"Oh, right," Lin Wanqing took a small box out of her bag, "a gift for you."
Zhong Hua opened it and saw a silver bookmark with three intertwined trees engraved on it. "The local craftsmen say that this is called a symbiotic tree," Lin Wanqing explained. "The roots are intertwined in the soil, but the branches and leaves each face the sun."
Just then, Ah Yu pushed open the door and came out, carrying two cups of hot cocoa. "I've been looking for you for ages." He handed one of the cups to Zhong Hua, the cup's temperature just right to warm his hands. "Lin Wanqing, Zhong Hua said she wants to invite you to stay in Provence for two months. Her newly brewed cherry wine is almost ready."
"No, thank you." Lin Wanqing waved her hand with a smile. "I'm going to Syria next month. There's a batch of vaccines I need to deliver there." She glanced at their clasped hands, then suddenly pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Ah Yu. "I almost forgot, this is for you."
It was a photograph, its edges worn and faded. It was taken three years ago in Montmartre, Paris. Zhong Hua was taking pictures of the sunset, Ah Yu was standing behind her, and Lin Wanqing, off-camera, captured the moment with her phone. On the back of the photo were small print: "Some scenery is clearer when viewed from a distance."
As Ah Yu handed the photo to Zhong Hua, her fingertips gently brushed across the sunset in the picture. The lights from the banquet hall in the distance spilled over, weaving a warm veil between the three of them. Lin Wanqing raised her juice glass to them, and also to the moon in the sky: "A toast to the past, a toast to freedom, a toast to... we have all become the people we wanted to be."
Zhong Hua and A Yu raised their glasses at the same time, the crisp sound of the glasses clinking together like a soft sigh. Zhong Hua suddenly remembered the title page of his new book, "Red Beauty," where a sentence was actually left unfinished: "Some people teach you to love, some people teach you to be brave, and the best encounter is when you finally dare to embrace both of these things at the same time."
As the evening breeze swept across the terrace again, Lin Wanqing's laughter drifted away on the wind. Ah Yu looked down at Zhong Hua and saw her carefully tucking the photo into her notebook. The page with the photo was printed with a picture of the two of them sharing a glass of mulled wine during the first snow at the guesthouse, the lip print on the rim of the glass spreading across the paper like a flower that never fades.
In the banquet hall in the distance, someone was playing the piano; the melody was "Moonlight Sonata." Zhong Hua listened for a while, then suddenly turned to Lin Wanqing and said, "Come to Provence next spring. I'll teach you how to make cherry wine, and Ah Yu will fix your fireplace."
Lin Wanqing watched them smile at each other, her eyes as gentle as melted honey. She nodded, raised her glass, and clinked it against the moon again—this time, it seemed as if the sound of three glasses was gently mingling in the wind.
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