“…I like them very much.” Chen Qingwu nodded emphatically. “…If I could create such a set of works in my lifetime, I would feel no regrets even if I retired right then.”

She felt her voice seemed to come from inside a muffled jar, that moved feeling—because of this set of ceramics, but of course not only because of the ceramics.

“As long as you like them.” Meng Fuyuan let out a light breath, as if all the weariness from days of travel had completely dissolved.

“Since these ceramics were for your friend’s grandmother’s personal use, convincing him to part with them must not have been easy.” Chen Qingwu said.

“It was alright. Because you and the old lady share the same philosophy. They’d been keeping this set idle in a cabinet. Since she passed away, they haven’t used them even once.”

“What a waste.”

“That’s how I persuaded him too.”

Chen Qingwu smiled, her voice somewhat solemn: “I will definitely continue their ‘second half-life of being used.'”

Such beautiful objects—in the hands of someone who cherished things like her, it could be considered a proper home.

Meng Fuyuan nodded, his gaze lightly falling on her face. “When I arrived, you seemed to be working. Am I disturbing you?”

“Oh… no, no. Just casually making something to practice. Sister An introduced me to a friend of hers. We’re still in the requirements discussion stage—won’t start work for the time being.”

Meng Fuyuan looked toward the turntable.

There was something unfinished on it—looked like a bowl, but also like a mug.

“Zhao Yingfei came to hang out this afternoon and casually made that herself. Sometimes when her thesis writing isn’t going well, she comes to my place to play with clay to decompress.”

Meng Fuyuan pondered: “Could I try?”

“Of course!” Seeing Meng Fuyuan hesitate slightly, Chen Qingwu said, “You can wash your hands first. I’ll prepare things.”

Meng Fuyuan walked to the sink, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and turned on the faucet.

When the water poured down, he saw the pinky ring on his little finger. Worried about getting it dirty or having it interfere with the molding, he hesitated for a moment, then took it off and placed it on the nearby stone countertop.

Chen Qingwu first put away Lady Zhuang Shiying’s set of ceramics.

Then she cleaned the wooden work table and manual turntable, took the cutting wire and cut two equal-sized blocks of clay, and finally brought over two plastic basins, filled them with clean water, and placed them to the side.

The preparation work was roughly complete.

Meng Fuyuan sat down on the low stool behind the work table, hands spread open, seemingly waiting for “Teacher Chen’s” next instructions.

Chen Qingwu sat down across from him, took a block of clay and handed it to him. “Do you have something in mind you want to make?”

“A cup.”

“Then this size should be about right.” Chen Qingwu picked up the remaining block of clay and lightly slapped it on the wooden board. “Brother Yuan, have you played with ceramics before?”

“No.”

“For pure beginners, you can either use coil building or just hand-pinch directly. Coil building is relatively more troublesome when joining.”

Meng Fuyuan picked up the clay block, still somewhat at a loss how to begin. “Just pinch directly?”

“First knead the clay. Like this…”

Meng Fuyuan looked across. She held the clay with both hands, squeezed it downward and to both sides, then rotated it forward, then downward again… repeating like this.

“This is called ram’s horn kneading. Since we won’t be using the electric pottery wheel today, just knead it a little…”

Meng Fuyuan tried to follow.

Chen Qingwu observed his movements. “The point of force is mainly here, at the thenar eminence part of the palm.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

Perhaps top students inherently possessed the attribute of easily picking up anything—Meng Fuyuan was soon kneading with proper form.

Chen Qingwu held back from praising him, because last time when she praised Zhao Yingfei saying “Great job, you’re picking it up so fast,” she was criticized for sounding like a kindergarten teacher coaxing children.

Chen Qingwu instructed Meng Fuyuan to first pinch the clay into a ball shape, then find the center position and press down.

“Like this—turn while pinching, make the opening wider, thin the edges, and shape it toward a cup form…”

Meng Fuyuan observed her demonstration while following along.

However, his eyes learned it, but his hands didn’t.

The clay that was so obedient in her hands, taking shape as a cup prototype in just a few moves, became wildly unruly in his.

“Don’t turn too fast. Take it slow, it’s fine. When pinching, you can use force from the entire finger, don’t just use the fingertip strength—that’s easy to make uneven. Use more fingertip force when adjusting details.”

Worried that Meng Fuyuan sitting across couldn’t see the operational details clearly, Chen Qingwu stood up, walked to his side, and brought the clay piece in her hands in front of him to demonstrate.

A light, clean fragrance, like some kind of white flower soaking in river water where ice hadn’t yet melted.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a strand of hair tucked behind her ear fall down. Meng Fuyuan held his breath slightly, tensed his expression, only watching the movements of her hands while following along.

Chen Qingwu lowered her head to observe his movements. “…About like this. Slowly, step by step, thin and even out the cup wall. If it feels a bit dry, you can use the sponge to dampen it with water before continuing.”

She stepped away and returned to sit across from him, secretly exhaling.

Meng Fuyuan, with his jade-like noble bearing, had a strong presence to begin with, let alone after glimpsing his feelings.

Just maintaining composure under his gaze seemed so effortful.

She’d tried and discovered she ultimately couldn’t act as if nothing had happened.

The operational essentials were basically just these—the rest depended on operational comprehension.

Therefore, in the spacious and clean studio, no one spoke anymore. Only the soft sound of the turntable rotating remained.

This silence made her heart race even more.

Chen Qingwu looked up toward the opposite side.

Meng Fuyuan was lowering his head, expression focused, somewhat serious.

However, the instant after she looked up, he seemed to sense it and lifted his eyes.

Chen Qingwu was so startled she immediately lowered her gaze.

After steadying herself and taking several deep breaths secretly, Chen Qingwu finally spoke: “Brother Yuan.”

Meng Fuyuan looked up slightly. “Mm?”

Chen Qingwu’s gaze dropped even lower. “…Do you have someone you like?”

Meng Fuyuan’s movements slowed. “Yes.”

Chen Qingwu slowly and heavily pushed out a breath from her chest, hearing her own voice, as if accompanied by a faint buzzing. “…Is it me?”

A moment of deathly silence.

A faint awkwardness floated up—not awkwardness that she might be flattering herself.

Rather, awkwardness that she was so certain that even if she was flattering herself, Meng Fuyuan wouldn’t make things awkward for her, which was why she spoke so directly.

As if exploiting his noble character.

Chen Qingwu couldn’t judge how long this instant of silence actually lasted—so long she suspected time itself had frozen along with it.

“Yes.”

That voice slightly low, yet seemed to carry a resounding frankness.

Chen Qingwu’s eyelids trembled, her heart also losing its rhythm for several seconds.

She forced herself to look up and face Meng Fuyuan directly.

He held the clay cup lightly with both hands, also gazing at her. That expression was excessively calm, making it impossible for her to judge what he was thinking at this moment.

She could only take deep breaths and speak out the words she’d already prepared these past few days, one by one: “…I was worried I might be overthinking, so I wanted to confirm with you…”

“You’re not overthinking, Qingwu.” Meng Fuyuan’s voice was extremely calm.

“I… I can’t just pretend I haven’t realized after becoming aware. Because, because…”

“I understand.”

“…I’m sorry.” Chen Qingwu could barely make a sound.

Meng Fuyuan lowered his eyes, realizing his fingers had used too much force and pressed a notch into the cup’s rim.

He released both hands and said in a low voice, “No need to apologize, Qingwu. It’s very normal. This doesn’t matter.”

…At a time like this, he was actually comforting her instead.

Chen Qingwu’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry… I want to tell you that it’s precisely because you’ve been too good to me that I can’t be at peace pretending to be deaf and dumb. Right now… I can’t reciprocate your feelings equally… or anyone else’s.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t speak for a moment.

“…It’s not because I still like Qiran, but… every time before we make new works, we must clean the equipment. Otherwise, residual impurities from the last time will contaminate the new work. This cleaning process cannot be skipped, because it’s a dual respect—for oneself and for the new work.”

Meng Fuyuan exhaled slowly and deliberately. “I understand.”

Everything that needed expressing had been expressed. Chen Qingwu’s mind was left with only vast blankness.

“I’m sorry. Making you aware at a time like this must be very troubling for you.” Meng Fuyuan looked at the girl across from him who seemed uneasy as if she’d done something wrong. “I can’t lie to you and say I can return to the previous boundaries. I can’t do that. So…”

Meng Fuyuan closed his eyes slightly, paused, then said, “Don’t feel pressured, Qingwu. Before you finish ‘cleaning,’ I won’t come looking for you again.”

Having said this, Meng Fuyuan stood up.

He looked down at the nearly completed cup on the wooden table. “…Please help me deal with this.”

Finally, his gaze lightly fell on her face once before withdrawing, then he turned and walked toward the sink.

He turned on the faucet and washed the clay from his hands clean. His gaze caught the pinky ring on the stone countertop. He reached out, took it, and slowly put it back on his little finger.

Meng Fuyuan turned off the faucet and said in a low voice, “I’m leaving, Qingwu.”

“…Mm.”

The footsteps moved toward the main door and away.

Chen Qingwu looked up toward the doorway. That figure seemed so calm, footsteps showing no disorder.

The next instant, the silhouette disappeared from the entrance.

Faintly, the sound of a car unlocking could be heard.

After a moment, tires rolled over the cement pavement in front of the door.

All sounds disappeared. The world returned to long silence.

Chen Qingwu sat under the cold white lights for a long time, thinking of nothing, nor feeling particularly relieved.

Just felt sad.

That kind of sadness even she couldn’t articulate clearly.

She reached out and picked up the half-finished piece from the wooden table across from her.

Calling it half-finished wasn’t quite accurate.

He’d pinched it very well—nearly complete already. The cup wall was evenly thick, only slightly uneven. For a beginner, this was almost an excellent standard.

What stood out was a small gap at the cup’s rim.

As if pressed out by accident.

The car drove out of the park without stopping.

Until the bridge came into view, and he could vaguely see the faint light of fires reflected on the river surface.

Meng Fuyuan stepped on the brake.

Unwilling to go further, because the riverside memories now included Chen Qingwu.

He made a U-turn up ahead and drove toward the city center.

In the metropolis at night, bars never lacked people drinking to drown their sorrows.

He used to think he could rise above such conventions, having already soberly faced that kind of pain countless times.

But this time, perhaps only alcohol could slightly dissolve it.

He sat in the innermost position at the bar counter, like a silent abyss amid the boisterous voices—no one dared approach to strike up conversation.

Not knowing how long he’d been drinking, the cold liquid going down became a kind of numb tastelessness. He finally settled the bill and left.

With somewhat unsteady steps, he walked to the roadside, pulled open the car door, and got in.

He should call a designated driver, but he only opened the car window, leaned back, tiredly lit a cigarette, and didn’t move for a long time.

The roadside stalls hadn’t closed yet—a string of lights glittered in the night.

Someone was squatting by the road selling flowers—a little girl with pigtails, looking like an upper elementary or middle school student, probably out doing part-time work during the holidays.

The little girl seemed to notice him, timidly observed for a while, then walked over holding a cardboard box. “Sir, would you like to buy flowers?”

It was already late at night. Those flowers had been out all day and were somewhat wilted.

Meng Fuyuan took out his wallet and pulled out three bills. “Give me all of them.”

The little girl was overjoyed but very principled—she only accepted one bill. “Where should I put them for you?”

Meng Fuyuan unlocked the back seat door and told her to open the door herself and put them in.

The little girl set down the cardboard box, closed the car door, her smile radiant: “Thank you! Have a wonderful weekend!”

The little girl ran out two steps when Meng Fuyuan called out to stop her.

“What’s wrong?” The little girl turned and ran back.

“Could I trouble you to help me with something?” Meng Fuyuan raised his hand and pointed ahead. “There’s a flower shop there. I’d like to ask you to help me buy a bouquet of flowers.”

Asking someone selling flowers to help buy flowers from another shop—quite an offensive request.

But the little girl didn’t mind and said with a smile, “Of course! What kind of flowers would you like?”

A few minutes later, the little girl returned.

She was about to pull open the back door again when Meng Fuyuan said, “Please help me put it in the passenger seat.”

The little girl complied.

After placing the flowers, the little girl handed him the receipt and change.

Meng Fuyuan only accepted the receipt. “This is your running fee.”

But the little girl smiled and shook her head, stuffed the money into his hand, put her hands behind her back, turned and bounced away.

The humid summer night breeze stirred up a wisp of pale blue smoke, brushing against his face.

Meng Fuyuan closed his eyes.

The sound of wind seemed distant, along with the entire world.

But opening his eyes, he was still in the clamorous downtown.

Had the alcohol already worn off, or had it never worked at all? Why was that pain still so clear—what they called heart-piercing was nothing more than this.

Meng Fuyuan turned his head and stared motionlessly at the bouquet of flowers on the passenger seat.

Purple freesias.

Blooming somewhat wearily in the deep night, yet so beautiful, so unattainable.