The Returning Wind
As the glass door to the studio opened, the wind chimes tinkled twice. Ah Yu stood for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, his nose catching the familiar scent before his eyes—the faint acidity of developing solution mixed with the roasted aroma of coffee beans, and the citrus-scented hand cream that Lin Wanqing always used. He looked down at the mud on his shoes, wiped it on the doormat, and heard Zhong Hua's slightly hoarse cough behind him.
"Come in, the floor isn't cold." Lin Wanqing's voice drifted from the inner room, accompanied by the rustling sound of a paintbrush across the canvas.
Ah Yu stepped aside to let Zhong Hua go first. Zhong Hua's body was still weak from just recovering from a fever, and he was slightly out of breath after taking a few quick steps. The blinds in the studio were half-open, and sunlight filtered through the gaps, casting long and short patches of light on the floor. The light fell on Zhong Hua's faded denim jacket, like a sprinkle of gold dust.
"The cactus is crooked." Zhong Hua suddenly stopped and looked at the low cabinet by the window.
Ah Yu followed his gaze and saw that the cactus was indeed severely tilted, its dark green body leaning towards the direction of the bright light, and a small piece of porcelain was chipped off the edge of the ceramic pot beneath it. Zhong Hua had bought it from a flea market last year, saying that the spines on the cactus grew neatly, like a math problem he had solved in college.
"It must have been bumpy on the way here." Ah Yu put down his suitcase and walked over, his knees making a slight sound as he squatted down. As soon as his fingertips touched the ceramic basin, he noticed a light yellow note under the basin, its edges curled up slightly by the wind.
The paper bore Zhong Hua's handwriting, the strokes lighter than usual, likely hastily written before leaving: "Turn half a circle every day, facing the sun."
Ah Yu paused, his fingers holding the note. He remembered that before he left for the mountains, Zhong Hua had squatted here watering the cactus. The setting sun had been shining on Zhong Hua's head, turning the few stray strands of hair that weren't following his head a golden brown. "This thing is drought-resistant," Zhong Hua had said at the time, "but you have to remember to turn it around, otherwise it will grow crooked and look ugly."
“He was afraid you’d forget, so he wrote three sticky notes.” Lin Wanqing appeared behind him at some point, holding a titanium white paintbrush in her hand. “There’s one inside your camera bag, one stuck to the bottom of your usual coffee cup, and even the place on the calendar where the return date is circled has a line of small writing on it.”
Ah Yu looked down at the note in his hand. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, illuminating the ink-bleed edges of the paper. He suddenly remembered that last morning in the mountains, when Zhong Hua stood at the door of the mud-brick house with his bag on his back, dew still clinging to his eyelashes. "The cactus needs to be turned around," Zhong Hua had said abruptly, and he had laughed at Zhong Hua for treating plants like children.
"Where's Zhong Hua?" Ah Yu looked up and realized that the person next to her was gone.
"Looking for his lens cloth in the equipment room," Lin Wanqing pointed to the end of the corridor with her paintbrush. "You two have been gone for half a month, and the studio has accumulated a layer of dust. He always says that lenses are afraid of moisture."
Ah Yu carefully tucked the sticky note into his notebook, the one he used to jot down his photographic inspirations. One page had a picture of his Qinghai Lake ticket stub, next to which Zhong Hua had marked in red: "Altitude 3196 meters, be careful of sun exposure." As he stood up, his knees creaked again, reminding him that he had spent over four hours curled up on a hard plastic chair in the waiting room while rushing to catch his train overnight.
The door to the equipment room was ajar, and rustling sounds came from inside. Ah Yu pushed the door open and saw Zhong Hua standing on tiptoe to reach the top storage box. His old injury in his lower back had probably flared up again, as his left hand subconsciously pressed against his side.
"Let me do it." Ah Yu walked over and pressed his arm. Zhong Hua's body temperature still carried a slight fever, and his cuffs were stained with grass juice from the mountains, which he had washed several times but couldn't get rid of.
“It’s in the leftmost box.” Zhong Hua stepped aside, his breathing still a little unsteady. He had been filming the children’s class in the mountains, and after being caught in an autumn rain, he developed a high fever. Even when he was delirious with fever, he still held onto his camera and said he wanted to photograph the terraced fields in the morning mist.
Ah Yu reached for the box on a high stool, and was stunned as soon as he opened it. Inside, besides the lens cloth and several rolls of unopened film, there was a small blue cloth bag with a crooked lotus flower embroidered on the drawstring—he had sewn it when he was in college. At that time, Zhong Hua helped him take pictures of the lotus pond in the rain, and after returning, he caught a cold for a week, so he learned to sew a cloth bag to put cold medicine in for him.
"You still have this?" Ah Yu took out the cloth bag, her fingers rubbing the already pilling fabric.
Zhong Hua's ears turned slightly red. He reached out to snatch it back, but Ah Yu dodged him. "What's inside?" Ah Yu shook the cloth bag and heard a slight rattling sound coming from inside.
"It's nothing." Zhong Hua turned to close the window, but Ah Yu grabbed his wrist. His wrist was very thin, and you could feel the prominent knuckles through his shirt, marks left by years of repairing cameras and adjusting lenses.
Ah Yu untied the drawstring and looked inside, finding several fruit candies wrapped in colorful wrappers. The wrappers had faded quite a bit, revealing a translucent candy coating underneath. This was a brand they often ate in high school; it was so sour it made them wince. Back then, Ah Yu would always steal Zhong Hua's candies, saying that the sourness was refreshing and perfect for staying up late to finish homework.
"They're all expired, aren't they?" Ah Yu picked up a piece and held it up to the light; there were tiny cracks in the candy coating.
“It’s not expired, I just bought it last month.” Zhong Hua’s voice was muffled. “I found it on the very bottom shelf of the supermarket, and the production date is recent.”
Ah Yu suddenly remembered when they were in the mountains, Zhong Hua was lying in bed with a fever. When he fed him water, Zhong Hua held his wrist and said, "When we get back, I'll bring you wild honey from the mountains. It's sweeter than sugar." At that time, the rain was pattering against the tin roof outside the window, and Zhong Hua's palms were burning hot, like he was holding a small sun.
"Sour things are bad for your stomach." Lin Wanqing appeared at the doorway at some point, holding a milk candy in her hand, the wrapper gleaming silver in the sunlight. "Give me something sweet."
My dear reader, there's more to this chapter! Please click the next page to continue reading—even more exciting content awaits!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
