The late autumn morning light filtered through the carved window lattices, casting fragmented shadows on the blue brick floor. Jiang Yan sat on a rose-shaped chair by the window, his fingertips repeatedly tracing the taotie patterns on the edge of the inkstone, his gaze fixed on the old pomegranate tree outside. Last night's wind had swept away the last few leaves, revealing gnarled branches that resembled the bulging veins on the back of his hand.
"Master, please have some lotus seed soup." Wanyun came over with a celadon bowl. The lotus seeds in the bowl were stewed until soft and mushy, with a few tender yellow osmanthus petals floating in the water.
Jiang Yan didn't respond. He suddenly stood up, the hem of his robe brushing against the chair leg with a swish. He stumbled over to his desk, pulled a wolf-hair brush from the pen holder, and dripped a dark dot of ink onto the plain paper. "Miss Jinli..." he muttered, the tip of his pen shaking out a zigzag line on the paper. "Last night, the moon was bright and beautiful, and I was thinking of you..."
Su Jinli had just come from the embroidery room, clutching a piece of freshly cut moon-white satin. She paused at these words. She saw her husband's hunched back swaying slightly in the morning light, his silver hair so sparse she could see his scalp. Suddenly, her heart felt like it was clogged with cotton wool, aching with stuffiness.
"Master, are you writing poetry?" She approached lightly and saw the crooked handwriting on the rice paper:
"The spring breeze blows along the willow bank, and a beautiful woman stands at the bridgehead.
A smile startled the sky, and then I looked back at the flowing water.
This was "Bridgeside Encounter," written when he was twenty-two. Back then, he was still a meagerly paid editor in the Imperial Academy. She had secretly visited him in the Imperial Academy, waiting from midday to sunset at the Bianshui Bridge. Su Jinli's fingertips traced the words "Beauty Standing at the Bridgeside." The ink had long since faded to a pale gray, and the corners of the paper still held traces of the tea stains she had accidentally stained.
"It's so well written." Her voice trembled as she tried hard to hold back her tears.
"Really?" Jiang Yan turned around suddenly, a long-lost light flashing in his eyes, like a lit wick. "I knew you would like it!" He carefully folded the rice paper and stuffed it into his sleeve pocket. Suddenly, he grabbed Su Jinli's hand, rubbing the calluses on his palm against the back of her hand. "Miss Jinli, will you marry me?"
Those words, like a rusty key, unexpectedly unlocked Su Jinli's memory. Fifty years ago, in the dilapidated temple, he had held her hand just like that, his sleeves still stained with the dust of the exam, his eyes filled with the starlight of an entire spring. She sniffed and nodded vigorously, "I do."
"Great!" Jiang Yan rubbed his hands excitedly, his sleeves brushing across the inkstone, ink splashing across his collar. "I'll go get the betrothal gifts! Old Man Zhang's sugar-painted phoenix from West Street, and... and the poem I just wrote!"
Su Jinli watched him frantically, and suddenly remembered how, three years after their marriage, when he was impeached by the censor, he had also tried to draw her eyebrows with forced composure, his fingertips shaking so much he couldn't even hold the inkstone steady. It turns out some habits are etched into one's bones; even if one forgets time, one never forgets the gesture of loving someone.
"Grandpa! Grandma!" Xiaoyue rushed into the study, holding a stack of picture books. The red velvet flowers in her hair leaned against her ears. "I'm writing stories for you again!"
Jiang Yan looked at the little girl who suddenly broke in warily: "Who are you?"
"I'm Xiaoyue!" The little girl put the sketchbook on the desk and smiled with a missing front tooth. "Look at this page. It shows you and grandma fighting over candy!"
On plain white rice paper, two crooked little figures squatted in front of a sugar painting stall. The tall one held a phoenix, the shorter one a dragon that looked like an earthworm. Written next to them in cinnabar ink were the words: "Grandpa said Grandma's dragon looked like an earthworm, and Grandma angrily stepped on his shoe!"
Jiang Yan leaned in closer, pointing his finger at the "earthworm dragon," and suddenly laughed out loud: "It does look somewhat like it..." He raised his head and looked at Su Jinli, his eyes instantly becoming focused, as if he had traveled through fifty years of time. "Miss Jinli, the way you squatted on the ground drawing the dragon back then was exactly like this little figure."
Su Jinli recalled her sixteen-year-old self, arguing endlessly with a scholar in a green robe over the last phoenix sugar painting. In the end, out of spite, she drew a dragon on the slate, only to be mocked by him as an earthworm. The sun was shining brightly, catching the corners of his smiling eyes, and even the air was filled with the sweet aroma of maltose.
"Grandpa, are you going to propose to grandma again?" Xiaoyue raised her little face, her eyes full of anticipation.
"Of course I do!" Jiang Yan straightened his hunched back and took out the half-written poem from his sleeve pocket. "I have prepared the poem as a betrothal gift. If you don't mind..."
"I don't mind." Su Jinli took the manuscript, her fingertips touching the warmth left by his repeated stroking of the paper. "Jiang Yan, I do."
As she spoke, Su Heng's loud voice echoed from the courtyard: "Sister! I had someone find a century-old osmanthus tree and transplant it into your garden!" He was carrying a food box, and his footsteps shook the sheep-horn lanterns in the corridor. "I also bought some sugar paintings from Old Man Zhang on West Street, and asked him to make a three-foot-long phoenix!"
Jiang Yan stood in front of Su Jinli cautiously and asked, "Who are you? Why are you looking for my girl with a sugar painting?"
"I'm your brother-in-law!" Su Heng placed the food box on the stone table, the bamboo stick with the sugar-painted phoenix swaying in the box. "Let me tell you, Jiang Yan, when my sister married you, you didn't even have a decent headpiece. Now I'm giving you one!"
Su Jinli looked at her brother's flushed face, and remembered how he had stood up for her when he was young, carrying a big knife. Suddenly, she felt a pang of pain in her nose. Jiang Yan looked at Su Heng seriously and said, "Since you are the girl's brother, are you willing to be my matchmaker?"
"Just do it!" Su Heng stiffened his neck, his eyes suddenly reddened. He turned to Su Jinli and said, "Sister, I've had a osmanthus tree planted next to the pomegranate tree. When it blooms, you can make osmanthus candy..."
Su Qingyao witnessed this scene as she approached with her palette. She placed it on the stone table, revealing a freshly mixed rouge, "Drunk Flowing Clouds," a color as red as the reflection of snow. "Are you doing this again?" She dipped a silver hairpin into the rouge and tapped it lightly on the back of Su Jinli's hand. "Jinli, look, does it resemble the pomegranate-red dress you wore when you were sixteen?"
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