners of her mouth turned red.
"Yes." Jiang Yan wiped her hands with a handkerchief embroidered with twin lotus flowers that Su Jinli had sewn herself. "I can also embroider the image of you standing on the stone lion singing a nursery rhyme, your little chest puffed out high, and the image of Si Yan squatting on the ground doing the accounts, his brows furrowed like a little old man."
Si Yan immediately straightened up, the abacus on his waist making a crisp sound: "I don't frown when I'm doing the math!"
Su Jinli couldn't help but laugh at her son's serious expression, but tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. She turned her head and looked deep into the canal. The traces of the pleasure boats on the water gradually faded, leaving only the fragrance of gardenias on both sides of the canal, which lingered in the wind. This fragrance was filled with the heavy banknotes her grandfather in Hangzhou had given her, the fried peanuts given to the children by the people of Yangzhou, the warmth of Jiang Yan's palm, and the crisp laughter of the children.
"Jiang Yan," she said softly, her voice choked with an imperceptible sob, "thank you." Thank you for making her understand that rebirth is not about indulging in the suffering of the previous life, but about embracing this sweet life that has been lost and regained. Thank you for using your love to pull her out of the dry well and put her in the sunshine.
Jiang Yan held her hand tightly, his fingertips rubbing against the long-healed scar on her palm—a mark left only by a faint mark from a past life when she was shoved by her stepmother and bumped into an embroidery frame. "I should be the one to say thank you," he said, his voice low and gentle, looking at his reflection in her eyes and the children playing behind them. "You taught me what home is. It's not a cold house, but a place with you and children's laughter."
The pleasure boat continued its journey through the night. The sheep-horn lanterns on the bow lit up, their dim glow illuminating the waterway ahead. It also illuminated Si Yan's spread-out account book inside the cabin, and Nian Li's face, dozing as she held Hui Que'er. Su Jinli leaned against Jiang Yan's shoulder, listening as Si Yan, in her childish voice, explained the rules of the Suzhou embroidery workshops, explaining how the embroiderers there could split a single thread into sixteen strands. Nian Li, half-drowsily, clamored for a flying phoenix, her wings covered in gardenias. In the distance, the night watchman's clapboard drifted across the water, echoing with the patter of the water beneath the boat.
She knew the road ahead might be filled with storms and new challenges, just as the water in the canal might encounter reefs and whirlpools. But as long as she had Jiang Yan's warm embrace, Si Yan's clear abacus sounds, and Nian Li's chirping laughter, every journey would be a beautiful sight. Just like the water in the south of the Yangtze River, winding but always able to bypass obstacles and flow to a wider world.
And she will take this hard-earned happiness and live every day of this life like the candied osmanthus made by her grandfather, sweet and solid, fragrant and long-lasting, so that all the sufferings of the past life can be transformed into the sweetness on her lips and the warmth in her heart at this moment.
On the water, the lights of the pleasure boats gradually blended into the inky night sky. Only the fragrance of the gardenias on both banks tirelessly told this story of rebirth, love, and redemption. Suzhou, their next stop, was bathed in misty rain, its myriad lights quietly awaiting their arrival, waiting for new surprises and beauty, blossoming on the embroidery frame, dancing on the abacus, and amid the carefree laughter of children, slowly unfolding into a painting even more beautiful than the spring scenery of Jiangnan.
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