Zhong Hua paused, sunlight streaming through the canvas canopy and falling behind his ears, turning his downy fur golden: "Next time, next time we'll find better lighting."
Lin Wanqing laughed so hard she couldn't stand up straight: "Can you two stop acting like you're doing a silent movie? That scene just now was more elaborate than a film shoot." Suddenly remembering something, she took a mint out of her pocket and handed it to Ah Yu, "Here, this is for you. You said last time that if you had a candy in your mouth when shooting flowers, the camera would be more stable."
As Ah Yu took the candy, his fingertips brushed against Lin Wanqing's nails. She had painted her nails a light purple, like freshly picked lavender. He suddenly remembered that there was still half a box of mints in his college dorm drawer, brought back by Zhong Hua from one of his business trips. The packaging had unfamiliar foreign writing on it, but it happened to be his favorite lime flavor.
“There’s a flowerpot shop up ahead,” Zhong Hua suddenly spoke up, breaking the brief silence. “You said last time you wanted to get a new terracotta pot for your succulents, why don’t you go take a look?”
Ah Yu nodded, but his steps slowed a beat. He looked at Zhong Hua's back and suddenly realized that this man always remembered what he had said, even the smallest things he had mentioned casually. Just like last time in Qinghai, he said he wanted to take pictures of the starry sky but forgot to bring a wide-angle lens, and the next day there was a brand new lens in Zhong Hua's backpack, saying that he "just happened to buy it on the way."
The flower market was even more bustling in the depths. Children surrounded the goldfish stalls, where silvery-red fish swam back and forth in their glass tanks, their tail fins brushing against the sides like dotted lines drawn on the surface. Ah Yu couldn't resist raising her camera, and suddenly a familiar figure appeared in the frame—Zhong Hua was standing in front of the ceramic pot stall, holding a rough ceramic pot in his hand and gesturing with it. Sunlight slanted down from his shoulders, outlining his silhouette like a sketch.
"Click." The sound of the shutter was as soft as a sigh.
Zhong Hua seemed to sense something and suddenly turned around. Ah Yu didn't have time to put away his camera and was caught red-handed. He wanted to explain, but then he saw Zhong Hua pick up the rough ceramic pot and walk over, the rim still covered in clay: "How about this? The diameter is just right for your succulents, and the drainage hole is big too."
“It’s good.” Ah Yu’s voice was a little shaky, her eyes still fixed on the photo on the camera screen. In the photo, Zhong Hua’s profile was facing the sunlight, his eyelashes casting a light shadow on the bridge of his nose, just like he looked in the library in college—back then he always sat by the window, the sunlight falling on his profile as he looked down at his book, and Ah Yu secretly took a whole roll of film.
“Then let’s buy this.” Zhong Hua put the ceramic pot into the wicker basket and picked up a shallow dish next to it. “It’ll come with a tray so it doesn’t leak.”
Lin Wanqing watched from the side and couldn't help but laugh. She took out a wet wipe from her bag and handed it to him, saying, "Mr. Zhong, are you treating Ah Yu like a succulent? You even picked out a tray for him."
Zhong Hua paused in wiping his hands, the lemon scent wafting from the wet wipes: "He always forgets these little things."
Ah Yu suddenly remembered that it rained last week, and her camera bag was mostly soaked, with the spare batteries inside submerged. Zhong Hua gave her a waterproof bag the next day, a dark blue one with the camera brand's logo printed on it. At the time, she only said "thank you," but now she suddenly realized that the logo on that bag was exactly the same as the one on her camera.
By the time they reached the exit of the flower market, the morning light had become intense. Lin Wanqing pointed to a roadside food stall: "Want a bowl of tofu pudding? Last time I came here, the stall owner said his chili oil was a family heirloom."
Ah Yu was about to nod when he noticed Zhong Hua staring at his shoes. He looked down and saw that his white canvas shoes were covered in mud, making them filthy. Zhong Hua took out a pack of wet wipes from his bag, squatted down, and wiped his shoes for him: "You got these on the orchids, didn't you? The mud in the cracks of the bluestone slabs is the hardest to clean."
Ah Yu's heart suddenly skipped a beat, as if struck by something. He wanted to say, "I can do it myself," but the words fell silent. The surrounding voices, the fragrance of flowers, even the sound of the wind seemed to disappear, leaving only Zhong Hua's bowed head—his hair was shorter than in college, and there was a small mole on the back of his neck. Ah Yu remembered cutting his hair in college, when the scissors accidentally grazed that mole, and he almost jumped up in fright.
"Okay." Zhong Hua stood up and threw the soiled wet wipe into the trash can. "Next time you squat down to take pictures, remember to put your bag down."
Lin Wanqing recorded the entire process with her phone, then suddenly turned the video back on: "Even when you play this in reverse, it looks like slow motion." On the screen, Zhong Hua's standing up became crouching down, and Ah Yu's bowed head became looking up. Sunlight flowed between them like an invisible river.
Ah Yu suddenly felt a burning sensation in his eyes, as if they had been exposed to the morning sun for too long. He turned and walked towards the food stall, but his steps were much slower than when he came. The rough earthenware pot in the wicker basket swayed gently, making a soft clattering sound against the camera in Zhong Hua's backpack, like someone whispering.
When the tofu pudding was served, the aroma of chili oil filled the table. Ah Yu scooped up a spoonful, and as the spiciness exploded on her tongue, she suddenly remembered the first time she ate spicy food in college. Zhong Hua had bought her three bottles of mineral water, but he himself was sweating profusely from the spiciness. The sunlight back then was just as warm as it is now, falling on their young faces like an old photograph that has never faded.
"Oh, right," Lin Wanqing suddenly remembered something and took an envelope out of her bag, "The photos from Qinghai last time have been developed, here you go."
Ah Yu took his copy, his fingertips touching the warmth of the photographic paper. The top one was a sunrise over Qinghai Lake, the orange-red light spreading across the surface. His silhouette stood by the lake, his hair blowing wildly in the wind. He remembered that he had a fever that day, and after taking the sunrise photos, he collapsed dizzily in the tent. When he woke up, he found Zhong Hua wiping his forehead with a damp towel, while the camera outside the tent was still clicking away.
“This photo was taken by Zhong Hua.” Lin Wanqing pointed to the corner of the photo. “When you were delirious with fever, he squatted by the lake and took photos for half an hour, saying he wanted to capture a complete sunrise for you.”
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