Han Yanqing followed the guide to find the most artistic bookstore in Chongqing City, and found the owner sleeping soundly in a cradle chair on the terrace.
"A secret camera maniac?" Jiang Jinyue rubbed her sleepy eyes and sneered, "Are all the spies in your Internet celebrity store so virtuous?"
He held the returned coffee money and frowned: "It's hard to live up to the reputation."
Three days later, we met again under the ancient ginkgo trees of Ciyun Temple. She was bandaging chilblains for the grandmother who kept the temple.
"Little Yueya, let this baby try our brown sugar glutinous rice cake!" Grandma pushed Han Yanqing into the kitchen room.
On a rainy night, the mountain collapsed and blocked the way back, so he read her "Mountain City Years" on the floor of the attic.
"Why are you helping me restore the ritual?" She looked at the red marks on his wrist caused by the incense ashes.
"The collecting notes are missing the most important chapter -" he knocked down the celadon cup, "about you."
The raindrops made tiny drumbeats on the bluestone, and he finally turned back and pushed open the ajar door.
Under the warm yellow light on the second floor, she guarded two bowls of glutinous rice cakes drizzled with brown syrup and said softly:
"Flight canceled, Korean writer."
Intention: Old customs are like passing down the flames of the heart, illuminating the night and comforting the world.