Nian Li cheered while holding up a string of dried chili peppers. Her voice mixed with the calls of the boatmen on the canal, startling a egret resting on the water. The egret flapped its wings and flew up, skimming the water, creating ripples: "Let's go to Yangzhou to eat soup dumplings! The kind with soup, crab roe, and chili oil!" As soon as she finished speaking, the canal in the distance was sparkling. Several merchant ships with white sails were slowly passing by. The water splashing from the side of the ship sparkled in the sun, like a handful of stars.
As Yangzhou's lanterns lit up in the twilight, the carriage stopped at the Deyuelou Inn, a riverside inn. The lantern light reflected on the canal like a shattered sunset. Siyan remained in his room, mumbling over his account book, his pen scratching against the paper. Nianli, however, tugged on Jiang Yan's sleeve to gaze at the canal's nightscape, her little finger gesturing at the floating lotus lanterns, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. Su Jinli leaned on the second-floor railing, gazing at the countless lights reflected in the water. She thought of the old cook from Yangzhou mentioned in her grandfather's letter—the chili oil she made was said to be made with fine, small-milled sesame oil and chili peppers grown along the canal, resulting in a chili oil as red as agate that could imbue even the simplest of vegetables with a profound aftertaste.
"Next stop, shall we try the spicy food of Yangzhou?" Jiang Yan handed over a hand warmer. The wall of the hand warmer was engraved with fine lotus patterns. It felt warm to the touch, like the warmth of his palm.
Siyan came over without me noticing, his abacus ticking away rapidly. The clatter of beads mixed with the shouts of the night market vendors downstairs—"Osmanthus candied lotus root~", "Stinky tofu~"—made the atmosphere particularly lively. "Yangzhou chili oil paired with Sichuan hot pot base, a fusion of northern and southern influences. Let me do the math—the chili oil costs three taels per liang, and the hot pot base eight qian. Together, the cost increases by two qian, raising the selling price to two taels and five qian. Ten packs will net me an extra three qian, and a hundred packs will make three taels..."
"Let's eat first!" Su Jinli smiled and tapped his abacus, the beads gleaming faintly in the candlelight. "The soup dumplings will be cold if you count the money later."
The wind from the canal carried the rich aroma of fried stinky tofu and the sweet fragrance of sugar-roasted chestnuts, mingling with the lingering scent of hot pot broth in the luggage, creating a strangely sweet aroma in the evening breeze, a blend of the warmth of Shu and the gentle warmth of Jiangnan. She watched Jiang Yan patiently straighten Nian Li's windblown cloak and secure the brim of her hat; Si Yan squatted on the ground, calculating accounts with a branch, oblivious to the dust on his nose, his brows furrowed tightly, as if he were trying to solve some immense problem. Suddenly, she realized that all the ups and downs along this journey were just candy gifts from fate.
The spiciness of Shu is like a hard candy with a smell of fireworks. It is pungent at first, but the aftertaste is sweet, just like the laughter and noise of their family in the hot pot restaurant; and in the days to come, no matter whether it is the chili oil of Yangzhou or the flavors from other places, as long as these treasures are around, they can all turn into honey, so sweet that it warms people's hearts.
The next morning, the carriage bells rang again as morning light streamed across the stone bridge outside Yangzhou. Beneath the bridge, the canal gurgled. The clatter of Siyan's abacus, Nianli's laughter as she chased butterflies, and Jiang Yan's sigh of resignation and resignation all melted into the canal's shimmering waters, drifting away with the current. The grievances of past lives, pent up deep within her heart, had long since been crushed by the carriages, transforming into a sweetness on her lips, like the lingering aftertaste of hot pot on her tongue, warm and lingering.
The next stop, Yangzhou, promises another steamy reunion, waiting for them to brew a sweeter life with love and laughter. As the carriage crosses the stone bridge, the morning mist in Yangzhou gradually dissipates. The road ahead is filled with bright sunshine and a gentle breeze, and their story has just begun.
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