Since we are all reborn, let’s arrest the senior!

On the day of Grain Rain, Lin Zhixia squatted in the backyard of her studio, watering the newly planted blue plumbago. The rim of the terracotta flowerpot was stained with her newly mixed sky-blue glaze. Lu Mingze walked by carrying a stack of kiln tools, half of a grass-green notebook peeking out of his work pants pocket—it was the one she had given him last week, with a drawing of a bear wearing a safety helmet on the first page.

"Brother Lu, can you check if this plant is dying?" She pointed to the yellowing mint leaves, a bit of dirt on her nose. Lu Mingze put down his kiln tools, squatted down, and fiddled with the mint leaves. He rolled up his sleeves to reveal a silver watch on his wrist, the clay bear on the watch chain swaying gently with his movements. "You've been watering it too often. Mint prefers dry conditions." He pinched off a withered leaf with his fingertips, then suddenly looked up. "You've got glaze on your fingernails again."

Lin Zhixia hurriedly hid her fingers behind her back—she had secretly adjusted the new glaze formula that morning, and the cobalt blue mixed with cinnabar had clumped into small pieces under her fingernails. Lu Mingze, however, reached out and grasped her wrist, taking out a bamboo strip from his pocket and gently scraping it: "How many times have I told you, you have to wear gloves when mixing glazes." His fingertips brushed against the thin calluses on her palm, his tone like coaxing a child, "Forgot about the allergic reaction last time?"

Last year, she secretly used inferior glaze and developed a rash on the back of her hand. Lu Mingze applied ointment for her every day. At this moment, his warm palm was pressed against her skin, and Lin Zhixia suddenly remembered the letters on the inside of his ring finger ring that she had dreamed about last night—she had traced them on paper with a pencil while he was napping. "JY" was the abbreviation for "Jiang Yun".

“There will be showers tonight.” Lu Mingze carried the blue snowflakes under the eaves for her. “Remember to close the windows.” As he turned around, the grass-green notebook slipped to the ground. Lin Zhixia glimpsed a yellowed photo tucked inside—a man in a white coat embracing a woman with braids, with the old kiln site of Jingdezhen in the background.

As a sudden downpour struck late at night, Lin Zhixia was glazing a ceramic pot. Amidst the rumble of thunder, she suddenly remembered Lu Mingze's notebook and stumbled to his office. Pushing open the door, she found him curled up on the sofa, his shirt soaked with cold sweat, his right hand pressed tightly against his lower back—his old injury had flared up again.

"Brother Lu!" She hurriedly put down the glaze bottle and rummaged through the drawer for pain relief patches. Lu Mingze's face was pale, but he still managed a smile: "Don't make a fuss, it's an old problem." Lin Zhixia didn't speak, but carefully lifted the hem of his shirt—there was a hideous old scar on his lower back, like a sleeping snake.

"How did this happen?" Her voice trembled as she gently placed a pain relief patch on her fingertip. Lu Mingze closed his eyes, his eyelashes casting shadows beneath them: "It was smashed when I was moving a kiln years ago." He suddenly grabbed her wrist. "Don't tell Jiang Yun."

Lin Zhixia froze. A flash of lightning streaked across the window, illuminating the ring on his ring finger. She suddenly remembered the woman in the photo—Jiang Yun in her youth—and her image overlapped with that of the girl with braided pigtails in the photo.

"Brother Lu, you—" Before she could finish speaking, the door was suddenly pushed open. Jiang Yun stood in the doorway, holding a dried clay blank. Her gaze swept over the two of them, and the clay blank almost slipped from her fingers.

The air froze instantly. Lin Zhixia hurriedly backed away, the glaze bottle slipping out of her pocket and crashing to the ground with a "bang." The sky-blue glaze meandered across the cement floor like an awkward crack.

“I…I’ve come to deliver the notebook.” She bent down to pick up the broken pieces, her nails scratching and drawing blood. Lu Mingze tried to get up, but Jiang Yun held him down: “Don’t move, I’ll help you to rest.” Her voice was unusually calm, and as she turned, her ponytail brushed against Lin Zhixia’s face, carrying a faint scent of jasmine.

While Lin Zhixia was cleaning her wound in the break room, she overheard a hushed argument coming from the next office. Jiang Yun's voice was choked with emotion: "How long are you going to keep this a secret? She could have surgery." Lu Mingze's reply was indistinct, but one sentence clearly reached her ears: "She's too young; she shouldn't be worrying about these things."

Looking at her reddened eyes in the mirror, she suddenly understood why she never took off that ring—it was a keepsake from Jiang Yun's deceased husband. She had seen a photo of him in the studio's yearbook, with Lu Mingze standing in the back row as an apprentice, his eyes still green.

When the rain stopped, Lin Zhixia carried the repaired pottery jar across the terrace. Lu Mingze sat alone in a wicker chair, an unlit cigarette between his fingers—he had quit smoking three years ago. Hearing footsteps, he quickly hid the cigarette case, and when he looked up, he was already back to normal: "I'll teach you how to fire the kiln tomorrow. It's time to try out the newly prepared celadon glaze."

She nodded, noticing the edge of his shirt collar peeking out from under his shirt. From afar came Jiang Yun's voice calling for help. Lu Mingze stumbled as he stood up; she instinctively reached out to support him, but he subtly avoided her.

"Go to sleep." He ruffled her hair, his gesture as natural as an older brother's. "Don't keep staring at the glaze like that. If you keep staying up all night, you'll become a national treasure."

Lin Zhixia watched his retreating figure as he walked towards Jiang Yun, the moonlight casting long shadows of the two. The celadon glaze on the pottery jar was not yet completely dry, gleaming warmly in the night, like the secret she kept in her heart, which would eventually be fired and shaped in the kiln.

After the start of summer, the studio's air conditioner always stopped working in the afternoons. Lin Zhixia lay hunched over the shaping table, sweat beading on her nose, unable to recreate the "cicada wing pattern" that Lu Mingze had described with her scraper. Frustrated, she ripped off the rubber band, her ponytail falling loose onto her collarbone, which was covered in clay.

"Straining against the clay again?" Lu Mingze's voice came from behind, cool and refreshing like iced orange soda. He was wearing a linen shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and the silver watch on his wrist had been replaced with the clay bracelet she had given him—a bear pattern pieced together from broken porcelain shards.

"It's impossible to fix!" Lin Zhixia slammed the scraper onto the turntable, clay shavings flying onto her neck. Lu Mingze chuckled and pulled out a tissue to wipe her sweat: "Your wrist is too stiff, it's like you're fighting with the clay." He held her wrist to adjust the angle, the thin calluses on his palm brushing against her pulse, "It has to be like this... following the grain."

The scraper traced smooth arcs under their overlapping hands, gradually forming a cicada wing pattern. Lin Zhixia smelled the scent of cedar mixed with the sweet aroma of orange soda on him, and suddenly remembered seeing him in the kitchen this morning making pear soup for Jiang Yun—Jiang Yun said that her pharyngitis had flared up recently.

"Brother Lu, you and Sister Xiaoyun..." The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them back. Lu Mingze paused, his fingertips lightly tapping her helmet: "What are you thinking about? Focus on repairing the blank."

The afternoon sun streamed through the skylight, casting golden dapples on his hair. Lin Zhixia stared at the ring on his ring finger, suddenly noticing that the engraving on the inside was somewhat blurred—perhaps from years of handling. She recalled working overtime at the studio last night, bumping into Jiang Yun applying a plaster to his wound; the two were talking quietly, then suddenly fell silent when they saw her.

The trimming knife accidentally cut her fingertip, and a drop of blood dripped onto the clay. Lu Mingze quickly grabbed her finger and put it in his mouth, his movements so fast that she didn't have time to react. The salty, fishy taste spread across his tongue, and Lin Zhixia's mind went blank for a moment. She only heard his muffled voice: "The disinfectant is in the second drawer. Bring a band-aid next time."

The door was suddenly pushed open, and Jiang Yun stood in the doorway holding a folder. Lin Zhixia abruptly pulled her hand back, the bloodstains on the body resembling a bewitching flower. Jiang Yun's gaze shifted between the two, a smile still playing on her lips: "Mingze, Professor Chen's lecture has been moved to three o'clock."

"Understood." Lu Mingze stood up and straightened his shirt, his cuffs inadvertently covering the clay bracelet. "Zhixia, put the clay body in a well-ventilated place to dry, don't expose it to direct sunlight."

Lin Zhixia watched his and Jiang Yun's departing figures, their backs still warm from his touch. The cicadas outside the window suddenly became shrill, and she pulled out a band-aid from her pocket—the packaging had a bear pattern on it, which he had specially bought at the convenience store last time.

As evening fell and the glazes were being mixed, Jiang Yun suddenly walked into the glaze room. Lin Zhixia hurriedly turned off the electronic scale; she was secretly weighing the "secret color glaze" formula that Lu Mingze had mentioned last time. Jiang Yun, however, simply handed her a box of throat lozenges: "You're always coughing, have some of these."

"Thank you, Sister Xiaoyun." Lin Zhixia lowered her head to peel the candy wrapper, the minty flavor spreading in her mouth. Jiang Yun stared at the clay ring on her ring finger—it was a replica of Lu Mingze's plain ring, but she had deliberately burned a crack into it.

“Zhixia,” Jiang Yun suddenly spoke up, “Don’t be too attached to some things. Just like glaze, if the proportions are wrong, no matter how you fire it, it will never become a masterpiece.”

Lin Zhixia's hand trembled, and the candy wrapper fell into the glaze bucket. Watching Jiang Yun's retreating figure, she suddenly understood the meaning behind her words. The ventilation fan hummed, carrying away the scent of the glaze. She took out her phone and texted Lu Mingze: "Brother Lu, shouldn't we lower the copper oxide ratio in the secret-color glaze?" A moment later, her phone vibrated. He replied: "Smart. Come to the kiln at eight o'clock, I'll teach you how to read the firing colors."

As night fell, Lin Zhixia carried the glaze materials towards the kiln. Passing the storage room, she heard an argument coming from inside. Jiang Yun's voice was choked with sobs: "You could have gone to Beijing for the surgery." Lu Mingze's voice was low: "The studio can't function without someone, besides..."

She paused for a moment, then turned and walked in the opposite direction. When the moon climbed to the top of the kiln, Lu Mingze found her in the old spot—she was squatting under the osmanthus tree, holding a lump of clay in her hand, sculpting a lame little bear.

"Why are you hiding here?" He sat down next to her, his trouser leg brushing against her knee. "Are you afraid I'll scold you for changing the recipe without permission?"

Lin Zhixia shook her head and stuffed the teddy bear into his hands: "Brother Lu, your back."

"Shh—" He pressed his fingertips to her lips, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his eyelashes. "Let's check the kiln fire first. Tonight's glaze is the first one you've made independently."

The kiln fire illuminated their faces, and Lin Zhixia, watching the glaze change through the flames, suddenly felt his head gently rest on her shoulder. This was the first time he had so openly revealed his weariness. She smelled the cedar scent mingled with the smell of gunpowder in his hair and heard him whisper, "Zhixia, there are some things..."

“I know,” she interrupted him, her voice as soft as kiln ash, “just like this kiln fire, it burns brightly when it should, and goes out when it should.”

“Fool.” He sat up straight, poking at the fire with a trimming knife, sparks flying onto his bracelet. “If the glaze cracks, you can reopen the kiln, but if you miss the opportunity…” He suddenly laughed. “Never mind, you’re just a kid, what do you know?”

Lin Zhixia gazed at his profile, flushed red by the firelight, and recalled Jiang Yun's "awakening clay" theory. Perhaps some feelings, like clay blanks in a kiln, need time to be slowly fired; they cannot be rushed. She took out a throat lozenge from her pocket and placed it in his hand: "Brother Lu, it's time to take your medicine."

The kiln crackled, and the secret-color glaze gradually took on a warm, bluish-green hue. From afar came Jiang Yun's voice calling for help. As Lu Mingze stood up, the teddy bear slipped from his palm. Lin Zhixia bent down to pick it up and noticed that his ring finger had been removed at some point, revealing a faint ring mark, like an unhealed wound.

The grapevines in the studio began to shed their leaves on the autumnal equinox. Lin Zhixia squatted under the veranda stringing together ceramic bells, using shards of celadon porcelain that Lu Mingze had broken last year. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, weaving golden spots on her apron. Blue silk thread was tied to her fingertips when she suddenly heard Lu Mingze cough behind her.

"I told you not to work in the wind." He placed the thermos on the stone table; it contained freshly brewed ginger tea. "Jiang Yun will nag again if she sees you using broken porcelain shards."

Lin Zhixia looked up and saw that his face was even paler than last month, but he was still wearing that old, dark gray sweater—the cuffs revealed her newly knitted wristbands, the navy blue yarn mixed with silver threads, like stars in the night sky.

"Brother Lu, come with me to hang up the ceramic wind chimes." She shook the half-finished product in her hand, the ceramic pieces clinking together. "The last typhoon broke the wind chimes."

Lu Mingze chuckled and sat down beside her. The stone bench was slightly cool, and his knee brushed against hers through the fabric, but he didn't flinch as usual. Lin Zhixia handed him a shard of porcelain and noticed a band-aid wrapped around his fingertip—he had cut himself again that morning while moving the kiln furniture.

"Be careful." She adjusted the bandage for him. "The scar from last time hasn't healed yet."

He looked at her serious expression and suddenly reached out to ruffle her hair: "Little busybody." Sunlight filtered through her hair, casting dappled shadows on his palm. "When you go to the hospital with Jiang Yun later, don't wander off."

Lin Zhixia's hand trembled, and the blue thread almost snapped. This was the first time he had proactively suggested going to the hospital. Last time, when Jiang Yun cried and begged him to have surgery, he had said, "Wait a little longer." She stared at the ring mark on his ring finger, where new skin had grown, pale pink, like a tiny flower.

When Tao Ling hung up the fifth one, Jiang Yun came over carrying a medicine box. She was wearing the camel coat that Lu Mingze had given her, and around her neck was the scarf that Lin Zhixia had knitted incorrectly—which she had turned into a shawl. "It's time to go," she said softly, her gaze lingering on their clasped hands.

Lu Mingze stumbled as he stood up, and Lin Zhixia instinctively reached out to help him, but Jiang Yun beat her to it. She watched the two figures walk away hand in hand, the ceramic bell swaying gently in the autumn wind, the cloud pattern on the porcelain shard being the one Lu Mingze had carved for her last time.

The studio was lit by a single lamp late at night, and Lin Zhixia was putting the finishing touches on Lu Mingze's ceramic bell. As the kiln door closed, she secretly slipped a note inside: "Brother Lu, this time the underglaze red is mixed with my tears."

At three in the morning, she was startled awake by her phone vibrating. Lu Mingze sent her a photo: the pottery bells in the kiln glowed with a warm red, like the rising sun. He added, "The glaze is beautiful. Don't cry next time, it's a waste of cobalt."

Lin Zhixia smiled and pulled out the diagnosis report from under her pillow—she had secretly seen Jiang Yun's tucked-in notebook, which read, "Herniated lumbar disc compressing a nerve; surgery recommended as soon as possible." The moon outside the window was round, and she raised the ceramic bell to the moonlight; the cloud patterns on the porcelain shards vaguely formed the words "peace and safety."

On the day of Frost's Descent, Lu Mingze was discharged from the hospital. Lin Zhixia went to pick him up carrying a ceramic jar filled with millet porridge cooked by Jiang Yun. He was sitting in a wheelchair in his hospital gown, and his eyes lit up when he saw her: "Why aren't you wearing the scarf I gave you?"

"It's too hot," she lied. In fact, the scarf was hidden deep in the closet, its wool woven with her unspoken feelings. Jiang Yun pushed the wheelchair over, carrying a thermos containing braised beef, Lu Mingze's favorite.

The ceramic bells in the studio tinkled softly in the wind, like whispers through countless days and nights.

As Lin Zhixia watched Lu Mingze being helped by Jiang Yun towards the sunlight, she suddenly realized that some feelings don't need to be spoken aloud—like pottery in a kiln, after a long wait, they will eventually be presented in the most appropriate form.

She pulled out a clay bear from her pocket; the clay core in its paws was already glowing red-hot. In the distance came Lu Mingze's laughter, mingled with Jiang Yun's playful scolding, brewing a warm, comforting atmosphere amidst the autumn colors.

(End of this chapter)