Chapter 9: Invitation on the Grapevine
# Chapter 9: Invitation on the Grapevine
It was another lovely day, the morning mist still lingering. Chen Wang walked along the dew-soaked ridges of the fields toward the backyard, clutching a freshly painted wooden sign. The words "Qingxi Village Traditional Variety Cultural and Creative Workshop" were written in vibrant red. He had just hung the sign on a nail at the gate when he heard a soft "click" from the grape trellis overhead.
A bunch of shimmering purple grapes fell, landing squarely in the bamboo basket at my feet. Each grape was as plump as amethyst bathed in light. Tied to the top grape was a slip of paper, smaller than a fingernail, gently wrapped with cotton string. On it was written Lin Xiaoman's elegant handwriting: "See you at the old orchard. There's a surprise."
Chen Wang couldn't help but smile. He pinched the grapes with his fingertips, and the sweet juice stained his fingertips. Last week, he told Lin Xiaoman that the "Mi Guang" grapes on the rack should be ripe. He didn't expect her to think about it first. He put the grapes in a bamboo basket. When he passed by Grandma Zhang's store, the old lady was sitting at the door picking vegetables. Seeing him, she pressed a bag of peach cakes into his hand and said, "This is for Xiaoman. This girl helped me fix the freezer yesterday and refused to accept a thank-you gift. Can you pass it on for me?"
As I crossed the ridge of the field, dewdrops from the rice ears soaked my trouser legs. From a distance, I saw Lin Xiaoman squatting under the old pear tree. Beside her were three bamboo baskets filled with morning dew-soaked herbs—rosa centifolia, mint, and a few bunches of dried lavender. The refreshing aroma mixed with the woody scent of the old pear tree and drifted far away. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and waved, her hair stained with tiny blades of grass, swaying in the wind. "Come and help me see if these dried herbs can be mixed with pear residue to make handmade soap."
Chen Wang squatted down to help her sort. Just as her fingertips touched the cool mint leaves, she heard Lin Xiaoman say softly, "The County Cultural and Tourism Bureau called yesterday and said they'll be bringing media for an interview next weekend. We need to get the cultural and creative samples ready before then." She pulled a small notebook from her canvas bag and opened it to reveal a densely packed list. "Strawberry jam needs to be put into ceramic jars, tomatoes need to be made into dried flower specimens, and that grape skin dyeing you mentioned—we've got to try it, too."
"I cut the wooden frame for the specimen yesterday and put it in the workshop." Chen Wang pulled out his phone and opened the design saved in his photo album—he'd worked on it late one night. He had a dried pear leaf next to the tomato specimen, and he wanted to carve the veins of an old locust tree on the pottery jar. "And Aunt Wang said she has some aged locust flower honey from last year that would be perfect for making strawberry jam."
Lin Xiaoman leaned over to look at her phone, her shoulder gently touching his arm. They both paused, then couldn't help laughing. Ever since they'd persuaded Uncle Li to stop under the old pear tree, they'd always been like this. Their fingertips would accidentally touch when handing tools, and their heads would lean in close when discussing plans. Even Wangfu had learned from them. Whenever he saw Chen Wang, he'd run over with Lin Xiaoman's handkerchief in his mouth, and whenever he saw Lin Xiaoman, he'd hold Chen Wang's straw hat in his mouth, as if deliberately trying to make things work.
When I returned to the backyard at noon, several villagers had already gathered at the gate. Uncle Li was carrying a clay pot, and when he lifted the lid, the rich aroma of honey filled the air. "Xiaoman said you need wild honey for making sauce. This jar I just got this year, no sugar added. Your aunt picked mugwort, saying it's good for making soap mixed with vanilla, and it smells good even after washing your hands." Aunt Wang was also carrying a basket of fresh strawberries, the bright red fruits still covered in mud. "Freshly picked from the fields, they make the sweetest sauce."
The small backyard suddenly became bustling with activity. Chen Wang was teaching a few young people in the workshop how to dehydrate tomatoes—selecting bright red fruits, slicing them thinly, and laying them out on bamboo sieves to slowly dry in the sun, turning them over periodically. Lin Xiaoman set up a large pot in the corner of the yard, simmering strawberry and locust flower honey over a low fire. The sweet aroma wafted far away, attracting passersby who peeked through the gate. Grandma Zhang sat on a bamboo chair, directing Wangfu to fetch a bamboo rack for drying soap. The old lady smiled, her eyes narrowed. "Our village hasn't been this lively in ages! It's even happier than Chinese New Year."
"Why does this strawberry jam smell so good?" The little girl helping to stir it sniffed as the jam in the pot boiled red and bubbles rose slowly. "It's much sweeter than the one my mom buys."
Lin Xiaoman scooped out a spoonful and tasted it, her eyes lighting up. "It's sweet!" She turned to look at Chen Wang, her lips curved softly. "It must be the honey. Plus, the strawberries are fresh, and the fire was kept low, so the fragrance is locked in."
Chen Wang's ears felt slightly hot. Just as he was about to respond, he saw a bunch of grapes dangling from the trellis. It wasn't the bunch that had fallen earlier, but one that Lin Xiaoman had left specially that morning. Next to the top grape was a small note, this time written in pencil: "After the media interviews this weekend, I want to invite you to go to the top of the mountain to watch the meteors. I heard there's a Perseid meteor shower that day."
The wind blew, and the note swayed, landing right next to Lin Xiaoman's hand. She looked down and saw the words, her cheeks instantly flushed. She pinched the note with her fingertips and gently touched the grapes. Without saying a word, she secretly glanced up at Chen Wang. The aunt helping nearby was sharp-eyed. She came over to take a look and laughed and said, "There's a heart hidden in this bunch of grapes! Xiaoman is so thoughtful!"
By evening, after seeing off the villagers, the backyard finally quieted down. Chen Wang packed his strawberry jam into a glass jar and affixed a handwritten label with a small, old pear tree. Lin Xiaoman laid out her finished vanilla soap on a bamboo rack to dry. The soap was a light green, the color of mint and wormwood, and had a small strawberry mold printed on it.
"Do you think the media will like these?" Lin Xiaoman picked up a bar of soap, put it to the tip of his nose and sniffed it, with a little trepidation in his tone.
Chen Wang pulled a small sachet from his pocket—made of cloth dyed with grape skins, filled with dried lavender and a tiny pear leaf sewn on. He tied the sachet to Lin Xiaoman's canvas bag. "I'm sure you'll like it. Look—" He pointed at the courtyard gate, where two young men with cameras were taking pictures of the wooden sign that read "Cultural and Creative Workshop." "They're students from a nearby university. They came here this afternoon. They heard our village's traditional crops are interesting, so they came to check it out."
The two students came over and took a bite of the strawberry jam. The girl's eyes lit up, "This is amazing! Sweet but not greasy, with a natural fruity aroma. It's a hundred times better than supermarket jam!" The boy couldn't stop taking pictures of the sun-dried tomato specimens. "I'm going to put this in my travel guide. It's going to be a hit!"
As they saw the students off, the setting sun tinted the sky orange. The shadows of the grape trellises stretched long, and the grapes on the vines glowed a faint purple. Suddenly, Lin Xiaoman pulled Chen Wang over to the lemon saplings and pointed at the lemon at the top: "Look, this one's ripe!"
The lemon had turned a bright yellow, its skin smooth enough to reflect the setting sun. A close sniff offered a refreshing fragrance. Chen Wang plucked the lemon and was about to hand it to Lin Xiaoman when he felt her tiptoe and gently touch his cheek with hers—like the brush of a petal, soft and with a hint of vanilla.
"This is a reward for you." Her voice was softer than the scent of lemon. "It's a reward for our cultural and creative workshop. It's finally taking shape."
Chen Wang froze in place, his cheeks warming. He clenched the lemon in his hand, looked at Lin Xiaoman's reddened ears, and mustered up the courage to say, "Then this lemon is my invitation to return your letter—after watching the meteor shower this weekend, let's cut the ribbon together for the Cultural and Creative Workshop, okay?"
Lin Xiaoman nodded vigorously, the light in her eyes brighter than the setting sun. She reached out to take the lemon, gently touched Chen Wang's fingertips with hers, and whispered, "Okay, then we'll bring a can of strawberry jam and eat it while watching the shooting stars on the top of the mountain."
The wind blew through the grape trellis, and the leaves rustled, as if in response.
Chen Wang quickly pulled out his phone and took a picture of the vanilla soap on the bamboo stand and Lin Xiaoman, who was smiling beside him. He saved it in his "Orchard Diary" with the caption: "An invitation hidden under the grape trellis, sweetness wrapped in strawberry jam. Thoughts, like old crops, need time to mature before they are sweet enough."
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