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

Winter in Jingdezhen is damp and chilly, like a piece of cotton soaked in ice water, making one feel tighter in the bones. Lin Zhixia squatted in the glaze room mixing new glaze, her breath condensing into tiny ice crystals on her eyelashes, like a handful of broken diamonds. She was wearing the fleece-lined work pants that Lu Mingze had insisted on giving her last year, but the cuffs were still a bit long, so she was currently stepping them under her feet to keep out the wind.

"Hiss—" Her fingertips had barely touched the cold water when she jerked her hand back. The cobalt blue powder on the electronic scale gleamed eerily in the morning light, much like the kiln fire reflected in Lu Mingze's eyes as he adjusted the kiln temperature last night. The wooden door behind her creaked open, carrying the familiar scent of pine; she knew without turning around that Lu Mingze had arrived.

"Why are you using cold water again?" His voice carried his usual helplessness, but the end of the tone was warm, like a piece of soft jade just out of the kiln. Lin Zhixia stared at the half-finger glove peeking out of his work pants pocket. The grass-green yarn was a little pilled. She had knitted it two years ago, and Jiang Yun had jokingly said at the time that it looked like "a bear's paw".

"Here's a hand warmer." He magically pulled a strawberry-patterned hand warmer from his pocket, the warmth seeping through the canvas and still carrying the residual warmth of his body. Lin Zhixia was about to take it when she noticed his sleeve had slipped down, revealing a newly changed gauze on his wrist—it was wider than yesterday's.

"Brother Lu, your back." Her voice suddenly softened, like a snowflake falling on glaze. Lu Mingze hurriedly pulled off his gloves to cover the gauze, but his fingertips were trembling: "It's a minor problem, don't make a fuss." He turned to move the glaze bucket, his lower back stiff as a cracked piece of pottery.

Lin Zhixia bit her lip, suddenly recalling the conversation she overheard in the break room last night. Jiang Yun's voice was trembling with tears: "The doctor said that if we delay any longer, she'll be paralyzed!" Lu Mingze chuckled: "The studio can't function without someone, and besides, Zhixia hasn't learned to read the room yet."

“Come here.” His voice interrupted her thoughts. Lin Zhixia looked up and saw him taking off his scarf. The dark gray cashmere scarf shimmered softly in the morning light, like the look in his eyes whenever he looked at her. “The scarf is too long, it’ll get in the way when you’re working,” he said, but he wrapped the scarf around her neck twice. The cedar-scented scarf enveloped her completely, the end brushing against the back of her hand, tickling her like the touch he always gave when he ruffled her hair.

Lin Zhixia's earlobes burned, and she hurriedly lowered her head to stir the glaze. The cobalt blue mixed with ochre spread in the water, much like the warmth of Lu Mingze's palm when he applied ointment to her hands after she secretly used inferior glaze that year, and red rashes appeared on the back of her hands. "The glaze container should be wrapped in a quilt." He suddenly squatted down, looking her in the eye, and brushed the frost off her eyelashes with his fingertips: "Why aren't you wearing more clothes on in this cold weather?"

When his fingertips touched her cheek, Lin Zhixia recoiled sharply, knocking over the glaze bottle behind her. The sky-blue glaze meandered across the cement floor, much like the crack in Jiang Yun's heart that appeared on that stormy night when she pushed open the door. Lu Mingze, however, remained calm, pulling a bamboo sliver from his pocket—the one he always used to scrape glaze, its edges worn smooth.

"Silly." He chuckled softly, taking her hand and scraping the glaze from under her nails. His fingertips brushed against the thin calluses on her palm, marks left from years of kneading clay, now warmed by his touch. Lin Zhixia remembered the ring on his ring finger she had dreamt of the night before; the "JY" on the inside was blurred, replaced by a light-colored ring mark, like the little bear paw print she had secretly carved on his ceramic cup.

“If you don’t use gloves next time, I’ll punish you by making you wash the kiln furniture for a month.” He suddenly looked up, his eyelashes casting shadows under his eyes, but unable to hide the smile in them. Lin Zhixia was about to retort when he pulled a bag of roasted chestnuts from his pocket, the heat mixed with the aroma of caramel wafting over her: “Jiang Yun said you didn’t eat breakfast, so she specially asked me to buy these.”

When the paper bag touched her fingertips, she suddenly noticed the bruise on his hand—it was a bit darker than yesterday. He had bumped it last week when he helped her move the kiln. At that time, she was about to go find Jiang Yun, but he stopped her: "Don't tell her, so she won't nag."

“Brother Lu,” she suddenly spoke, her voice as soft as kiln ash, “your MRI report.” Before she could finish, he had already turned and walked toward the door. The report in his work pants pocket was lifted by the wind, and she caught a glimpse of the word “surgery,” which felt like a red-hot brick, burning her eyes with tears.

"We're having dumplings for lunch," he said, his back to her, but his voice was still light and cheerful. "Jiang Yun made pork and fennel filling, your favorite." Lin Zhixia watched his back and saw that with each step he took, his lower back swayed slightly, like a wounded animal, yet he pretended to be nonchalant.

The ventilation fan between the glazes hummed, carrying away the last trace of chestnut aroma. Lin Zhixia took out a hand warmer from her pocket; the strawberry-patterned canvas still held his warmth. She suddenly remembered that year during Grain Rain, when he squatted beside the blue plumbago, picking withered leaves for her, the terracotta bear on the silver watch chain on his cuff gently swaying, like her chaotic heartbeat at this moment.

A thin layer of frost covered the kneading table in the studio. Lin Zhixia breathed on her palms, and the white vapor swirled into mist above the clay. Today was the winter solstice, and she had gotten up early on purpose, wanting to sculpt a few small tigers to decorate the kiln entrance. The clay gradually took shape in her palms, but it always seemed clumsy, with the ears crooked and twisted, like wilted vegetable leaves after being hit by frost.

"Heh—" A soft laugh came from behind, like a snowflake landing on glaze. Lin Zhixia didn't need to turn around to know it was Lu Mingze. He always responded to her clumsiness with this indulgent laugh. "You've kneaded it like a sick cat." His voice was warm, mixed with the aroma of freshly cooked glutinous rice balls, drifting from behind her.

She grabbed a lump of clay and threw it behind her, but he nimbly dodged it, the clay splattering onto his apron like pale yellow flowers. "Lu Mingze!" she angrily turned around, only to see him leaning against the doorframe—wearing a sweater newly knitted by Jiang Yun, the dark gray yarn interspersed with silver threads, like the sparks from the kiln last night.

"What, can't I even say it?" He approached with a smile, twirling a sesame glutinous rice ball between his fingers, the glutinous rice skin gleaming softly in the morning light. "Jiang Yun said that glutinous rice balls should be eaten with osmanthus on the Winter Solstice. Smell it, doesn't it smell good?" He suddenly leaned closer and held the glutinous rice ball to her lips, the warmth of his breath hitting her face, mixed with the scent of cedar on his body.

Lin Zhixia hurriedly stepped back, but knocked over the tool rack behind her. Scrapers and brushes fell to the ground with a clatter. She bent down to pick them up, but Lu Mingze pressed down on her shoulder: "Clumsy." He squatted down and picked up the tools next to her. His fingertips touched the back of her hand, like a flame in a kiln gently licking it.

"Here you go." He suddenly stuffed the glutinous rice ball into her mouth, his movements so fast she couldn't react. The sesame filling melted on her tongue, cloyingly sweet, yet mixed with the lingering clay flavor from his fingertips, it became the most unique taste of the Winter Solstice in her memory. "Is it good?" He looked at her puffed-out cheeks, his smile deepening, and suddenly reached out to wipe the sesame seeds from the corner of her mouth.

Lin Zhixia's earlobes burned, and she hurriedly pushed his hand away, saying, "It doesn't taste good!" But she accidentally smeared clay on his sweater. He looked down at the clay stain on his chest, deliberately feigning heartache, "This is a sweater that Jiang Yun knitted for half a month!"

"Then I'll help you wash!" Lin Zhixia said stubbornly, but when she saw the mischievous look in his eyes, she suddenly realized she had fallen into a trap. He smiled and ruffled her hair: "Just kidding, Jiang Yun already prepared a spare for me."

Amidst their laughter and banter, the wooden door creaked open. Jiang Yun entered, carrying a cup of jujube tea. She wore the camel-colored coat Lu Mingze had given her, and around her neck was the scarf Lin Zhixia had knitted incorrectly last year—which she had altered into a shawl. Hidden among the crooked stitches were the two characters for "peace" that Lin Zhixia had secretly woven in. "You two," Jiang Yun said with a smile, shaking her head as she handed the tea to Lin Zhixia, "what are you doing, behaving so carelessly in this cold weather?" Her gaze swept over the mud splatter on Lu Mingze's chest, but she simply reached out to straighten his collar, her fingertips brushing against his Adam's apple like a feather gently falling.

Lin Zhixia held her teacup, watching their interaction, and suddenly remembered last night in the studio when she saw Jiang Yun applying a plaster to Lu Mingze. The two were talking quietly, then fell silent when they saw her. Jiang Yun's eyes still had wet tear stains, and Lu Mingze's palm was still clutching a surgical consent form.

“Zhixia,” Jiang Yun’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “Come with us to the release pond this afternoon to release lanterns. It’s the old custom; we make wishes on the Winter Solstice.” Lin Zhixia nodded and noticed the ceramic bead bracelet on Jiang Yun’s wrist. The three beads gleamed warmly in the sunlight, and the “Lu” character bead still bore the knife marks she had made while carving.

The release pond was covered with a thin layer of ice in the afternoon. Lin Zhixia squatted on the bank releasing lotus lanterns, while Lu Mingze stood behind her, shielding her from the oncoming wind. Jiang Yun had gone to buy candles, leaving only the two of them on the bank. "Be careful, it's slippery." He suddenly reached out and supported her waist; even through several layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth of his palm.

As the lotus lantern drifted towards the center of the lake, she heard him whisper, "Last winter solstice, you secretly hid my glaze formula." Lin Zhixia's fingers clenched tightly around the lantern paper. That year, she wanted to burn a gift for him, but she got the proportions wrong and the kiln exploded. Later, he cleaned up the mess for her, getting several blisters on his hands, but he lied and said it was from "bumping into sweet potatoes while roasting."

"This is a belated gift this year," she whispered, pulling a ceramic box from her pocket and placing it in his hand. The box was decorated with a bear pattern made of broken porcelain shards, its edges still smooth from her hands rubbing them all night. Lu Mingze opened the box; inside was a cufflink, also made of broken celadon shards from last year, arranged in the shape of a bear. The back was engraved with the tiny characters "平安" (peace and safety), barely visible even with a magnifying glass.

He fiddled with his cufflinks, then suddenly chuckled, "Actually, I knew all along." Lin Zhixia looked up at him and noticed that the tips of his ears were redder than the vermilion on a lantern. Jiang Yun's call came from afar, and he hurriedly stuffed the cufflinks into his pocket, his movements as quick as a child hiding candy.

In the kiln late at night, Lin Zhixia taught Lu Mingze how to sculpt a clay tiger. His fingers were too rough, and he couldn't get the delicate lines right, making him sweat with frustration. "Silly bear," she said with a smile, taking his hand and adjusting the angle, "It should be like this, following the lines."

Their hands rested on the clay. His palms, calloused, brushed against her pulse, like the gentle flickering of flames in a kiln. Lin Zhixia smelled the scent of cedar mixed with the sweet aroma of glutinous rice balls on him, and suddenly remembered how he had tied Jiang Yun's scarf earlier, his movements as gentle as if he were repairing a fragile piece of porcelain.

"Alright." She let go, and the little tiger finally looked majestic. Lu Mingze looked at the tiger and suddenly said, "Zhixia, there are some things." Before he could finish speaking, the kiln door was suddenly pushed open, and Jiang Yun came in carrying freshly dried pottery blanks, followed by Old Huang, the workshop's guard dog, who was yawning.

Lin Zhixia hurriedly stepped back, but accidentally stepped on Lu Mingze's foot. He groaned, but quickly caught her waist to prevent her from falling into the mud. Jiang Yun's gaze shifted between the two of them, but she just smiled and said, "Mingze, it's time to change the dressing."

Lu Mingze let go of her hand and followed Jiang Yun out. Lin Zhixia watched his back and saw that his sweater was soaked with sweat, outlining the hideous old scar. She took out the hand warmer from her pocket; the strawberry pattern was already warm from being held, just like the temperature when he had held her hand earlier.

The kiln fire crackled behind her, and Lin Zhixia suddenly recalled Jiang Yun's theory of "awakening the clay." Some feelings, perhaps, really do need time to awaken, just like the clay blanks in this kiln—they can't be rushed. She looked down at the clay in her palm, still bearing Lu Mingze's fingerprints, like an indelible mark.

The first snow came unexpectedly, like someone had overturned a jar of glutinous rice in the sky. Lin Zhixia, wearing the woolen hat Lu Mingze had given her, was sweeping snow in the yard, her boots crunching on the snow. Her nose was red from the cold, but she refused to go back inside, insisting on moving the blue snowflake flowerpot under the eaves—it was the one Lu Mingze had taught her to plant last year.

"Lin Zhixia!" Lu Mingze's voice suddenly came from behind, tinged with his usual helplessness. She had just turned around when a snowball hit her hat with a "thud," and snowflakes fell into her collar, making her shiver. "Lu Mingze!" She grabbed a handful of snow and chased after him, only to see him wearing a thin hoodie, with a half-open pain relief patch package sticking out of his cargo pants pocket.

"Why are you dressed so lightly?" Forgetting about revenge, she hurriedly ran over and reached out to touch his arm. "You'll catch a cold!" His skin was as cold as ice, but it suddenly warmed up when it touched her palm. "It's okay, I just finished moving the kiln furniture, it's still warm." He smiled and dodged away, but accidentally slipped and stumbled, grabbing her shoulder for support.

The two rolled around in the snow, startling the sparrows under the eaves. Lin Zhixia's hat had fallen off at some point, and her hair was covered in snowflakes, like a handful of shattered diamonds. Lu Mingze looked at her, then suddenly reached out to brush the snow off her hair, his fingertips brushing against her earlobe, and whispered, "Like a little madwoman."

She looked up and saw the snowflakes on his eyelashes. Suddenly, she remembered that stormy night when he was curled up on the sofa, his shirt soaked with cold sweat. "Brother Lu, your back..." Her voice suddenly softened, and her hand unconsciously reached for his lower back. He hurriedly pressed her hand down: "I can do it myself!" But the tips of his ears were redder than glaze on the snow.

Lin Zhixia refused to back down, squatting down in front of him and reaching out to unbuckle his belt. Lu Mingze's hands clenched until they turned white, his Adam's apple bobbing: "Zhixia, don't..." "Don't move!" she interrupted him, her voice unusually firm, "If you delay any longer, the wound will become infected."

He finally stopped struggling, letting her lift the hem of his sweater. The old scar on his lower back looked particularly gruesome in the snowy light, like a sleeping snake, the surrounding skin flushed an unnatural red. Lin Zhixia gently touched the pain relief patch with her fingertips, but felt a dampness—cold sweat.

(End of this chapter)