Chapter 91: Searching for old photos in Moyunzhai, the fragments still retain the feelings of old friends
The afternoon sun filtered through the sycamore leaves in the Fang Mansion courtyard, casting tiny specks of gold across the bluestone slabs. A breeze, carrying the fragrance of gardenias, blew through the corridors, gently swaying the silks the maids were hanging out to dry. Little Swallow was standing on tiptoe, helping Ziwei adjust the velvet flowers on her hair. Her pale yellow jacket rippled with movement, and the red pompom on her braid brushed against Ziwei's cheek.
"That's good," Xiaoyanzi took two steps back and looked at it, nodding with satisfaction, "It's simple and inconspicuous. We can pretend to be rich sisters going to buy calligraphy and paintings, and no one will be suspicious." Ziwei was wearing a moon-white half-sleeved skirt with a light gray cloak on the outside. She only had a simple silver tassel on her temples, which added a bit of low-keyness to her originally gentle temperament.
Xiao Jian emerged from the inner room, clutching a blue cloth bundle. His gray robe, tucked in at his waist, accentuated his tall stature. "Manager Zhou is old, and his memory might be failing," he handed the bundle to Ziwei. "Here are a few fragments of your mother's poetry. Taking them might help him remember more." He glanced at Xiaoyanzi, his eyes steady. "The carriage is waiting at the back door. Go through West Alley to avoid the eyes of the main street."
Liu Hong ran out of the kitchen, clutching a food box still steaming from it. "My mother made some mung bean cakes and sour plum soup for us on the road! Shopkeeper Zhou loves strong tea, so I asked the teahouse to pack him a pound of Longjing tea as a gift to show our sincerity." She shoved the food box at Jinsuo and patted Ziwei's arm. "Don't be nervous. With Brother Xiao Jian here, nothing will go wrong."
Ziwei's fingertips pinched the cloak's straps, her knuckles turning slightly white, and her voice trembled imperceptibly. "I... I'm just afraid, afraid that Manager Zhou won't remember..." She looked down at the hem of her skirt, which was embroidered with intricate twined branches. Madam Fang had worked on it overnight, and warmth was hidden in the stitches. "Mother said that Mr. Zhou understood her poetry the most. If even he has forgotten..."
"No." Xiaoyanzi held her hand, her palm warm and dry. "Your mother is so talented, Manager Zhou will definitely be impressed. Besides, there's my brother. He has experience dealing with people in the underworld, and he can definitely help you find out." She leaned close to Ziwei's ear and lowered her voice. "If all else fails, just mention the lotus flowers in Daming Lake and the plaque at Yuhexuan. What your mother wrote in the letter is definitely correct."
Xiao Jian had a carriage ready. A simple carriage with a green cloth curtain was parked under the willow tree at the back door. The driver was a veteran, introduced by Zheng Biaotou. His face was a few scars from the weather, and he only nodded without saying a word. "Get in," Xiao Jian said, lifting the curtain. "Let's go and come back early, so as not to worry the mansion."
The carriage wheels rolled over the gravel in the alley, making a slight lurching sound. Ziwei lifted a corner of the curtain and looked out at the gradually bustling street scene. Silk shops, pawnshops, and restaurants flashed by one after another, and a vendor making candy figurines shouted on the street corner. She fished out the half of the lotus jade pendant from her sleeve. The sunlight filtered through the cracks in the jade pendant, casting a faint light and shadow on her palm.
"We're almost there," Xiao Jian's voice came from the other side. He had his eyes closed, resting, his fingers tapping unconsciously on his knees. "Turn into Liulichang West Street. Mo Yunzhai is the third shop. There's a wooden plaque hanging on the doorway that reads 'Meeting Friends Through Literature.'"
The carriage stopped beneath an old locust tree. Xiao Jian dismounted first, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, before helping Ziwei and Xiaoyanzi down. Mo Yun Zhai was just as he'd described. Its grayish-blue facade was small, with a blackened wooden plaque bearing the words "Mo Yun Zhai" written in bold strokes. Two pots of neatly trimmed asparagus fern stood on either side of the door.
Pushing the door open, wind chimes chimed softly, and the room was filled with the delicate fragrance of old books and pine soot ink. Sitting behind a pearwood table by the window was a white-haired old man, wearing reading glasses, repairing a torn book. His fingers, thin but nimble, were meticulously gluing together the torn pages with glue.
"Shopkeeper Zhou." Xiao Jian stepped forward and said in a gentle voice, "I am Fang Yan, the junior. I was introduced by Escort Chief Zheng."
The old man raised his head, his reading glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose, revealing a pair of cloudy yet gentle eyes. He looked at Xiao Jian, then at Ziwei and Xiaoyanzi behind him. His gaze paused on Ziwei, and he spoke slowly, "Are you the guests that Brother Zheng was talking about? Please take a seat, please take a seat." He put down his work and asked the waiter to serve tea. "You look unfamiliar, young lady. Are you from the capital?"
Ziwei's fingers tightened slightly around the teacup, the warmth of the teacup radiating through her fingertips. She whispered, "I'm from Jinan. I heard the owner also moved here, so I've come to ask about some old times." She pulled the fragments of poetry from her bag and held them out. "These are manuscripts my mother left behind. I heard the owner once owned a bookshop by Daming Lake. Perhaps... perhaps he's met my mother?"
Shopkeeper Zhou took the manuscript, put on his reading glasses, and examined it carefully. His bony fingers brushed across the yellowed pages, and he suddenly exclaimed, "Huh!" He looked up at Ziwei, his eyes brightening. "This handwriting... the flex of the brushstrokes is so much like Miss Xia, who used to borrow books from my shop!" He pointed to the small seal in the corner of the manuscript. "I remember this seal with the characters 'Yuhe' clearly!"
Ziwei's heart skipped a beat, her eyes instantly reddened, and her voice choked with sobs: "Boss, do you recognize my mother? My mother's name is Xia Yuhe, and she's from Jinan."
"Xia Yuhe..." Shopkeeper Zhou muttered the name, lost in memories, his eyes far away. "Yes, that's her! Back then, she always wore a moon-white cheongsam and had her hair in a double bun. Every time she came, she would borrow Li Qingzhao's poetry collection and sit under the pear tree by the window to read for an entire afternoon. She said she loved the lotus in Daming Lake the most, saying that the lotus 'rose from the mud but remained unstained'..." He sighed. "She didn't come for a long time afterwards. When I asked her again, she said she had moved away with her family. I didn't expect..."
Xiaoyanzi gently touched Ziwei's arm and handed her a handkerchief. Ziwei took it, wiped her eyes, and asked anxiously, "Boss, do you know if my mother mentioned a very important friend back then? Or... did she leave anything with you?"
Shopkeeper Zhou pondered for a moment, then stood up and walked to the bookcase in the inner room. He brought over an old wooden box, rummaged through it for a while, and pulled out a scroll wrapped in blue cloth. "Miss Xia left in a hurry that year, leaving this for me to keep. She said if her relatives ever come looking for her, I should give it to her." He handed the scroll to Ziwei. "I've been guarding this shop for ten years, thinking I'd never see the light of day. I never thought I'd actually be able to hand it over to her daughter."
Ziwei trembled as she unwrapped the blue cloth. Inside was an unfinished lotus painting, its leaves lush and its petals half-opened, painted in elegant brushstrokes. In the corner was inscribed, "Thinking of you is like the lotus, evergreen year after year." On the back of the painting, in elegant handwriting, were a few words: "I am entrusting Brother Zhou to keep this painting for the time being. If my daughter Ziwei finds you, I hope you will tell me of our lakeside appointment. The lotus is a token of my love, and half a coin is my token of my love."
"Mother..." Ziwei stroked the ink, tears dripping onto the paper, leaving small water marks, "These are mother's words, these are mother's paintings..."
Xiao Jian coughed lightly, signaling Xiaoyanzi to keep track of the time. Xiaoyanzi quickly said, "Manager Zhou, thank you so much for keeping these things. I'm deeply grateful. Please accept this small token of my appreciation." She handed over a heavy purse filled with small change and banknotes.
Shopkeeper Zhou waved his hand to decline. "Miss Xia helped me repair many rare books in the past. I remember this favor, so how can I ask for your money?" He looked at Ziwei with a gentle look. "If you don't mind, please come and visit us often. I still have some of the poetry collections that Miss Xia mentioned back then. Perhaps you would like them."
As they left Moyunzhai, the setting sun was tinting the streets of Liulichang a golden crimson. Ziwei clutched the scroll tightly in her arms, as if it were a rare treasure, her steps becoming lighter. In the carriage, she carefully unfolded the scroll, examining it in the afterglow. Suddenly, she pointed to the tiny words beneath the lotus leaves and exclaimed, "Look! There are more words here!"
As they drew closer, they saw a line of tiny words written in the shadow of a lotus leaf: "In the early summer of the thirteenth year of the Qianlong reign, we first met by the lake. The lotus is our message."
Xiaoyanzi's heart trembled, and she exchanged a glance with Xiao Jian, both seeing understanding in each other's eyes. The thirteenth year of the Qianlong Emperor's reign was the year Xia Yuhe and the Emperor Qianlong met.
Ziwei traced the words with her fingertips, tears glistening in her eyes but with a smile: "It's true, mother didn't lie to me, there really is a date by the lake..." She looked up at Xiaoyanzi, the light in her eyes brighter than the setting sun, "Ci'er, Brother Xiaojian, I feel like... I'm one step closer to finding my father."
The carriage wheels rolled over the cobblestones, leaving a golden-red afterglow behind. Xiao Jian lifted the curtain to glance outside, whispering, "This is just the beginning. We must be careful on the road ahead." Xiao Yanzi held Zi Wei's hand, their palms pressed together, warm and resolute. She knew that the twists and turns of her past life might not have been completely avoided, but in this life, with them side by side and this weighty token, Zi Wei's journey to find her relatives would surely be less bumpy.
Outside the car window, the evening breeze rustled through the old locust tree, its leaves rustling as if whispering a promise and wait spanning a decade. Ziwei pressed the scroll tightly to her chest, feeling the warmth left by her mother, and silently said to herself: Mother, I have found the clue. I will definitely deliver your gift.
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