Storms and Tranquility
On the evening of September 29, 2017, Lucas stood on tiptoe, his small hands clumsily helping his grandfather adjust his bow tie, while Oscar meticulously folded his grandmother's handkerchief into a neat little square and carefully tucked it into his handbag. Seeing that Wenqing and Xiaofeng hadn't moved, Jiang Wan called Wenqing: "Are you guys free to go out now?"
Wenqing's voice came through the receiver, lazily and dull: "Xiaofeng can't get out of bed..."
Jiang Tao immediately came over nervously and blurted out: "Is your sacrum injured again?"
Jiang Heng snatched the phone away and shook his head helplessly. Fourth Uncle instantly understood, laughing and singing in an operatic voice: "Happy and joyful, just like Xiao Lang and Qin Nu, riding a phoenix and a dragon..."
Wenqing laughed on the other end and said, "We won't go. Thank you for taking care of Lucas and Oscar."
Inside the banquet hall, crystal chandeliers shone beneath the ten-meter-high dome, illuminating the silk painting "A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains" on the champagne-gold wall with dazzling brilliance. Waiters crisscrossed the room carrying silver trays engraved with Ninghai Harbor motifs. The fresh aroma of chilled yellow croaker soup and the rich fragrance of agarwood bracelets adorning the ladies' wrists intertwined in a delicate harmony.
As Zhou Xiao, the president, raised his glass to deliver his speech, two hundred drones took off from the terrace, spelling out "Tide Rises in Ninghai" in the night sky. Fan Weiwei's high heels inadvertently touched the carpet embroidered with an ancient merchant shipping route. The conductive fibers beneath the silk immediately lit up with a faint blue trail, like an ancient ship's route revived in modern light and shadow, prompting a knowing clink of glasses from the surroundings.
The congratulatory crowd gradually dispersed. The Jiang family members, holding their wine glasses, walked through the sparse guests. Zhou Yong asked loudly, "Why didn't Wenqing and Xiaofeng come?"
Jiang Heng shook his champagne glass and chuckled, "Liou is still young, it's not convenient for him to go out."
Fan Weiwei covered her lips and chuckled, "Congratulations, we're having our third child!" Suddenly, she pulled the girl next to her over and said, "Yutong, say hello to uncle and auntie."
The girl raised her lips in a precise 15-degree arc, bowed slightly, and said in a sweet voice, "Hello, uncle. Hello, aunt."
Jiang Tao raised his glass sideways, his tone half swallowed by the light, and said with a tone of reproach: "Zhou Yang, you didn't tell your uncle when you had good news."
Zhou Yang raised his glass in return and said with a gentle smile, "I think everyone is busy, and I don't want to bother you running around. I will definitely treat you to a drink when I have time."
Jiang Hui tapped the rim of the cup three times with his fingertips. His eyes swept over Zhou Yang and Chen Yutong's left ring fingers, which were not wearing rings, and a hint of understanding flashed in his eyes.
On October 8, 2017, Wenqing and Xiaofeng, along with their twin brothers and infant Liou, embarked on a charity trip to Jiangjiawan.
Wenqing's fingertips traced the newly painted light blue walls of the teaching building, feeling delicate and smooth. As he knelt on one knee to inspect the water purification equipment, the engineer, Lao Yang, handed him a notebook densely filled with operational data. The two men, hovering over the equipment casing, discussed the proposed upgrade. The metallic scent of engine oil mingled with the faint scent of baby powder on Wenqing's shirt, creating a strange harmony. "If we keep using this, the filter system will need a pre-sedimentation tank," he said, pointing to the data, his eyes firm and decisive, as if he were planning a grand project.
While Wenqing was away in the neighboring village of Guoshan investigating demand data, Xiaofeng worked as a temporary teacher in Jiangjiawan. She drew a pie chart of fractions on the blackboard, chalk dust falling on her shoulders. Turning suddenly, her ponytail brushed against a dandelion specimen on the podium—a gift from the children the previous week, its fluff gently drifting in the sunlight. During physical education class, she rolled up her trouser legs to demonstrate a three-step layup and taught the girls basic ballet calisthenics, her skirts swirling gracefully with her movements. During recess, she sat on the stone steps braiding the girls' hair, the tiny bells tinkling in their hairbands, mingling with the children's laughter.
Lucas and Oscar ran across the threshing ground, chasing after the pheasants. The rice grains kicked up by their sneakers splashed like golden waves on their trouser legs. "Don't run!" they shouted in their newly learned dialect, startling the sparrows under the eaves and sending them flying in arcs across the azure sky. Liou, in the stroller, clutched the wild hawthorns that the villagers had stuffed in. The purple-red fruit paste covered his little face, making him look like a stole cat. His waving fists swung the large rooster pendant hanging from the car's roof, sending it tumbling back and forth, and the copper bells clanged.
On December 17, 2017, as Wenqing wheeled her stroller around the Piazza della Signoria, Mr. Ferrari stood in front of his family-run inn, meticulously polishing the brass sign. With the recent boom in tourism, this old house near the church is always packed during Christmas. Rao Haiyi arrived with freshly baked almond cookies. Looking at the massive group of nine, she shook her head helplessly, "My tiny apartment wouldn't even have enough space for a suitcase."
Fortunately, Wen Qing had made preparations and had rented a villa near Rao Haiyi's home three months ago.
On the morning of December 24, 2017, a thin layer of frost blanketed the villa's garden, like a dusting of fine salt. Xiaofeng wrapped Liou tightly in a light yellow cashmere jumpsuit and carried him to the courtyard when she saw the twins tiptoeing to reach for the panettone Grandpa Ferrari had sent them—a traditional Christmas dessert he'd baked at five in the morning. Their collars were still stained with the first snow from the Piazza della Signoria, bringing with them the chill of the Alps. "Buon Natale," he said, unloading a box of fireworks from the back seat of his pickup truck like magic. Wenqing quickly took them. They smiled at each other in the morning mist, their breath curling into a ball of white air.
In the afternoon, Xiaofeng led the children in making handmade Christmas trees. The twins' macaroni "stars" stood up crookedly, while Liou waved his little hands in the stroller, rustling the tinsel. The rich aroma of roasted chicken wafted from the kitchen. Wen Qingzheng and Rao Haiyi tended to their treasured Chianti wine collection. A homemade chili sauce, a Christmas gift from Rao Haiyi for Xiaofeng, sat on the windowsill. Jiang Hui and Jiang Tao brought home fresh pine branches, while Jiang Heng and Jiang Wan decorated the porch with Chinese knots and Italian colored balls. The Chinese-Italian version of "Silent Night" mingled with the warm glow of the fireplace's dancing fire.
After Christmas Eve mass, more than a dozen people huddled on the living room carpet to open their presents. While the twins bickered over who would get the miniature Ferrari model their grandfather had given them first, Liou giggled as he clutched a sandalwood rattle carved by his grandfather.
At exactly midnight, fireworks suddenly exploded from the terrace, instantly illuminating the spires of the Piazza della Signoria. Rao Haiyi held up her phone and captured the scene: Wenqing's arm around Xiaofeng's shoulders, Jiang Heng and Jiang Wan chatting softly, Jiang Hui's finger lingering on a page of "The Divine Comedy," the twins slumped over Jiang Tao's shoulders, and Liou, in Mr. Ferrari's arms, stretched out her tiny hands, as if to grasp the sky full of sparks...
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