Wushui Town was a quintessential water town. After thousands of years of history washing over it, the flowing waters remained, emanating a deep emerald hue. The houses along both sides of the river were extremely ancient, with black tiles and blue bricks, and latticed windows. Red lanterns hanging under the eaves swayed in the wind, resembling the tassels in the hair of a Jiangnan woman walking into an alley with an oil-paper umbrella, beautiful in an ethereal, unadorned way.

A-Heng was accustomed to all this, but Yan Xi was like a newborn baby seeing the mortal world for the first time, filled with wonder.

Father Yun gave A-Heng some money, smiling kindly, instructing her to take Yan Xi around the market properly. A-Heng took the money, and although she didn’t understand why Pa’s attitude toward Yan Xi had changed so quickly, she obediently followed his instructions.

With two days until Little New Year, the market was extraordinarily lively.

Yan Xi had been restless since leaving the Yun house, running east and west, hugging his camera, treating passersby like circus monkeys, photographing everything, and showing off tremendously.

A-Heng followed behind him, running breathlessly, feeling embarrassed in her heart, keeping her head down, pretending not to know this young man.

You’re looking at people like they’re from a circus, but they’re looking at you like you’re from a zoo!

In the market, people carrying goods on shoulder poles walked hurriedly, crowds bustling with excitement.

The men of the water town typically appeared honest and gentle, like water, rarely showing sharp edges; the girls were graceful and gentle, their batik skirt hems swaying lightly, their enchanting charm needn’t be mentioned, already perfected in the fixed Jiangnan pose; most children wore tiger-head caps and were held in their parent’s arms, clutching white sugar cakes, drooling and snotty, chubby and adorable.

Yan Xi now also held a white sugar cake, tearing off a corner, tossing it into his mouth like peanuts, his head tilted back, smiling until his big eyes nearly disappeared.

Meanwhile, A-Heng hugged the camera while staring longingly at the white sugar cake. Earlier, Yan Xi had asked her to buy two pieces, but when she bounced back, the young man had hung his camera around her neck and held a cake in each hand, taking bites left and right, not leaving even a crumb for her.

“I also, want to eat,” A-Heng sniffled, displeased.

“Haven’t you eaten enough living here all these years?” The young man didn’t even look up, his cheeks bulging, still attacking from both sides.

Choke on it! A-Heng felt depressed.

Yan Xi deliberately provoked A-Heng. After finishing, he even stuck out his tongue and licked his fingers vigorously, eyes glancing sideways at the girl.

A-Heng was speechless.

“What else is good to eat in Wushui Town?” the young man asked her with a smile.

A-Heng thought for a moment and said: “Stinky tofu.”

“B City has that too, nothing special.” The young man was unimpressed.

“Jiangnan tofu, making.” A-Heng explained.

Yan Xi pursed his lips: “Huh! Ours is made with northern tofu.”

A-Heng chuckled: “Try it, and you’ll know.”

She led Yan Xi along the riverbank into a small alley, turning several times until they reached a small shop with a wooden sign that read: Lin Family Tofu Shop. The five characters were written in brush calligraphy, powerful yet elegant.

Under the shop’s eaves hung a dusty red lantern, swaying gently in the breeze. Inside were only a few wooden tables, with scattered customers eating quietly, completely different from the market’s lively atmosphere, yet very cozy.

“Uncle Sang, two bowls of tofu pudding, one plate of fried tofu!” A-Heng called out.

“Coming!” A hearty, bright voice of a middle-aged man came from behind the green curtain.

Yan Xi looked around the small house, his big eyes rolling several times before breaking into a smile: “This place is quite funny.”

“Why?”

“There are gaps in all four corners of the roof, isn’t it cold in winter?”

“The gaps are for, drying tofu, at night.” A-Heng explained to the young man, “Owner, doesn’t live here.”

Yan Xi nodded, took his camera, squinted, and took several photos in quick succession.

Yan Xi was a very casual person. Many things he did needed no reason, yet seemed exactly right.

Soon, a smiling short man came out carrying a red-lacquered wooden tray with several crude porcelain bowls.

A-Heng exchanged pleasantries with the man.

“How’s Zai Zai? Is his health better?” The man glanced at Yan Xi, realized he wasn’t the familiar Yun Zai, and greeted him warmly.

“Zai Zai is now in the big hospital for treatment, my Ma says the surgery was very successful.” A-Heng smiled, her expression gentle and sincere, her eyes flowing with relief.

The shop owner, whom A-Heng called Uncle Sang, heard the girl’s words and looked very happy: “That’s wonderful, Zai Zai can go back to school now. Before he had to leave school, his grades were excellent, your siblings were equally outstanding.”

A-Heng smiled happily, her distant mountain eyebrows curved.

Customers at the next table called out, and the owner went back into the kitchen behind the green curtain.

A-Heng placed a steaming bowl of tofu pudding in front of Yan Xi. The young man’s slender white fingers lightly tapped the table, his eyebrows slightly raised, but he said nothing. Although in his view, this Jiangnan tofu pudding looked no different from what he drank every morning.

A-Heng smiled faintly.

Yan Xi took a spoon and scooped up a spoonful, bringing it to his mouth.

A-Heng watched the young man with a smile: “Is it good?”

“This… is this still tofu?” He widened his eyes, showing direct, innocent amazement.

A-Heng nodded.

“There’s no astringency, it’s smooth and tender in the mouth, somewhat like egg pudding.” The young man narrowed his eyes, his face rosy, expression satisfied.

Egg pudding? Hmm, is that tasty?

A-Heng stood dumbfounded, but eventually smiled, looking satisfied, her thin lips curving upward, small fine laugh lines at the corners.

“Try this,” A-Heng passed the fried tofu to the young man.

The young man picked up a piece and chewed it, but frowned and spat it out: “Why is it bitter?”

A-Heng also frowned, suddenly remembering something, and said embarrassedly: “Uncle Sang, no sauce. When I ate with Zai Zai before, we didn’t like condiments.” Then she ran to the kitchen, got a dish of sauce, and poured it over the fried tofu.

Yan Xi tried another small piece, tasting it on his tongue. The crispy tofu and sweet sauce masked the bitterness, releasing the flavor perfectly, with a rich mouthfeel.

A-Heng saw the young man’s brow relax and secretly let out a sigh of relief. Having grown up in Wushui, she instinctively protected this land, not wanting others to harbor even a trace of dislike for it.

This kind of sentiment, when applied to people, is usually called: being protective.

“East of town, in the City God Temple, there’s a sweet well. The tofu is all made, with well water.”

Yan Xi nodded slightly, eating in small bites, looking at the food with an appreciative expression.

Uncle Sang brought out a small plate of dried bamboo shoots from the kitchen for Yan Xi to eat with his meal. The sweet and sour bamboo shoots were very appetizing, and Yan Xi ate a lot.

“A-Heng, my shop’s sign is old, your aunt asked me to have you write another one,” the man said honestly to the girl.

“Mm.” A-Heng smiled and nodded.

Yan Xi was surprised: “You wrote the characters on the sign?”

A-Heng nodded again, somewhat embarrassed.

“The strokes are too quick, the force isn’t balanced, the ink isn’t mixed evenly, and the final stroke paused, lacking continuity,” the young man said flatly.

A-Heng swallowed.

“Our A-Heng has been practicing calligraphy since she was little, she’s one of the best in town, and writes better than Doctor Yun.” Uncle Sang spoke up, somewhat disliking the young man’s tone.

“This kind of thing depends on natural talent.” The young man smiled faintly. The implication is that no matter how many years of practice, without talent it’s useless.

A-Heng knew he spoke the truth, but still felt somewhat disappointed. Since childhood, she had practiced calligraphy with her father, never missing a day regardless of season, and now the young man’s “no talent” comment had truly struck a blow.

“This child speaks big words, write something yourself, let me see.” Uncle Sang was somewhat angry.

The young man shrugged indifferently, appearing lazy.

Uncle Sang brought paper and a brush, placing them in front of Yan Xi with irritation.

The young man carelessly poured ink into the inkstone sat properly, held the brush, let the fine hairs of the brush tip soaked in ink one by one, slightly raised his wrist, turned the brush tip, slowly blotted excess ink at the edge of the inkstone, lifted his hand, his nails gleaming and round, reflecting against the bamboo brush handle, looking exceptionally beautiful.

“When writing the character ‘Lin’, the left ‘wood’ should show strength, the right ‘wood’ should show charm. When you write, lifting the brush too quickly and uneven ink distribution are major taboos. The character ‘jia’ (family), though written boldly, lacks attention to detail between strokes. The character ‘dou’ (bean) is written well, except the ink spread isn’t uniform. The character ‘fu’ (fermented) is harder to write – you put more effort into it than the previous characters but lost their naturalness. For ‘dian’ (shop), when you wrote it, the ink had probably dried, so you had to retrace strokes,” the young man spoke flatly while writing, head lowered.

Completed in one breath, naturally graceful, brilliance fully displayed.

The calligraphy left A-Heng stunned.

Every stroke was free and powerful, written casually yet with complete intention, brimming with spiritual energy.

“Was I right?” The young man put down his brush, propped his chin, and asked her lazily.

A-Heng was dumbfounded.

Uncle Sang was overwhelmed, looking at the characters and grinning from ear to ear: “This child is not bad, has real skill.”

Yan Xi nodded slightly, polite and gentle.

The owner brought many more delicacies, and though the young man pretended to be reserved, his stolen smiles occasionally leaked through.

“How about that? I wrote characters for the owner, so we don’t have to pay – how wonderful! You should have acted more shocked earlier, that way it would have shown the value of my writing, the owner might have given us even more food,” Yan Xi whispered, his mouth stuffed full, his big eyes like clear autumn waters.

A-Heng was drinking her tofu pudding and nearly choked: “Earlier, I wasn’t acting.” Her expression couldn’t have been more serious.

The young man raised his eyebrows and smiled: “Wen Heng, why take it so much to heart? I learned to hold a brush before I could walk. Even without talent, how could you compare?”

A-Heng stared at the young man and also smiled. She thought she was no longer a stranger to Yan Xi, but each day she understood him more, yet felt increasingly distant and unfamiliar, unlike her first impression which was at least direct and complete.

“Let’s go see that sweet well you mentioned.” Yan Xi had eaten his fill and wanted to walk it off.

Speaking of Wushui Town, besides the water town’s charm, what attracted tourists most was the City God Temple in the east. The temple’s incense burned prosperously, and on the first and fifteenth of each month, many people came to worship, praying for wealth, peace, and marriage.

But A-Heng and Yan Xi went to see the well in the temple.

Yan Xi touched the blue stones around the well mouth lightly, feeling their coolness, his fingertips gathering a layer of moss. The temple was full of people, incense swirling, everyone’s faces solemn with devotion.

“They don’t worship this life-sustaining well, but instead bow to some stone figures, how strange,” the young man sneered.

“One must show respect to spirits and gods.” Having grown up in Wushui, A-Heng still held some reverence for the City God.

The young man glanced at the girl, smiled lightly, then bent down, pressed his palms together, and bowed to the well.

“What are you doing?” A-Heng was curious.

“Thanking it for giving us such delicious food.”

A-Heng sniffled, kindly reminding him: “The tofu, was made by, Uncle Sang.”

“That’s why I wrote him a sign!” The young man rolled his eyes upward.

“But, you didn’t pay, for the food!” A-Heng pointed out.

“One thing at a time! Writing the sign already expressed my gratitude. If I didn’t eat that table of food, someone else would have, what’s the difference? It’s not that I wouldn’t pay, he wouldn’t let me. The young master here was quite troubled. Being human is hard, being a good human is even harder!” Yan Xi declared righteously, appearing deeply pained.

A-Heng burst out laughing, pursing her lips, the corners of her mouth turning slightly upward.

“Alright, I’ll pray too.” A-Heng also bent down, seriously pressing her palms together: Well, oh ancient well, my wishes aren’t high – if you could bring world peace and let children in Asia, Africa, and Latin America eat white sugar cakes, that would be enough.

Yan Xi stayed at the Yun house for several more days, until it was almost the end of the lunar year, and it wouldn’t be right to stay any longer. He had promised his grandfather he would return home for New Year’s.

So on the twenty-seventh day of the lunar month, the young man proposed leaving.

“Can’t you stay one more day? Just one day.” A-Heng was somewhat disappointed, her Wushui dialect coming out.

“A-Heng, don’t be unreasonable!” Before Yan Xi could answer, Father Yun’s rebuke cut off A-Heng’s thoughts.

A-Heng closed her mouth, looking wronged as she turned to Mother Yun. Mother Yun patted her hand but didn’t say anything, just returned to the room to help pack her luggage. She followed her mother into the room and came out with her head lowered, silent.

Yan Xi watched her, not knowing what to say, so he maintained a neutral expression, letting her say goodbye to her foster parents.

No matter how much these kind people loved Wen Heng, they weren’t her birth parents; this house, this land, no matter how warm, wasn’t her true belonging.

Such was the great regret.

Before leaving, Mother Yun pulled Yan Xi aside and said something.

A-Heng saw this from afar but couldn’t bear to look at her mother again. She said goodbye to her father and walked out of the house.

When Yan Xi came out, he glanced at her several times and spoke somewhat strangely and helplessly: “Girls after all.” In the end, silently feel sad about what boys would consider trivial matters.

A-Heng didn’t know what her mother had said to him, but staying silent couldn’t be wrong, so she said nothing, quietly following behind him.

Again she saw his traveler’s silhouette, the large backpack, upright posture, faint outline of cold, lonely shoulder blades visible.

They reached S City station in the afternoon. They queued for a long time before getting tickets for six in the evening.

“Sit here and wait for me.” The young man handed her the tickets and turned smoothly, walking out of the waiting room.

A-Heng’s expression was somewhat dejected. Her mood is already poor, after Yan Xi left, she sat on the connected chairs and spaced out.

When she gathered her thoughts and looked at her watch, it was already a quarter past five.

Yan Xi hadn’t returned.

She stood up, moving back and forth in the crowd, circling the chairs as a center point. Although the check-in time was approaching, she wasn’t pacing due to anxiety. The waiting room’s air was too stagnant and polluted; she moved about, trying to shake off something numbing in her mind.

When the young man returned, this was exactly what he saw: the girl frowning with a lowered head, walking continuously, circling the seats pointlessly.

Yan Xi was a lazy person and found this scene incomprehensible. He strode over and gave a slight cough.

A-Heng looked up, first noticing his backpack, which seemed much fuller. A-Heng guessed he might have bought some local specialties.

The same steps as before: ticket check, boarding, and finding seats.

But A-Heng had lost her earlier enthusiasm, curling up in the carriage, yawning. Looking at the time, it was already nine o’clock, the night outside the window growing increasingly thick.

“I’m sleepy,” she looked at Yan Xi, eyes drowsy.

The Chinese “I’m sleepy” equals the Western “good night.”

“Not allowed,” the young man said flatly.

A-Heng yawned, rubbed her eyes, and asked: “Why?”

The young man raised his eyebrows, fingers lightly tapping the small table: “How should I know!”

“Oh.”

Hey, wait, why can’t I sleep if you don’t know why? A-Heng thought hazily as her consciousness began to scatter. She felt like an infant drifting in the womb, warm and peaceful.

A white world, a pure world.

Suddenly, the world spun rapidly, making her dizzy. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a pair of frighteningly large eyes.

“Awake?” The young man released his hands, stopping the shaking.

A-Heng looked out the window dazedly, still pitch-black night, not yet dawn. She looked at Yan Xi, and sniffled, feeling wronged.

The young man’s big eyes were watery, looking even more wronged than her: “Wen Heng, although I don’t know why you chose to be born today…”

The young man broke off his sentence, rummaging and rummaging in his backpack for a long time, finally pulling out an adorably small cream cake, holding it in his palm, smiling plainly: “But, the young master will make do and wish you a happy birthday.”