“Be careful, don’t fall.”
“No, I won’t!”
The little girl put the fish into the basket, then suddenly scooped up water and splashed it at her.
“What are you doing?” she laughed, and splashed water back at the little girl.
They played for a long time.
“Hmph, you’ve been playing so long your clothes are soaked. How are you going to explain when you get back?” she said to the little girl.
“Sis, your clothes are wet too.”
She looked down—indeed, her own skirt was soaked in a large patch.
She looked at the little girl helplessly.
The little girl was still laughing, her eyes squinting into slits.
***
The scene shifted.
It was the same lake.
The little girl had grown a bit older. She stood by the lake, holding a bunch of wildflowers in her hands.
“Sis, this is for you.”
She handed the flowers over, her face wearing that expectant look.
She took the flowers and looked down.
Wild-picked purple flame flowers, small but blooming well.
“Are they pretty?”
She lifted her head and looked at the little girl’s face, full of anticipation.
“They’re pretty.”
The little girl’s eyes curved into crescents as she laughed.
***
The scene shifted again.
The lake was still there—who knew how many years had passed? But the water level was a bit lower.
No one else was by the lake.
The wind was strong, blowing her hair around.
She stood there alone, staring at the water.
She stood for a long time.
The wind kept lifting her hair in gusts.
Then she placed the flowers in her hands by the water’s edge.
Purple, tiny, just like the bouquet she had once received.
She softly said something.
Her voice was too quiet, scattered by the wind, impossible to hear.
“Mother?”
Flora’s voice pulled her back.
Ilya blinked and saw Flora standing in front of her, tilting her head to look at her.
“What’s wrong? Daydreaming?”
Ilya looked at her face—wet hair, glistening eyelashes, bright eyes.
It was different from the face in her memory, but at the same time, something about it seemed the same.
“Nothing,” Ilya said.
Flora looked at her, a hint of doubt in her eyes, but she didn’t press further.
“Still want to play?” Flora said.
Ilya looked down at her own skirt—it was completely soaked, wet beyond wet.
“That’s enough,” she said. “Let’s go back.”
Flora also looked down at herself and nodded.
“Okay.”
The two of them stepped out of the water and stood on the grass.
On the grass, every step left a wet footprint.
Their skirts dripped water, their hair was drenched, and their shoes made faint squelching sounds against the ground.
Ilya thought for a moment.
Flora looked down at the wet prints, then suddenly smiled.
“If we go back like this, won’t the inn owner be shocked?”
Flora made an exaggerated gesture.
“Probably.”
“Then what do we do?”
“How about we say… we accidentally fell into the river?”
Flora froze for a second, then burst out laughing.
“Who would believe that!”
Ilya watched her laugh, and the corners of her own mouth curled up.
The two of them stood there, soaked through, water still dripping in the sunlight.
A gentle breeze blew, carrying a chill.
Flora sneezed softly.
Ilya looked at her without a word, then reached out and tucked the wet strand of hair stuck to her face behind her ear.
The movement was light, natural.
Flora paused for a moment, then smiled.
“Let’s go.”
They turned and walked back toward the inn.
The setting sun stretched their shadows long on the ground—two slanted lines, close together.
After a while, Flora suddenly looked back.
The river was still there, quiet, just as when they had come.
The willow trees were still there, the grass, and the dragonflies still skimming the water’s surface.
Not exactly the same as when she was little, but somehow it felt the same.
She turned her head and kept walking.
Ilya walked beside her, saying nothing.
***
By the time they returned to the inn, the sun was almost down, dyeing the whole town in warm yellow.
Flora pushed open the door and went inside.
The inn owner was sitting behind the counter. When she saw them, she seemed to be holding back a laugh.
“Back?”
“Mm,” Ilya said flatly.
Flora took off her soaked clothes and obediently went to take a bath.
She pushed open the door to the bathroom, went in, and drew the curtain.
Flora turned on the water. It was warm and pleasant.
She closed her eyes and let the water run over her head, down her face, shoulders, and arms.
The bathroom was hazy with steam, nothing visible but the sound of rushing water.
In her mind, the image of the river still lingered, replaying the things Ilya had said, and the way Ilya had smiled while standing by the river.
That kind of smile—one she had never seen before—as if she had softened completely, as if all her masks had fallen away.
Flora pressed the hand wearing the ring against her chest.
Her heart ached.
Not from sadness, but from an indescribable feeling, like something was stuck in her chest.
“Mother,” she called softly, for no particular reason.
Of course, no one answered.
Ilya was outside.
She closed her eyes again and let the water keep flowing.
After a while, she turned off the water, dried herself, put on clean clothes, and pushed the door open to go out.
In the room, Ilya was still in her wet clothes, standing by the window looking outside.
At the sound, she turned and glanced at Flora.
“Done washing?”
“Mm,” Flora nodded. “Mother, you go wash now.”
Ilya put down the book, stood up, and went into the bathroom.
The door closed.
Flora walked to the window and sat down on the chair Ilya had just been sitting in.
Outside, the sky had darkened—not completely black, but a deep blue, sinking little by little.
Lights in the town flickered on one by one, scattered like fallen stars.
She sat there, looking out the window, thinking of nothing.
After a while, the sound of water stopped.
A moment later, the door opened.
Flora turned her head.
Then she froze.
Ilya stood at the bathroom door.
She wore a loose white bathrobe, the collar slightly open, revealing her collarbone and a small patch of her chest.
The robe was wet in a few places, the fabric clinging to her body, faintly outlining her figure.
Her hair was still wet, not dried.
Some strands stuck to her jade-like neck, some clung to her faintly fragrant shoulders, while the rest spread down her back, hanging loose.
Her hair was long and thick, now matted together like a sheet of deep blue.
The ends were still slowly dripping water.
Drops fell onto her shoulders, then were absorbed by the robe.
The water hitting the floor made the faintest sound.
Her face still carried the moisture of steam, her skin glowing softly under the dim lamplight, like a piece of warm, polished jade.
Tiny droplets clung to her eyelashes. With a light blink, they seemed to mist over, making her already bright eyes appear dreamy and hazy.