唐龙元年,12月24日.洛阳.
洛阳的雪在黄昏时分开始飘落.
起初,雪花细碎,被风卷起,拍打着窗棂,发出沙沙的声响.渐渐地,雪越下越大,如同鹅绒般蓬松的雪花一片片飘落,覆盖了东宫的整个屋顶.庭院里的松柏树枝头先是沾满了白雪,随后整个树冠都被积雪压弯,仿佛披上了一层厚重的丧服.屋檐下的灯笼在风雪中摇曳,光晕四散,将雪地染成了温暖的橙色.
我站在窗前,看着这场雪,突然想到了温哥华.
温哥华的雪和洛阳的雪截然不同.洛阳的雪干燥冰冷,落在手上不会融化,感觉像细沙.温哥华的雪湿润绵软,雪花大而多,落在掌心便化作水滴,清凉舒爽.每年十二月,整座城市都会被白雪覆盖.斯坦利公园的树上挂满了彩灯;盖斯镇的蒸汽钟被厚厚的冰柱包裹;圣诞市场里弥漫着热红酒和烤栗子的香气.明天
就是圣诞节了.
一个念头突然闪过,我停顿了一下.在温哥华,圣诞节是一年中最热闹的日子.到了十一月底,街上已经挂满了彩灯;家家户户都在门口摆放了圣诞树;商场里循环播放着"铃儿响叮当".放学前,同学们会聚集在酒吧里喝热红酒,互赠礼物,抱怨教授,分享各种各样的八卦.
"三夫人,你在想什么呢?"清媛端着热茶走了进来,看到我茫然地望着窗外.
"没什么."我接过茶."青元,你见过由树枝组成的树吗?"
"一棵树?什么树?"
"就是把树枝剪下来,摆成树的形状,再挂上一些小饰品.色彩鲜艳,闪闪发光的那种."
青元瞪大了眼睛."那是什么树?枯枝有什么用?"
我笑了笑,没有再多解释.窗外,雪下得更大了;院子里的松柏已被积雪压弯了腰.洛阳的冬天很冷;没有温哥华的灯光,没有热红酒,也没有"铃儿响叮当".但我有——他.
In the evening, he went to the kitchen and found a jar of osmanthus wine, some dried fruits, and honey. I stoked the brazier in the study until it burned fiercely; I placed a dish of sugar-roasted chestnuts on the windowsill and set a few candles on the table. Having no Christmas tree, I used a few pine branches and red silk ribbons to tie a small wreath by the window. Qingyuan watched from the side, looking puzzled. "Third Lady, what are you doing?"
"Celebrating a festival."
"What festival?"
"A festival from a very faraway place."
She thought for a moment and asked no more.
When he entered from the doorway, a layer of snow covered him. The collar of his large cloak was damp with melted snow; snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, looking like tiny stars in the candlelight. He stood at the door, saw the pine wreath by the window, and paused slightly.
"What is this?"
"A Christmas wreath." I lit the candles. "Tonight is Christmas Eve."
"Christmas Eve?" He walked in, sat by the brazier, and held out his hands to warm them. "What festival is that?"
"A festival from a very faraway place." I handed him the warmed osmanthus wine. "Over there, today is one of the coldest days of the year. Everyone gathers together to drink, eat, and exchange gifts."
"Like our New Year's Eve?"
"Similar. But not as grand as New Year's Eve. More casual—friends gathering together, chatting, telling stories."
He took a sip of wine, leaned back in the chair. "Then what do your friends talk about over there?"
I smiled. "Gossip."
"Gossip?"
"Yes—who got together with whom, who broke up with whom, who failed an exam, who got drunk at a bar and made a fool of themselves." I counted on my fingers. "Our school had so much gossip. In Vancouver, there was drama at every step."
He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of drama?"
I lifted my cup, leaned back in the chair, and began to tell.
"There was a guy in our class named Kevin. He was quite handsome and good at basketball. He pursued a girl in our class for an entire semester, sending her coffee, flowers, and walking her home every day. The girl finally agreed, and they got together. But guess what happened?"
"What happened?"
"On the third day of being together, he was slapped in the face by another girl in the school cafeteria."
"Why?"
"Because he was pursuing three girls at the same time. Those three girls were roommates; when they compared timelines, everything matched up. The cafeteria was full of people that day; everyone saw it. Kevin stood there covering his face, coffee spilled all over the floor, looking extremely狼狈 (disheveled/embarrassed)."
He laughed. "Served him right."
"And there's another one," I got more excited as I spoke. "We had a professor who taught pathology. He was very fierce. No talking, no eating, no phones allowed in class. Once, a student secretly ate potato chips in class and was caught by him. He didn't scold the student. Instead, he walked over, took the chip bag, pulled out a chip, put it in his mouth, chewed, and said—'Too salty. Use less salt next time.'"
He laughed until his shoulders shook. "That professor is interesting. What happened later?"
"Later, that student never dared to eat in class again. The whole class feared him, but also respected him. At the end of the term, he wrote a comment for each person—not a grade, but a comment. Writing where you improved this year and where you still needed to work hard. My comment was—'Very steady hands, but too bold; dared to zone out in my class.'"
"You zoned out?"
"I was thinking about what to eat for dinner."
He smiled and shook his head.
"The most interesting thing was our school library. During finals week, the library was open 24 hours. One night, someone found a raccoon on the third floor of the library."
"A raccoon?"
"Yes, a raccoon. Don't know where it came from; it was squatting on top of a bookshelf, gnawing on a student's sandwich. The student screamed in terror, the raccoon also screamed, and everyone in the library ran over to see. Finally, security arrived; it took half an hour of chasing to catch the raccoon. That raccoon was very fierce, baring its teeth at the security guard. The guard held a broom, confronting it; the scene was hilarious."
He leaned back in the chair, laughing and shaking his head. "That place of yours is quite lively."
"Very lively." I lifted my cup and took another sip. "Another time, the bar next to our school had an event: wear an ugly sweater on Christmas Eve and get a free drink. Our whole class went, wearing all sorts of ugly sweaters. One guy wore one with a reindeer knitted on it, but the reindeer's face was knitted crookedly, looking very much like a sheep. He sat in the bar all night and was called 'Mr. Sheep' all night long."
He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine. "What about you? What did you wear?"
"I—" I paused. What did I wear? That Christmas, I wore a red sweater with a snowman knitted on it. The snowman's nose was a carrot, crooked and uneven, but I thought it looked very nice. That night, we drank mulled wine, exchanged gifts; I drew a glowing Santa Claus figurine. On the way back to the dorm, the snow fell heavily, just like today. I stepped on the snow,crunch crunch, walking back to the dorm alone. My roommates had all gone home; the entire floor had only me.
"Qingyan?" He looked at me. "What are you thinking about?"
"Thinking about that Christmas," I said. "Walking back to the dorm alone, the snow was heavy, not a soul on the road. The lights in the dorm building were almost all out; only the green light of the emergency exit at the end of the corridor was on. The elevator was stopped; I climbed six flights of stairs alone. When I inserted the key into the lock, my hands were trembling from the cold."
He said nothing, just looking at me. The firelight reflected in his eyes, flickering bright and dim.
"Your Highness, what about you? How did you spend New Year's Eve when you were young?"
He was silent for a moment. "When I was young, there would be a banquet in the palace on New Year's Eve. Many people, very lively. But that liveliness had nothing to do with me. I sat in a corner, watching others laugh, others make noise, others reunite with their families."
He lifted his cup and took a sip.
"Later, after Mother left, New Year's Eve became even more meaningless. The banquet was still the same banquet, the people were still the same people. I just didn't even have the heart to sit in the corner anymore. When others raised their cups, I raised mine. When others laughed, I laughed. But after laughing, I forgot, not knowing what I was laughing at."
He spoke very calmly, as if recounting someone else's story. But I could hear it—on those New Year's Eves, he sat alone in a corner, watching others reunite. No one drank with him, no one told stories with him, no one spent any festival with him.
"Your Highness." I lifted my cup. "I will spend it with you. Spendingour festival."
He looked at me and smiled. "Good."
"In my place, we exchange gifts on Christmas." I took something out of my sleeve and handed it to him. "Your Highness, Merry Christmas."
He took it and opened it. It was a piece of dental floss. But not ordinary floss—I had dyed the silk thread red, tying a small bead at each end, wrapped with silver wire, sparkling in the candlelight.
"Dental floss?" He was stunned.
"Christmas floss," I said. "Your Highness said that my job is to take care of your teeth from now on. So I'm giving you floss."
He held that red-and-white floss, looking at it for a long time. Candlelight fell on his hand, making those two small beads flash.
"Qingyan." His voice was somewhat hoarse.
"Does Your Highness not like it?"
"I like it." He carefully tucked the floss into his sleeve. "I like it very much."
He took something out of his bosom and handed it to me. It was a small porcelain box, white glaze, smooth as jade. Opening it, inside was an osmanthus cake, shaped like an osmanthus flower; the veins of the petals were outlined with a brush, fine and dense. Beside it was a small paper packet; unwrapping it revealed candied hawthorns coated in sugar frost.
"When did Your Highness make these?"
"This afternoon. In the kitchen." He paused. "First time making them; they're a bit ugly. The candied hawthorns were also my first time boiling sugar; I burnt the first pot; this is the second batch."
I looked at that osmanthus cake. The edges of the petals were slightly cracked; the shape wasn't regular enough; it couldn't compare to the exquisite pastries made by the imperial kitchen. The sugar coating on the hawthorns was uneven in thickness; a few stuck together. But I knew—he had been in the kitchen this afternoon, alone, kneading dough, shaping flowers, outlining veins, boiling sugar, coating hawthorns. Those hands that had held bows, held knives, held brushes, had never held dough or a sugar pot before.
"Didn't Your Highness say you would spend the festival with me?" I picked up the osmanthus cake and took a bite. Sweet, soft and glutinous, with the fragrance of osmanthus. Then I took a candied hawthorn; the sugar coating was crisp, the hawthorn sour; the sweet and sour flavors melted on the tip of my tongue.
"Is it good?" he asked.
"It's good," I said. "Your Highness learns everything quickly."
He smiled. That smile—the same as when caught stealing cherry pastries in the clinic, the same as releasing river lanterns by Qujiang Pool on the Festival of Xia Yuan, the same as pulling me to run in the alley. Not the smile of a Crown Prince, but the smile of a youth.
Outside the window, the snow continued to fall. Heavier and heavier; a thick layer of white had already accumulated in the courtyard; the lanterns under the eaves swayed unsteadily in the wind; their halos spread out on the snowy ground like warm orange flowers. Inside the study, the charcoal fire burned warmly; occasionally, a crackle sounded, bursting out a tiny spark. More than half the jar of wine was empty; the chestnuts were finished; only a few candied hawthorns remained on the table.
He leaned back in the chair; a thin flush floated on his face; his eyes were bright.
"Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"That place of yours—Vancouver—is it very good?"
I thought for a moment. "It's very good. There is the sea, there are mountains, there are very beautiful Christmases. In winter, the sea in Vancouver is gray-blue; snow accumulates on the shore; seagulls line up on the docks. The mountains are ski resorts; at night, the lights turn on, looking like a fire dragon coiled around the mountainside."
"Then why didn't you stay there?"
"Because—" I paused. "Because I came here."
"What's so good about here?"
"There is Your Highness."
He paused. Then he smiled. Very light, very faint, but his eyes were very bright. He said nothing, just reached out and held my hand. His palm was warm, warmer than wine, warmer than the charcoal fire.
"Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Next Christmas, I will spend it with you again."
"Good."
"The year after too."
"Good."
"Every year."
I looked at him. Outside the window was the snow of Luoyang, snow from a thousand years ago. He sat opposite me; candlelight fell on his face, flickering bright and dim. His fingers were slender, knuckles distinct, holding my hand tightly.
"Your Highness," I said. "In my place, we make a wish on Christmas."
"What wish?"
"A wish for something you want to achieve next year."
He closed his eyes. Candlelight cast thin shadows on his eyelashes, trembling slightly. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes again, his gaze falling on my face.
"Wished."
"What did you wish for?"
"I won't tell you. If told, it won't come true."
I smiled.
Outside the window, the snow in Luoyang gradually lessened. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, shining on the snowy ground, white and bright, like a layer of silver spread out. I leaned back in the chair, looking at the moon outside, and suddenly thought of those Christmas nights in Vancouver—mulled wine, colorful lights,Jingle Bells, classmates' gossip, the library raccoon, the ugly sweaters at the bar. Those days were lively, but the liveliness belonged to everyone. Tonight was also lively, but tonight's liveliness belonged to me and him.
"Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Those things you just mentioned—Kevin, the professor, the raccoon, Mr. Sheep—were they all real?"
"All real."
"That place of yours is quite lively." He leaned back in the chair, a smile on his lips. "Drama at every step."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Your Highness learns really fast."
"Of course," he said. "I learn everything quickly."
He paused, then suddenly asked: "What happened to that Kevin later?"
"He dropped out."
"Dropped out?"
"He was jointly reported by those three girls. The school investigation found he was pursuing several girls at the same time and had cheated them out of money. Finally, he was expelled."
He shook his head. "Served him right. What about that professor?"
"Later, he was promoted to Department Chair. On his first day in office, he posted a notice at the department office door—'No Eating Allowed'."
He laughed.
"And the raccoon?"
"Security sent it to the mountains and released it. When it left, it looked back at the library once; probably couldn't bear to leave that sandwich."
He laughed and tightened his grip on my hand.
Outside the window, the snow stopped. The moon was very round, very bright, hanging over the flying eaves of the Eastern Palace, illuminating the entire city of Luoyang in white. Inside the study, only the faint glow of the charcoal fire and a few dying candles remained; the scent of wine lingered in the air, mixing with the sweetness of pine branches and osmanthus cakes.
"Qingyan."
"Hmm?"
"Next Christmas, tell me more gossip from your place again."
"Good."
"The year after too."
"Good."
"Every year."
"Good."
他笑了,但始终没有放开我的手.
洛阳的夜晚静谧无比,静得连两个人的呼吸声都能听得一清二楚,渐渐融为一体.月光洒在窗外皑皑的雪地上,一片洁白无瑕,仿佛整个世界都沉睡了.只有这间书房还亮着灯,只有他的手还温暖着.
（第十章完）