Su Jinli felt like a sycamore leaf blown by the wind, floating away from her body. Beneath her was the familiar courtyard of the Prime Minister's Mansion. The sunlight after the rain shone through the grape trellises, casting tiny spots of light on the blue brick floor. The sound of her children and grandchildren crying around the couch was faint, but it was as if separated by a layer of rippling glass, clear but distant. She saw Xiaoyue lying on the edge of the couch, her plain skirt soaked in tears; Su Heng knelt on the ground, clutching a toy sword, his shoulders shaking violently; Su Qingyao held onto the armchair, her rouge box dropped to the ground, and the red powder scattered all over the floor - she wanted to go down and pick up the box of "Zui Liuxia", wanted to tell Nianli that the new rouge formula was in the third drawer of the dressing table, but her body was as light as a wisp of smoke, and she couldn't land no matter what.
"Jinli."
A familiar voice echoed behind her, carrying the same warmth that had comforted her fifty years before. Su Jinli turned sharply and saw Jiang Yan standing beneath the sycamore tree. He was wearing the same moon-white shirt she had worn when she first met him. Not a single gray hair graced his temples, and his features were as handsome as the immortals depicted in the Hanlin Academy murals. In his hand, he held a crystal-clear phoenix painted in sugar, the sugar syrup shimmering amber in the air.
"Jiang Yan!" She wanted to run over, but her skirt was like a cloud lifted by the wind. Looking down, she was sixteen again, wearing the pomegranate-red dress she'd secretly made before her coming-of-age banquet. The hem of her skirt was still stained with ink—from when she'd been revising Jiang Yan's poems.
Jiang Yan stepped forward and placed the sugar-painted phoenix into her transparent palm. The moment his fingertips touched the back of her hand, a familiar warmth spread, like the warmth of a stove on a winter's day. "Silly girl," he smiled, wiping away her nonexistent tears, his movements as gentle as when he'd wiped away raindrops from her face in the dilapidated temple fifty years ago. "Why are you running so fast? Haven't I been waiting for you?"
Su Jinli held the weightless sugar painting in her hand, looking at the starlight in Jiang Yan's eyes that never faded. Tears finally burst out: "I thought...you couldn't wait..."
"Nonsense," Jiang Yan's fingertips brushed across her temples, where he seemed to still remember the touch of the gardenias he had placed in her hair fifty years ago. "I told you, in my next life, I'll wait for you at the sugar painting stall. In this life... I'll come pick you up in person."
Before she finished speaking, the surrounding scenery unfolded like a smudge of ink. The pavilions and towers of the prime minister's residence gradually faded, replaced by the familiar bustle of the capital's West Market. At the corner ahead, Old Man Zhang stood hunched over a sugar painting stall. Golden bubbles rose from the copper pot of syrup, and the warm yellow oil lamp illuminated his wrinkled face. The air was filled with the rich sweet aroma of malt sugar, mixed with the steam of roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes, wrapping her like a warm quilt. The streets were crowded with people, but no one turned to look at them, as if they were two wisps of transparent smoke.
"Look," Jiang Yan pointed at the stall. The bamboo pieces on the stall were filled with all kinds of sugar paintings. Phoenixes, dragons, and carp swayed gently in the wind. "It's still the same place."
Su Jinli stared at the palm-sized stall, memories flooding back. At sixteen, she'd argued fiercely with the young man in blue for the last phoenix sugar painting. He'd crouched on the ground, watching her draw a dragon on the slate with a branch, laughing so hard he'd collapsed. "Jinli, your dragon looks just like the earthworm at the corner of West Street!" She'd kicked the hem of his blue shirt in anger, but her heart skipped a beat when he thrust his phoenix into hers.
"The dragon you drew does look like an earthworm." Jiang Yan seemed to see through her thoughts and couldn't help but chuckle, his voice tinged with the cunning of a young man. "But I just like that earthworm."
"Go away!" Su Jinli pounded his shoulder in anger, but her fingertips pierced through his body. She was stunned, looking at her translucent hand, a wave of pain rising in her heart.
Jiang Yan grasped her wrist, a faint warmth radiating from his fingertips. "Don't be sad, Jinli. Look—" He led her forward, the street scene changing like a revolving lantern. As they passed the prime minister's residence, they saw fifteen-year-old Su Heng, carrying a toy sword taller than he was, blocking the entrance and fighting with the young master of the neighboring mansion, shouting, "My sister said you can't bully others." Turning the corner, they saw sixteen-year-old Su Qingyao, clinging to the wall, slipping into the rouge shop. The pearl hairpins on her temples gleamed in the sunlight, afraid she'd be spotted sneaking out to buy the newly released "Taoyao Powder."
"Look there." Jiang Yan pointed to the Hanlin Academy across the street. The young man, wearing a green robe, was walking out of the gate with high spirits, holding a pile of books in his arms. But when he saw her waiting for him at the foot of the wall, his steps suddenly became lighter, like a bird spreading its wings.
They floated past the hanging flower gate and saw the bridal chamber they had spent their wedding night in. The candles burned brightly as he clumsily removed her hairpin, the jade hairpin dropping softly on the brocade quilt. He apologized, his ears reddening, but when she looked up, she saw the unwavering tenderness in his eyes.
"This is the bookshop where you write your storybooks," Jiang Yan pointed ahead. Su Jinli saw a long line of readers lining up under the plaque reading "Jinxiu Bookshop," vying to buy the newly published "The Story of the Heroic Woman Fan Lihua in the Pacification of the West." A young girl, clutching a storybook, pranced around, "My mother said it was written by Madam Su Jinli. It's so beautiful!" On a poster at the bookshop's entrance, next to a portrait of Fan Lihua astride a horse and holding a spear, were the words "Madam Jinli's New Work," written in her own handwriting.
"I still remember them all," Jiang Yan said with a smile, "Look, Xiaoyue is telling stories to the children, Nianli is teaching her grandson to read, and that old guy Su Heng is bragging to his great-grandson..."
Su Jinli looked in the direction he pointed and saw Xiaoyue sitting under the grape trellis, holding her unfinished storybook and telling a group of children the story of "Street Sugar Painting Grabbing." Nianli held her grandson's hand and wrote the word "Jin" on a slate. Su Heng brandished his faded toy sword, teaching his great-grandchildren to "be as majestic as your great-aunt was back then." Su Qingyao sat in the rouge shop, adjusting a new shade in front of the bronze mirror, muttering, "This 'Jinli Red' is still a little off..."
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