The New Year's Bells (Part 2)
The echoes of the New Year's bells still seem to linger in our ears, yet spring has quietly arrived with its characteristic capricious temperament. After a few drizzling spring rains, the weather not only failed to warm up, but instead a biting east wind blew, bringing a chill that seeps into the bones—a phenomenon known as "late spring cold snap."
This kind of weather was not friendly to Lu Shixu. The changes in air pressure and the persistent low temperature made his body more prone to fatigue than usual, and the string called "wakefulness" seemed to be stretched tighter.
Lin Zhiyi keenly noticed his change. He was spending more time leaning against the workbench, sometimes staring blankly at a simple part, the weariness in his eyes like inky black ink. Occasionally, he would unconsciously press his temples, a barely perceptible hint of forbearance in his expression.
She didn't panic and bombard him with questions like she had at first, nor did she shower him with excessive concern. She simply placed the cushion she had brought behind his back in his usual chair, kept tea at a comfortable temperature by his side, and slightly turned up the heat in the shop. She started paying more attention to the weather forecast, and on days when the temperature dropped significantly, she would bring a thicker wool blanket in advance.
That afternoon, the sky was overcast, and a cold wind swirled fallen leaves against the windowpane. Lin Zhiyi was proofreading the final draft of the manuscript; the project was nearing completion. She occasionally looked up and saw Lu Shixu staring blankly at an extremely complex marine chronometer, picking up and putting down his tools, seemingly unable to concentrate on his work.
She put down her pen, without making a sound to disturb them, but simply got up and went to the back, silently lighting the small charcoal stove and placing the kettle on it. Soon, the water boiled, and she brewed two cups of strong black tea, adding plenty of milk and a touch of honey. The rich aroma of milk and tea gradually filled the air.
She placed one of the cups next to him.
Lu Shixu was awakened from his reverie, looked up, and saw her concerned gaze. He forced a smile, trying to give her a reassuring one, but it came across as somewhat powerless.
"I feel... a bit weak," he said softly, with a hint of helplessness, as if stating an objective fact rather than complaining. "My mind feels like it's covered in a fog."
Lin Zhiyi sat down on the stool next to him, holding her own cup of hot tea, the warmth spreading through the cup to her palms.
"Then don't force yourself." Her voice was soft, like the wind blowing past the window. "Sometimes, stopping is the fastest way forward."
She didn't urge him to rest, nor did she try to encourage him. She simply sat quietly with him, listening to the soft hum of the kettle on the charcoal stove and the steady dripping sound that filled the room.
Lu Shixu picked up the cup of hot milk tea and slowly took a sip. The warm, sweet-smelling liquid slid down his throat, seemingly dispelling some of the fog in his mind. Looking at her cheeks, slightly flushed from the steam, the anxiety and helplessness he felt due to his physical discomfort were strangely soothed a little.
He put down his cup, no longer trying to touch the marine clock, but instead turned his gaze to the gray sky outside the window, and suddenly spoke softly:
“When I was little, my grandma would make me this kind of milk tea every time the weather was like this. She always said that the cold air in spring is more harmful than that in winter, and you have to warm it up with something sweet and warm.”
His voice carried a distant, reminiscent quality. Lin Zhiyi didn't interrupt, but simply listened quietly.
“Back then, I would move a small stool and sit next to her, watching her do needlework, or just doze off against her knees.” He paused, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Later… I got sick, and this kind of weather was even harder to bear. I always felt like my whole body was frozen, inside and out. Grandpa wasn’t good with words, he would just silently make the fire burn even brighter.”
He turned to look at Lin Zhiyi, his eyes clear yet complex: "Now... with you here, sitting with me, making me tea, it feels... not so hard to bear anymore."
His words were simple, yet like a warm current, they gently flowed into Lin Zhiyi's heart. She understood that this was not just simple gratitude, but the highest recognition of her existence from the depths of his heart. She was not merely "taking care" of him; she was using her companionship to build a warm core for him, a core that could withstand the chill of the outside world.
“Every time there’s a cold snap in spring,” Lin Zhiyi met his gaze, her voice firm yet gentle, “we’ll live like this.”
Outside the window, the cold wind still howled.
Inside the shop, the aroma of tea wafted through the air, creating a serene and peaceful atmosphere.
They stopped talking, simply sitting side by side, sharing this warm and peaceful haven they had created for each other. The chill in their bodies might still linger, but in a corner of their hearts, spring had already blossomed.
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