"Here." Lin Wanqing handed over a paper bag containing freshly baked croissants. "You mentioned in a previous interview that you love the smell of freshly baked butter the most."
Ah Yu took the paper bag, his fingertips touching the back of her hand, which was icy cold, like meltwater from the snow-capped mountains of Tibet. Only then did he notice that her trench coat pockets were bulging, as if they contained something.
“This is the key to the attic we shared,” she said, pulling a bunch of brass keys from her pocket. The keychain was a ginkgo leaf, exactly the same as the one in Zhong Hua’s room. “I’ve tidied up your room. On the desk is the copy of ‘Paris Notebook’ that you said you wanted to read last time.”
Ah Yu clutched the key, suddenly remembering what Zhong Hua had said on the snow mountain. Back then, she leaned on his shoulder watching the prayer wheel, the red string spinning in the wind: "Sister Wanqing always keeps our preferences in mind, but never mentions what she wants herself."
The attic was on the top floor of an old building, and you could see the Sacred Heart Cathedral in the distance just by opening the wooden window. When Lin Wanqing pushed open his door, Ah Yu was stunned—there was a framed photo on the desk, containing a picture of his father's brass key, with a red string tied to the keychain, the same color as the one Zhong Hua tied to the prayer wheel.
“I asked my lawyer to find it,” Lin Wanqing said, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed. “After your father’s case was overturned, this key has been kept in the evidence room. I think you’ll probably want to keep it.”
Ah Yu walked over, her fingertips tracing the key in the photo. Her father was the first victim of the Gu family's shady dealings; to protect evidence, his death was staged as an accident. The truth wasn't revealed until Gu Yanting's suicide note contained the arson video. The lawyer who found that suicide note was someone Lin Wanqing had arranged.
“Wanqing,” he turned around, his Adam’s apple bobbing, “you don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Lin Wanqing’s gaze fell on the silver ring box in his hand, which he had brought from Tibet and had never parted from. “But Ah Yu, do you remember? At the party back then, you said, ‘The truly important people should be kept where you can touch them.’”
She paused, walked to the window, and caught a falling ginkgo leaf: "Zhong Hua is the person you cherish most, but you shouldn't make her wait too long, nor should you put yourself in such a difficult position."
Ah Yu's fingertips clenched the ring box tightly, the three words "Be Happy" on the bottom of the box digging painfully into her palm. It was a note that Lin Wanqing had included in a package she sent when they were in Tibet; the handwriting was more forceful than usual, and the ink was visible through the back of the paper.
IV. Reflections in the Coffee Cup
In the afternoon café, sunlight slanted across the table. Lin Wanqing was processing emails for a charity project, while Ah Yu flipped through the newspaper she had brought. The front page featured an interview with Zhong Hua, titled "From President's Wife to Truth Guardian."
In the photo, Zhong Hua is standing in front of the "Truth Foundation" sign, wearing a simple white shirt, his hair tied in a ponytail, and a red string around his neck—the same one he secretly tied next to the prayer wheel, bought from the same store.
“She called me yesterday,” Lin Wanqing suddenly said, her fingers pausing as she typed. “She said she met an old woman in Tibet who said, ‘When a red string is tied to a prayer wheel, your longing will travel on the wind and reach the ears of the person you miss.’”
Ah Yu's coffee spoon made a soft sound as it scraped the bottom of the cup. He remembered that day on the Xueshan Rehabilitation Road. When Zhong Hua tied the red string, he closed his eyes and silently prayed for a long time. He secretly tied the same string next to him, thinking, "May Zhong Hua be safe and sound, and may Wan Qing have a smooth life."
“She also said,” Lin Wanqing’s voice lowered, “that seeing the photos in your phone’s album and knowing that you’re doing well is enough.”
Ah Yu suddenly looked up. There was an encrypted video in his phone's photo album, taken after the truth-revealing press conference: Zhong Hua was sitting on the steps backstage, and Lin Wanqing was squatting in front of her, putting a band-aid on her. The two of them were leaning their heads together, like two reeds supporting each other.
"Wanqing," his voice was a little hoarse, "did you already know that I would choose..."
“What you choose isn’t important,” Lin Wanqing interrupted him, taking a sip of her coffee. “What matters is whether you have any regrets when you make your choice.”
She put down her cup, the lipstick stain on the rim spreading into a small circle on the milk foam: "Back then, when I chose to leave, it wasn't because I abandoned you, but because I knew Zhong Hua needed you by her side, and I also had my own battlefield to defend. Now that I've defended my battlefield, it's time for you to go and defend yours."
Ah Yu gazed out the window; the dome of the Sacred Heart Cathedral shimmered in the sunlight. He suddenly recalled a photo of Lin Wanqing's charity station: she stood among refugees, her blue dress fluttering in the wind, holding a loaf of bread, her smile brighter than the white doves of the cathedral. In the background of the photo, a child held up a drawing of three little figures holding hands, with a sun painted above their heads.
“This porridge,” he suddenly said, rubbing his fingertips against the warm bowl, “tastes just like the porridge my mother used to make.”
Lin Wanqing looked up at him, her eyes shining like the sunset over Montmartre: "Then next time, I'll teach you how to cook it."
V. Unmailed postcards
When Ah Yu returned to the attic in the evening, she found a postcard in her mailbox. It was from Tibet, and the picture showed a prayer wheel with red ropes fluttering in the wind. On the back was Zhong Hua's handwriting, which was very elegant: "Ah Yu, the prayer wheel has been turned three thousand times, and the red rope is still intact. Sister Wanqing said that the ginkgo leaves in Paris have turned yellow, so you should wear an extra coat."
His fingertips trembled slightly as he held the postcard. He suddenly remembered what Lin Wanqing had said in the coffee shop: "When Zhong Hua tied the red string to the prayer wheel, she secretly made three wishes. One was for you, one was for me, and the other was for herself."
When the attic light came on, Lin Wanqing was standing in the kitchen frying steak. Ah Yu walked over and saw her cutting the steak into small pieces, arranging a circle of broccoli around the edge of the plate, just like his father used to do.
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