The light at the kitchen door dimmed for a moment.
Sun Guixiang didn't turn around, but the corners of her mouth rose first.
She knew who it was without even looking.
Light footsteps approached, carrying the lean aura unique to young people.
A small bamboo stool was placed silently next to the stove, neither too far nor too close to the jumping orange-red flames, just enough to feel the warmth without being splashed by sparks.
Ye Qingliu sat down.
He was still wearing the clean white linen shirt, and in the slightly dim and messy kitchen, he looked like a piece of warm white jade that had fallen into the mortal world.
He was not reading a book, nor was he looking at Sun Guixiang. He just lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames in the stove.
The flames danced, illuminating his cold pale profile and casting flickering spots of light in the depths of his gray-blue eyes, like distant stars reflected on an icy lake on a cold night.
He looked intently, as if he was studying some complex energy conversion model, or as if he was simply attracted by the primitive and warm light and heat.
Only Sun Guixiang knew that children liked to listen to the sound of burning firewood.
The crackling sound was steady and continuous, carrying a vigorous vitality, like some warm and strong heartbeat, beating in the silent air again and again.
This sound seemed to dispel the overly grand and overly cold silence in his world.
The mung bean soup in the pot began to bubble and tiny bubbles appeared. Sun Guixiang picked up a spoon, scooped up a little, blew on it, tasted it, and nodded with satisfaction.
She turned sideways and looked at the young man who was sitting quietly on a small stool, half of his cheeks red from the fire.
He slightly curled his legs, his hands casually placed on his knees, and the pair of silver-rimmed glasses that isolated him from the world reflected a warm glow in the flickering firelight.
The warmth from the stove seemed to soften the invisible ice shell around him, making him look less out of reach and instead have a strange, furry and docile feeling.
"It's almost done," Sun Guixiang said softly, smiling, afraid to disturb the tranquility of her concentration. "It's still the same old way, no extra sugar."
Ye Qingliu continued to stare at the fire and nodded imperceptibly. The dancing flames burned quietly in his gray-blue pupils.
Sun Guixiang stirred the green beans in the pot that were gradually becoming soft and glutinous, looking at the young man beside her who was wrapped in the warm firelight.
Crackling... crackling... the firewood in the stove was singing happily, and the sound was beating steadily, like a silent promise, baking the corner of the world next to the stove into cozy warmth.
At this moment, even time seemed to be boiled down to become long and flexible.
The row of succulents at the foot of the wall were changing tenaciously and slowly under Grandma Sun's careful and clumsy care.
The originally thin leaves became plump and the color changed from dull to bright.
The largest and most central pot is shaped like a blooming green lotus, with thick leaves and a hint of delicate pink on the edges.
The position of this pot of "Green Lotus" is always adjusted by Ye Qingliu intentionally or unintentionally to the place with the best sunlight.
The sun was shining brightly that afternoon.
Ye Qingliu was not reading a book, but standing in front of the largest pot of succulents, slightly bent over, with his cold white fingers hovering above its plump leaves, as if he was measuring something, or as if he was having some kind of silent communication.
His posture was focused and serious, as if he was dealing with an important subject.
Sun Guixiang came over with a small bowl of freshly peeled lotus seeds and saw this scene.
"Little friend," Sun Guixiang said with a smile as she handed over the bowl of lotus seeds. "Come and try some. I found them at the morning market today. They're very fresh."
Ye Qingliu stood up and took the small bowl.
The bowl is made of ordinary coarse porcelain, and the lotus seeds are plump and round, exuding a sweet aroma.
He picked up one, put it in his mouth, and the sweet juice melted on his tongue.
Sun Guixiang did not leave, but stood by, looking lovingly at the pot of the best-growing succulent with her cloudy eyes, and then at the boy who was quietly chewing lotus seeds beside her.
She suddenly seemed to have thought of something very interesting, and the wrinkles on her face relaxed, with a bit of childish pride.
"Little friend," she pointed at the largest pot of succulents, her voice full of unconcealed pride and confidence, "Grandma gave it a name. Can you guess what it's called?"
Ye Qingliu paused chewing slightly, and turned his gray-blue eyes to Sun Guixiang with a hint of inquiry.
Sun Guixiang smiled, tapped the plump leaves with her skinny fingers, and spoke each word with a strong rural accent and complete joy.
"Call it 'green bean cake'! How about it? It's appropriate, right? Look at how plump it is, it looks just like the one our kids love to eat!"
“Mung Bean Cake”…
These three words are like a small key, gently opening a dusty box deep in time.
The icy smell of hospital disinfectant, the desperate watch outside the ICU window, the washed-out aluminum lunch box, and the sweet, comforting aroma that lingered on the brink of life and death...
Countless tiny, warm fragments, like startled light particles, silently swirled and flickered in the depths of his precisely operating mind.
His fingers gripping the coarse porcelain bowl tightened almost imperceptibly.
He didn't say anything, just stood there quietly, his eyes falling back on the pot of succulent named "Green Bean Cake".
The sunlight flows on its thick leaves, reflecting a warm luster.
The spring breeze blew through the courtyard, carrying the scent of soil and new plants, and also ruffling the soft hair on his forehead.
Sun Guixiang thought he agreed and started to talk happily: "Mung bean cake is good, and it is easy to keep! From now on, grandma will be happy to look at it every day, just like looking at our children every day!"
Her rough hands, with an unquestionable tenderness, gently patted Ye Qingliu's straight back. The force was light, but it carried a heavy warmth.
Ye Qingliu remained silent, only slightly lowering his eyelashes. The sunlight passed through his long eyelashes, casting two small butterfly-wing shadows on his cold, pale cheeks.
Beneath that shadow, something extremely subtle was silently melting away, like a warm current flowing quietly beneath the surface of a frozen lake.
The courtyard was silent, with only the sound of sunlight streaming across the leaves and the faint sounds of the city in the distance.
Sun Guixiang looked at her child and her "child's mung bean cake" with satisfaction, her cloudy eyes filled with all the tenderness that this spring could give.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
