The late spring rain began to fall at dawn, initially just a few sparse, clear drops, their impact on the sycamore leaves of the prime minister's residence creating a delicate patter, like someone babbling about old things. By the end of the morning hour, the rain had thickened, weaving a hazy web of water that enveloped the entire residence. A slightly damp, cold breeze leaked in through the carved window lattices of the back room, carrying raindrops that lashed Su Jinli's face, making her already weak breathing even shallower.
She lay on a soft satin couch, covered in the brocade quilt Jiang Yan had handpicked for her, yet she still felt the chill seeping through her bones. These days, she'd barely been able to eat, relying on ginseng soup to stay alive. Her once plump cheeks were now shapeless, her cheekbones prominent, making her eyes appear larger. However, her eyes had lost their former clarity, as if covered by a thick layer of fog. Age spots covered the backs of her bony hands, as dense as a handful of black sesame seeds. Only the jade hairpin on her wrist still shone with a warm glow—it was a gift Jiang Yan had given her the year she came of age. He said the lotus pattern on the hairpin resembled the dimples she had when she smiled, but now, on her increasingly slender wrist, it left a gap.
"Grandma, would you like to try this ginseng soup? Imperial Physician Liu changed the recipe and added your favorite candied dates." Xiaoyue knelt beside the couch, holding a small, gilded silver cup. Her voice was very low, so as not to disturb the occupant. She was about to have a grandchild, but she still wore a half-opened gardenia in her hair, just like her grandmother did in her youth. However, the flower was as white as snow, making the fine lines at the corners of her eyes even more obvious.
Su Jinli slowly rolled her eyes, her gaze settling on Xiaoyue'er's face, yet it was as if she saw another person through this familiar face. Suddenly, the rainy day of fifty years ago came vividly before her eyes—it was shortly after her rebirth, sheltering from the rain in a dilapidated temple. Jiang Yan rushed in, draped in a soaking raincoat, clutching a parcel wrapped in three layers of oilcloth and oil paper. Raindrops from her hair dripped onto the back of her hand, icy cold, yet he smiled like a child who had been given candy: "Jinli, try this! It's the osmanthus cake from Li Ji on West Street. I ran three blocks to get it, and it's still warm."
"No..." Her voice was hoarse, as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper repeatedly, and every word was stained with blood. "Save it... for your grandfather..."
Xiaoyue'er's tears suddenly welled up, plopped onto the edge of the silver cup, and rippled the water. She quickly lowered her head to wipe them away, the gardenia in her hair brushing against the corner of Su Jinli's quilt. "Grandpa...Grandpa is waiting for you at the sugar painting stall on West Street. You need to drink the soup so you have the strength to go find him..."
These words were like a fine needle, gently piercing Su Jinli's chaotic consciousness. She remembered the winter when Jiang Yan left. The snow fell heavier than ever before. He held her hand, his fingertips cold as ice, but he smiled: "Jinli, don't be sad. In the next life, I will wait for you at the old place, the sugar painting stall on West Street. I will draw you the biggest phoenix." Now, in the blink of an eye, Xiaoyue'er, who had two buns back then, has turned gray. Time flies like sand through fingers.
"Mother," Nian Li came in carrying a copper basin with steaming warm water. Her eyes were red and swollen like ripe peaches. "Let me wipe your hands."
Su Jinli's hand was placed in the warm water, and the warmth softened her stiff fingers. Just as Nianli picked up the towel, she suddenly reached out and grabbed her daughter's wrist. The force was as light as a falling leaf, but it made Nianli's eyes red. "Nianli..." she murmured, her eyes wandering, "Have you seen your father? He...he should come to pick me up..."
Nian Li's tears fell into the warm water, creating tiny ripples. She remembered how her mother had asked, over and over again, "Have you seen your father?" when her father passed away. Now, it was her mother's turn, and she still asked. "Yes, mother," she said, forcing herself to remain calm, smoothing her mother's stray white hair with her free hand. "Dad is waiting at the door, wearing the moon-white brocade robe you embroidered for him. He stands very straight and looks very energetic."
With a clang, metal fell to the ground beside the couch. Su Heng turned around abruptly, and the toy sword that had been with him all his life fell onto the blue bricks. The faded red tassel on the scabbard was still trembling slightly. He wiped his face fiercely with his sleeve, and his voice was as hoarse as a broken gong: "Sister! You can't sleep! I just sent someone to West Street to invite Old Man Zhang's grandson to come. I asked him to set up a sugar painting stall at the head of your bed and draw you the biggest phoenix. It's a hundred times more beautiful than the one that Jiang Yan drew back then!"
Su Qingyao sat in an armchair not far away, unconsciously turning a mother-of-pearl rouge box in her hands. The lid opened and closed, revealing a vibrant red—her most prized rouge of her later years, "Zui Liuxia." She said the color resembled the red dress Su Jinli wore when she was sixteen. "Jinli," her voice trembled, but she maintained her usual arrogance, "you haven't taught me how to mix the color of that new 'Taoyao Pink' you invented yet. You promised to teach it to me, and don't cheat and fall asleep!"
Su Jinli's gaze slowly wandered over everyone's faces, as if she were using her last breath to etch each person's appearance into her mind. She noticed Su Heng had more white hair on his temples than last year, but he was still as boisterous, though his eyes held a gentleness that came with age. She saw the polished edges of Su Qingyao's rouge box, and remembered her youth, awkwardly stuffing rouge into her room, saying, "Beauty is the only way," but her ears were red. She saw the wrinkles at the corners of Nianli's eyes, and remembered her as a child, lying on her lap, listening to stories from her storybook, so engrossed that her saliva dripped down her skirt...
"We're all old..." she murmured, a faint smile on her lips. There was no regret in that smile, only satisfaction. "It's great... everything is fine..."
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