Chapter 44 The Flowering Season (Final Chapter)
The torrent of time, carrying with it bitter cold, scorching heat, chaos, and struggle, slowly moves forward. When the spring breeze of the twentieth year once again sweeps across Cuiping Mountain, a subtle but certain change is quietly taking place on this wounded land.
The frequency of extreme cold and scorching heat cycles has shifted from a hopeless regularity to occasional relatively "mild" intervals. Months of heavy snow or blazing sun have become rarer, replaced by unpredictable weather that at least has a sense of the seasons.
In the wilderness, some tenacious plant seeds, which had dormant in the extreme cold and miraculously survived in the scorching heat, seized this brief respite, struggling to break through the scorched or frozen soil, slowly covering the earth's scars with specks of green. Insects, birds, and even some small mammals also began to reappear in the depths far from the traces of human activity.
The zombie virus hasn't disappeared; it lurks like a ghost, occasionally causing tragedies in the shadows. But its rampant spread seems to be restrained by some invisible barrier—perhaps subtle changes in the climate, perhaps the hosts developing some degree of herd resistance through brutal elimination, or perhaps simply because… there aren't many living beings left to infect.
They have become more of a regional threat that requires vigilance, but is no longer insurmountable. Small survivor settlements, built around relatively stable resource points, are appearing sporadically on the map, like mushrooms after a storm.
Between these points, cautious, primitive barter trade began to emerge, along with intermittent streams of information about resources, threats, and limited technology transmitted via modified radios.
Order, in the crudest and most primitive way, sprouts anew from the ruins.
Cuiping Mountain Fortress, like a silent giant, still stands on the mountainside. However, the road leading to it has long been permanently blocked by rocks. In the legends of later generations, it has gradually become a forbidden zone shrouded in mystery and danger. Some say it hides treasures from before the apocalypse, while others say it is the lair of mutated creatures, and no one dares to approach it easily.
Inside the fortress, spring remains constant. The sunroom is lush and green, and the expanded planting area, improved multiple times, provides an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables; the small-scale livestock farming system operates smoothly; and reserves are still plentiful. However, change is also taking place here.
Wen Yu and Su Ran are no longer the same as they were back then. Time has left its mark on them fairly.
Wen Yu's temples were tinged with a clear frost, and the lines on his forehead and the corners of his eyes were deeper, making his originally cold and handsome features appear even more calm and dignified. Only his eyes, when gazing at Su Ran, revealed a gentleness that had become more profound with the passage of time.
Su Ran's temperament has become increasingly calm. Fine lines have appeared at the corners of her eyes, but her skin is still fair. Although her figure is no longer as thin as it was in her youth, she still maintains a supple and upright posture. The clarity and warmth in her eyes, having weathered storms, have not been clouded, but have instead gained a translucent luster.
The biggest change is Ping An. The puppy of yesteryear has now entered old age. It is large in size, its fur still thick, but now showing signs of graying, especially the fur on its muzzle and chest, which is almost entirely white. The limp in its left foreleg is more noticeable when it runs. Most of the time, it prefers to lie by the fireplace or under the sunniest window, dozing with its still azure but somewhat cloudy eyes. Only when Su Ran or Wen Yu approaches will it wag its tail and let out a muffled whimper to show affection.
In a post-apocalyptic world lacking professional veterinarians, it is a miracle that it has survived to this age, and it is also the result of the two people's devoted care.
One peaceful evening, after dinner, the two sat in front of the fireplace in the living room. Ping An lay at Su Ran's feet, snoring evenly. The crackling fire illuminated the ever-shining metal rings on their ring fingers.
"It's getting old." Su Ran gently stroked Ping An's fluffy back, her voice filled with deep reluctance.
"Mm," Wen Yu replied, his gaze sweeping over Ping An's white fur. "Just like us."
A moment of silence followed. Only the sound of the fire crackling in the stove could be heard.
"Brother Yu," Su Ran looked up at Wen Yu, "I'm thinking… things seem… a little different outside."
Wen Yu knew what he was talking about. They weren't completely isolated from the world; regular drone reconnaissance and radio surveillance kept them informed of the slow changes happening outside.
"Yes, order is being rebuilt, slowly and fragilely, but it is indeed happening," Wen Yu said slowly.
"We…" Su Ran paused, seemingly choosing her words carefully, "Do we have to stay here forever? Like before?"
This question had been swirling in their minds for a long time. The fortress was the perfect refuge, their home built together, holding all their memories, hardships, and peace. But the world was changing, and so were they. As the absolute external threat diminished and internal self-sufficiency stabilized, a vague desire to forge a new connection with the changing world began to quietly emerge. It wasn't driven by the pressure of survival, but rather by a deeper search for "life" and "meaning."
Wen Yu didn't answer immediately. He reached out and took Su Ran's hand, which was resting on her lap, his fingertips tracing the cool ring. After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice steady: "This will always be our home, our roots, our last resort. But home doesn't necessarily have to be just one place."
He looked at Su Ran, his eyes clear after careful consideration: "We can seal it away and keep it under minimal maintenance. Then... go out and see. See what the outside world has become, see what we... can still do. Not to fight for anything, just... to continue our 'life' in a different way."
Su Ran's eyes brightened slightly. This idea coincided with his own. He wasn't weary of the fortress's tranquility, but rather yearned to, from the secure rear, touch and even participate in that world struggling to recover. To see those who were struggling to survive again, to test whether the knowledge and skills they had accumulated over a decade could sow different seeds in a wider world.
"Ping An… it might not be able to withstand a long journey." Su Ran looked at her sleeping companion at her feet and said worriedly.
"Let's walk slowly, choosing the nearest and relatively safest place. The car can be modified to be more comfortable. It's been with us for so many years, it's time to see the outside sky, even if it's just to sit in the sun in front of the flower shop." Wen Yu's tone was firm and unwavering. Ping An was already family, and there was no possibility of abandoning him.
Once the plan was finalized, it was carried out systematically. They spent several months completely sealing off the fortress. The most important supplies and equipment were stored in the innermost vault, with regular self-inspection and maintenance procedures set up.
The energy system was switched to a minimum dormant mode, maintaining only basic security and environmental containment. Entrances and exits were heavily encrypted and disguised, ensuring that even if someone managed to break through the mountain pass blockade, they would find it difficult to enter the core area. This place became their sanctuary of memories, and the final anchor point of the doomsday ark.
On the morning of their departure, dawn was breaking. The modified dark gray SUV sat quietly before the hidden exit. Su Ran gave Ping An's "travel bag" a final, careful check—it contained its usual food and water bowl, mat, standard medications, and special food. Wen Yu, meanwhile, completed the final confirmation of the fortress's sealing procedures.
The two stood side by side beside the car, gazing back at the silent and magnificent building hidden in the mountainside. Fifteen years had passed, a lifetime of life and death, love and hate, hard work and dedication—all contained within its walls.
"Will you miss it?" Su Ran asked softly.
"Yes," Wen Yu answered readily, putting his arm around Su Ran's shoulder. "But it's here, it will always be here. And we will use everything we've gained from it to start a new chapter."
Su Ran nestled into his arms and nodded. Then, he opened the back door and called softly, "Ping An, come on, get in the car, let's go."
Ping An stood up with some difficulty, wagged its tail, and obediently, even with a hint of the slow expectation unique to elderly dogs, was helped by Su Ran to climb onto its special spot covered with a thick, soft cushion, where it comfortably lay down.
Wen Yu opened the driver's side door, and Su Ran got into the passenger seat. The engine emitted a deep, smooth starting sound.
The heavy, camouflaged gate slowly closed behind them, once again burying their home, which had witnessed their entire post-apocalyptic youth, back into the embrace of the mountains. Ahead lay a rugged but no longer entirely unfamiliar mountain path, bathed in the pale gold of the morning light.
The wheels rolled, crushing gravel and dust, heading towards the vast and unknown world beyond the mountains, slowly awakening. In the rearview mirror, the outline of Cuiping Mountain gradually blurred. Ahead lay a new journey, and hands still clasped tightly, growing old together.
Their chosen destination was a newly established settlement about fifty kilometers away from the ruins of the old city. It was originally a survivor camp built around a small reservoir and several relatively fertile alluvial plains. Over the years, it gradually absorbed scattered survivors from the surrounding area and formed a small trading town with a population of several hundred, mainly engaged in agriculture and simple handicrafts.
The town was surrounded by a simple wall made of rough wood and abandoned vehicles. There were basic lookouts and patrols. Although the atmosphere was rough, it had a rougher sense of order than the pure survival of the fittest in the past.
Wen Yu and Su Ran, along with Ping An, traded some durable food and medicine for an abandoned house with a small courtyard on the outskirts of the town.
The house was old, but the structure was still quite sturdy. The yard was overgrown, but spacious enough, and the location was relatively secluded, which suited their dislike of being disturbed.
In the days that followed, they began to diligently manage this new settlement, just as they had done when building the fortress. Wen Yu was responsible for reinforcing the house, repairing the roof, installing a simple but efficient rainwater collection and filtration system, and using tools and materials brought from the fortress, building a sturdy small glass greenhouse in the yard with independent temperature control and ventilation.
Su Ran, with Ping An by her side, cleared away the rubble and weeds in the yard, and turned over the soil. Ping An mostly lay by the door basking in the sun, or strolled leisurely around the yard, like a supervisor.
The townspeople were initially filled with curiosity and wariness towards the taciturn and distinguished middle-aged couple. But seeing that they simply tidied their place quietly, never causing trouble, and that their docile, large white dog never harmed anyone, their wariness gradually turned into curiosity, and then into a distant observation.
When the greenhouse frame of Wenyu was erected, and when Su Ran began to carefully sow and transplant the various seeds, tubers and seedlings that he had brought from the fortress and had been carefully preserved for many years into the greenhouse and the prepared land, the observation turned into surprise, and then into a kind of indescribable shock.
Those seeds… many of them were varieties that had long since disappeared in the apocalyptic catastrophe! Those seedlings, full of life, were completely different from the drooping crops that the townspeople struggled to cultivate on the barren land! Not to mention the glass house that shimmered in the sunlight and was warm as spring even on rainy days—it was something that only existed before the apocalypse!
Soon, the courtyard was completely transformed. Inside the greenhouse, various vegetables were lush and green, tomatoes were bearing fruit, and strawberries were in bloom. The flower beds and seedbeds in the yard were not all edible crops, but rather a variety of flowers: there were hardy wildflowers transplanted from the wild and domesticated, seedlings cultivated by Su Ran using rare flower seeds from the fortress's stockpile—roses, lilies, hydrangeas, daisies... and many other flowers and plants whose names he didn't know, but which were of various colors and shapes.
Like dressing up her own child, Su Ran carefully arranged the height, color, and flowering period, turning this small courtyard into a unique yet dazzling green island in the drab town in just a few months, a dreamy corner filled with strange fragrance.
They did not cultivate large quantities of grain, but only maintained small vegetable plots for self-sufficiency. Wenyu used the surplus vegetables and greenhouse technology to exchange for some necessities and information with the townspeople. As for the "useless" flowers and plants that Su Ran tended, they were initially ignored and even secretly ridiculed by some pragmatists as "pretentious" and "a waste of land and effort."
One evening, a young woman, her expression numb and desperate, having just buried her only companion, wandered aimlessly along the edge of town. She caught a glimpse of a small courtyard overflowing with flowers, seemingly glowing in the setting sun. As if possessed, she stopped, her gaze fixed blankly on a cluster of blooming sky-blue hydrangeas by the fence. Those full blooms, that unbelievably pure blue, in the gloomy, apocalyptic hue, were like a frozen spring, crashing into the still, lifeless lake of her heart.
She didn't know how long she had been standing outside the fence until Su Ran came out with a basin of water to water the flowers and noticed her.
Su Ran didn't say anything, but just looked at her, then at the hydrangea bush, then picked up the garden shears, cut off the largest and fullest branch, walked to the fence, and handed it to her.
The woman took the flower in a daze, her fingers touching the cool, damp stem and soft, plump petals, and her whole body trembled violently. She stared intently at the blue blossoms, as if trying to etch them into the depths of her pupils, and large tears rolled down her cheeks without warning, landing on the petals. She didn't thank her, but simply clutched the flower tightly, as if grasping at her last straw, and staggered away.
A few days later, the woman came again. This time, she carried a few bird eggs she had collected, which were relatively clean. She placed the eggs on a stone under the fence and pointed to a clump of pale purple lavender in the yard. Su Ran understood and cut a small bunch of lavender for her. The woman took it, took a deep breath of the tranquil fragrance, and for the first time in a long time, a very faint, almost serene expression appeared on her face.
This event was like a pebble thrown into still water. Gradually, other people began to come to the courtyard. Some were children attracted by the colors, staring blankly; some were survivors who had lost loved ones and were filled with sorrow, silently stopping; and some were ordinary people who just wanted to exchange their little extra things for a different color.
Su Ran was always very quiet. He rarely tried to sell anything, simply tending to his plants with great care. When someone wanted something, he would arrange or cut suitable flower branches based on what the person brought (it could be a small bag of salt, a few needles and thread, a reasonably clean piece of cloth, or even just a useful piece of information or a sincere thank you). Sometimes he would even use scrap wire or soft grass stems to simply tie them together. The bouquets he arranged were often not extravagant, but they always possessed a strange harmony and vitality, as if they could reach some parched corner deep within the heart.
Wen Yu was in charge of "security" and "infrastructure". His tall figure and silent, aloof demeanor deterred anyone who might have ill intentions.
He continuously improved the greenhouse and irrigation system, and even tried to use collected scrap glass and metal to make some small and simple vases, candlesticks or wind chimes, which, when paired with dried bouquets or herbs, became another unique "product".
It's unclear when exactly, but the townspeople started calling this place "that flower shop." Later, someone else started calling it that, and the name "Yuran Flower House" spread like wildfire. Eventually, a simple wooden plaque, hand-carved by Wen Yu, was hung at the entrance of the courtyard.
"Yuran Flower House". The names of the two people, with the word "house" conveying a sense of tranquility and inclusiveness, free from worldly strife.
The flower shop's business improved slowly but steadily. It sold more than just a bouquet of flowers or a pot of grass; it sold a tiny bit of "color," a long-lost "fragrance," and a "memory" and "hope" that had not been completely extinguished by "beauty."
People exchange what little they can offer for a day's good mood, a bit of courage to keep going, or perhaps just a fleeting moment of confusion about "life" rather than "survival".
The flower shop has become a special place in the town. There is no loud haggling here, no fierce fighting for a bite of food, only whispered inquiries, quiet selection, and a tacit understanding that flashes in each other's eyes after the exchange.
People know that the shop owners are an extremely loving couple with an unfathomable past and a pair of magical hands that can awaken life and beauty. Their flowers always seem more vibrant than those in the wild, with a longer blooming period and a purer fragrance, carrying a quiet and resilient strength that stubbornly blooms after a long period of darkness.
It was another evening, and the setting sun painted the sky above the town and the distant ruins with a gentle, rich tapestry of orange-red and pale purple. The flower shop was closed, its wooden door ajar.
Inside the greenhouse, the automatic irrigation system hummed softly. In the courtyard, the various flowers, having lost their daytime brilliance in the twilight, exuded an even more serene fragrance. Ping An lay on its special cushion by the flower house entrance, its snow-white fur gleaming golden in the afterglow. It squinted its eyes, its tail occasionally lazily sweeping the ground, enjoying the most pleasant coolness of the day.
Su Ran was still at his workbench. Wearing glasses, he was carefully pruning a pot of blue hydrangeas in the last rays of daylight. This pot of flowers was one of their "treasures," originating from a precious mother plant brought from the fortress years ago. After several years of adaptation and careful cultivation, it had finally blossomed in this land, displaying a pure, pristine blue that was exactly as he remembered it. The petals overlapped, forming a full, round flower ball, resembling a frozen dream in the twilight.
His movements were slow and gentle, each snip carefully considered. Time had softened his fingers, leaving fine lines at the joints, but they remained steady and dexterous, possessing an almost artistic precision and tenderness honed through years of working with plants. Trimming away excess branches and adjusting the overall shape was as if he weren't pruning a plant, but rather creating a sculpture, or perhaps engaging in a silent conversation with an old friend.
Wen Yu came out from the inner room. He had just finished checking the simple accounts of the recent barter transactions. He had changed out of his coat, which had been dusty during the day, and was now wearing only a dark gray cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His exposed forearms were still muscular, but the skin was a bit loose, showing the marks of time.
He didn't say a word, but quietly walked up behind Su Ran. Then, as he had done countless times over the past few decades, he naturally reached out and wrapped his arms around Su Ran's waist from behind, a waist that was no longer slender but still supple and upright. He gently, with all his weight, rested his chin on Su Ran's shoulder.
A familiar, warm, and comforting scent instantly enveloped Su Ran. The scent contained Wen Yu's own clean and crisp fragrance, the smell of sun-dried cotton, and a very faint, refreshing aroma from their shared soap. All of these, mixed with the subtle floral and herbal fragrance that Su Ran himself was also accustomed to lingering around his neck, intertwined to create a unique scent that belonged only to "home" and "Wen Yu."
Su Ran's trimming movements didn't pause for a moment, nor did her body stiffen. Instead, she naturally leaned back slightly, resting more of her weight into the warm, firm embrace behind her. It was a tacit understanding and intimacy that had been ingrained in her bones after a long period of getting to know each other.
"Are you tired?" Wen Yu asked softly, his voice slightly muffled from leaning on Su Ran's shoulder, carrying a unique, slightly hoarse magnetism that came with age, yet strangely made it all the more tender. As he spoke, his warm breath brushed against the sensitive skin of Su Ran's neck, bringing a subtle tingling sensation. He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale all the warm, floral scent emanating from his lover into his very being.
"Not tired," Su Ran replied, a faint smile in his voice. He leaned back against Wen Yu, pausing his trimming for a moment. He raised his hand and covered Wen Yu's hand that was wrapped around his waist, his fingertips touching the cool metal ring on the other's ring finger.
Nearly twenty years have passed, yet the ring remains as bright as new, only its edges have been worn smoother and rounder, clinging tightly to Wen Yu's finger as if it had become a part of his body. Su Ran's own ring is the same.
The two embraced silently for a moment, neither speaking. The afterglow of the setting sun streamed through the glass window, casting a tranquil yet radiant light upon them, on the workbench, and on the pot of deep blue hydrangeas. The air was filled with the subtle fragrance of flowers and the mingling of their breaths.
"Today," Su Ran suddenly spoke, her voice soft, tinged with a wistful recollection, "is it our anniversary?"
He felt the arms around his waist tighten almost imperceptibly.
"Mmm," Wen Yu replied, brushing his nose against the nape of his neck where a few strands of hair had already turned silver. "How many years has it been?"
Su Ran chuckled softly, a pleasant vibration rippling through his chest. He turned his head and rubbed his cheek against Wen Yu's profile, which also bore the marks of time but still possessed sharp features. His eyes held a love and contentment as clear as ever, a love that had weathered countless storms.
"I don't remember," he said with a smile, his tone completely indifferent and happy. "Anyway, every year is the same. Every day with Yu-ge is a good day, and every day is worth remembering."
Wen Yu didn't smile, but the gentle ripples in his deep eyes were more captivating than any smile. He tilted his head slightly and kissed Su Ran's earlobe, which was so close to his own and still soft despite its fine lines.
Su Ran turned around completely, wrapped her arms around Wen Yu's neck, and looked up. In the twilight, his eyes shone brightly, filled with the image of his beloved's entire life before him.
He tiptoed and planted a tender, lingering kiss on Wen Yu's lips. The kiss carried the faint fragrance of flowers and herbs from the daytime, the subtle sweetness of his specially made flower tea, and even more so, the deep, mellow love that had settled over decades, as rich as wine, and etched into her very bones.
Wen Yu immediately responded to the kiss, tightening his arms and pulling him even closer into his embrace. The kiss wasn't intense, but it was incredibly tender and deep, exchanging breaths, body heat, and the unspoken affection and vows that had long been ingrained in every moment of their lives.
Ping An raised its head at the doorway and glanced at its owners, who were quietly embracing and kissing in the dimly lit greenhouse. Its blue eyes reflected the last rays of the sunset, seemingly brimming with peace and joy. It yawned slightly, then rested its head back on its front paws, its tail gently sweeping the ground with satisfaction, as if to say: "Look, they're still like this, always like this. It's so good."
Outside the window, the last rays of sunset sank into the distant mountains, night quietly unfolded, and a few stubborn stars began to twinkle in the sky. The town gradually quieted down, with occasional lights and indistinct voices drifting in, distant and peaceful.
There were no electric lights in the flower shop. Su Ran lit a warm yellow oil lamp on the workbench, decorated with old glass bottles and dried flowers. The dim light spread out in a warm halo, just enough to envelop the two people embracing, and the hydrangea that appeared a deep blue in the dim light.
Their fortress era, those years of struggling against extreme climates, deadly viruses, and cruel human nature, those days of huddling together in absolute solitude and building tiny paradises with their own hands, have become a profound and precious backdrop in their memories.
And at this moment, in this small flower-filled cottage, blooming towards a world in revival, in this tranquil and ordinary twilight embrace, in the metallic glow of fingertips touching, in the peaceful and steady breaths—that simple vow made under the starry sky many years ago, that lifelong promise made with the Milky Way as witness, the fortress as home, and each other as covenant, is blossoming in the soil of this long time, in its most serene, most fragrant, and most enduring form.
The apocalypse is not yet completely over, and the future may still hold storms. But love has taken deep root in the years, and vows have become part of our daily lives. Hand in hand, we will weather the seasons together, and every corner of our hearts will be a place of blossoming flowers.