023｜(Twenty-two) Wutong
Once inside the car, Xie Qingyan immediately started making noise. She switched to Douyin (TikTok) and repeatedly played the same popular background music.
The vehicle moved steadily towards the city center, where traffic was congested around 5 or 6 pm. It started and stopped frequently along the way, and we arrived at the restaurant quite early.
Su Xingmao initially closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, but was forced to open them by the crisp giggles. She turned her head and glanced at the video that Su Xingmao was scrolling through.
As luck would have it, she was watching a video of a male blogger who was involved in a borderline dance scene. She pressed the red heart button, meticulously dragged the progress bar back and forth, carefully savoring the key frame where his abs were exposed for a few seconds, then clicked her tongue in amazement, added it to her favorites, and prepared to watch it later.
"Xie Qingyan".
Su Xingmao heard his voice, which sounded a little hoarse.
His brow furrowed, his eyelashes trembling slightly, he pretended not to notice and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Huh?" Xie Qingyan frantically scrolled through three videos before finally finding one of a peaceful kitten sunbathing. She casually said, "Watch the video."
Can you look at me?
Su Xingmao didn't speak, but slowly lowered his eyes and looked out the window.
The streets were bustling with traffic and people. The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon. Streetlights lit up one by one, and the city's neon lights were colorful, layer upon layer of colors, like melting oil paint, rich and vibrant, covering his fair skin.
His lonely and quiet expression, if seen by others, would be a beautiful picture.
But Xie Qingyan was oblivious and didn't understand why. He clicked on several more videos he liked before putting down his phone. He saw that Su Xingmao was still leaning against the window, gazing at the glass.
She poked his arm with her finger.
"What’s wrong with you?"
The constellation Mao remained silent.
"Hey!" Xie Qingyan shook his hand again.
Su Xingmao remained unmoved, did not turn around, glanced at the map, and said, "Half an hour left."
"Oh." Xie Qingyan hummed softly. She had never understood his bad temper. He had been like this since they were young, often calling her for no reason, and then falling silent after speaking: "So many problems."
Xie Qingyan got tired of scrolling through Douyin, so he simply put down his phone, turned his head to look out the window, and forgot which side of the road he had driven onto. The plane trees on both sides of the road were lush and leafy, and when the wind blew, the shadows of the trees swayed wildly, and the greenery flowed like water. The streetlights filtered down, and the shadows swayed and fell on the car window, mottled and colorful.
Xie Qingyan stared at the swaying shadow, gradually becoming lost in thought.
People always say that you don't have many memories from when you're very young, but Xie Qingyan remembers that on her fourth birthday, not long after the family moved into the Lingquan Mountain Villa, her father transplanted two trees from elsewhere, one a Chinese hydrangea and the other a London plane tree, and planted them on the left and right sides of the yard, saying that it was to commemorate his meeting and falling in love with Ms. Xie Jinyu, and also to wish his beloved daughter a happy birthday.
The three of them worked for most of the day, panting, and then planted the plant together. Zhang Fulan showed Xie Qingyan a plant picture book, pointing to the bushy, round white flower balls on the branches, and told her that Qingyan needed to water it more, so that next spring, the hydrangea would bloom with such clusters of flowers.
Children are innocent and naive, and they believe whatever adults say. Looking at the sapling that is not even as tall as her, she waters it every morning and evening, and even closes her eyes and makes a wish to the tree trunk before going to bed, praying that it will grow up quickly and bloom early.
However, before the following spring, in the autumn of that year, her parents' relationship soured because her mother was busy with work and they saw each other less and less. They kept talking about divorce. Xie Qingyan was too young to understand what divorce meant. She only knew that her parents argued day and night, and that there were loud noises of things being smashed when she slept.
The usually gentle father had a bad temper, and the mother looked dejected, her face clouded with gloom, refusing to smile anymore. The atmosphere in the house remained tense and gloomy. The late summer heat hadn't even passed, and the cold winter had arrived early.
Until the two strokes of the pen fell, the divorce agreement could be folded into a paper airplane and travel across tens of thousands of miles. She couldn't wait for spring and went to France with her father.
Two years later, when she returned to Jincheng, she learned that adults could lie. She had grown taller and taller, and the hydrangea branches, which had been gone for two years, had also grown taller and larger, but only one cluster of flowers had bloomed, not nearly as many as her father had shown her before.
Now, more than a decade later, the seedlings have taken root in the soil, sprouted and grown leaves, and after being pruned and the weak ones removed, they have climbed to the sill of the second-floor French windows. Every March, during the hydrangea's flowering season, the trees are covered in clusters of flowers, gradually turning from green to white. At the height of the bloom, it looks like frost on the tips of the branches and snow weighing down the branches.
It truly lived up to her words when she returned to Jincheng: "Il neige."
The falling petals were like snowflakes; her father hadn't lied to her—she could see many flowers in Jincheng.
The sycamore trees sprouted upwards, their leaves overlapping, creating a green wave like brocade when the wind blew. During the years when Xie Qingyan was obsessed with the Impressionist style, it was a frequent subject in her paintings, appearing in her works all year round. In spring, tender green buds sprouted; in summer, the branches were lush and green; in autumn, the leaves withered and fell; and in winter, only bare branches remained.
The leaves turn green and then yellow, then fall, and new buds sprout the following year, life goes on and on. Year after year, time passes by just like that. Only two shadows remain of the family of three who planted the tree, and the other shadow rarely returns home.
Most of the time, he is alone and lonely.
Oh, and occasionally there's another annoying fellow suffering in the same boat, especially if you add the tall, slender shadow of the sycamore tree to the mix.
There were exactly three.
Xie Qingyan glanced at Su Xingmao out of the corner of his eye.
Unfortunately, amidst the flowing neon lights, I bumped into a pair of dark eyes.
Oh no! Xie Qingyan thought to herself, and immediately straightened her face and sat up straight as if she were doing something wrong. She turned on her phone and pretended to be scrolling through videos as if nothing had happened. Her eyes darted around and her fingers were fidgeting. When people are embarrassed, they never stop making small movements.
She was caught peeping by the real person, which was extremely unlucky. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
After calming down a bit, Xie Qingyan pondered the scene from earlier. Wait, she had met his gaze the moment she turned around. Was Su Xingmao secretly watching her?
Xie Qingyan covered her mouth, secretly delighted.
Who is spying on whom is still uncertain?
Xie Qingyan casually brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, striking the most photogenic angle for a selfie. In the reflection of the glass window, a smile quietly crept onto her lips.
She is very confident and naturally believes that she is incredibly charming, so it's normal for people to be unable to resist looking at her. She even wants to let people look at her openly and generously.
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