The Meng family had a business partner of many years celebrating a birthday. Since it wasn’t a milestone birthday, they only reserved a large private room with two tables.

Now, these social obligations naturally fell to Meng Qiran to handle.

Only at this point did Meng Qiran realize how tiresome these social engagements were. In the past, Meng Fuyuan had handled them flawlessly without ever showing a hint of emotion—truly admirable.

After three rounds of drinks, someone brought up gossip, asking why they hadn’t seen the Chen family at recent Meng family banquets.

Meng Chengyong smiled awkwardly and said the Chen family had been busy with many things lately.

That person laughed: “True. With the relationship between your Chen and Meng families, you don’t need these formalities anyway.”

Meng Chengyong felt even more embarrassed.

This was the first time Meng Qiran felt his parents’ face-saving efforts were somewhat ridiculous.

At this moment, someone else spoke up, making the customary joke to Meng Qiran: “You’re twenty-seven this year, Qiran? Why hasn’t your marriage to the Chen family girl been settled yet?”

Chen Qingwu’s “love triangle” was a sensitive topic at home. Meng Chengyong and Qilin never mentioned it at the dinner table, as if Meng Fuyuan and Chen Qingwu had never existed.

Hearing it suddenly mentioned now, both Meng Chengyong and Qilin’s expressions froze.

Meng Qiran lifted his eyes and smiled: “That was just the adults joking around. Surely no one took it seriously? Qingwu and I are just childhood playmates. We each have people we like.”

The person paused, then laughed: “Really? I thought we’d be drinking at your wedding soon, Qiran.”

Meng Qiran still smiled: “When we were younger, it didn’t matter if the two families casually mentioned it, but now we’re at marriageable age—I need to seriously clear this up for Qingwu’s sake. This concerns her reputation, so from now on we won’t joke about this, and I ask all the uncles here not to make this joke anymore either.”

With that, Meng Qiran picked up the bottle and said he’d toast everyone, thanking them for their understanding.

At a banquet, there’s nothing a toast can’t resolve.

When the feast ended, the three returned home.

The driver was driving. Meng Qiran sat in the passenger seat with the window open, letting the wind sober him up.

Meng Chengyong and Qilin were still upset and inevitably brought up old matters.

Qilin blamed Meng Chengyong for speaking too harshly last time: “You told him not to come home anymore—what do you plan to do? With Fuyuan’s personality, do you think he’ll take the initiative to back down?”

Meng Chengyong said: “Given his absurd behavior now, I’d rather act as if I never had this son.”

Qilin immediately turned around. “Is that your true feeling? Have you always been thinking that without this son, you could rekindle your old romance?”

“Are you being reasonable? How have I treated you all these years—don’t you know? And now you’re bringing up old accounts again.”

Qilin was so angry her shoulders shook. All her emotions surged up at once, and her first reaction was to cover her face and cry.

Meng Chengyong froze for a moment, then reached out to grab her arm, pulling her shoulder into an embrace: “Alright, alright… What I said was all said in anger. If you can’t bear it, go talk to Fuyuan again. After all, you gave birth to him—how could he really sever ties with the family?”

“What about you? Are you just waiting to reap the benefits?”

“What kind of talk is that… I’m the one who said the harsh words. Would it be any use if I went?”

Sitting in front, Meng Qiran finally couldn’t help but speak: “Have you two had enough?”

Both Qilin and Meng Chengyong paused.

Meng Qiran didn’t turn around. He crossed his arms, his tone somewhat cold. “Let my brother and Wuwu have a few peaceful days.”

Qilin was very surprised. “Qiran, do you know we’re doing this for your sake?”

“If you’re really thinking of me, stop disturbing them—especially Wuwu. She’s soft-hearted and mindful of how well you’ve treated her in the past. Even when wronged, she won’t say anything. You watched her grow up. You know exactly what kind of person she is. You clearly know that from start to finish, she hasn’t done anything wrong.” Meng Qiran showed some annoyance. “That things didn’t work out between Wuwu and me has always been my responsibility alone. I’m the one who didn’t seize the opportunity and let her down.”

Both Qilin and Meng Chengyong were speechless for a moment.

“Let’s leave it at this. Don’t keep interfering. If you keep making trouble, you’ll only push my brother further and further away.”

Once liquor hits you, every nerve in your brain seems to throb with pain.

Meng Qiran closed his eyes and said nothing more.

He wasn’t being magnanimous at all. He just couldn’t bear to see Chen Qingwu wronged—in the past, she had already been wronged enough because of him.

Upon arriving home, Meng Qiran downed a glass of water, then went straight upstairs to his room to rest.

He collapsed on the bed and turned his head to see the water cup in the display cabinet—Chen Qingwu’s graduation work.

He still remembered how solemn Chen Qingwu had been when she gave it to him, so solemn that he was afraid of breaking it by accident. So for all these years, he had only kept it enshrined in the display cabinet, never using it.

His head was splitting. He closed his eyes and felt the pain gradually spreading toward his heart.

Mai Xunwen arrived in East City the day before the exhibition opening.

He worked at an internet company in Silicon Valley and had specifically requested annual leave for this exhibition.

Since the opportunity was rare, his parents had also coordinated their schedules to come along.

After viewing the exhibition, the group planned to tour and vacation in a few other cities.

Meng Fuyuan personally drove to pick them up and took them to their reserved hotel.

Exhausted from the journey, the three rested first, with dinner and other matters scheduled for after viewing the exhibition.

On opening day, a driver drove a commercial vehicle, and Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan went together to pick them up.

Mai Xunwen and his parents were already waiting in the lobby.

Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan passed through the revolving door and walked to the lobby waiting area. Mai Xunwen saw them, waved, and stood up.

When they approached, Mai Xunwen saw Meng Fuyuan holding Chen Qingwu’s hand and said with a smile: “So it’s official now?”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

Mai Xunwen laughed heartily.

Chen Qingwu didn’t understand this inexplicable exchange and looked at Meng Fuyuan, hoping he would explain.

Meng Fuyuan said: “It’s nothing. Not important.”

Mai Xunwen’s mother Mira also stood up. She was very happy to see Chen Qingwu. After warm greetings, she presented handmade candles she had made herself as a gift.

The group set off for the art museum.

After getting out of the car, Chen Qingwu asked everyone to wait at the security checkpoint.

A moment later, Brother Yao from the museum staff came out with several guest passes and distributed them to everyone.

Everyone entered through the staff passage at the security checkpoint, crossed the lobby, and headed to the ceramics exhibition hall.

Exhibition halls seven through ten were all open for this exhibition.

A large poster with exhibition information was displayed at the entrance. Mai Xunwen and his group stopped.

The exhibition was titled “Dust and Rosy Clouds.” [*Note]

“From the primitive celadon unearthed at the Erlitou site to the flourishing variety under modern techniques, Chinese ceramics span three thousand years: Ru kiln blue, Ding kiln white, Jian kiln black… Craftsmanship and artisans complement each other. The long river of history has left behind several waves, which we visit and gather one by one. Ten overlooked master craftspeople, whose works are either harmonious, or straightforward, or simple, or serene… Refining fire and light, dust becomes rosy clouds.”

The exhibition was free with advance reservation. Since today was the opening day, few slots were released, so the exhibition hall was very quiet. The occasional footsteps and murmured voices didn’t feel noisy.

Rather than heading straight to the main attraction, everyone followed the exhibition layout, viewing in sequence.

Whenever they didn’t understand something, they asked Chen Qingwu.

Mira saw a vase with a gradient from pale yellow to deep blue and asked Chen Qingwu how it was fired. “Won’t the colors mix together?”

Chen Qingwu explained: “Theoretically, there are two methods to achieve this multi-color effect. One is to create the colors during glazing—applying one glaze color as a base and laying other glaze colors on top. This requires fairly accurate prediction of how the glaze colors will turn out after firing, and may require multiple test firings to achieve the ideal result. Another method is multiple re-firings. From the appearance of this piece, it should have been made through re-firing. There’s an overlapping and layering effect between the colors.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Mira’s eyes showed admiration and worship.

When Chen Qingwu went out with friends and visited museums with ceramics-related exhibits, she often saw similar looks when explaining. She always felt embarrassed because it was simply professional specialization.

Not all the works in the exhibition hall were to everyone’s taste, so they spent more time on some and only glanced at others.

As a professional, Chen Qingwu was much more “promiscuous in her affections”—she liked almost every piece here.

She was especially keen on first looking at the object itself, then inferring the ceramicist’s life based on its characteristics. If she guessed correctly, she considered it an unexpected delight.

Meng Fuyuan noticed her self-entertainment and joined in.

When they disagreed, the two even made bets.

While thoroughly enjoying themselves, they arrived at the junction between exhibition halls seven and eight.

Ahead was Zhuang Shiying’s individual section, with the theme “Flowers in Four Seasons,” taken from Han Wo’s line “Flowers in four seasons often see rain.”

Seeing these four characters, Mai Xunwen was somewhat dazed and asked Chen Qingwu: “Who decided on the theme name?”

“Usually the curatorial team.”

“They really did thorough research on my grandmother’s work. This theme fits perfectly with the tone of what she created.”

With that, Mai Xunwen eagerly stepped into exhibition hall eight.

Photos of Zhuang Shiying and her personal biography were posted on the wall, including her birth and death dates and life experiences.

Mai Xunwen and his father stood there, reading each sentence, their emotions very complex.

Clearly a familiar relative, yet she seemed to have become a legend in a biography.

All of Zhuang Shiying’s works were classified according to three periods—youth, middle age, and later years. Each stage had its own characteristics, but there were also preferences and temperaments that ran throughout.

Just as summarized by the four words “Flowers in Four Seasons,” each work embodied an optimism and magnanimity that faced suffering directly and brought forth flowers from dead wood.

The famille rose bell-shaped cup that Chen Qingwu had brought back from afar was placed in a glass display case in the center, bathed in gentle white light, with an elegant and warm quality.

It seemed that all the flourishing flowers and blazing fires of her life had been wrapped by the years into understated serenity.

Mai Xunwen’s family stayed in the exhibition hall for a long time. After viewing everything once, they returned to the first exhibit and started over.

Chen Qingwu looked even more carefully—at the craftsmanship, the firing results, and the creative approach.

In this quiet space and time, she seemed to be crossing the barriers of life and death, of space and time, to sit and converse with those who came before.

At this moment, Brother Yao came over accompanied by Zhai Jingtang.

Brother Yao introduced them to Zhai Jingtang: “Teacher Zhai, these are the family members of Ms. Zhuang Shiying who came specially from the United States.”

Zhai Jingtang extended his hand to Mai Xunwen and his group, nodding with a smile: “Pleased to meet you! Thank you, Mr. Mai, for all your efforts and support.”

Mai Xunwen said: “I should be the one thanking you. The exhibition is excellently curated. None of my concerns materialized.”

Zhai Jingtang smiled: “Being able to accomplish this and let more people know about Teacher Zhuang’s work is also my honor. I heard you and Qingwu are friends? The person who deserves the most thanks is her—she’s been helping coordinate many things throughout.”

Chen Qingwu quickly said: “Not at all. I only did superficial work.”

Mai Xunwen said: “I’m treating Miss Chen to dinner tonight.”

“…We agreed that Meng Fuyuan and I would treat.” Chen Qingwu said with a smile.

At this point, Zhai Jingtang naturally looked at Meng Fuyuan beside Chen Qingwu.

Only then did Chen Qingwu remember she hadn’t made introductions. She smiled awkwardly. “This is my boyfriend, Meng Fuyuan. He has a partnership with the head of SEMedical who previously commissioned you to fire ceramic components.”

Zhai Jingtang extended his hand, smiling: “Pleased to meet you.”

Meng Fuyuan shook his hand, smiling: “Thank you for your support of our work.”

He didn’t say, thank you for taking care of her.

Chen Qingwu smiled, thinking perhaps only she could appreciate the difference in wording.

Zhai Jingtang smiled: “I heard it was for flame-retardant materials for medical devices. I’m also indirectly contributing to the development of the medical industry, which is my honor.”

After some casual conversation, Zhai Jingtang still had matters to attend to and prepared to leave.

Before leaving, he joked with Chen Qingwu: “I occasionally browse your online store. Make good products—I’ll place orders from time to time to check your work.”

Chen Qingwu smiled: “The pressure is intense.”

“Pressure produces better work—I’m off now, Qingwu. Next time bring your boyfriend to the Porcelain Capital. I’ll host you.”

After Zhai Jingtang left, Mai Xunwen and his group focused on a few more pieces, taking photos as mementos, before continuing to the next exhibition hall.

Mai Xunwen fell back a few steps to walk alongside Chen Qingwu. “Thank you. Now I truly understand what you meant back then—that she’s not just my grandmother, but also a ceramic artist.”

Chen Qingwu smiled: “You’re welcome. Being able to facilitate this gives me a great sense of accomplishment too.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t interrupt Chen Qingwu’s conversations with others throughout.

He liked watching her shine with brilliance because of her beloved career. Even just observing gave him peace of mind—in this ramshackle world, someone was still earnestly persisting.

When the group arrived at exhibition hall ten, a figure standing before a large ceramic tile painting, looking up in admiration, caught Chen Qingwu’s attention.

Black T-shirt and athletic jacket, a black backpack slung diagonally across his back, tall and slender with excellent features—that face would be more than good enough even if he went directly into the entertainment industry.

Who else could it be but Meng Qiran?

Meng Fuyuan also noticed at this moment and exchanged glances with Chen Qingwu. The two walked over together.

Meng Fuyuan spoke: “Qiran.”

Meng Qiran turned around with the pleasant surprise of an unexpected encounter. “Brother…”

His gaze swept past Chen Qingwu, swallowing back the term of address that had reached his lips.

Meng Fuyuan: “Here to see the exhibition?”

“Saw the poster on WeChat Moments.”

Meng Fuyuan understood—he naturally meant Chen Qingwu’s WeChat Moments.

“Lunch together?” Meng Fuyuan said.

“No thanks. I have things to do. I was originally planning to come find you at your company after viewing the exhibition.”

“What did you need me for?”

Meng Qiran removed his backpack, took out a wooden box about twenty centimeters square, and handed it to Meng Fuyuan. “A gift for you.”

“What is it? Not a grenade, is it?”

“…” Meng Qiran was somewhat speechless. “Exactly that. Hold it carefully and don’t drop it, or it’ll explode immediately.”

Meng Fuyuan showed a “how old are you” expression of disdain.

From start to finish, Meng Qiran only glanced at Chen Qingwu with his peripheral vision.

For some reason, he felt ashamed. That faint suffocating sensation—he didn’t know if it was from jealousy or from pain.

She must be very happy. Even looking at her, she no longer had that emaciated and haggard appearance of the past.

What pained him wasn’t that she was happy, but that he too had once had the chance to give her happiness.

Meng Qiran didn’t let his emotions show at all. He zipped up the backpack, lowered his gaze, and said: “I’ve already finished viewing. I’ll be going. You two take your time.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t say anything and just nodded.

Meng Qiran finally glanced lightly at Chen Qingwu, nodded briefly, then turned and walked toward the exhibition hall exit.

After finishing the tour, the group returned to the car and headed to the restaurant Meng Fuyuan had reserved in advance.

In the seven-seat commercial vehicle, Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan sat in the back row.

Meng Fuyuan brought the wooden box over and placed it on his lap.

Chen Qingwu leaned in close, waiting for him to open it.

The wooden box had a brass lock with a bolt. Removing the bolt and flipping open the lid, both froze.

Like the color of freesia, spreading in water—that touch of nearly transparent misty purple.

That water cup.

That “Flower and Mist.”

[Note:] Quote from Liu Yuxi’s “Two Poems on the Shou’an Gantang Pavilion”: Dust and rosy clouds, between them more than ten steps.