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

The city after the snow was like being wrapped in a fluffy woolen blanket, with dappled sunlight piercing through the clouds and casting golden spots on the snow-covered streets.

Lu Mingze and Jiang Zimei strolled hand in hand down the street. The tassels of her red scarf swayed gently with each step, brushing against the hem of his dark gray coat like flickering flames in winter. Their footsteps crunched on the snow, a sound like a special melody played for them by winter.

"I'm taking you to an amazing restaurant today!" Lu Mingze suddenly stopped, the snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes refracting the sunlight. He winked mysteriously, his obsidian pupils reflecting her nose, reddened by the cold wind. "I booked the table two weeks in advance." As he spoke, his breath condensed into a white mist in the cold air, like a tiny cloud.

Jiang Zimei tiptoed, reaching out to brush the snowflakes from his shoulder, her cashmere gloves brushing against his soft silver hair. "Oh? What kind of restaurant is it that deserves such attention from the great painter Lu?" She deliberately drew out her words, her breath forming small clouds between them. Her eyes were full of anticipation and curiosity, as if a wondrous adventure was about to begin.

Lu Mingze suddenly bent down and gently breathed warm air into her ear: "You'll see when we get there!" This made Jiang Zimei blush and slap his hand away, but she couldn't help but laugh out loud first. The two chased each other across icy puddles, startling sparrows perched on roadside branches. Their fluttering wings shook off a few snowflakes, which landed right in Jiang Zimei's hair. She playfully shook her hair, brushing the snowflakes away, her clear, melodious laughter echoing through the empty street.

Turning the corner, a retro building with red brick walls came into view. Warm yellow LED strips wrapped around the dark green, ornate iron gate outlined a soft curve in the twilight. Lu Mingze reached out and pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the rich aroma of basil and tomatoes, mingled with soft jazz music, wafted out. Crystal chandeliers cast dappled light and shadow on the ceiling, and the abstract paintings hanging on the walls gleamed with a lustrous sheen under the warm yellow light.

"Welcome." A waiter in a sharp uniform smiled and led them to a booth by the window. Cashmere blankets draped the dark brown leather chairs, and warm flames flickered in the brass candlesticks on the table. Just as Jiang Zimei was about to sit down, she noticed the maple leaf specimens beside the bone china plate—each leaf meticulously pressed, tiny gold leaf inlaid between the veins, shimmering with a familiar luster in the candlelight. She gently picked up a maple leaf, examining it closely, a warm feeling welling up inside her, as if this maple leaf carried countless beautiful memories between them.

"The pasta and tiramisu here are amazing." Lu Mingze skillfully unfolded the gold-embossed menu, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the gold-embossed patterns on the edges. "Especially the bolognese pasta; the chef uses beef slow-cooked in aged red wine, paired with handmade wide noodles..." He suddenly stopped, noticing Jiang Zimei resting her chin on her hand, gazing at him, her eyelashes casting fan-shaped shadows beneath her eyes. Her eyes were filled with love, making Lu Mingze feel flustered, his heart involuntarily racing.

“Since it was your recommendation,” Jiang Zimei said, tracing the calluses on the back of his hand with her fingertips, deliberately lowering her voice, “then I’ll do whatever you say, Chef Lu.” Her voice was soft and alluring, with a hint of playfulness, causing Lu Mingze’s ears to instantly turn red, and he almost spilled the lemonade on the table in his panic. He cleared his throat and ordered the signature meat sauce pasta and saffron seafood risotto from the waiter, and specifically instructed, “Double the tiramisu, with extra cocoa powder.”

While waiting for the food to be served, Jiang Zimei got up to go to the restroom. Passing the open kitchen, she saw through the glass that Lu Mingze was intently wiping the knife she had touched. Morning light streamed down his silver hair, casting dappled patterns on the white tablecloth. This discovery warmed her heart, and her fingernails unconsciously traced the maple leaf bookmark she had secretly slipped into her pocket that morning—made from pressed maple leaves from their wedding. She was deeply moved; she realized that Lu Mingze always expressed his love for her through these small gestures.

However, this sweet atmosphere was quickly shattered. As the glass door was flung open, several stylishly dressed young women rushed into the restaurant. One of them, with a high ponytail, suddenly pointed to a corner and screamed, "Oh my god! That's Lu Mingze! He's the author of the 'Autumn Light' series!"

The noise surged through the restaurant like a tidal wave. Before Lu Mingze could react, he was surrounded by enthusiastic fans. Phone cameras flashed incessantly in front of him, and autographed books were shoved at him like snowflakes. He instinctively looked in Jiang Zimei's direction, but only saw her pushed to the edge of the crowd, her red scarf askew in the jostling, revealing a faint outline of her collarbone necklace—the maple leaf design he had personally designed for their third anniversary.

"Mingze-sensei! What inspired this painting?"

"Can I take a photo with you alone? Just one!"

Amidst the chorus of questions, Lu Mingze maintained a polite smile, though his pen trembled slightly as he signed his name. He noticed Jiang Zimei adjusting her scarf, her eyelashes casting deeper shadows than usual. When the countless requests for a "last photo" came in, he finally couldn't help but raise his voice: "Excuse me, everyone, my companions are waiting for me to have my meal..."

The crowd reluctantly dispersed. Lu Mingze quickly walked to Jiang Zimei's side and found that her water glass was empty and the straw was bitten and deformed. "I'm sorry, baby," he reached out to straighten her scarf, but she gently dodged him. "I didn't expect it to turn out like this." His eyes were full of guilt and worry, afraid that this incident would make Jiang Zimei unhappy.

Jiang Zimei poked at the pasta in front of her with her fork, the sauce spreading dark lines on the bottom of the plate. "It's okay, I know you can't do anything about it." Her voice was soft, the last syllable swallowed by the laughter of the next table. Lu Mingze looked at her falling hair obscuring her profile and suddenly remembered their first date, when she also ate ice cream with her head down, the spoon tracing a lonely arc in the paper cup. He felt a pang of heartache and silently vowed to protect her feelings better from now on.

To break the awkward silence, he picked up a piece of spaghetti covered in meat sauce and held it to her lips: "Try it, it's really delicious." Jiang Zimei hesitated for a moment, then took a small bite. The rich tomato aroma spread on her tongue, but it couldn't compare to the sweetness he usually showed when feeding her. During the meal, the curious glances from those around them felt like an invisible net, trapping the two of them in the cramped space. Jiang Zimei tried her best to pretend she didn't care, but the disappointment in her heart grew deeper and deeper.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, the cold wind whipped snowflakes against her face, which ironically made Jiang Zimei more alert. Lu Mingze reached out to take her hand, but she shoved a warm hand warmer into her hand: "Your hands are cold, take this." He looked at her red ears and suddenly remembered that he still had the ginger tea he had prepared before leaving that morning in his bag, the thermos lid having been nervously opened and closed countless times. He was filled with regret; why hadn't he noticed Jiang Zimei's unhappiness sooner? Why hadn't he handled the fan situation better?

“Let’s go for a walk along the river,” he suggested tentatively, “to feel the breeze and clear our minds.” His tone was cautious, afraid of upsetting Jiang Zimei again. A thin layer of ice covered the river, and the neon lights of the distant bridge cast fragmented spots of light on the ice. Lu Mingze took off his coat and draped it over Jiang Zimei; the cashmere fabric still held his warmth. The two walked slowly through the snow, their boots making a soft crunching sound as they rubbed against the snow. After a long silence, Lu Mingze suddenly spoke: “You seem unhappy today. Is it because of those fans?” His voice was deep and gentle, full of concern.

Jiang Zimei kicked away the snowball at her feet, and ice crystals scattered in the moonlight. "I know it's a good thing that many people like you," she paused, her voice a little muffled, "but I'm just a little... jealous. And what was supposed to be a nice date has been ruined." As she spoke, her eyes reddened, and she could no longer suppress her feelings of grievance.

Lu Mingze abruptly stopped, turning around to sweep the snow off the branches from under his coat. He cupped her red, frostbitten face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cold earlobes: "Silly girl, in my heart, you are the most important." His eyes shone brightly, reflecting the dazzling lights across the river. "Those fans are just people who appreciate my work, but you are the person I want to spend my life with." His words were firm and sincere, each one like a warm seed planted in Jiang Zimei's heart.

Jiang Zimei felt her eyes welling up with tears, and reached out to punch his chest lightly, saying, "Who wants to spend their life with you..." Before she could finish, he gently kissed her. The kiss carried the chill of a cold wind, yet was filled with his unique scent of cedar. In the distance, the sound of fireworks exploding filled the air, golden sparks bursting in the night sky, illuminating their pressed foreheads. In that moment, all unpleasantness vanished, leaving only their love flowing within them.

However, sweetness is always fleeting. Just then, Lu Mingze's phone suddenly vibrated. He glanced at the caller ID and his brows furrowed instantly: "There's a problem at the studio. Someone accidentally spilled water on a few paintings that aren't dry yet. I have to go back and deal with it." His tone was full of anxiety and helplessness, worried about the paintings in the studio, yet also reluctant to leave Jiang Zimei alone.

Jiang Zimei suppressed her disappointment and forced a smile, "It's okay, work is important, let's go." On the taxi ride home, she looked at the neon lights rushing past the window and suddenly remembered that he hadn't taken the ginger tea out of his pocket. She felt a little regretful, but she also understood how much Lu Mingze valued the painting, just as much as he valued their relationship.

Pushing open the studio door, a damp, paint-scented smell hit me. Water streaks stretched across the floor, and several paintings on the easels were in a terrible state—the maple branches in "First Snow" were stained an eerie purple, and Jiang Zimei's profile in "Autumn Light" was ripped apart by watermarks. Several students helping to look after the studio stood in a corner, one of them, a boy with dreadlocks, his eyes red-rimmed: "Teacher Lu, I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to..." His voice trembled with tears, his face filled with remorse.

"Don't panic," Lu Mingze squatted down to examine the damage to the painting, his calloused brush gently rubbing against the rough canvas. "Some areas can be repaired with glazing, but the color tones will need to be readjusted." Before he finished speaking, Jiang Zimei's suppressed gasp came from behind him.

As he turned around, he saw her pale-faced, leaning against the easel, her bangs clinging to her skin with cold sweat. "What's wrong?" He rushed over, reaching out to touch her icy hand, but she abruptly shook him off.

"I... my stomach hurts so much." Jiang Zimei curled up in the corner, her nails digging deep into her palms. Only then did Lu Mingze notice the fine beads of sweat on her neck and her slightly trembling eyelashes. Ignoring the mess on the floor, he scooped her up in his arms: "Don't be afraid, we're going to the hospital." His voice was firm and strong, as if at this moment, he was Jiang Zimei's most solid support.

Under the harsh white light of the emergency room, Jiang Zimei lay on the hospital bed with an IV drip in her hand. Lu Mingze sat by the bed, holding her hand against his cheek, his voice choked with emotion: "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have taken you to that restaurant today, and made you stay in the studio for so long." His eyes were filled with self-reproach and heartache. Seeing Jiang Zimei's pain, he wished he could take her suffering upon himself.

Jiang Zimei smiled weakly and wiped the moisture from the corner of his eyes with her other hand: "How can I blame you? Being sick is my own business." She suddenly remembered something and took out a crumpled maple leaf bookmark from her pocket. "Look, this one is still fine." The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, trying to comfort Lu Mingze with this small gesture.

Lu Mingze lowered his head and kissed her fingertips, his lips brushing against the embossed ring on her ring finger. "When you're better, we'll go out for a big meal again. This time, I'll book the whole restaurant." His breath condensed into white mist in the cold air as he spoke, landing on the back of her hand before quickly dissipating. He secretly vowed in his heart that he would make Jiang Zimei happy every day from now on and never let her suffer any more grievances.

The IV drip slowly dripped down, time flowing gently in the silence. As Jiang Zimei drifted off to sleep, she heard Lu Mingze softly humming the song they'd listened to on their first date. She opened her eyes and saw him intently wiping the bandage on the back of her hand with a cotton swab, his silver hair falling to obscure his face, his eyelashes casting gentle shadows beneath his eyes. At that moment, she felt incredibly safe, as if with Lu Mingze by her side, no difficulty was insurmountable.

As the morning light streamed into the hospital room through the gaps in the curtains, Jiang Zimei felt much better. Lu Mingze was asleep beside the bed, his fingers still tightly clutching the hem of her clothes. She reached out and gently combed his disheveled silver hair, suddenly noticing a few new strands of silver behind his ears, gleaming softly in the morning sun. These silver strands seemed to be a testament to their love, recording every moment they had shared.

On the day of their discharge from the hospital, the paintings in the studio were miraculously restored. Lu Mingze and Jiang Zimei stood side by side in front of the newly restored "Autumn Light" series, looking at the familiar maple leaves and first snow on the canvas, and smiled at each other. "This experience is also a special memory," Jiang Zimei said, her fingertips tracing the gold hair at her temple in the painting. Her eyes were full of emotion as she recalled the experiences of this period—the sweetness, the arguments, the ups and downs—but also the deepening of their relationship.

Lu Mingze hugged her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head: "Yes, no matter what difficulties we encounter in the future, we'll face them together." He suddenly remembered something, and his eyes lit up, "By the way, once you're fully recovered, let's go out for a big meal. This time, we definitely won't be disturbed." (End of Chapter)