[Ten Years Later: Uncapsule the Surprise]
Lighthouse, Old Wooden Crates, and Three Beams of Starlight
——Date: August 16, 2034
——Characters: Zhou Xu, 38 years old; Xia Li, 30 years old; Zhou Yukui, 10 years old
1
On a midsummer evening, the reeds in the wetland park stood taller than they had a decade ago.
Zhou Xu and I walked along the rain-washed wooden boardwalk, holding little Yu Kui's hand. At the end, the lighthouse still stood tall, like an old friend.
"Mom, hurry up! I want to open my blind box!"
Xiao Kui carried a brand-new outdoor backpack today—embroidered with sunflowers, her own logo design.
Zhou Xu held a shovel in one hand and my hand in the other.
Our palms intertwined, the warmth between them hotter than it had been ten years ago.
2
The iron gate creaked open—
The rooftop wind rushed in instantly, carrying moisture and the scent of grass, like a time machine turning back the clock.
The old wooden crate lay quietly beneath the lamppost. Its lid bore our three names, plus a newly added line of small characters:
[2034 · Return for the Promise]
Zhou Xu bent down to insert the key. I opened the video recording on my phone, letting Xiao Kui narrate as the host.
"Hello everyone, I'm Zhou Yukui. Today I'm 10 years and 7 days old, and I'm about to open my parents' time capsule!"
The key turned with a crisp "click," just as it had ten years ago.
3
The lid lifted—
The first thing that caught our eye was a yellowed manila envelope, covered in messy handwriting:
[To Zhou Xu, age 36]
—the very "little secret" he had tucked inside a decade ago.
Xiao Kui raised her hand: "I want to read it!"
Zhou Xu didn't stop her, handing the letter over while slipping behind me. His chin rested in the crook of my shoulder, his breath warm with laughter: "Don't cry, honey."
I stubbornly insisted, "I'm not crying."
But the moment the first sentence left my lips, tears already had their way.
4
Unfolding the letter, his penmanship from ten years ago still carried a touch of youth—
[To My 36-Year-Old Self:
If you're holding 30-year-old Xia Li right now, steal a kiss and tell her—
On that stormy night at 18, you decided to shield her with your umbrella for life.
Don't fear growing old; she is gentler than time itself.
P.S. If Xiao Kui is nearby, remember to kiss her too. She is the future you and the sunflower bloomed together.]
After reading it, Xiao Kui looked up at Zhou Xu, her eyes sparkling like stars: "Daddy, execute the command now!"
He smiled, leaned down, and placed a kiss on the corner of my lips, his voice husky: "Command completed. Perfect execution."
Before my tears could fall, Xiao Kui pounced, wrapping her arms around both our necks. Her voice was babyish yet earnest: "Future received!"
5
The second letter was written by me.
Xiao Kui cleared her throat deliberately, adopting a broadcast-style voice:
[To Xia Li, age 30:
Please take a photo of today's sunset and send it to Zhou Xu at age 38, along with these words—
'Look, the light I wrote to you ten years ago is still here today.']
I looked up. The setting sun hung at the edge of the reeds, as if cradled by a lighthouse.
Zhou Xu had already handed me the camera. Through the lens, he and Xiao Kui stood with their backs to the setting sun, both turning around at the same moment—
Click.
The photo froze:
Light danced at his brow, wind played in Xiao Kui's hair, and I, I tucked ten years of affection into a single negative.
6
The third one was slipped in secretly when Xiao Kui was five—
None of us noticed.
The envelope bore a drawing of three stick figures, the giant sunflower in the center craning its head skyward.
She opened it herself. Inside was just one sentence:
[To my 15-year-old self:
If you have a crush on your desk mate, remember to bring him to see the lighthouse. That's how Mom and Dad snatched each other away back in the day."
Zhou Xu and I locked eyes and burst out laughing simultaneously.
"Zhou Yukui," I pinched her nose, "Planning your teenage crush at age five? How early!"
She planted her hands on her hips, utterly convinced: "That's called heredity!"
Zhou Xu ruffled her hair, his tone earnest: "Genetics are fine, but you must bring your desk mate to meet Dad first. Dad will vet him for you."
Me: ???
Netizen (future) comments:
[Daddy's Wolf-Proofing in Action · Start Them Young]
7
At the bottom of the box lay a brand-new waterproof bag.
Zhou Xu pulled it out, looking mysterious: "Phase Two—renewal for ten years."
Inside were two blank letter pads and a new ring box.
Inside the box, the matching rings had been upgraded to the "Sunflower·Aurora" series, with the inner walls engraved:
[2044·Light in the Wind, You in the Light]
Zhou Xu knelt on one knee—not to propose, but to "renew":
"Xia Li, for the next decade, shall we renew our vows once more?"
I reached out, letting him slip the new ring over the old one, stacking them into a golden starry river.
"Yes, let's renew until the universe closes its doors."
Xiao Kui raised her hand: "I want to renew too!"
She pulled out her handmade "ring"—
a rubber band shaped like a sunflower.
Zhou Xu solemnly slipped it onto her ring finger: "Approved. Permanent."
8
Easter egg upgrade—
The lighthouse's light strips had been secretly replaced by Zhou Xu with long-life LEDs long before we arrived.
He pressed the remote, and the entire tower instantly lit up with a rainbow gradient, finally settling into a message:
[Welcome back. The wind hasn't stopped, and neither have I.]
Simultaneously, a holographic projection emerged from the tower's summit—
our silhouette from that kiss in the downpour ten years ago, animated and set to his new piano composition, "Traces in the Milky Way."
Xiao Kui let out a "Wow!" and pulled me into a spin.
I looked up and saw my past self and present self overlapping in the night sky—
The same embrace, the same downpour, the same kiss.
Only this time, a small sunflower bloomed beside us.
9
At the end of the projection, a line of text appeared:
[Please write today's letter to your 2044 self.]
The three of us sat cross-legged atop the tower, writing letters by the light of our headlamps.
I wrote:
[To my 40-year-old self:
If by 2044's typhoon season the lighthouse shows its age, blame not the fierce winds but our own laughter—too loud, it cracked the stone.]
Zhou Xu wrote:
[To my 42-year-old self:
Don't forget to vet Xiao Kui's classmate for her when she's 32. If needed, tell that boy about her dad's story of kissing in the downpour back in the day.]
Xiao Kui writes:
To my 20-year-old self:
If your desk mate doesn't come to see the lighthouse, take him to see Dad instead. Dad says he'll finish telling the story for you.]
10
The letter was sealed and returned to the wooden box.
Zhou Xu closed the lid, as if sealing away a decade of time.
Xiao Kui suddenly reached out, pulled our heads together, and whispered, "Mom and Dad, close your eyes."
We obeyed.
Three seconds later, a soft touch landed on our lips—
She kissed us both at the same time, as if gathering back all the rainstorms, sunsets, and creamy kisses from ten years ago, then returning them to us all at once.
The wind swept through the reeds, the starry sky hanging low.
I opened my eyes to see tears at the corners of Zhou Xu's eyes, yet his smile shone brighter than it had a decade ago.
I whispered, "Zhou Xu, the time has come."
He replied, "Yes, the rest of our lives have arrived too."
Xiao Kui chimed in, "And me too! Xiao Kui is here!"
We burst into laughter, our voices amplified by the lighthouse, drifting across the entire flower field.
——
[Ten Years Later: Capsule Unsealed · The End]
At the end of the surprise, the wooden box was reburied in its original spot.
The light strips dimmed, and starlight took over the illumination.
The three of us walked hand in hand down from the rooftop, our shadows overlapping like a giant sunflower chasing the light, never to fade.