The overlap of yeast and stars
Before his five o'clock alarm even rang, Zhong Hua was awakened by the aroma of freshly baked bread. The smell was like a gentle hand, slipping through the crack in the bedroom door and lightly tickling his nose—the aroma of freshly baked baguette mixed with the scent of whole wheat, and a hint of the barely perceptible orange zest that A-Yu always secretly added. He squinted and turned over; the faint light filtering through the curtains fell on the photo frame on the bedside table. In the photo, A-Yu was holding a kite by Qinghai Lake, the setting sun casting a long shadow of hers, like a golden peony unfurling.
The kitchen was already lit by a warm yellow light. Ayu, wearing her faded blue apron, was pressing the kneaded dough into a wooden mold. A small pinch of baking powder was sprinkled on the countertop, the tiny white foam shimmering under the light, like someone had ground stars into powder. Her movements were very light; when her fingertips pressed through the dough, they left faint fingerprints, those lines reminding Zhong Hua of the folds of the ribbons of flying apsaras in the Mogao Grottoes murals in Dunhuang last year—soft yet resilient.
"Awake?" Ayu didn't turn her head, her voice soft and sweet from just waking up. "Wait ten more minutes, I made walnut and cranberry today."
Zhong Hua shuffled over in his slippers and gently wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. The warmth of the dough seeped through her cotton apron, mingling with the faint scent of soap pods she wore, like they'd just been sun-dried. "Up so early again," he said, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Didn't you say you were going to take a break yesterday?"
“The bees on the back hill seem to be getting active,” Ayu said, picking up a scraper to smooth the dough around the edge of the mold. “I have to preheat the oven before they come out, otherwise…” Before she could finish speaking, a muffled clap of thunder suddenly sounded outside the window.
Large raindrops pounded against the windowpane, creating a loud pattering sound. Zhong Hua frowned; this year's rainy season had come unusually hard. Just a few days ago, he'd heard that half of the old locust tree on the back hill had been blown down by the wind. Ayu put down her squeegee, went to the window, and peered out, her brow furrowing as well: "Oh no, the beehive on the back hill looks like it's right under that old locust tree..."
Before she could finish speaking, another bolt of lightning struck, illuminating the plants in the backyard that were being tossed about by the fierce wind. Ayu cried out in surprise, suddenly clutching her wrist and taking a half-step back. Zhong Hua quickly went over and saw two red bumps swollen on her left wrist, turning bright red at a visible speed.
"You got stung?" He quickly grabbed her hand. "Did it fly in when we opened the window?"
“No,” Ayu winced in pain, “the heavy rain must have washed away the beehive and the bees flew into the yard…” Before she could finish speaking, two more bees buzzed against the screen window, one of them squeezing through the crack and flying toward the worktable—where a bowl of honey was to be kneaded into the dough.
Zhong Hua reacted quickly, grabbing a rag and swatting the bee dead. Then he hurriedly pulled Ayu to the pool to wash her wound. Rainwater mixed with tap water gushed out, and her wrist was already as red as a maple leaf, with tiny bee stings still remaining on it.
"Don't move," Zhong Hua said, pulling cotton swabs and tweezers from his first-aid kit. "It hurts a little, just bear with it." He carefully used the tweezers to hold the bee stinger, gently pulled it out, and then applied some iodine to disinfect it. Ayu winced in pain, but still smiled at him: "It's nothing, it just feels like a needle prick."
Zhong Hua knew she was afraid of pain. Last year, while hiking in Yubeng Village, she accidentally cut her ankle on loose rocks, and just like that, she gritted her teeth and said it was nothing, but her eyes were already filled with tears. He put down the tweezers, opened the bowl of honey, dipped a clean cotton swab in a thick layer, and gently applied it to her wound.
“Honey reduces swelling,” he said gently. As the cotton swab brushed against her skin, Ayu twitched her fingers, itching. “The herdsman taught me that when we were at Qinghai Lake.”
The sweet scent of honey mingled with the smell of iodine. Ayu looked down at his focused profile, the lamplight casting a soft shadow on his eyelashes. Rain continued to patter against the window, but the kitchen was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard. After applying the honey, Zhong Hua carefully placed a band-aid on his face before looking up, his gaze meeting hers.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked.
Ayu nodded, then suddenly exclaimed "Eh!" and pointed to the control panel. Zhong Hua followed her gaze and saw their intertwined shadows reflected on the stainless steel surface—he was leaning slightly forward, she was sitting on a small stool, and his hand was still holding her wrist. Their shadows were stretched long by the warm light, their heads touching, and the outline of their intertwined arms looked exactly like the flying apsaras in the murals he had seen in the Mogao Grottoes of Dunhuang that day.
The apsaras, their robes fluttering, moved with effortless grace, as if they might leap from the wall at any moment. Ayu had even tiptoed closer to see, remarking that the colors, painted over a thousand years, still looked brand new. Now, the shadow on the table, lacking the vibrant colors of the mural, possessed the same gentle tenderness. Honey slowly seeped into the wound, bringing a cool sensation, while the shadow on the table seemed to be bathed in a warm, golden light.
“It really looks like it,” Ayu said softly, her fingers tracing the outline of the shadow on the table. “Look, this is a ribbon, this is…”
Zhong Hua didn't speak, but watched her fingers trace warm lines on the cold stainless steel surface. He suddenly remembered that afternoon in Dunhuang, when sunlight streamed through the small windows of the cave, falling on the murals and on Ayu's upturned face. She had said then, "Look, their eyes seem to follow people."
Now, even the shadows on the countertop seem to come alive. The torrential rain outside the window continues to rage, and the buzzing of bees occasionally drifts through the screen, but the kitchen feels like a small enchanted space. Tiny white foam from baking powder still lingers on the countertop, and the aroma of toasting bread gradually intensifies, mingling with the sweetness of honey and the pungent smell of rainwater to create a wondrous atmosphere.
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