On the morning of the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, the fine snow fluttered softly in front of the last relief shed in the southern suburbs. Zheng Wanqing stood quietly under the eaves wrapped in an apricot cloak, the newly pasted red paper with the words "Welcome the Spring and Receive Blessings" rustled in the wind, and the corner that was lifted up seemed to be eager to embrace the new year.
Looking up, the houses with blue bricks and gray tiles are arranged in an orderly manner, and smoke from cooking rises. Several children in coarse cotton jackets are chasing and playing in the open space, and the newly made red windmills in their hands are turning happily. The crisp sound mixed with the childish laughter ripples in the morning light. The elderly people lean against the door frame to bask in the sun, and their wrinkles are full of satisfaction. Women gather in groups of three or two, and their eyes follow the children playing gently.
"Madam, today's medical records." The young medical student hurriedly handed over the notebook, the ink on the cover still shimmering. His voice was full of joy: "The last three patients with fever have all recovered this morning."
Zheng Wanqing flipped open the book, her fingertips stroking the increasingly sparse numbers. She remembered that a month ago, this book was still densely packed with records, but now she had turned to the last page.
When I raised my eyes, I saw Xie Yun chatting with the gentry not far away. The epaulettes of his military coat sparkled in the snow, making him look even taller than a pine tree.
As if they had telepathic connection, Xie Yun suddenly turned his head and looked at her. His eyebrows and eyes were as warm as the spring sun, and he looked at her affectionately.
On the return journey, the wheels of the carriage made a slight creaking sound as they rolled over the snow, and the sound of firecrackers from the kitchen god festival in the distant village could be faintly heard.
Zheng Wanqing gently leaned on Xie Yun's shoulder, and was carefully wrapped in his coat. His warm palms completely wrapped her slightly cold hands: "Uncle Zhou has prepared the New Year's goods, and specially added the honey you like to eat."
Zheng Wanqing nodded slightly. She looked at the branches of the dead trees passing by outside the window. She was pleasantly surprised to find tiny buds had sprouted between the branches, peeking timidly out of the snow.
The outline of Tianjin City was approaching, and the newly hung red lanterns in front of the mansion gate were swaying in the twilight, like two dancing flames. Uncle Zhou and his servants had been waiting in front of the steps for a long time, and when they saw the carriage stopped, they hurried to meet it.
"The hot water is ready." The older maid smiled and helped Zheng Wanqing get out of the car, with joy in the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. "The young lady's room has been replaced with new brocade bedding, it will be warm."
Stepping into the familiar courtyard, a faint fragrance suddenly hit me. The wintersweet on the wall had quietly bloomed without knowing when, and the tender yellow flowers were particularly bright in the twilight. Zheng Wanqing couldn't help but take a deep breath, as if all the fatigue in the southern suburbs was at peace at this moment.
Xie Yun hugged her from behind, his chin resting lightly on her hair, his warm breath brushing against her ears:
"We're home."
Night falls quietly and the lights come on, decorating the mansion in a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
In front of the dressing table and the peep mirror was Zheng Wanqing's slightly tired but peaceful face, with mist still lingering around her. Her half-dried black hair was loose, and the cuffs of her moon-white nightgown slipped down quietly as she wiped her hair, revealing a section of her jade-white arm.
"I'll do it." Xie Yun's deep voice sounded behind him, with a refreshing after-bath sound.
He walked slowly towards her, and took the cotton towel from her hand with his slender fingers. His tall figure was reflected in the mirror, with his skinny skin faintly visible under his thin silk shirt, and water drops on his hair sliding down his neck and disappearing deep into his collar.
He leaned over and gathered a strand of her wet hair, wrapped it with a cotton towel and slowly tightened it with just the right amount of force. In a trance, Zheng Wanqing was reminded of the tenderness of her grandmother combing her hair when she was a child.
Xie Yun's gaze inadvertently fell on Zheng Wanqing's wrist exposed outside her sleeve. The unhealed frostbite was particularly conspicuous on her fair skin, and the knuckles were faintly red.
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