Chapter 19: A Snow-Kissed Morning

When Jiaqi woke that morning, the world outside the window was soft with snow. Tiny flakes drifted silently down, melting on contact, leaving the air damp and cool. Two plum trees stood in bloom, their delicate fragrance mingling with the crisp winter air.

She lingered by the window, watching the snow fall, while Ruan Zhengdong’s faint silhouette appeared downstairs. Their eyes met in the reflection of the glass, and she smiled. He returned it, calm and gentle. “These two plum trees are decades old,” he said, voice soft. “One fragrant, the other sandalwood-scented.”

The old house bore traces of generations past. On the side hall wall hung a framed scroll in flowing running script: “The fragrance of plum blossoms comes from the bitter cold.” Jiaqi, ignorant of calligraphy, still sensed the strength behind the strokes.

“I practiced calligraphy so hard when I was little,” Ruan Zhengdong began. “I had to stay home copying models every holiday. I always wanted to sneak out and play. It wasn’t until I went abroad that my mother forced me to write weekly letters home. My father’s first words were always criticisms of my handwriting.”

Jiaqi smiled inwardly. His handwriting had always been elegant, upright, and precise, a testament to effort and discipline.

“I really enjoyed calligraphy when I was small,” Jiaqi said. “I practiced on newspapers, Xuan paper… even took time contemplating before daring to write a single character.”

“For a while, I often thought about what you were like as a child,” Ruan Zhengdong confessed.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I always felt I knew too little about you. I didn’t know when you were happy, or sad… It left me regretful.”

Jiaqi reached for his hand, softly. “I was just like any other child. Sometimes mischievous, giving my father headaches.”

He laughed warmly. “I never knew you could be so naughty.”

She recounted a winter memory. Left alone at home during vacation, she played jump rope with neighborhood children and forgot to seal the stove. The honeycomb briquettes went out. When her father came home, instead of scolding, he took her to a small restaurant by the bridge to eat wontons. The cobblestone streets glimmered in dim yellow light, a quiet stream running alongside. She had called out to her father, anxious and lagging, but he reached out to her warmly, his long fingers comforting and reassuring.

Ruan Zhengdong listened, hand in hers. Though his fingers felt cool from the IV drip, his attention never wavered. Pills, medicine, and drips filled his days, yet he always found time to watch old Hong Kong films with her. Potato chips, Duyun Maojian tea, chocolates—they shared small joys, savoring simplicity in the warmth of each other’s company.

“Potato chips and green tea are the best combination,” Jiaqi said, teasing. He frowned, sipped her kiwi juice, and muttered, “Sour.”

Ignoring him, she grabbed the remote. “Don’t even think about tricking me into kissing you again.”

He leaned closer, mischievous. “How did you know I wanted to kiss you?”

She turned away abruptly. “Let’s watch a movie.”

They watched Big City, Small Love, its cityscapes, love, and fleeting fireworks igniting memories of longing and hope.

“You see,” Ruan Zhengdong said, voice soft, “I don’t want to end up like him—missing that person even at eighty.”

Jiaqi’s gaze fell to her fingers. “We don’t even have diamond rings.”

He smiled knowingly, producing a delicate, well-worn ring from his hand. “It’s my maternal grandmother’s. She took nothing with her to Yan’an but this. Before she died, she gave it to me. I hope she’d approve… and I hope you do too.”

Jiaqi examined the black-and-white photographs above the fireplace. Faces bright with youth and quiet dignity, they radiated a love that weathered decades. “They never argued?” she asked.

Ruan Zhengdong laughed. “Oh, they did. But they made peace over meals, guided by love and patience. That’s how deep love endures.”

She finally smiled. “I may not be like her, but I hope I can live up to that.”

“I like you just as you are,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. “That’s all that matters.”

They shared a tender kiss, warm and lingering. When she pulled away, she noticed the oracle bone script was missing. “It’s locked up,” he said, teasing, and pulled her into another gentle kiss.

The phone rang mid-morning. Reluctantly, Ruan Zhengdong answered. “Xizi and Heping are coming to Shanghai tomorrow.”

Jiaqi considered avoiding them but shook her head. “It’s fine. Sooner or later, we’ll meet.”

The next day, she woke early, still shy and hesitant, aware of her pajamas patterned with little teddy bears. Ruan Zhengdong teased, “Are you even a woman? Not a single decent piece of clothing?”

“I’m not a beauty,” she muttered, “I don’t need to dress like Sheng Zhi.”

He grabbed her playfully, kissing her again, her protests melting into laughter and chaos. Embarrassed, she accidentally kicked him, leaving him groaning. Concerned, she asked, “Where did I kick you?”

“It’s nothing,” he whispered, hiding his blush.

Arriving in Jiangxi, Jiaqi was greeted by the lively Jiangxi and quiet Meng Heping. Laughter filled the spacious house as Aunt Li guided the kitchen work, Jiaqi chopping vegetables while Jiangxi peeked curiously and volunteered help.

“My goodness, Jiaqi, your movements are just as professional as Aunt Li’s!” Jiangxi exclaimed.

The warmth of the kitchen, the small shared joys of cutting, peeling, and preparing, reminded Jiaqi of home. “This is what a family feels like,” Jiangxi added wistfully. “Laughter, togetherness… I never thought it could feel like this.”

Aunt Li chuckled, “Xizi, you’re getting married to Heping soon. How will you still come over?”

Jiangxi’s mischievous grin answered for her: “Meng Heping is busy. I’ll have plenty of chances to visit my brother’s house for meals!”

Next