Crossroads in Time
Chapter 1: The Unopened Gift
Zhong Hua squatted in the corner of the storage room, his fingertips brushing against the gift box covered in a thin layer of dust. The red ribbon gleamed warmly under the fluorescent light, just like the warmth of Ah Yu's hand when she smiled and placed it in his hands on their wedding day three years ago. "We'll open it when the baby turns one," Ah Yu's voice was tinged with the smell of alcohol, but her eyes shone with an astonishing light, "There's a surprise inside."
He had intended to open the box at his daughter Nian'an's first birthday party, but the noise from the party distracted him. Nian'an was currently lying on the carpet, chewing on building blocks, her babbling drifting in from the living room. Zhong Hua untied the ribbon; inside lay a walnut wood photo frame. The photo was of their backs on their wedding day—he and Ayu standing side-by-side at the end of the red carpet, with Lin Wanqing in a white dress behind them. The three shadows were stretched long by the setting sun, overlapping on the ground to form a complete heart.
On the back of the photo frame was a line of small print in Ah Yu's handwriting: "We will always be a triangle, and we can't do without any of us."
Zhong Hua's Adam's apple bobbed. His phone vibrated in his pocket; it was a video request from Ah Yu. The screen showed him and Lin Wanqing on the banks of the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower glowing in the background. "Can Nian'an call me 'Uncle' yet?" Ah Yu held up the phone and twirled around, while Lin Wanqing smiled and waved beside him, her stray hairs blowing wildly in the wind.
“She can only vaguely call out ‘Yu’ now,” Zhong Hua turned the camera to her daughter on the carpet, “When are you coming back?”
“I’ll be back after the charity project ends next month,” Lin Wanqing snatched the phone, “and brought her favorite macarons.”
After hanging up the phone, Zhong Hua placed the photo frame in the most prominent position on the bookshelf. Nian An had climbed over at some point, patting the glass with her little hands and giggling. He suddenly remembered that rainy night seven years ago, when the three of them huddled under the eaves of a convenience store, watching the rain blur the halo of the streetlights. The owner handed over three cups of hot cocoa, saying, "The fate of young people is like this rain; it looks chaotic, but it always finds its place."
Chapter Two: Echoes in the Rainy Night
The warm light from the convenience store streamed through the glass windows, casting rectangular patches of light on the damp sidewalk. Ah Yu's fingers, white as she held the hot cocoa, Zhong Hua's suit shoulders were still dripping wet, and Lin Wanqing took off her scarf, folded it into a square, and placed it on the cold bench.
"So you're really going to Paris?" Ah Yu's voice was more frequent than raindrops.
Zhong Hua nodded, pressing his fingertips into circles of watermarks on the paper cup: "Company transfer order, leaving at the beginning of next month."
Lin Wanqing suddenly smiled and took out a sketchbook from her bag: "I drew a picture in front of the Louvre last year. When you go there, help me see if it's still hanging in the gallery on the street corner."
The rain didn't stop until late that night. Zhong Hua took Lin Wanqing home, while Ah Yu sat alone at the entrance of the convenience store, watching the owner pack up his stall. "Young man," the owner said, wiping the glass, "some people are like umbrellas, sheltering you from the rain; some people are like roads, leading you far away."
At this moment, Ah Yu stood in front of the same convenience store, with Lin Wanqing beside her. The rain in Paris was finer than it had been years ago, weaving a dampness into the air. The owner was now a blonde girl, who, seeing the old photos in their hands, tilted her head and thought for a long time: "Seven years ago? My mother said that three Chinese people stayed here until dawn and even left a painting on the wall."
The painting was still there, carefully framed in glass. It was painted by Lin Wanqing that night, depicting three crooked little figures standing inside a heart. Ah Yu reached out and touched the glass, the warmth of his fingertips condensing the moisture into a small mist. "She always said," Lin Wanqing leaned on his shoulder, "that the crossroads of fate seem numerous, but in fact, each one connects to your past self."
Chapter Three: The Name of the First Birthday Banquet
Nian'an's first birthday party was held on a lawn on the outskirts of the city. The wind made the balloons sway gently, and Zhong Hua held his daughter while watching A Yu and Lin Wanqing scrambling to flip their steaks at the grill.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" Lin Wanqing called out, holding up a skewer of sausages.
Zhong Hua looked down; his daughter was playing with his tie. "Nian'an," he said, "Nian as in longing, An as in peace."
Ah Yu walked over, holding a bottle of orange juice: "Lin Wanqing said that this name sounds like a poem."
"What else did she say?" Zhong Hua laughed.
“She said,” Ah Yu’s voice softened, “that every postcard you sent from Paris back then had ‘Peace be with you’ written on the back.”
Zhong Hua recalled those postcards. The morning light over the Seine, the twilight over Montmartre—each one bore a different postmark, yet all addressed to the same address. He thought those words would be lost forever, until six months later when he received a reply from Lin Wanqing. It contained only a drawing: three little figures standing at a fork in the road, waving in the same direction.
Cheers erupted from the other side of the lawn. Nian'an was carried away by Lin Wanqing, her little arms and legs flailing as she tried to catch the rainbow-colored bubbles. Ah Yu handed Zhong Hua a glass of wine, and the two glasses clinked lightly together. "Tell me," Zhong Hua said, gazing at the distant crowd, "what if you hadn't persuaded me to go to Paris back then?"
Ah Yu's gaze fell on Lin Wanqing, who was teaching Nian An to blow bubbles. Her profile looked like a translucent piece of jade in the sunlight. "I'm probably still debating whether to compete with you for the same project," he laughed, "while she's probably still painting the starry sky in a refugee camp in Africa."
Zhong Hua tilted his head back and took a sip of wine, the slightly astringent warmth sliding down his throat. In the distance, the windmills were spinning merrily, the small words printed on the blades flickering in the wind—it was written by Lin Wanqing: "All encounters are unfinished."
Chapter Four: Kites on the Grassland
When Nian'an was three years old, they went to the Inner Mongolian grasslands. Zhong Hua ran with his daughter, the kite string tightening and loosening in their hands. A Yu and Lin Wanqing sat on the picnic mat, watching the kite with a heart printed on it fly higher and higher.
"What do you think we're doing right now in a parallel universe?" Lin Wanqing suddenly asked.
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