"Where did you choose the address?" Zhong Hua interrupted him, the screwdriver in his hand clattering to the ground. Sunlight streamed in through the window, drawing a shimmering circle on the toe of his shoe, like a brand new beginning.
III. Time Passed By in the Aroma of Bread
The studio was located next to the bakery, in what used to be an abandoned garage. On the day the walls were painted, Ah Yu insisted on using a sky blue, saying it "looked like a lake in Qinghai." Lin Wanqing bought a string of wind chimes and hung them at the door. When the wind blew, they jingled, mingling with the sound of the bakery's oven, creating the liveliest background noise on the street corner.
Zhong Hua gave Ah Yu the window seat on his desk, where the light was best and it was perfect for still life photography. He himself set up an old desk in the corner, with a calculator and a coaster woven by Lin Wanqing in the drawer. Occasionally, when he looked up, he could see Ah Yu dozing off on the camera, drool almost dripping onto the lens, just like when he used to sleep on his drawing board in college.
One evening, Su Rui suddenly appeared at the door, dragging a suitcase. "The Beijing project is over." She looked at the photos hanging on the wall—there were smiling children, a sunset over the Seine, and a group photo of the three of them, taken at the studio entrance. Ah Yu was making a peace sign, Lin Wanqing was smiling with her eyes narrowed, and Zhong Hua stood in the middle, the curve of his mouth just big enough to catch a wisp of wind.
“You’ve changed,” Su Rui said, her fingertips tracing the group photo. “Before, you were always dressed in a suit and tie, standing ramrod straight when taking pictures.”
Zhong Hua poured her a cup of coffee: "The sunlight here is softer."
Su Rui smiled and took out a USB drive from her bag: "These are the documents you requested. I had someone organize them." She paused, "Actually, I should have thought of this earlier. The potted green plant in your office has a label that says 'Paris Exclusive'."
That night, Ah Yu made scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and it tasted exactly like the ones in the university cafeteria. Lin Wanqing opened a bottle of red wine, saying they wanted to celebrate "Zhong Hua completely shedding his capitalist identity." Su Rui sat between them, watching Ah Yu snatch the eggs from Zhong Hua's bowl, watching Lin Wanqing push the drunken Ah Yu into a chair, and suddenly said, "I used to think that Zhong Hua's life should be a precise clock, accurate to the second."
Zhong Hua held up his wine glass, the moonlight streaming in from the window, creating shimmering silver hues in the wine: "I'm only just realizing now that being a little slow on the uptake sometimes is actually quite nice."
The day Su Rui left, Zhong Hua went to see her off. At the airport security checkpoint, she turned around and said, "Last year at the summit, you said you envied me for daring to quit my job to learn pottery. Actually, at that time, I was thinking that the light in your eyes was brighter than any trophy."
Zhong Hua watched her walk into the crowd, and suddenly remembered many years ago, also at the airport, when he saw A Yu and Lin Wanqing off to Paris. A Yu hugged his neck and cried, "I've been waiting for you!" Lin Wanqing quietly slipped him a piece of candy, saying, "Suck on it if you miss home." He kept that candy in his drawer for a long time afterward; the wrapper had faded.
IV. The Answer in the Windmill
The studio's first charity exhibition was held in the church's basement. On opening day, Zhong Hua stood at the entrance, watching people stop in front of the photographs. One of the photos was one he had taken: Ah Yu was squatting in a wheat field, holding a camera up to the sky, Lin Wanqing standing behind him, putting a straw hat on his head, the wind lifting her skirt like a white butterfly.
"This one's nice." Someone patted him on the shoulder. It was the bakery owner, holding a large cake. "My daughter said this is what happiness looks like."
Zhong Hua laughed. He remembered going to the farm last week to take pictures. Ah Yu insisted on climbing up the windmill to take pictures, but got stuck on the ladder and couldn't get down. Lin Wanqing was laughing so hard she couldn't stand up straight. He called her an "idiot" as he climbed up. The three of them huddled together inside the windmill, listening to the whooshing sound of the blades spinning, like they were singing a song out of tune.
As the exhibition closed, dusk had already fallen over the church steeple. Ah Yu, clutching the proceeds from selling the photos, grinned from ear to ear: "That's enough to buy ten new beds for the orphanage!" Lin Wanqing pulled out her phone: "I ordered pizza to celebrate!"
Zhong Hua lagged behind, watching their backs as they frolicked under the streetlights. Suddenly, he felt that fate might just be a series of coincidences: meeting on a rainy day, having an empty attic, needing someone who knew how to run a business, and finally daring to say, "I want to stay."
Back in the studio, the aroma of pizza filled the room. Ah Yu pasted the "Best Photographer" certificate above Zhong Hua's desk, and Lin Wanqing brought over three glasses of cola, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The wind chimes outside the window started chiming again, mingling with the sound of the bakery's closing curtains, like a gentle lullaby.
Zhong Hua picked up his camera and pressed the shutter. The moment the flash went off, he saw that half of the pizza in Ah Yu's hand had fallen, Lin Wanqing was laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach, and his own reflection in the lens, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes filled with light, as if years of waiting had been brewed into sweetness.
Late at night, he sat by the window organizing photos and found that Lin Wanqing had drawn a small windmill in his notebook at some point, with the words "Some roads, it's okay to walk slowly, what matters is who you walk with" written next to it.
Moonlight streamed in through the window, casting a silvery glow on the handwriting. Zhong Hua recalled that rainy day when he first arrived in Paris. He stood on the street, watching strangers walk by with their umbrellas, feeling an emptiness in his heart, as if he had lost something. Now, the studio lights were on, the aroma of the bakery next door wafted over, and Ah Yu's snoring drifted from the sofa like a comforting lullaby.
He picked up his phone and sent Su Rui a photo: it was of three people in a windmill, with rotating blades in the background, and three crooked names carved on them at some point.
The wind chimes rang again the moment the send button was pressed. Zhong Hua looked up and saw moonlight filtering through the church steeple, casting long, thin shadows on the ground, like a bridge leading to tomorrow. And on the other side of that bridge, it seemed, lay the lakes of Qinghai, the lilies of the valley in the university dormitory, and countless "futures" that had been betrayed, all transformed into the moonlight on the windowsill at this moment, gently falling upon his shoulders.
Perhaps fate has no standard answer. So-called fulfillment is simply having the courage to turn "what if" into "what is happening." Just like now, the wind blows through the attic window, carrying the aroma of bread, the laughter of friends, and all the belated hugs, gently swirling in time.
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