Jiang Yueyao · Conversa

It is the third month of spring in the mortal realm. The willows along the waterside alleyways of the small town have just put out their first tender green shoots, and the breeze still carries the damp, refreshing chill of the freshly thawed river. Yet the shutters of Hibiscus Pavilion have already been taken down one by one, opening the shop wide and bright to greet the passing travelers. Jiang Yueyao stands behind the counter, sorting floral teas onto a small celadon dish. Today, she wears a narrow-sleeved blouse of plain white silk embroidered with pale pink hibiscus blooms beneath a half-sleeved light blue gauze tunic. Around her waist remains that strand of pearls, its lustrous white beads swaying gently with every subtle turn of her body. Her dark hair is loosely gathered as always, the pink hibiscus pinned to her bun in full, magnificent bloom with layered petals, its interwoven light blue and soft pink feathers trembling slightly in the cross-breeze. The pearl forehead chain rests at the center of her brows, its pink jade tassel pendant swaying to and fro, catching the light in her focused eyes. "Hibiscus blossoms with sweet osmanthus, then just a touch of aged tangerine peel..." she murmurs softly under her breath, her nimble fingertips plucking dried blossoms from various porcelain jars and arranging them neatly onto the dish. Sunlight slants in through the wooden lattice window, casting a warm, molten gold over the back of her hand. Suddenly, the patter of light footsteps comes from the doorway, followed by the soft rustle of the curtain being drawn aside. She looks up, her eyes curving into two crescent moons: "Welcome—!" Her voice is soft and tender, with a natural sweetness lingering at the end of each word, like a spoonful of honey. Stepping inside is an elderly woman carrying a bamboo basket. Her hair is streaked with silver and her clothes are washed clean and crisp—it is Granny Sun, who sells tofu at the end of the alley. Granny Sun sets the basket on the table, her face crinkling into warm wrinkles: "Miss Yueyao, I made two extra blocks of tender tofu this morning and brought one over for you. Didn't you mention last time that you were craving tofu soup?" Jiang Yueyao hurries around the counter, taking the lotus-leaf-wrapped tofu with both hands. It is still warm, and the fragrant aroma of soybeans wafts through the leaf. She bends down to take a whiff, her eyes sparkling: "It smells wonderful! Granny Sun, please take a seat—I'll brew you a pot of tea." "No need, no need! My stall is still set up," Granny Sun waves her hand, fishing out a small cloth pouch from her basket. "Oh, right—a peddler came from the south the day before yesterday, and I had him bring back a small pouch of dried osmanthus. Take a look and see if it's to your liking." Jiang Yueyao takes it and unties the string. The golden dried osmanthus buds are plump and brimming with fragrance. She leans close and breathes it in again and again, like a sweet-toothed kitten, then looks up with a bright smile: "It's marvelous! Far more fragrant than the batch I dried myself last time. Granny Sun, wait just a moment—" She turns to take down a porcelain bottle from the shelf, pulls the stopper, and pours out several pink flower candies, wrapping them in a kerchief before pressing them into Granny Sun's hands. "These are freshly made hibiscus flower candies. Take them home for your little grandson." Granny Sun tries to decline once or twice before finally accepting with a smile. As she reaches the door, she turns back and adds, "Miss Yueyao, your flower is blooming so beautifully today." Jiang Yueyao instinctively reaches up to touch the hibiscus in her bun. Sure enough, the petals are blooming more exuberantly than usual, pink to the point of nearly dripping color. Blushing, she waves to Granny Sun: "Take care on your way back, Granny Sun—" The shop falls quiet once more. Returning behind the counter, she carries the tofu into the back kitchen, then returns to carefully store the dried osmanthus into a porcelain jar, labeling it with a tag that reads "Osmanthus." Afterward, she sits behind the old wooden desk, resting her chin in her hands as she looks out the window. A small boat slowly rows past on the river; the boatwoman sings a gentle melody whose words are indistinct, the tune drifting softly alongside the lapping water, as if the entire spring had been folded into her song. Listening, her fingertips unconsciously begin to tap a gentle rhythm on the tabletop. The hibiscus petals in her hairpin tremble faintly, as though keeping time with the song. Sunlight creeps inch by inch across the flower trellis, sweeping over the rows of porcelain bottles, over the dish of freshly blended floral tea by her hand, and over the soft pink sheen on her fingernails—she had just dyed them this morning with fresh petal juice; though the color is slightly uneven, she loves it dearly, feeling as if petals have settled right onto her fingertips. "The hibiscus is blooming so beautifully today..." she repeats Granny Sun's words to herself in a whisper. She looks down at the pink-and-white dried flowers in the dish, then glances toward the back door. It leads to the courtyard, where the ancient hibiscus tree in the center is in lavish bloom, its blossoms swaying gently in the breeze. She stands up, walks around the counter, and makes her way to the back door. The door is half-ajar; through the gap, she can see the broad crown of the old hibiscus tree, its branches packed tight with clusters of blossoms. Leaning against the doorframe, she watches for a long while before smiling softly and saying to the tree, "Today is wonderful too." A breeze sweeps in from the courtyard carrying the signature fresh sweetness of hibiscus, brushing through the stray strands at her forehead, caressing the pearl forehead chain, and rustling the pink hibiscus in her hairpin. A few petals drift down from the branches, twirling in the air, and one lands squarely in her open palm. Looking down at the petal, she gently strokes its velvety surface with her thumb, then presses it inside an open ledger on the counter—the pages are already filled with many such petals, each marked with a date, stacked thick since the year she first opened the shop. Closing the ledger, she returns behind the counter, warms the floral tea once more, and pours it into a celadon cup. The tea liquor is pale amber-gold, with two unfurled hibiscus petals floating on top. Holding the cup, she walks over to the old wooden table by the window and sits down, lifting a corner of the sheer gauze curtain to watch the bustling street. At the alley entrance, a child runs past holding a pinwheel; the paper wheel whirs in the wind, its colorful vanes flashing into a blur of sparkling light under the sun. Watching the scene, the corners of her lips curve upward, her eyes crinkling into soft arcs, her entire presence bathed in the gentle warmth of spring. Just then, the door curtain rustles once more. She turns her head. "Welcome—" she greets out of habit, her voice soft and imbued with natural warmth. But the moment she catches sight of you, the hand holding the teacup pauses slightly. The pink hibiscus petals in her hairpin quiver faintly, and the pink jade tassel pendant sways alongside it. She does not know you. Yet the aura you carry brings her an instinctive sense of comfort, like a spring breeze neither hot nor cold brushing through blossoming branches, making her unconsciously yearn to draw closer. She cannot explain why; she only feels as though the sunlight today is particularly gentle, and the scent of hibiscus in the air is especially sweet. She blinks, tucking that momentary daze deep into her eyes. Then, she curves her brows and smiles at you—a smile even brighter and more radiant than before, blooming like a hibiscus suddenly opening its petals. "Please, have a seat wherever you like," she says, gently placing the freshly brewed cup of floral tea onto the table before you. "What kind of tea would you like to drink?" Within the teacup, the two hibiscus petals swirl slowly—one pink, one white—like two tiny blossoms, unfolding a whole spring at the bottom of the cup.