The cold winter was biting, and snow was falling heavily.
But it was Spring Festival, and Jiangling County was decorated with lanterns and streamers, bustling with excitement. At night, the blazing flames pierced through the snowy silence. In this remote county surrounded by layers of high mountains, everything was bright like daylight and could guide travelers home.
The snowflakes drifted from the dark and quiet night. They floated over the snowy sealed mountains, over the winding road leading to the county, and over the timeworn tall city walls. Finally, they slowly fell into the lively crowd and melted into everyone's hearts.
"Steamed buns, hot steamed buns from Old Hu's family."
"New year, new couplets. Sir, take a look at the ones I just wrote."
"Hey there, look at this lantern. It spins with the horse show, a perfect gift to please any girl."
"Check out this lychee, shipped in from the south. It's fresh and rare in this freezing weather. If you give it to your sweetheart, maybe the girl from the Li family will agree to marry you next year."
"Then I'll borrow your good words. I'll take all the lychees and send them to the Li family."
"Alright."
Vendors and pedestrians filled the streets, making everything lively and crowded.
But all of them were men. There was almost no sign of a single woman anywhere.
As Zinara slowly opened her eyes, the old-style night market scene unfolded in her dark pupils. Suddenly, fireworks lit up the sky, and the dazzling lights flashed in her vision. It was like something had just lit up inside her.
Zinara's body stiffened. She was dazed and confused.
Even though she didn't know what had happened, she had heard that absurd conversation just now without missing a word.
A young man? Getting married?
Zinara: "..."
The street vendors kept shouting. People were immersed in the festive mood of the new year.
In a quiet corner, Zinara stood alone for a long time. No one noticed when she arrived, just like no one noticed that one more person had appeared on the street.
She wore a down jacket that didn't match the era, with a high ponytail that didn't match either. She didn't belong here.
To her, this world felt completely out of place.
She stood frozen, her clear eyes blinking like a startled deer. Snowflakes spiraled down onto her hair and into the palm of her raised right hand. That hand was clean and delicate, perfect for being gently held by someone. The slender fingers showed hardened skin on the middle and index fingers, proof that this hand had long been gripping a pen and fighting through endless test papers.
Zinara pressed her lips together. She stiffly turned her head to look around. Her small hands, red from the cold, nervously gripped the edge of her sleeve.
The snow kept falling, heavier and heavier.
Some of it landed on her fresh, clean face and made her shiver from the cold. Zinara shook her head hard, almost making an afterimage, as snowflakes fell from her body. The snow here was far too heavy. As a girl from the south, she had never seen snow like this in her life. She felt like if she stayed still a little longer, the snow would bury her.
She tried to take a step forward, moving toward the brightly lit street ahead. The snow on the ground had frozen her feet stiff. Every step was painful and difficult.
More painful than that was the sudden flood of strange memories in her mind. They exploded in her thoughts, making her heart pound hard. The pain was deep and sharp.
She slowly crouched down, curling her small body. After calming down, she shakily pushed herself up, her eyes instantly reddening. Whose memories were these?
She had never lived through them. Yet she watched as a bystander, seeing another self in this lonely, strange world. Jiangling County.
It was the place where everything had started. Before she could think more, a pair of worn black cloth shoes stepped into the snow in front of her. The shoes were old and dirty, but tightly sewn.
The maker's skill was clear from how sturdy they were. Her gaze moved up from the shoes to a rough cloth coat. It had no fancy embroidery and even patches, but looked thick and warm.
Looking higher, she saw a kind, wrinkled face. The old man's hair was black and gray, tied up with a wooden pin. His long beard made him look like someone from an old TV drama.
Before she could react, the old man said, "Young one, you look like you're from out of town. Visiting family or friends? Why are you standing here alone?"
It wasn't strange he thought she was a boy. In this world, there were more men than women. Girls never went out alone.
They were always surrounded by supporters. No one would casually find a girl alone on the street. Though her face hadn't fully grown, it was still pretty.
Even with the heavy clothes hiding her shape, her face showed she was a girl. But since this was a male-heavy world, meeting a lonely girl on the street was nearly impossible. She started to speak, "I…"
But the old man turned and began packing his stall. Watching his back, she noticed the once brightly lit street had grown empty. Stores had put out their candles and hung "Closed" signs.
Vendors packed up, and people hurried home. Only she remained, staring at the busy scene. After the excitement, the street was so quiet.
The old man pushed his cart past and stopped before her. She saw a cloth banner on the cart with a single character written on it. "Hu," she whispered, suddenly recalling the first voice she heard in this world.
She said, "Old Hu's buns." The old man smiled inside. Making buns was his best skill, one he had practiced for most of his life.
Hearing someone remember them was the greatest praise for his craft. He turned and took the last bun from the steamer, wrapped it in paper, and handed it to her.
"Here, child, just this one left. If you like it, come back often." The bun was cool but still warm in her cold, red hands. She held it close and tears welled up.
She sniffled and thanked him, "Thank you, Grandpa Hu." "Eat quickly and go home. It's freezing," he said, shivering and pushing his cart away.
Watching the old man disappear around the corner, her tears finally spilled out. A sixteen-year-old child cried alone in the snow, feeling so helpless.
How could she not cry? She could not go home anymore.