New Year's Eve Starry Night Gift
December in Provence carries the faint scent of dried lavender, mingling with the warmth of burning pine in the fireplace, transforming the guesthouse's living room into a soft cocoon. Ah Yu squats in front of the fireplace adjusting the damper, the firelight dancing like shattered gold on his eyelashes. When Zhong Hua comes out of the kitchen with a glass of mulled wine, she sees a tiny dried lavender flower stuck behind his ear—something he picked up while arranging the bouquet that afternoon.
"Be careful, it's hot." She handed over one of the cups, the cup still bearing the fingerprints from when she tested the temperature. Amidst the soft clinking of the ceramics, Ah Yu looked up at her, her gaze sweeping over the newly tied red string on her wrist. It was from when they went to the market in town last week; an old woman said it could "tie in good luck for winter." Zhong Hua had laughed and called it superstition, but then turned around and asked him to tie a knot that was impossible to untie.
"Is the fireplace fixed?" She curled up on the sofa, the cashmere blanket slipping down to reveal matching socks around her ankles. As Ah Yu nodded, her fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of Ah Yu's hand. Both of them paused, recoiled as if electrocuted, and then burst out laughing at the same moment.
The sky outside the window had completely darkened, and the distant vineyards were nothing but undulating silhouettes in the twilight. Zhong Hua suddenly pointed to the condensation on the glass: "Doesn't that look like a yak I've seen in Tibet?" Ah Yu leaned closer to look, pressing her nose against the cool glass to make a small dot. "I think it looks more like Gu Yanting's fierce Tibetan Mastiff."
The moment the words left her lips, a moment of silence fell between them. The crackling of the firewood in the fireplace broke the delicate stillness. Zhong Hua lowered her eyes, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the rim of her cup—where the lip print from their accidental kisses during their last hot cocoa session remained, stubbornly etched despite several washes. Ah Yu, watching her trembling eyelashes, suddenly reached out and covered her eyes: "Don't think about it."
"I wasn't thinking about anything." Her voice slipped out from between her fingers, tinged with a muffled laugh. "I just suddenly remembered that this time last year I was eating cold bread in the hospital."
Yes, this time last year. The smell of disinfectant in the ICU, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, the way Zhong Hua read the line from the interview transcript about "the person I want to thank most" when he was unconscious—the sudden tremor of her eyelashes, like a butterfly struggling to break free of its cocoon. Ah Yu lowered her head and took a sip of mulled wine; the slightly astringent warmth as the liquid slid down her throat softened those sharp memories.
The wall clock struck ten, the pendulum's clatter echoing clearly in the quiet room. Zhong Hua suddenly exclaimed, "Ah!" and rushed to the entryway to check the mail she'd received that day. The postman had delivered a thick envelope that morning, saying it was from Africa, the stamps featuring a giraffe and a sunset.
"I almost forgot about this." She ran back holding a manila envelope, sealed with a blurry wax seal and a small "Wan" on it. Ah Yu's heart skipped a beat, as if something had gently bumped into it.
When the envelope was opened, what fell out wasn't a letter, but a photograph folded into a triangle. Zhong Hua exclaimed "Huh!" as he unfolded it—it was a photograph of the starry sky taken by Lin Wanqing on the African savanna; the Milky Way resembled a scarf woven from crushed diamonds, spread across dark blue velvet. On the back, in small handwriting, were the words: "New Year's gift. Watch the video at midnight."
“How did she know we were waiting for midnight?” Zhong Hua stuck the photo on the refrigerator, next to the Paris street scene that Lin Wanqing had sent last time. Ah Yu didn’t say anything, but just looked at the photo of the starry sky, recalling three years ago backstage at a party when Lin Wanqing raised her champagne and said with a smile, “In the future, I’m going to see the starry sky all over the world and be your personal photographer.” At that time, Zhong Hua had teased her, “Don’t be so heavy that you can’t even carry a tripod.”
The phone on the fireplace suddenly lit up, and a video call request popped up on the screen, labeled "The Wind of Paris." Zhong Hua's hand trembled slightly when he answered, and he accidentally knocked over the candlestick next to him, dripping wax onto the tablecloth and spreading it into a small amber dot.
"Good evening, lovers of Provence." Lin Wanqing's voice carried on the wind. The camera swayed slightly before finally settling on the area behind her—an endless grassland where a bonfire burned brightly, and several local children danced around it, the jingling of silver ornaments audible even through the screen. She seemed a little tanned, her hair casually tied back, revealing her smooth forehead, and the pearl earring in her left ear glittered in the firelight—it was a birthday gift from Zhong Hua years ago.
"Are you in Africa?" Ah Yu couldn't help but ask. Lin Wanqing smiled and twirled around, her skirt sweeping across the camera, revealing her mud-covered boots: "I just arrived in Kenya last week, and the starry sky here... look!" She suddenly raised her phone high, and the camera instantly filled with a sky full of stars, even more breathtaking than in photos, like someone had overturned a box of diamonds.
Zhong Hua covered her mouth, her eyes suddenly welling up with tears. She remembered that rainy day in Montmartre, Paris, when she was taking pictures of the sunset with her camera, and when she turned around, the first thing she saw in the lens was Ah Yu's wet face. At that time, Lin Wanqing had just sent her the plane ticket, and the note in the lining was still in his pocket, the handwriting blurred blue by the rain: "Go after the person who fills up your phone's photo album."
"I heard you've finished tidying up the guesthouse?" Lin Wanqing's voice pulled her back to reality. The camera focused on her face again, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "It looked like a mess in the last video, but it's habitable now?"
“It’s been ready to move in for a while now.” Zhong Hua stood up and turned the camera toward the fireplace. “Look, Ah Yu fixed the fireplace, and even baked an apple pie yesterday.” As the camera panned across the windowsill, Lin Wanqing suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! That red string is still there?”
Two strings of red ropes hung on the windowsill. They were the same two strings tied next to prayer wheels in the Tibetan area. Ah Yu secretly bought the same ones. When Zhong Hua found out about them after they returned, the two of them blushed and laughed for a long time.
"Looks like someone wasn't lying to me." Lin Wanqing raised an eyebrow, then suddenly lowered her voice, "Is the engagement ring ready? I asked a friend in Tibet to bring it back last time, did you lose it?"
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