The fragrance of herbs in the shadow of the locust tree
The old locust tree at the village entrance swayed in the wind, its leaves rustling against each other, carrying the damp coolness unique to the mountain stream. Ah Yu walked down the slope along the gravel path, her trouser legs smeared with mud from her journey. In the distance, she saw Zhong Hua sitting on the threshold of the mud-brick house. He was wrapped in a thick cotton quilt borrowed from a villager, his shoulders hunched like a curled-up cat, the edges of the black film canister in his hand white from being gripped so tightly, his knuckles turning bluish-white from excessive force.
"What are you trying to prove?" Ah Yu's voice was broken by the wind as soon as it came out, sounding a little angry, but the last syllable couldn't hide the trembling fear. He walked over quickly and handed her the warm medicine box he had been carrying in his arms; the plastic packaging had softened a little from his body heat.
Zhong Hua slowly raised his head, his forehead streaked with cold sweat and plastered to his skin. His cheeks were flushed red, as if he had been overheated by the mountain sun. But the moment he saw Ah Yu, his eyes lit up, and a weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He looked like a child who had been hiding for a long time and had finally waited for someone, still clutching a piece of candy he couldn't bear to eat. "I was afraid you would worry," he said softly, his voice hoarse with the peculiar hue of a fever, the last syllable carried on the wind, almost swallowed by the rustling of the locust leaves.
Ah Yu didn't reply, but squatted down to examine him from the height of the threshold. Zhong Hua's eyelashes were still damp, whether from sweat or morning dew, it was hard to tell. A layer of bluish stubble appeared on his chin, making him look much more haggard than in the video. He reached out to touch Zhong Hua's forehead, but stopped halfway, instead pressing the medicine box even tighter into his arms: "Take your medicine first."
"Why are you here?" Zhong Hua looked down at the instructions on the medicine box, his fingers repeatedly stroking the words "three times a day," as if trying to count the time Ah Yu had been traveling from those words.
“If you don’t come soon, some people will be wrapped in quilts and carrying cameras.” Ah Yu moved to the side, sitting down with his back against the mud wall of the adobe house. His lower back was hurting from the rough bricks. He took out a water bottle from his backpack, unscrewed the cap and handed it to him. “Lin Wanqing said that when you sent the message it was almost midnight. She was burning up with fever and still thinking about filming the terraced fields in the morning mist.”
Zhong Hua took the water bottle, his fingers brushing against Ah Yu's fingertips, the heat making Ah Yu's heart skip a beat. He watched Zhong Hua swallow the pills with the water, the movement of his Adam's apple revealing his weakness. He suddenly remembered that this person was like this in college—having a fever of 39 degrees Celsius, he forced himself to help the club move the last box of equipment before collapsing onto his bed back in the dorm. Back then, he had also rushed to the school doctor in a huff, gotten his medicine, and then sat by his bedside for half the night, listening to him muttering about calculating the activity budget.
“The fog in the mountains is beautiful,” Zhong Hua said, folding the empty medicine box into a small square and stuffing it into his cotton-padded trouser pocket. “Didn’t you always want to take a picture of the fog rolling through the bamboo forest?”
Ah Yu didn't speak, but simply moved closer to him, so close they could smell each other's scents. Zhong Hua smelled of bitter herbs mixed with the dampness of the mountain mist; Ah Yu probably still carried the smell of disinfectant from the train station and the earthy odor of her journey. A breeze blew through the gaps in the locust tree leaves, making Ah Yu's bangs brush against her forehead, causing a slight itch.
"Where's the film?" He glanced at the film canister in Zhong Hua's hand, reached out to take it, but Zhong Hua pulled it back into his arms.
“We’re not done filming yet.” Zhong Hua gripped the box tighter, his fingertips brushing against the cool metal casing. “When I feel better, I’ll take you to film the waterfall. I heard from the villagers yesterday that there’s a waterfall on the back mountain that has a rainbow in the morning.”
"Now you know how to cherish your life?" Ah Yu raised an eyebrow at him, but the curve of her eyes softened. He raised his hand and, this time without hesitation, gently touched Zhong Hua's cheek. Sure enough, it was still hot. "Behave yourself, or I'll hide your camera and make you count lines on the ceiling every day."
Zhong Hua didn't dodge, letting his hand rest on his face. The cool fingertips felt like a mint, clearing his feverish mind. He looked into Ah Yu's eyes, which reflected the shadow of the locust tree and his own silly appearance wrapped in a quilt. He suddenly laughed out loud: "How did you buy the ticket? I checked, the nearest train requires two transfers."
“I transferred three times.” Ah Yu withdrew her hand and pulled her coat tighter. The mornings in the mountains were really chilly, and the wind saw right into your bones. “I fell asleep in the waiting room and was woken up by the train attendant. I saw the sky just beginning to lighten, just like the sunrise at Qinghai Lake that you photographed.”
"Are you cold?" Zhong Hua wanted to share half of the quilt with him, but Ah Yu stopped him as soon as he lifted a corner.
“I’m wearing a lot of layers.” Ah Yu patted his windbreaker, which Zhong Hua had given him last year. The windproof fabric still had frost stains from when he took pictures of the snow scene last time. “But you, wrap yourself up in the blanket, don’t catch a cold again.”
The two sat leaning against the mud-brick house, neither speaking. The shadow of the old locust tree moved slowly across the ground, like a stretched pendulum. In the distance came the shouts of villagers herding cattle, mingled with the crowing of roosters, enlivening the mountain morning. Ah Yu looked at Zhong Hua's profile; sunlight filtered through the leaves, falling on his flushed cheekbones like scattered gold dust. Suddenly, she remembered she still had her camera in her backpack.
He quietly took out his camera, muted it, and pointed the lens at Zhong Hua. He then realized that the man was staring at him, his gaze burning hotter than his body. His hand trembled, and the shutter sound couldn't be hidden; it was exceptionally clear in the quiet morning light.
"What are you filming?" Zhong Hua smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes radiating warmth.
"Take a picture of a patient who's showing off." Ah Yu tucked the camera into her clothes, the screen still lit up. In the photo, Zhong Hua was wrapped in a quilt, the background was swaying locust tree leaves, and his eyes were as bright as falling stars.
"I'll take pictures of the waterfall for you when I'm better," Zhong Hua repeated, as if afraid Ah Yu wouldn't believe him, and even bent his little finger between them. It was a promise they made in college—important promises were always made with a pinky promise.
Ah Yu looked at his pale fingertips and suddenly remembered what Lin Wanqing had said on the phone before she left: "He's just stubborn. He'll only be able to breathe a sigh of relief once you're there." At that time, she had stubbornly said, "I'm just afraid he'll smash the camera," but after hanging up the phone, she refreshed the ticketing app countless times.
“Okay,” Ah Yu reached out and hooked her little finger around Zhong Hua’s, feeling the burning heat from her fingertips. “But this time, I’ll have to carry the tripod.”
Zhong Hua gently hooked his little finger back, the force so light it felt like a small drumbeat in Ah Yu's heart. The wind picked up again, rustling the locust leaves, as if counting the steps of their moving shadows. Ah Yu looked at their clasped fingers and suddenly felt that the mountain wind didn't seem so cold anymore. It carried the scent of herbs and plants, warmly seeping into his heart, like the cold wind Zhong Hua had shielded him from by Qinghai Lake that year.
He looked down and saw that the film canister in Zhong Hua's hand had loosened slightly at some point, and was no longer whitish. Sunlight fell on that black surface, reflecting a faint light, as if hiding a secret about to be developed.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
