The final shoot was on a Saturday—the Winter Solstice.
With the two previous encounters, this shoot went even more smoothly than before.
Especially the big black dog—it was extremely affectionate toward Lin Xuqing, and the others liked it too; the whole group gathered around, chatting happily.
Jiang Min was admiring Zhang Heqiao’s collection.
He’d spent many years by this river. Back then Mingchuan wasn’t as developed as now, and quite a few fishermen lived on the water. As the river tides rose and fell, he’d picked up many old objects along the banks.
A worn jacket, a watch, a blue-and-white porcelain cup, and a pendant with an old photo of a family of three tucked inside.
“May we take a few photos of these?”
“Sure. As you like.”
“You’re rather interesting,” Zhang Heqiao said suddenly. “Not what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Not arrogant.”
After a long silence, Zhang Heqiao gave his answer.
Jiang Min looked at him. “Thank you.”
“Come to think of it, there was another reason we didn’t want to deal with you at first. The news caused a big stir a while back—we all know about it. They want to drive us out. You come here filming videos—don’t you have that assignment too?”
Jiang Min thought for a moment, then answered earnestly. “The leaders who signed off on this project may have had that in mind. But our project proposal contains no such item. Repatriation isn’t our business. We are only recorders, listening to some voices.”
In these short two or three decades, the torrent of the times rolled relentlessly onward. Order could collapse in an instant, but rebuilding took many years. In the waves of rapid social change, tiny individuals bobbed and sank, their fates uncertain.
This was also why, a few years back, Jiang Min had changed the name “Duzhou.” Life is a long river; one can only ferry oneself across. As bystanders, being able to record some stories belonging to this era was already enough.
Zhang Heqiao listened, silent, and asked no more.
Jiang Min glanced at the time. “Will you go to Sister Song’s today?”
“Yes. Every Saturday.”
Jiang Min said nothing more, waved at him, and stood to call to everyone. “If the filming’s done, let’s pack up. Thank you all for your support and cooperation!”
“Thank you! Great work, everyone!”
“Thank you!”
The whole team chorused their thanks. It made for a fairly satisfying close to this shoot.
The Winter Solstice itself was lively and bustling.
Sister Song’s shop was steaming with warmth. A few of the female staff were still busy at the BBQ stalls outside; the rest had claimed two tables in the main hall, wrapping dumplings with great gusto.
“Dumpling wrappers—pass me the wrappers.”
“Oh no, do you think there’s enough filling?”
“If not, no matter—we’ll scramble a couple of eggs later, that counts as filling too. Back in the day I even made green bean filling…”
“Um, may I request the meat-filled ones?”
“Mi Wei, you little glutton!”
“Hehe, I never said I wasn’t~ And later I want a biiig bowl of tangyuan too!”
You Hui and Sister Song were both old hands at dumplings—kneading dough, rolling wrappers, mixing filling, wrapping—every motion brisk and skilled.
A customer who’d come for BBQ asked, “Boss, you’ve got handmade dumplings too? Give me an order!”
“Sorry,” Sister Song said, looking up with a warm, welcoming smile. “These are for our family to eat later—not enough to spare. Another day—another day for sure!”
On the other side of the main hall.
Red boards dusted with gold flecks; the brush fell, flowing like drifting clouds and water, the characters upright and strong.
Jiang Min finished another Fu Character and handed it to Lin Xuqing. “Here—let it dry a bit, then ask Sister Song where to put it up.”
Lin Xuqing hurriedly took it, set it aside, and added more ink for Jiang Min.
“Looks like I could use a secretary, hmm, Secretary Lin?”
“A plate of dumplings won’t buy me over.”
“Getting bold, are we? What would it take to buy you over?”
“Mm… I’d like a Fu Character too. May I?”
Jiang Min teased her. “Look at you, so easily pleased. Wait for it.”
Lin Xuqing’s eyes curved, and she said nothing more.
Jiang Min took up more red paper, her expression focused and earnest. First she wrote a Fu Character, then kept writing on.
Lin Xuqing watched her write.
Jiang Min had taken off her coat, wearing only a white turtleneck sweater, her long hair loosely tied back, light falling on her porcelain-white cheeks.
Like a lamp overflowing with warmth, its soft glowing light.
“What are you looking at me for?” Jiang Min lifted her brush and handed the paper over. “Here, take a look.”
Lin Xuqing hurriedly took the red paper. On it was written: Four Seasons Evergreen.
Instinctively she moved to hug it to her chest, but Jiang Min stopped her. “Are you daft? The ink isn’t dry! You’ll stain your clothes.”
Lin Xuqing made a small sound of acknowledgment and cradled the red paper carefully, fretting over where to put it.
Over there, You Hui had finished her dumplings and came over to look at the Fu Characters she’d written.
Jiang Min lowered her voice. “Oh right—I forgot to tell you the other day. Don’t tell anyone that I sponsored Little Lin. I know you’re not one to gossip, but I want to stress it all the same.”
You Hui: “Afraid of hurting Little Lin’s pride?”
Jiang Min thought for a moment. “I suppose.”
You Hui nodded, then belatedly thought… why did the way these two interact feel so odd?
She didn’t dwell on it; seeing Sister Song busy again, she went over to help.
By nearly ten, the shop had grown relatively quiet.
The dumplings were all wrapped, but the people they waited for never came.
Sister Song wiped the flour from her hands on her apron, stood, and headed for the door, muttering, “That’s not right—didn’t I tell Old Zhang to come at nine thirty? Where is he?”
She stood at the doorway, hands on hips, waiting a while. When no one came, she hurried several steps out and spotted a group of people standing at the mouth of the alley.
“Old Zhang, why are you all standing over there instead of coming in?”
“Sister Song, we saw you were still busy just now—didn’t want to disturb you.”
—Earlier that evening, Sister Song had messaged Zhang Heqiao, telling them to come later—business was good on the Winter Solstice, so don’t come too early.
Zhang Heqiao had agreed. He knew Sister Song took their cardboard boxes and was willing to give them food purely because she was kind. People like them really would affect her business, so they generally picked times when the shop wasn’t busy and waited by the back door.
“All right, there aren’t many customers now. Come over and sit.”
“Ah, thank you, Sister.”
Zhang Heqiao led the group over, spread scavenged waste paper on the stools, and only then sat down.
Sister Song brought out an account book, dragged over a stool, and sat down with all the authority of a magistrate. “Year’s end—time to settle the books.”
At those words, every head lowered.
When they came to trade cardboard boxes, sometimes the count came up short, and they’d run up debts. But Sister Song was generous and never held it against them. Apparently, with year’s end here, she meant to settle accounts after all.
“Old Wang—at Dragon Boat Festival you ran up two bottles of beer on credit here.”
“Little Xu—last Qingming, you borrowed fifty yuan from me, said it was to burn paper offerings for your parents.”
“And you, Old Zhang—last time, for the big black dog’s vet visit…”
“Um, Sister Song…”
Sister Song didn’t read on.
But everyone’s shoulders sagged, as if their heads weighed a thousand jin upon their necks, impossible to lift.
Until Mi Wei came out carrying a huge platter. “Dumplings are ready!”
Sister Song finally smiled. “Dumplings for everyone! After you eat, make your calls. Normally I beg you to phone home and let your families know you’re safe, and you won’t. But today, if you’ve eaten my dumplings, you do as I say.”
The wind outside was bitter. The fragrance rushed to meet them.
Steam rose in clouds, and in eyes roughened by the cold wind, a mist gathered too.
“But I’m not covering the phone bills.”
“Use my phone.”
Jiang Min came over, opened the dial pad, and pressed call for each of them in turn.
“Dad, Mom, it’s me. I… I’m doing fine.”
“You wretch—how many years since you’ve been home? You still remember you have a family?”
“I… I’m coming home this New Year.”
“Oh, so you DO remember the way home!”
“…”
“Hello, sweetheart… Daddy’s saving money up for you.”
“I’m sorry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry…”
Zhang Heqiao bent to stroke his big dog and shook his head at the phone Lin Xuqing offered. “No parents, no children, no wife. Having Little Guai by my side is enough.”
Lin Xuqing bent down too. “Then Little Guai should have a dumpling as well.”
As if she’d entirely forgotten she’d once been bitten, her smile was simple and pure.
Sister Song tugged at Jiang Min’s sleeve. “You’re not filming this, right?”
Jiang Min said at once, “Rest assured, Sister Song. We’re not.”
“It’s fine,” Sister Song said with a wave of her hand. “I saw you hadn’t brought any equipment, figured you weren’t planning to film. So I set my own phone up to record. The resolution’s probably nothing special—use it if you can.”
Jiang Min: “Thank you…”
No wonder Sister Song had said she wouldn’t cover the phone bills and wouldn’t help make the calls. She’d been recording from the side all along.
Sister Song: “None of that!”
“Sister Min! Sister Song! And Little Lin! Come eat dumplings too!”
“Come, come—cheers, cheers! Happy winter!”
Amid the clear chime of clinking glasses, everyone laughed and chattered, warm and bustling.
Amid the din, Jiang Min shifted two steps closer to Lin Xuqing. Who knew what had come over her—she leaned in and said by her ear, “Lin Xuqing. Thank you.”
After the last shoot, by the river, Lin Xuqing had made that proposal—and she wanted to try it too.
This was probably the warmest winter she’d had in all these years. How wonderful.
Her breath fell against her ear; as she drew close, a warm, pleasant fragrance drifted over.
Lin Xuqing felt her heart about to leap out of her chest. After several seconds, she managed a stiff reply: “No need to thank me.”
Suddenly, someone clapped Jiang Min on the shoulder from behind.
She straightened at once and sidestepped two paces away.
You Hui: “What secrets are you two whispering?”
“Nothing. How do you keep materializing out of nowhere?”
“Mm… nothing.”
You Hui knitted her brows, falling deep into thought.
Something’s off. Very off! Why are these two huddled so close?!
