The Corner Store Owner Next Door Has a Crush on Me

Beneath a humble gate, one may find shelter and rest.

Wen Shuci made a name for himself at a young age, and everything beneath his paintbrush seemed full of life. But after his grandmother passed away, the colors faded from his eyes, one layer at a time, until only gray remained.

With an old diary in hand, he returned to his grandmother’s hometown, Qichi Town.

Hidden deep among tea-covered mountains, the little town had blue-gray stone paths and osmanthus branches heavy with blossoms. Time moved as slowly as a raindrop poised to fall from the eaves. The owner of the shop next door always passed a bowl of porridge over the low wall at dawn. A silent patron in the tavern offered him a cup of warm water. A two-year-old stood on tiptoe and placed a crumpled daisy in his palm.

They never asked questions. With osmanthus cakes, plum wine, a bowl of porridge, a single flower, they slowly drew him out of the gray.

It turned out the best healing in the world wasn’t someone pulling you out of the abyss. It was someone willing to sit beside it, quietly keeping you company until dawn.

Osmanthus blossoms covered the ground. He picked up the paintbrush he had set aside for so long and discovered he could finally paint in color again.

The first color was the slanting sunlight reflected on the low wall that evening.

Some things have passed. Some things remain.