The dark night sky erupted into bursts of fireworks, dazzling colors spreading out like a radiant scroll.
On New Year’s Eve, the Miao Village once again lit bonfires.
Tongjiang Miao Village now relies heavily on tourism, so during major holidays, they hold ethnic events to entertain visitors and attract more people.
The lusheng music rang high and bright. The girls danced gracefully, arms linked, singing Miao songs I couldn’t understand.
Shen Jianqing held my hand, and we wandered aimlessly through the crowd, gradually reaching the central square.
I suddenly recalled the streets of Yancheng, bustling with people just like this—but back then, I was alone. Now, this scene seemed to fulfill a deep longing I’d carried in my heart for years.
Along the way, people occasionally glanced back at us, eyes lingering on our clasped hands. Shen Jianqing noticed but raised our hands higher, as if to announce to the world that we were a pair.
I wasn’t used to all the attention, but I let him do as he pleased.
We found seats on the viewing platforms flanking the square, surrounded by the crowd, watching the festivities below.
Last time I sat here, even if I had racked my brain and imagined endlessly, I couldn’t have guessed everything that would follow.
Suddenly, Shen Jianqing leaned close to my ear. “Brother Yuze, do you remember the stepping ritual you participated in here before?”
I didn’t need to think. I knew exactly what he meant and nodded. “Yes. What about it?”
He paused, eyes fixed on mine. “Actually, I stepped on you back then.”
I froze.
I remembered a footprint on my shoe at the time. I had thought someone had stepped on it by accident and wiped it clean.
But now, as I turned to look at Shen Jianqing, gazing at his flawless face and the way he looked at me, my heart was suddenly filled with a strange joy.
“You…”
I hadn’t spoken yet when Shen Jianqing immediately continued, half-accusing, “But you just turned around and wiped it clean.”
Dirty shoes—if you don’t clean them, are they supposed to dry in the wind?
Still, that couldn’t be said out loud.
I thought for a moment and said, “Then let me have you step on it again.”
Saying that, I stretched out my foot, presenting the pure white surface of my shoe for him.
Shen Jianqing’s face lit up with delight. Without hesitation, he lifted his foot and pressed it onto my shoe, leaving a perfect footprint.
A delicate butterfly, wings spread as if ready to fly, and beside it, perhaps a flower.
After stepping, he examined it with satisfaction. “Not bad. More precise than last time,” he said proudly.
I almost laughed.
Then Shen Jianqing added, “Brother Yuze, once I step on you, you’re mine—you can never leave me.”
A lifetime?
Thinking about it, spending a lifetime with him didn’t seem unbearable at all.
I curved my lips into a solemn smile. “Okay.”
——
Time passed like water, slipping by quietly.
After graduation, I returned to Tongjiang and picked up the pen, becoming a full-time writer.
I often thought about writing our story, Shen Jianqing’s and mine, but whenever I picked up the pen, I didn’t know where to start.
Though I didn’t join the Yancheng Daily, their editors still had high hopes for me and kept in touch. Most of my manuscripts were sent to them.
I suddenly felt that this peaceful, leisurely life wasn’t so bad.
Shen Jianqing took a job in the village promoting the Miao language. Many of the villagers weren’t very fluent, and since the village needed to showcase Miao customs and culture, the language became important.
One day, Shen Jianqing went out to work, leaving me alone at home to finish a draft.
The Yancheng Daily was planning a new column and invited me to be the chief editor. I needed to finish and send my manuscript before the deadline.
When I finished writing, it was still early, so I decided to tidy up the house. Neither Shen Jianqing nor I were good at keeping things organized—we usually let the place get messy before rushing to clean.
Honghong, the little creature, sat by my computer desk. Seeing me get up, it copied me, stretching its legs to stand.
It was well-behaved, small-headed but surprisingly perceptive.
The inner room was messy—cups left around, books Shen Jianqing had used but never put back.
For a while, he had been particularly self-conscious about not being well-educated. He would barely get through two pages before dozing off.
Thinking of Shen Jianqing, I couldn’t help but smile.
After tidying, I put things in the cabinet. Then I noticed something familiar tucked in the deepest corner.
I leaned in and carefully retrieved it.
It was Shen Jianqing’s gu jar.
The lid was tightly closed, exactly as I remembered, even faintly gleaming as if it had often been held and caressed.
Shen Jianqing had said that when he left Shidi Miao Village, he only took a few important items left by his parents—he had never mentioned the gu jar.
Curiosity surged up from deep within me.
What’s inside?
Gu? No. Shen Jianqing had said he never used gu.
Then what could it be?
Honghong climbed onto the lid, circling it twice. I couldn’t tell what it meant—was it warning me or urging me to open it?
I couldn’t resist my curiosity any longer.
In my heart, Shen Jianqing was the most important person in the world, and he felt the same about me.
So, seeing what was in his gu jar couldn’t hurt, right?
With that thought, I reached out and slowly opened the lid.
A thick, cloying, strange fragrance hit me instantly. I instinctively held my breath and looked inside.
But inside the jar, there was something strange.
A single piece of paper.
Paper?
I picked it up, and the moment I saw it clearly, my mind went blank.
It wasn’t gu.
It was a photograph.
I was wearing Miao clothing, sitting silently on the bed, staring directly at the camera. I looked younger, and my slightly cold expression felt unfamiliar.
Was this taken in Shidi Miao Village?
The gu jar held a photo of me.
“Brother Yuze.” Shen Jianqing’s voice suddenly came from behind. He had somehow appeared at the door without me noticing.
I turned, stunned. Seeing what I held, he only lifted the corners of his lips in a soft, almost wistful smile—like a little secret had been discovered, half shy, half joyful.
I asked, “In your gu jar?”
Shen Jianqing answered, “Brother Yuze, I’ve always told you—I never use gu.”
So he really hadn’t lied. My love for him came entirely from my own heart.
If there truly were a “love gu,” perhaps it was Shen Jianqing himself.
He was my love gu.
(The End)