That was the moment they hiked to the foot of the sacred waterfall. Melted ice water cascaded vertically from the height, and as it approached the ground, the flow seemed to be lengthened and slowed by some force. The water droplets traced elegant, slow arcs in the air, shimmering with the luster of ice crystals, as if time itself had slowed down there. At that moment, Ayu stood before the waterfall, reaching out to catch the water. The instant a droplet landed in her palm, she exclaimed, "Look, it seems like this water will never reach the ground."
Now, the cloud shadows reflected in the candy wrapper move at the same speed as the cascading water of the Yubeng Waterfall—slow, unhurried, with a rhythm that transcends real time. On the small reflective surface of the candy wrapper, they stretch and drift with the rhythm of the Yubeng Waterfall, as if the entire sky has been compressed into this yellowed candy wrapper, and time, in the tiny universe of this tin can, presents another dimension.
"Why is this happening?" Ayu murmured, as if asking Zhong Hua, or perhaps asking the sugar jar that had suddenly become so unbelievable.
Zhong Hua didn't answer. He simply held the candy wrapper, feeling the slight raised texture of the crayon color against his fingertips. The aroma of almonds still lingered in the air, though fainter, it stubbornly persisted, like an old dream that refused to fade away.
He recalled the places they had visited together: the sunset over Qinghai Lake like an overturned paint box, the camel bells of Dunhuang echoing under the starry sky, the icy lake in Yubeng Village as blue as a jewel, and the Milky Way over Namtso Lake that seemed within reach. Every place held their footprints and memories, and now, these fragments of memory had appeared in such a strange way, inside a tin can in a demolition rubble.
The train pattern corresponds to the trajectory of the hot air balloon, the crayon colors match the pattern of the mother's scarf, and the speed of the moving cloud shadows mimics the rhythm of the sacred waterfall. This is not a simple coincidence; it is more like an intricately woven code, a token that uses time and space as threads to connect the past, present, and distant geographical coordinates.
“Waiting for the train to arrive…” Zhong Hua repeated. Perhaps this train was never the kind that travels on rails. It travels on the tracks of memory, on those times we thought had long since vanished. And “arriving at the station” might just be that moment—when an old object is suddenly opened, a fragrance suddenly wafts in, a memory suddenly becomes clear, allowing us to meet again with our past selves, with those who have passed away, and with distant landscapes.
Dusk deepened, and the wind whistled through the shredded paper and dust on the ground. Ayu carefully folded the candy wrappers and put them back in the tin can, placing the yellowed cardboard underneath. On the edge of the cardboard at the bottom of the can, faint pencil marks could still be seen, as if something had been written there before, then erased by time.
“Let’s take it back,” Ayu said softly.
Zhong Hua nodded and closed the can. The rusty iron was a little cool in his palm, but he could still seem to smell the faint scent of almonds seeping out from the gaps in the metal, seeping into his skin, and into his blood.
They stood up and walked through the ruins, the bulldozers still roaring behind them. But at this moment, another sound seemed to echo in their ears—the whistle of a train arriving at the station, the burst of flames as a hot air balloon takes off, the dripping sound of the waterfall slowly falling, and the scratching sound of a child writing "Waiting for the train to arrive" on a candy wrapper with crayons.
That tin candy jar, like a ring of a tree forgotten by time, seals not only the aroma of almond candy and old wrappers, but also countless moments folded together—the sunset over Dunhuang, the sacred waterfall of Yubeng, a mother's scarf, and those gentle yet persistent moments waiting for the "train to arrive." And they, holding this jar filled with the rings of time, walk home, the ruins behind them gradually blurring in the twilight, while the lights ahead, like the cloud shadows reflected in the candy wrappers, approach them with a slow but steady pace.
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