Charity Gala Gathering: Lin Wanqing Receives Humanitarian Award, Ah Yu Presents Award, Three People Show Mutual Appreciation
The light from the crystal chandelier flowed like a melting galaxy, across every inch of the silk tablecloth in the banquet hall. Zhong Hua's fingers tightened slightly as she held the champagne glass, the condensation on the glass slipping through her fingers and into her sleeve, bringing a touch of coolness—she stared at the gradually clearing figure at the entrance. Three years had passed, and Lin Wanqing's features had been honed by the Sahara's winds and sands into sharper lines. She wore an apricot-colored long dress under a camel-colored trench coat, and a silver camel brooch adorned her collar—a birthday gift that Ah Yu had sent her from Tibet last year.
"Nervous?" Ah Yu's palm covered the back of her hand, the warmth seeping through the thin velvet gloves. He was wearing a dark gray suit today, with half a lavender-colored handkerchief peeking out of his left breast pocket, which Zhong Hua had folded for him that morning. Zhong Hua shook her head, but her gaze didn't leave Lin Wanqing's back as the host led her to the guest seats: "She's lost weight."
Ah Yu followed her gaze and saw Lin Wanqing bending down to talk to an elderly woman in a wheelchair, the curve of her profile softening in the warm light. He suddenly remembered three years ago in Montmartre, Paris, when Zhong Hua turned around with her camera, and the first image reflected in the lens was of himself, also at a distance, watching the sunset in her eyes spread to her eyebrows.
“After all, I spent eight months in the refugee camp,” Ah Yu said softly, her fingertips tracing the silver ring on Zhong Hua’s ring finger—the ring she bought in Tibet, the words “May you be happy” written by Lin Wanqing on the bottom of the box already gleaming from being worn. Zhong Hua suddenly smiled and reached out to straighten the crooked handkerchief he was wearing: “Don’t let your hands shake when you present the award.”
As the lights dimmed, Zhong Hua heard her own heartbeat blend into the symphony. The big screen began playing award-winning short films. In one scene, Lin Wanqing knelt in the mud of a refugee camp, feeding nutrient solutions to children emaciated to the bone, her hair dusty with sand; another scene showed her on a boat in the Congo River, coordinating medical supplies with a satellite phone, her white shirt drenched in torrential rain; finally, the scene settled on the Kenyan savanna, where she held a rescued baby elephant, the orange sunset behind her, her smile revealing her small tiger teeth—a stark contrast to the aloof socialite holding champagne at the party years ago.
"Next, please welcome this year's Humanitarian Award winner—Ms. Lin Wanqing!"
As the spotlight followed Lin Wanqing onto the stage, Zhong Hua noticed a band-aid on the heel of her right high heel. Last winter, during a video call, Lin Wanqing had mentioned being bitten by a snake in the desert, and her ankle still ached slightly. She instinctively gripped Ah Yu's hand, only to find his palms were also sweaty.
"Thank you to the organizing committee, and thank you to all my partners on the front lines." Lin Wanqing's voice came through the microphone, a little hoarse. "But standing here today, I want to especially thank two people." She paused, her gaze landing precisely on the third row of the audience. "They made me understand that redemption is never about walking through the darkness alone, but about knowing that someone is there in the light, keeping a light on for you."
Zhong Hua's eyelashes trembled. She recalled the truth-revealing press conference three years ago, when she stood on the stage with her leg pinned in, her hands shaking so much she couldn't hold her prepared remarks. Suddenly, a familiar light shone from below the stage—Ah Yu was holding up the recording pen she had left behind, the screen lit up, as if saying, "Don't panic, I'm here." At that time, Lin Wanqing was in Paris distributing tents to refugees, her phone looping the live stream of the press conference.
As the award ceremony music began, Ah Yu took a deep breath and accepted the trophy from the hostess. Every step he took onto the stage felt like stepping on fragments of memory: the overlapping fingertips on the prison window, the ginkgo leaves in Zhong Hua's hair during the mudslide, the words "Go chase after the person who fills your phone's photo album" hidden in the plane ticket Lin Wanqing sent him... The path pieced together by these fragments ultimately led him to this place.
Lin Wanqing stopped in front of him, tilting her head slightly to look at him. Her eyes held a glimmer of light, like crushed desert stars. "Long time no see, Ah Yu," she said in a low voice, only the two of them could hear, "Zhong Hua's lavender field should be blooming by now, right?"
“We just harvested the first batch last month.” Ah Yu’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and as she handed over the trophy, her fingertips accidentally brushed against hers. “She pickled a bottle of honey lavender, saying she’d wait for you to come back and try it.”
The moment Lin Wanqing accepted the trophy, she suddenly smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes: "You two..." She didn't finish her sentence, instead raising the trophy and bowing to the audience. As the camera panned across her, Zhong Hua noticed a red string on her left wrist as she held the trophy—exactly the same one she had tied to the prayer wheel in Tibet years ago.
Halfway through the banquet, Zhong Hua went to the terrace for some fresh air. The evening breeze, carrying the dampness of the Seine, ruffled the stray hairs at her temples. She heard footsteps behind her, thinking it was Ah Yu, but when she turned around, she met Lin Wanqing's smiling eyes.
“He was pestered by reporters.” Lin Wanqing shook the juice glass in her hand. “They said they wanted to make a promotional video for the ‘Truth Foundation’ and insisted on telling him how they discovered the arson video back then.”
Zhong Hua leaned against the railing, watching the lights of the Eiffel Tower flicker in the twilight: "Why didn't you ever tell us about your time in Africa?"
“What’s there to say?” Lin Wanqing lowered her head and stirred the ice in her glass. “It’s just that I’ve seen too many partings and deaths, and that’s why I understand how you felt when you were watching over each other outside the ICU.” She suddenly looked up, her eyes clear. “I met a little girl in a refugee camp who was always holding a piece of broken glass and looking at the sun, saying that she could see her deceased mother that way. That reminded me of you in the ICU, when your eyelashes trembled.”
Zhong Hua's heart clenched. She remembered that when Ah Yu read out "the person I want to thank the most," she was actually awake, but she couldn't open her eyes. Hearing the sob in his voice felt like a thread pulling her heart up, and tears slid down her cheeks and into her hair. Later, Lin Wanqing wrote in a letter that when she saw the news in Paris, she was fitting prosthetics to a boy who had lost both legs, and suddenly she squatted down and cried.
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