If Zhong Hua hadn't gone to Paris: If she had stayed where she was, her fate would have been very different.
Chapter 1: The Stranded Tickets
Rain slanted down the glass curtain wall of the office building. Zhong Hua stared at the unsent emails on his computer screen, his fingertips hovering over the Enter key, hesitant to press it. The plane ticket on the corner of the desk had been there for three days; the Paris flight number was smudged by the moisture, like a stubborn, unresolved worry.
"Are you really not leaving?" Assistant Xiao Chen came in carrying documents, his gaze lingering on the plane ticket. "Ms. Lin's partner has confirmed the date three times."
Zhong Hua closed his laptop, the crisp sound of the metal casing clanging together echoing clearly in the quiet office. He looked out the window; the leaves of the plane trees across the street shone brightly after the rain. Last autumn, Ah Yu and he had collected fallen leaves under the trees to make bookmarks. Back then, Ah Yu had laughed at him for being a thirty-year-old man still collecting junk like a little girl.
“Reply to Lin Wanqing,” he said, his voice a little tense, “the project will be handled by the deputy director. I have something more urgent to attend to.”
After Xiao Chen left, Zhong Hua pulled a faded tin box from his drawer. Inside were photos from their university days. In one photo, Ah Yu, wearing a faded basketball jersey, was leaning on his neck, grinning foolishly at the sidelines of the court, the scoreboard behind them still showing 23:21. Back then, they always talked about opening a design studio together, and they even had a name in mind: "Shiguang" (拾光), meaning to pick up fragments of time.
The phone vibrated on the table, and the words "Ah Yu" appeared on the screen. Zhong Hua took a deep breath and answered. He heard the soft clinking of porcelain on the other end, and Ah Yu's cheerful voice: "Zhong Hua, come over for dinner tonight. I've learned how to make sweet and sour pork ribs."
"Okay." He heard his voice trembling, and only after hanging up did he realize his palms were sweaty. Actually, there was nothing urgent; he just didn't dare to board that plane—he was afraid the Parisian sun would be too warm and melt away the secrets he had kept hidden for ten years; he was afraid the Seine wind would blow away the reason he stayed.
Chapter Two: The Unsent Letter
Six months later, on the winter solstice, Zhong Hua was working late into the night in his studio. The air conditioner was broken, so he wrapped himself in a blanket and revised his drawings, the pencil scratching softly on the paper. When the glass door was pushed open, a gust of cold wind blew in, carrying snowflakes. Ah Yu stood in the doorway, clutching a thermos, her eyelashes still clinging to tiny ice crystals.
"I bet you haven't eaten again." Ah Yu put her thermos on the table, the rising steam blurring her glasses. "I saw Lin Wanqing's email. She said you turned down the Paris project. Why?"
Zhong Hua's pen left a dot of ink on the drawing. He remembered Lin Wanqing's tone on the phone that day, filled with disbelief and astonishment: "Zhong Hua, you've waited five years for this opportunity." Yes, five years, but he was even more afraid that when he returned, Ah Yu would already be with someone else.
"I can't leave here." He mumbled as he opened the thermos, the aroma of pork rib and lotus root soup wafting out—the taste he'd grown up with. Ah Yu sat in the chair opposite him, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the thermos: "Zhong Hua, are you hiding something from me?"
The snow outside the window fell heavier and heavier, and the streetlights shone a warm yellow glow through the snow curtain. Zhong Hua recalled a rainy night three years ago when A Yu sat on his doorstep, hugging her knees, soaked to the bone like a distressed little animal: "My parents don't approve of me studying design. They say it's a waste of time." That night, he stuffed his design award money, which he had saved up for half a year, into A Yu's hands and said, "Go and sign up for a training course. If you don't have enough money, I'll find a way."
"It's nothing." Zhong Hua lowered his head to drink the soup, the steam making his throat hurt. "It's just that I suddenly feel that it's all the same no matter where I am."
Ah Yu didn't press further, but before leaving, she took off her scarf and wrapped it around him: "Don't always stay up late. I'll help with the studio tomorrow." The moment the door closed, Zhong Hua took a letter from the drawer. The envelope was addressed to "To Myself in Paris," but he never had the courage to put a stamp on it. The letter contained only one sentence: If I stay, can I make time flow in our way?
Chapter Three: The Reunion at the Street Corner
In early spring, Zhong Hua opened a small design shop at the entrance of an alley in the old city, still called "Shiguang" (meaning "picking up light"). The shop is small, displaying his and A Yu's works from their student days, and hanging on the wall is their first collaborative design drawing—a renovation plan for a community senior activity center, which was later adopted.
That afternoon, Zhong Hua was watering a potted green plant when the glass wind chimes tinkled. He looked up and saw Lin Wanqing standing in the doorway, her beige trench coat making her skin appear even whiter. A year had passed; she had lost some weight, and a few fine lines had appeared at the corners of her eyes.
"Just passing by and taking a look." Lin Wanqing's gaze swept over the photos on the wall, her tone calm. "I didn't expect you to actually open a studio."
Zhong Hua poured her a glass of lemonade: "Why are you back?"
“The charity project has a branch here.” Lin Wanqing stirred the lemon slices in her glass. “Actually, I should have realized long ago that you didn’t not want to go to Paris, but you were reluctant to leave.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a knowing gentleness. “Back in college, you always said you wanted to go to the Louvre to see an art exhibition, but every time I asked you out, you would say that Ah Yu had something urgent to do.”
The wind chimes rang again, and Ah Yu walked in carrying a roll of fabric. She paused for a moment when she saw Lin Wanqing. Zhong Hua quickly introduced her: "This is Lin Wanqing, whom I often tell you about. This is Ah Yu."
"I've heard so much about you." Ah Yu smiled and extended her hand. "Zhong Hua always mentions you, saying you're the most talented designer he's ever met."
Lin Wanqing grasped her hand, lightly touching it with her fingertips before withdrawing it: "Likewise, he always says that your designs have the warmth of life in them."
That afternoon, the three of them sat in the shop and drank tea for an entire afternoon. Lin Wanqing talked about the Seine in Paris, saying that the cruise ships on the river always lit up at dusk; Ah Yu talked about the old tailor at the alley entrance, saying that the cheongsam collars he made were always perfectly ironed; Zhong Hua listened to them talking and suddenly felt that this was also very good—some people don't need to possess, some scenery doesn't need to be reached, staying in the same place can actually protect the most precious things.
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