After Passing the Last Streetlight, Just Smile

The surface of the lake was as frozen as a large piece of dark ink jade. Lao Yuan stepped on it first, and the ice surface creaked, like a heavy sigh, holding him firmly. He turned back and stretched his hands toward the shore. Mrs. Qiuer was still a little hesitant. Her half-worn dark red cotton-padded jacket looked like a piece of charcoal that was about to go out in the gray winter. He finally took her hand, which still felt thin and timid in the woolen glove. They were no longer young, and what they were skating on was not ice, but a small flat area in the middle of the lake where the snow had been swept away. The movement is slow, with a kind of cautious tentativeness, like two dragonflies skimming the water, clicking and then separating. But while holding hands and circling, the wind blew past my ears, and there was a whistling sound. The row of silent little red-brick houses on the shore, with dark windows, retreated silently, becoming a blurry background. For a moment, Mrs. Qiuer almost laughed, as if she had returned to the age when she wore two pigtails and ran wildly in the small river at the edge of the town. At that time, the brick house was new and the days were also new. The traces left by the ice blades were shallow and were covered by the newly fallen snow in a blink of an eye. Just like those countless days, layer after layer has been accumulated quietly. They stopped talking, only listening to the subtle creaking of the ice under their feet and each other's heavy breathing. This cold silence is more fulfilling than any words. Finally, they stepped ashore, stamping the cold air on their feet. Looking back again, the ice surface was still as dark as jade, and the brief and light traces just now seemed like they had never existed before. Only the slight gasps of the people next to me proved that that small slide was real.