Helping his grandparents with the herbs reminded He Su Ye of his childhood. The courtyard had always been filled with the smell of herbs and honeyed pills. Once, he had been punished for sneaking honey and made to sun-dry the herbs. That day, a sudden downpour had them scrambling to gather everything. Though the herbs were saved, he ended up drenched and caught a cold, spending days with a runny nose. But every day, he got to eat honey.
The honey jar always seemed to run out, yet he believed honey was endless.
He left late in the evening, and by the time he was halfway home, it had started to drizzle.
From the bus stop, he still had a walk to his house. He wasn’t in a hurry, strolling leisurely in the rain. The day had been heavy, filled with memories that weighed him down. He felt drained, as though his emotions had been stripped bare.
The rain felt cleansing, and he let it soak him as he walked.
Suddenly, a blue umbrella appeared, covering his vision. He turned and saw Shen Xi Fan laughing as she awkwardly explained, "Gosh, He Su Ye, you’re so tall! I can’t reach! Don’t just stand there—can’t you see how hard I’m trying to hold this up for you?"
Her slightly damp bangs framed her smiling face. She wore a blue quilted jacket, jeans, and sneakers. In one hand, she held a bouquet of tulips—all purple. In the other, she struggled to hold the umbrella.
He quickly took the umbrella from her, feeling something inside him melt.
Every time he saw Shen Xi Fan, she radiated joy. She seemed carefree, and he envied her. Even when she was sick, she’d smile and say, "It’s nothing serious—it’ll get better."
Her sweet smile, framed by the bouquet of tulips, was captivating.
But something about the flowers irked him. He suddenly blurted, "Who gave these to you?"
Shen Xi Fan blinked in surprise before grinning. "What do you mean, who gave them to me? The hotel just hosted a debutante’s birthday banquet. These were leftover tulips, and I brought them back. Aren’t they pretty?"
He smiled—his first genuine smile of the day. "They’re beautiful, really."
She split the bouquet in half and handed him some. "If you like them, take these! They’re free anyway!"
He tilted the umbrella to cover her more fully. "What kind of girl gives flowers to a guy? Silly girl!"
Shen Xi Fan looked at He Su Ye, then at herself, and let out an awkward laugh. “Hehe. Let’s do this—He Su Ye, you hold the flowers first, then hand me half and say, ‘Miss Shen Xi Fan, please graciously accept these.’ That way, it’s perfectly reasonable and proper!”
And that’s exactly how he ended up taking half the bouquet of tulips home.
He felt a little foolish but, oddly enough, found himself unusually attentive to the flowers. He placed them in a vase, carefully added water, and even dropped a vitamin C tablet in to keep them fresh.
He wasn’t one for plants—he never cared for flowers or greenery, and he couldn’t even keep a cactus alive.
But this time, he hoped the tulips would last a little longer. When they eventually wilted, he thought he might dry the petals and turn them into bookmarks. They would probably look beautiful.
His mother had also loved tulips. Coincidentally, her name was Yu Nianxiang—"Yu" as in tulip, and "Nianxiang" meaning "fragrant year."
* * *
As he tended to the tulips, his thoughts wandered. Maybe it was time to have a proper talk with his father—about himself, about his future.
In the corner of his room leaned the blue umbrella from earlier. He remembered where Shen Xi Fan lived now: Building 7, Unit 2, Apartment 301 in F District. Her father seemed like a kind man, the type who would suggest, "Young man, have some Banlangen [a herbal remedy] when you get home, so you don’t catch a cold."
As for her mother, he hadn’t met her yet. According to Shen Xi Fan, she was going through menopause and was quite fond of gossip. A typical, ordinary family, yet one filled with warmth and happiness.
When he was younger, he had often wondered how life would have been if his parents hadn’t been a department director and a head nurse. Would he have had to cook his own meals and bid an empty house goodnight? Would he still have had to explain to his teachers why no one came to his parent-teacher conferences?
He had learned early on to accept reality—not to resign himself to it, but to understand that independence was something he would have to learn sooner or later. The timing hardly mattered.
He had been a mature and sensible child, far beyond his years.
But once, he had hoped his home might become lively one day, filled with the laughter of his parents. That dream had since become an unattainable luxury.
Now, he realized that the kind of familial happiness Shen Xi Fan radiated—the warmth and contentment—was something he lacked and deeply yearned for.
He wanted to get closer to her, to draw from her warmth.
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