Career Turning Point: Following Your Heart's Desire, Moving Forward with Unwavering Dedication
Autumn in Paris always carries a perfect gentleness. Plane tree leaves carpet the banks of the Seine in a golden hue, and the evening breeze carries the aroma of coffee through the stone steps of Montmartre. Ah Yu stands before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his studio, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the thin frost that has condensed on the glass. Outside, he has created a floral world that he has crafted himself—in the warm yellow light, hydrangeas and lisianthus unfurl in ceramic vases, the scent of eucalyptus mingling with the buttery aroma wafting from the bakery next door, creating the most familiar smells to him in this city.
His phone vibrated on the desktop, and the name flashing on the screen made him gasp – “International Floral Design Competition Organizing Committee.” This was the third time in three years he had received an invitation to participate. The difference this year was that the email included a line of bold text: “The winner will receive an exclusive contract to collaborate with the world’s top floral brand ‘Verdure’ and be based at its New York headquarters.”
The pen left a small blot of ink on the design drawing. Ah Yu looked at the wisteria trellis entwined on the sketch and suddenly remembered when he first arrived in Paris three years ago. He rented this attic room of less than 20 square meters in the Marais district, and Lin Wanqing climbed the ladder to help him nail the shelves on the wall, her high heels tapping a light rhythm on the wooden floor: "When your studio can fit ten bunches of sunflowers, you'll have truly taken root."
Today, a row of sunflowers does indeed stand in the corner of the studio, and the water in the glass bottles is changed every day, like some kind of stubborn ritual.
"Still struggling with the blueprints?" Lin Wanqing's voice came from the doorway. She took off her camel coat and draped it over her arm, carrying a brown paper bag in her hand. "The crepes at that shop on the corner have sea salt caramel in them. You said you wanted to try them last time."
When Ah Yu turned around, she was placing the crepes on the enamel tray on the counter. Warm light fell on her eyelashes, casting delicate shadows under her eyes—she had lost some weight in the past three years, but gained a quiet strength, just like the off-white knitwear she always wore, seemingly soft, yet able to wrap up any sudden chill.
"Did you receive an email from Verdure?" Lin Wanqing picked up the design drawing stained with ink, her fingertip lightly touching the wisteria trellis. "You've been working on this design for three months. Are you planning to plant flowers all over the steps of Montmartre?"
Ah Yu didn't speak, but simply rummaged through the drawer and pulled out the printed email. As Lin Wanqing read the email, he stared at her fingers as she gripped the paper. Those same hands, which had been bandaging children's wounds in an African refugee camp just last month, were now making slight creases on the contract terms.
“New York winters are colder than Paris.” She suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with the twilight outside the window. “But the cherry blossoms in Central Park bloom in March, half a month earlier than in Luxembourg Gardens.”
Ah Yu's Adam's apple bobbed: "You know I'm not worried about the climate."
The clock in the studio struck seven, and the oven in the bakery next door dinged. Lin Wanqing put the email back on the table, turned around and took two mugs from the cabinet; the aroma of hot cocoa quickly wafted out.
"Do you remember when you first opened your studio, an old lady would come every day to buy a carnation?" She pushed the hot cocoa in front of Ah Yu, the water droplets condensing on the cup dripping onto the table like a string of miniature rain. "She said her husband was buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery, and there was always one less fresh flower in front of his tombstone. You opened the shop half an hour early every day just to save the freshest one for her."
Ah Yu's fingertips touched the warm cup and she suddenly remembered the old lady who always wore a navy blue trench coat. Last week, when she came to buy flowers, she had an extra yellowed photograph in her hand. The man in the photograph was wearing a 1950s suit with a carnation pinned to his chest.
“A Verdure contract can get your designs in shop windows in fifty cities around the world.” Lin Wanqing’s voice was soft, but it was like a feather brushing against the heart. “But only this studio in Marais can ensure that there are always fresh carnations in front of the tombstones in Père Lachaise Cemetery.”
The sky outside the window had completely darkened, and the streetlights cast an orange glow on the glass. Ah Yu suddenly remembered that three days ago, when he went to the city hall to submit his materials, he saw a faded poster on the wall—it was a floral installation he had designed for the community's nursing home two years ago. In the photo, hydrangeas climbed all over the white fence, and several elderly people with silver hair sat under the flower stand knitting sweaters, the sunlight overlapping their shadows into a warm, blurry mass.
“I thought you would want me to go,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of grievance he himself didn’t realize. For the past three years, Lin Wanqing had always encouraged him to go further. She helped him translate foreign language materials, accompanied him to flower fields in the suburbs to select seeds, and even quietly handed him a cup of hot tea with honey when he was being harassed by difficult clients.
Lin Wanqing smiled, picked up the design sketch stained with ink, and drew a small smiley face next to the wisteria trellis: "Last year you said you wanted to build a flower shed in the backyard of your studio so that neighborhood kids could come and learn flower arranging. Are you planning to have a designer in New York help you realize this plan?"
Ah Yu's gaze fell on that smiling face, and he suddenly remembered last Wednesday afternoon when three little girls with schoolbags were peering through the glass window of the studio. One of them, a girl with pigtails, pointed to the baby's breath in the window and whispered, "I want to give it to my sick grandma." He later gave her that bouquet of baby's breath, and the girl insisted on keeping a piece of chocolate wrapped in candy wrapper, saying she made it herself.
“During my first year doing charity work in Africa, I was always thinking about how many schools I wanted to build and how many children I wanted to help get medical treatment,” Lin Wanqing suddenly said, tracing circles on the rim of her hot cocoa cup with her fingertip. “Until a blind little girl took my hand and said she wanted to hear me describe the clouds in the sky. That’s when I realized that some things aren’t necessarily better the bigger they are. It’s already very precious if the shadow of a cloud can fall on someone’s heart.”
The clock struck again, and this time Ah Yu heard it clearly: eight. He got up and went to the workbench, laid out the design drawing stained with ink, and carefully cut away the ink-stained corners with scissors. In the remaining part, two blurry figures stood under the wisteria trellis, figures he had unconsciously drawn there last time.
This chapter is not finished yet. Please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
