“Look.” Zhong Hua suddenly pointed out the window. When Ah Yu looked up, she saw wisps of clouds emerging from behind the snow-capped mountains, just like the rain clouds on the day they first met. Three years ago at the Gu Group’s banquet, the clouds were just like that, hanging low. Zhong Hua was hiding behind a pillar with his camera. The first thing he saw in the lens was him, and then Lin Wanqing holding a glass of champagne.
“That day you were wearing a suit, and there was a ginkgo leaf stuck to the cuff.” Zhong Hua’s voice suddenly softened, like snow melting in the sun. “I thought to myself, how can this person be so good-looking even when he’s making a mess?”
Ah Yu's ears felt a little hot, and he hurriedly reached for the wooden box in his pocket. The coolness of the silver ring seeped through the thin wooden pieces, and he suddenly remembered what Lin Wanqing had said in the lining of her suicide note: "Ah Yu, in Zhong Hua's interview transcript, there are three blank lines after 'the person I want to thank the most'."
"Zhong Hua." As he knelt down on one knee, the sound of his knee hitting the frozen ground startled the sparrows under the eaves, causing them to fly away again. The moment the wooden box was opened, the Tibetan wind, carrying the scent of lavender, rushed in, and a flash of light suddenly appeared on the inside of the silver ring—it was three words that Lin Wanqing had asked the old silversmith to carve: "Be happy."
Zhong Hua's tears fell onto the ring, creating a small mist. She remembered waking up in the ICU, with A Yu dozing by the bedside, her eyelashes still wet with her tears; she remembered their reunion in Paris in the rain, his umbrella always tilted towards her; she remembered every morning in Tibet, he would bring her a cup of warm butter tea.
"I do." Her voice was carried far by the wind. Ah Yu suddenly felt that these three words had been growing in his heart for three years and had finally blossomed.
As he slipped the ring onto her ring finger, he suddenly realized that the silver band, which had been made in Tibet for three months, perfectly matched the crack in the jade pendant. Zhong Hua smiled, raising his hand. Sunlight filtered through his fingers, casting a crooked circle on the blanket, much like the outline of the lavender field in Lin Wanqing's photograph.
The postman's motorcycle roared to life again, and this time the young girl rushed in, carrying a brown paper package: "It's an urgent package for Miss Lin Wanqing! I just arrived in the county town and brought it to you!"
When Ah Yu opened it, a photo frame fell out. Under the glass were three photos: the first was of them at a cocktail party, their shadows forming a heart in the moonlight; the second was of Lin Wanqing on the African savanna, holding a wine glass to the starry sky; the third was blank, with the words "Waiting for your wedding photos" written on the back.
Zhong Hua suddenly hugged Ah Yu's neck. The wind from Tibet slipped through her hair, carrying the scent of lavender, the coolness of jade pendants, and the rustling of prayer flags. She remembered the last sentence in her mother's letter: "Back then, I was always afraid you would suffer, but now I understand that the person who can make you laugh is the best home for you."
The prayer wheels in the distance were still turning, and the red knots tied together by the prayer wheels fluttered in the wind. When Ah Yu lowered her head to kiss Zhong Hua's forehead, she saw the silver ring on her ring finger, which, along with the ancestral jade pendant, shone gently in the sunlight—like the secrets of three people, which had finally grown into a smooth path for each other in the winds of Tibet.
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