“Later, the packaging of the seasoning changed, and my family stopped using MSG and switched to chicken bouillon. But I still remember that lotus flower on the packaging, the little pink lotus my mom showed me.”
When her mother passed away, Cheng Liao was still too young. All her memories of her mother were tied to that small lotus on the packaging. People tend to cling to certain memories, flavors, or bits of warmth—things that might seem silly to others but are everything to a child.
She felt a bit down but forced a smile. “I got to see it today. Even though it’s not the lotus under the sun, it’s still nice.”
Sheng Jingchu instinctively reached for his pocket to grab some candy.
He thought she might like the grapefruit flavor. He’d asked about it at a convenience store, but they didn’t have the brand he remembered. Not sure if she’d like other brands, he ended up buying a bag of marshmallows shaped like little cat paws. When he later saw her WeChat message with a cat waving its paw, he felt a small burst of joy—she did like it after all.
Reflecting for a moment, he shared some of his own memories.
“When I was little, I lived by the canal—the Hangzhou section of the Grand Canal. We had to take a boat to get anywhere. Even now, there are boats traveling along that canal. The old house is still there, and they’ve built the Grand Canal Museum nearby.”
He was a precocious child and could remember things from when he was two years old: the coal-laden boats in the canal, the sound of their horns, and the young men standing at the bow, with their strong bodies and sun-darkened faces.
“I still remember the taste of the fish soup from back then,” he continued. “The memory may fade over time, but the taste lingers on your tongue. It had a slight sourness... My parents often took me to West Lake when I was young. Early autumn evenings were the most beautiful, with sunlight that looked like gold scattered across the water. As you walked along the lakeshore, the tree shadows created strange patterns on your body, half light and half dark.”
Cheng Liao suddenly realized something. “You’re from Hangzhou?”
Sheng Jingchu nodded. “Yes, I’m from Hangzhou.”
After a moment, he smiled. “So I can understand Hangzhou dialect.”
He imitated the gestures she had made earlier.
“One of them was saying, ‘This guy looks familiar, like a professional player. Should we ask him?’ And the other replied, ‘What’s the point of asking so much? Just let him play.’”
Cheng Liao blushed, making a final, weak attempt to justify her misunderstanding. “But that guy did flip the board!”
“That was an accident,” Sheng Jingchu said.
He couldn’t understand how Cheng Liao had concluded that those two were planning to fight him—was it their tone? Their actions? Or just her worry?
“Once, when Cao Xihe was playing in a tournament in Korea, the match was held at Gyeongbokgung Palace. I guess the organizers wanted to showcase Korean tradition, so they didn’t provide chairs. The players had to kneel while playing. Cao couldn’t take it, and when he stretched out his leg, he knocked over the board.”
Sheng Jingchu shook his head. “After the match, Cao said the organizers were really sneaky.”
Cheng Liao pulled out her DV camera and scratched her head, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“Can you repeat that? I’d like to use it as material.”
Sheng Jingchu obliged, repeating the story with a hint of awkwardness.
Cheng Liao then realized that his reluctance to do interviews wasn’t just about disliking interruptions—he was probably uncomfortable in front of the camera, too.
This little diversion made her forget her earlier embarrassment. After packing away the DV camera, she patted her stomach and asked, “Are you hungry?”
She made sure to order a special dish, Song Sao’s Fish Soup. Nearby, a few young boys kept glancing their way, taking photos of Sheng Jingchu with their phones. After a while, one of them mustered up the courage to approach.
“Are you Sheng Jingchu?” the boy asked.
Sheng Jingchu nodded and asked, “Do you play Go?”
The boy shook his head, his cheeks turning red. “I… I like playing Go. Can you give me some encouragement?”
Sheng Jingchu thought for a moment and said, “Persistence is key.”
Cheng Liao widened her eyes. That was the simplest encouragement ever.
“Why didn’t you say something like, ‘If life were like a game of Go, I wouldn’t want to hold the black and white pieces, but rather become the board itself, observing the world’s myriad affairs and the winds and clouds in motion,’ or ‘As I sip tea and taste its five flavors, I glimpse past lives through the black and white pieces’?”
Sheng Jingchu was taken aback. “Who said that?”
“You did.” Cheng Liao quickly searched on her phone. “It’s from a popular post called ‘818 Sheng Jingchu’s Go Philosophy.’”
He took the phone and glanced at it, a bit exasperated. “I never said those things.”
“Which is why…” Cheng Liao grinned at him, her eyes forming crescents, “it’s important to do interviews. Some things need to be clarified. Otherwise, you might soon see books titled ‘My Unforgettable Moments with Sheng Jingchu’ or ‘Spring Breeze for Ten Miles, How to Marry You—My Boyfriend Sheng Jingchu.’”
Sheng Jingchu shook his head. “Who would be that bored?”
“Me!” Cheng Liao pointed at herself. “Aren’t I your ‘girlfriend’?”
The more she thought about it, the more amused she became. “It would be a bestseller for sure.”
If she had a tail, it would be wagging with excitement. Sheng Jingchu tapped the table lightly. “Let’s eat.”
Even while eating, Cheng Liao didn’t stop. Whenever she found an interesting post, she’d lean over and share it with him, holding her phone high up.
He thought to himself that Xiao Qi had certainly never told her that he didn’t like being disturbed while eating.
Though it was a bit outside his comfort zone, it also felt refreshing. He realized that most people probably ate this way—chatting while they ate, occasionally taking pictures with their phones. The noise was chaotic, but it carried the warmth of life.
Cheng Liao couldn’t stand the way Sheng Jingchu ate and kept nagging him, “Hey, you can’t eat food like that. Tasting everything together enhances the flavor.”
He couldn’t help but think of Uncle Cheng. Like father, like daughter—they both said the same things.
She didn’t finish the Song Sao’s Fish Soup and frowned, “This isn’t authentic at all, is it?”
When it came to food, she had her principles. “Seasoning is meant to complement the dish. If you add too much, it overpowers the flavor of the fish. It’s like the host stealing the show.”
Sheng Jingchu had ordered this dish every time he came to Hangzhou, eating it repeatedly for over a decade. It had never matched his memory, so he no longer had any expectations and didn’t feel disappointed at all.
Cheng Liao set down her spoon. "I'll make it for you next time."
He suspected she was just humoring him, but still, a hint of joy warmed his heart. He smiled, a subtle smile like a breeze brushing over water, quickly fading without a trace.
On the return trip, Sheng Jingchu insisted that Cheng Liao sit behind the driver, while he took the seat next to her.
Cheng Liao was curious. "Do you like this seat? Better angle? Better view?"
The driver, a plump man whose eyes turned into slits when he smiled, chuckled. "Young lady, you're in the safest seat, you know."
He turned to point at her position. "In case of danger, if I swerve the wheel, the front passenger side is the one at risk."
Only then did Cheng Liao understand why Cao Xihe had winked at her earlier. When their car had narrowly avoided the Buick, had the angle been slightly different, Sheng Jingchu would have been hurt.
Feeling a mix of guilt and gratitude, as well as a strange, unfamiliar emotion, she was frustrated with her own slowness in realizing this. She just stared at him blankly.
Sheng Jingchu’s expression remained calm. "I’m used to it."
Used to it?
Was he used to sitting in this seat, or used to looking out for others?
Cheng Liao didn’t ask further questions.
The car had been moving for a while when she finally said, "Thank you."
With the window open, the wind drowned out her voice, but Sheng Jingchu still heard her. That simple thank-you seemed to create a distance between them. He sat by the window, silent the entire way.
Cheng Liao assumed he was lost in thought about the upcoming matches. At first, she chatted with the driver, but as the conversation dwindled, the only sound left was the wind rushing in.
Suddenly, there was a loud rustling as the wind flipped open the notebook Cheng Liao had left on the seat. Sheng Jingchu glanced over and caught sight of his own name.
Her handwriting was round and full, like pinecones scattered on the grass, ready to roll away if nudged.
He mimicked her handwriting, tracing each stroke on his leg with his fingertip, writing "Sheng Jingchu" and then her name, "Cheng Liao."
"Sheng Jingchu Cheng."
It had a certain charm to it.
After that, Cheng Liao spent her days following Cao Xihe around.
Cao Xihe’s life was full of variety. He learned to pick tea leaves from the local farmers, fished with a rod he’d brought along, and generally kept himself busy.
Cheng Liao thought that distancing herself from Sheng Jingchu might ease Ding Lan’s hostility toward her. But even while trailing Cao Xihe, Ding Lan kept a close watch, tagging along for tea-picking one moment, then for fishing the next.
Cao Xihe was all smiles, more flamboyant than the spring sunlight. Before returning to his room each night, he would remind Cheng Liao, "You’ll follow me again tomorrow."
The next day was the press conference for the Chess Sage Tournament.
Held every four years, this was the fourth edition. Sheng Jingchu and his junior disciples were too young to participate in the last one, but this time, the younger generation of players was drawing significant attention alongside the veteran Go masters.
Cao Xihe showed up looking sharp, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced with seriousness. He even dyed back the yellow streak in his hair. With his naturally charming features and a playful personality, he welcomed all the media’s questions, occasionally throwing in a joke or two.
In contrast, Sheng Jingchu remained reserved, keeping his answers brief despite being one of the top contenders. Naturally, he garnered a lot of attention.
When asked about his expectations for the tournament, Sheng Jingchu simply replied, "I’ll do my best."
Show Style had secured the best spot in the room. Linda posed a question: "What’s your take on the recent rumors?"
Her gaze shifted to Cheng Liao in the corner, deliberately bringing her into the spotlight. "After all, the person involved is my colleague."
Linda had prepared for this moment, following her supervisor’s instructions to stir up some publicity by playing up the alleged romance between Sheng Jingchu and Cheng Liao. At the same time, she intended to test her own charm—if she could win Sheng Jingchu’s favor, the original plan would be irrelevant.
Cheng Liao wasn’t staying on the same floor as the media, so the reporters hadn’t noticed her until Linda’s words brought her into the spotlight. Some even turned their cameras toward her.
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