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

The day before Qingming Festival, Lin Zhixia cooked quinoa porridge in the open kitchen.

A thin mist rose from the German-imported enamel pot, blurring Lu Mingze's image behind the island counter. He wore a custom-made dark gray cashmere sweater, the medical brace at his lower back concealed by the neatly tailored fabric, only revealing the matte metal buckle beneath his Italian handmade leather belt when he reached for his coffee cup.

"It's ready." His voice mingled with the grinding of the coffee machine. "Did you save the 'ice crackle' glaze recipe I taught you last night on your tablet?"

Lin Zhixia turned off the stove and saw the smart monitoring bracelet on his wrist flashing red—a signal to change the medication. Jiang Yun came downstairs in a Chanel early autumn suit, her coral-colored nail polish lightly tapping the marble countertop: "You secretly stopped taking painkillers again?" She handed him a sugar-coated pill, "Chen Mo brought it from Switzerland as a slow-release type, it won't affect the feel of the glaze."

Morning light streamed in through the 270-degree floor-to-ceiling windows, weaving a gentle golden edge around the three of them. Lin Zhixia gazed at the silk scarf buckle that Jiang Yun had carefully chosen—it was custom-made by Lu Mingze using the shattered fragment of the "ruby red" scarf she had broken. Suddenly, she remembered seeing Jiang Yun staring blankly at Lu Mingze's hospital records in the dressing room last night, her fingertips tracing the words "bone metastasis" as if caressing a fragile piece of paper.

In the morning, the private hospital corridor was carpeted for soundproofing. Lu Mingze sat in his electric wheelchair and flipped through "Ceramics Monthly".

Lin Zhixia adjusted the cushions for him and touched the heat pack hidden inside the braces—it was a mugwort sachet that Jiang Yun had ironed at four in the morning.

Jiang Yun checked into the VIP lane at the front desk. Her high heels clicked softly on the Italian marble floor, as light as the sound of her silk cheongsam brushing against the porcelain surface.

"Mr. Lu, it's your turn." The nurse pushed in the portable CT scanner.

Lu Mingze suddenly grasped Lin Zhixia's hand, his fingertips brushing against the thin calluses on her palm: "Remember to put the newly arrived Star Frost Stone in the third temperature-controlled cabinet, and keep the humidity at 58%." He spoke calmly, but his thumb gently tapped the back of her hand three times—this was their secret code, meaning "Help me hide the diagnosis."

As Jiang Yun turned around, she held a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in her hand. "Drink this first. You said the ones at the hospital were too sour last time." She adjusted the armrests of his wheelchair, her movements as practiced as if she were calibrating a potter's wheel. "Want to go to Chen Mo's gallery opening this afternoon?"

Looking at their clasped hands, Lin Zhixia suddenly remembered the three intelligent kilns in the studio—Lu Mingze's kiln chamber was engraved with ancient Roman numerals, Jiang Yun's was inlaid with Swarovski crystals, and the inside of her kiln door was engraved with the fingerprint patterns of the three of them using nanotechnology.

The blue light from the CT scanner shone on Jiang Yun's face, causing her coral lipstick to fade slightly, revealing her original lip color, like an unglazed porcelain slab.

The studio was brightly lit late at night, and Lin Zhixia was adjusting the "flowing gold glaze" in the intelligent glaze room.

The spring rain outside the window tapped against the glass curtain wall. She heard the elevator notification sound and knew that Lu Mingze and Jiang Yun were returning from the physiotherapy center.

"If it hurts, just say so. Don't try to tough it out like you did back then." Jiang Yun's voice was unusually sharp.

"The temperature control system in the glaze room needs an upgrade." Lu Mingze's voice mingled with the hum of the elevator. "Zhixia said the newly arrived spodumene keeps getting damp."

Lin Zhixia turned off the ultrasonic vibrator and saw the two walk in. Jiang Yun's trench coat was draped over her arm, revealing a black lace top underneath—she had specially chosen it for Lu Mingze, saying that black made her look slimmer.

Blood seeped from the edges of Lu Mingze's protective gear, staining his white shirt with irregular shapes, much like the "kiln-transformation flow marks" she had deliberately pursued.

“Let me do it.” She took out a sterile cotton pad and, when she touched the skin on his lower back, found it was two degrees lower than the temperature of the constant-temperature kiln. Jiang Yun handed her a new gauze and gently pressed her fingertips against his spine, a relaxation technique she had learned from a physical therapist. The three of them collaborated silently under the intelligent lighting, like completing a delicate ceramic work—Jiang Yun was the calm base color, Lu Mingze was the vibrant lines, and she was the glaze that harmonized everything.

On the morning of the Beginning of Summer, Lin Zhixia was drying star frost stones on the rooftop terrace.

In the garden of the old house, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Gazing at the river in the distance, she suddenly remembered the Swiss medical report she had seen in Lu Mingze's study last night. The words "immediate surgery recommended" were circled in red, and next to it was his handwriting: "Wait until Zhixia's solo exhibition ends."

"What are you thinking about?" Lu Mingze came over in his hover wheelchair, with a cashmere blanket woven by Jiang Yunzhi covering his knees. "Be careful of the strong wind, it might mess up the texture of the mineral."

As she turned around, she noticed that he had more gray hairs at his temples, shimmering in the morning mist, much like her newly developed "crushed diamond glaze." Jiang Yun walked over, wearing a beige trench coat and carrying a bowl of bird's nest porridge. Her nails were now a pale pink, the same color as cherry blossoms: "The doctor said you should take collagen supplements."

Looking at the two of them, Lin Zhixia suddenly understood why Jiang Yun always added pearl powder to Lu Mingze's porridge, why Lu Mingze insisted on using the "pain-relieving glaze" she made, and why she always found them rubbing each other's shoulders late at night—some truths are like kiln transformations, and you have to look through the fog to appreciate the tenderness within.

On the eve of the Dragon Boat Festival, the three of them wrapped zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) at a Michelin-starred restaurant. Jiang Yun specially chose Jingdezhen blue and white porcelain tableware, and the zongzi leaves were folded into elegant arcs by her fingertips, while Lu Mingze used a 3D-printed bamboo knife to assist him, his movements slow but precise.

“Back in the research institute, I always wrapped zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) in the shape of a teapot.” Jiang Yun smiled as she looked at Lu Mingze. “He said it looked like an unfired clay pot, which made me so angry that I didn’t talk to him for three days.”

Lin Zhixia added a black truffle to the zongzi leaf and saw Lu Mingze raise an eyebrow: "That's too extravagant. Be careful the zongzi doesn't collapse when it's fired." But a hint of pride flashed in his eyes, as if he were looking at his most prized work.

Through the rain outside the window, the smart greenhouse shone with warm light, housing Jiang Yun's orchids and Lu Mingze's glaze plants. Lin Zhixia suddenly grasped their hands; Jiang Yun's manicured nails gently brushed against her palm, while Lu Mingze's calloused skin rubbed against the back of her hand. The three different sensations blended in the mist, like glaze naturally spreading in a kiln.

At noon on the summer solstice, the three artists' works were displayed side by side in the studio's holographic projection. Jiang Yun's "ruby red" glazed bottle exuded a warm light, Lu Mingze's "ice crackle" porcelain plate concealed fine metallic glints, and in Lin Zhixia's "flowing gold glaze" installation art, the silhouettes of the three artists could be faintly seen.

"This is called 'three-ring glaze'," Lu Mingze explained to the guests. "Each layer of glaze forms an independent scene, yet they fuse together in the fire."

Lin Zhixia gazed at him standing in the assisted exoskeleton, his posture as upright as when he was young. Jiang Yun, dressed in a custom-made celadon-colored cheongsam, stood to his right—an old habit of theirs; he always said, "The right side is closer to the heart." After the guests had left, Lu Mingze suddenly grasped their hands, and in the holographic projection, the shadows of the three overlapped into a perfect circle.

On the evening of the Beginning of Autumn, the three sat in the rooftop garden of their home. Lu Mingze's legs were covered with a plain white blanket newly woven by Jiang Yun, and Lin Zhixia added a gold-edged rose to his tea—this was air-shipped from Yunnan by Jiang Yun, who said it could relieve pain.

“Let’s go to Switzerland next month,” Jiang Yun said, gazing at the sunset over the Huangpu River. “I’ve booked a sanatorium with a view of the Alps.”

Lu Mingze turned to look at Lin Zhixia, his eyes reflecting the fading glow of the sunset: "This time, it's your turn to be the teacher, teach us how to mix 'Snow Mountain White' glaze." She laughed, but then saw Jiang Yun secretly mix Lu Mingze's painkillers into his tea. He pretended not to notice, tilting his head back to drink, his fingertips lightly tapping Jiang Yun's hand three times—their secret code, meaning "thank you." As twilight enveloped the garden, the smart lights turned on one by one, casting a soft halo around the three of them, much like the first ray of light when a kiln is opened.

Lin Zhixia closed her eyes, feeling the moist air brought by the river breeze, hearing Jiang Yun's soft laughter, Lu Mingze's cough, and the sound of her own heartbeat, much like the steady fire in a kiln. Some emotions need not be spoken, like the changes in glaze in the kiln, seemingly silent, yet firing out the most complex and moving patterns over time—it is love, responsibility, the tenderness of mutual achievement, a glaze of gold that belongs to the three of them, never fading.

On the eve of the Autumn Equinox, Lin Zhixia was adjusting the "Bone-Etching Red" glaze in the intelligent glaze room. In the spectrum projected by the 3D scanner, she repeatedly adjusted the ratio of cinnabar to copper oxide, but always felt something was missing. Moonlight streamed through the blinds, weaving a cold white grid on the floor, much like the CT scan on Lu Mingze's medical record.

"Aren't you asleep yet?" Lu Mingze's voice came from behind him, accompanied by the hum of the magnetic therapy device. He was wearing a NASA-branded smart rehabilitation suit, the back brace blending seamlessly into the clothing without leaving a trace.

She hurriedly turned off the scanner, but accidentally knocked over the canister of cobalt blue powder. The deep blue powder flowed in the moonlight, much like the ink marks at the bottom of his surgical consent form—the signature of "Lu Mingze," bold and powerful, leaving a glaring blank space in the "date" column.

"Are you mixing a new glaze?" He bent down to help her tidy up, his movements as smooth as if he had never been injured. "The 'bone-corroding red' we talked about last time, maybe we should add some bone ash."

Her fingertips trembled, and cobalt blue powder clung to the back of her hand, like a scar that could never be washed away. She recalled the "Report on the Application of Human Skeleton in Pottery" that she had seen in his study last night, with a note tucked inside: "Zhixia's hands are suited to holding a trimming knife, but not a scalpel."

On the day of Lidong (the beginning of winter), Lin Zhixia's solo exhibition "Scorch Marks" opened at Chen Mo's gallery. She wore a black backless dress given to her by Jiang Yun, and the diamond necklace at the back of her neck perfectly covered her shoulder blades—it was custom-made by Lu Mingze using the "diamond glaze" she had successfully fired for the first time.

"Congratulations." Jiang Yun handed over a glass of champagne, the wine red on her nails echoing the "bone-corroding red" on the exhibition wall. "Mingze is waiting for you in the VIP room."

When Lin Zhixia pushed open the gilded door, she saw Lu Mingze sitting in a wheelchair, his knees covered with a scarf she was half-knitting. Half of the gauze was visible at the collar of his white shirt, the edges stained with pale red, like a kiln-fired flower about to wither.

“This series is stunning.” He pointed to “Burning Scars III” on the wall, the distorted glaze in the image remarkably similar to an MRI of his spine. “Did they use my bone powder?”

She whirled around, the fishtail hem of her gown sweeping across the carpet. The spotlight cast dappled light into his eyes, much like the gold flecks in her glaze, yet more dazzling than any metal.

“It’s zircon.” She heard her own voice trembling. “You should get more rest.”

He chuckled softly, his wheelchair gently moving forward to a stop behind her: "Zhixia, some burn marks can't be hidden. Like the body heat within your glaze, others perceive it as technology, but it's actually..."

"Mingze!" Jiang Yun's voice came from the doorway. "The doctor said you should take your medication."

Lin Zhixia watched their intertwined figures. Jiang Yun's high heels pattered on her skirt, while Lu Mingze's fingertips brushed against her lower back, as if outlining a porcelain blank. The three shadows swayed on the exhibition wall, and she suddenly remembered the three kilns in the kiln house—now only hers was still running, like an empty shell, waiting to be filled with glaze that did not belong to her.

Late on New Year's Eve, light snow drifted across the terrace of the Lu family's old house. Lin Zhixia was changing Lu Mingze's dressing, while Jiang Yun was brewing tangerine peel tea in the kitchen. When the smart brace was removed, the wound on his lower back glowed pink in the warm light, like a snowflake about to melt.

"Does it hurt?" Her voice was as soft as snow.

“The ‘pain-relieving glaze’ you mixed is quite effective.” He chuckled, his fingertips tracing her wrist. “But remember to add less menthol next time, or it’ll make it too cold to sleep.”

She turned her face away and saw the bedside table.

The sound of a hairdryer came from the bathroom. Jiang Yun was drying her hair, humming an old love song from the 1980s, just like her habit when she was mixing glaze.

“Zhixia,” Lu Mingze suddenly grabbed her wrist, “Don’t be like Jiang Yun, hiding everything in the glaze.”

She turned to look at him and saw her reddened eyes reflected in his, like a fogged mirror. Snowflakes hit the glass, and she heard her own heartbeat, much like the runaway fire in a kiln.

"I just," she suddenly choked up, "wanted that you all be well."

He sighed and gently pulled her into his arms. She smelled the scent of cedar and iodine on him, and heard Jiang Yun's footsteps coming from the stairs, but she could no longer move, like a piece of clay molded by high temperature.

On the eve of the spring equinox, Lin Zhixia was organizing Lu Mingze's medical documents in her study. The latest report from the Swiss hospital lay open on the table, the words "cancer cells have spread to the ribs" stinging her eyes. Deep in the drawer lay an old sketchbook, filled with drawings of her profile, each accompanied by the words, "Zhixia's glaze should be brighter."

"What are you looking for?" Jiang Yun's voice came from behind, holding a cup of hot milk. She was wearing a silk nightgown that Lu Mingze had given her, and on her collarbone, which was exposed at the neckline, there was a light brown birthmark—similar in shape to the scar on Lu Mingze's lower back.

Lin Zhixia hurriedly closed her sketchbook, but knocked over the incense burner next to her. The sandalwood ash sprinkled on the medical record, like a thin layer of glaze, blurring the word "death".

“He always said you were like ‘the sky after the rain’.” Jiang Yun put down her milk, her fingertips tracing the charcoal marks on her sketchbook, “Clear and cool, yet hiding an unyielding heat.”

The spring thunder rumbled faintly outside the window. Lin Zhixia looked at Jiang Yun's hands, which were painted with wine-red nail polish, and suddenly remembered the day Lu Mingze had surgery. This woman sat at the door of the operating room, her nails digging deeply into her palms, but she never shed a tear.

"Sister Jiang," she suddenly spoke, "do you regret it?"

Jiang Yun was taken aback, then smiled, brushing the sandalwood ash from her hair with her fingertips: "Ceramic artists never regret opening the kiln, even if it cracks, it is the glaze color of destiny."

(End of this chapter)