That day, Bai Congming said a great deal to the gravestone, stumbling over his words, every one of them sincere.
From beginning to end, Ding Ding said only one thing: "Please rest assured, Auntie."
He had said everything he needed to say to Bougainvillea, bit by bit. Ding Ding did not know what else he could add.
A breeze rose as they left. Ding Ding instinctively glanced back and saw a robin perched on the gravestone, watching them head home.
They had not set any dough to rise on the twenty-eighth, so there were no buns to steam on the twenty-ninth.
But Little Bai did not like steamed buns, so Ding Ding spent the day frying meatballs and simmering braised meats.
The strapping man washed his hands and set to cooking, looking quite the part.
The fridge was packed without a gap to spare. At last, their New Year preparations were done.
New Year's Eve brought a rare clear sky. Warm winter sunlight fell over the ground, and everything seemed to come alive.
Ding Ding started bustling about early in the morning. Even knowing the two of them could never finish it all, he still made plenty, determined to fill the table.
Bai Congming played with Gouzai in his arms out in the yard. Hearing his laughter, Ding Ding worked with even greater enthusiasm.
For the sake of this dinner, neither of them had eaten a proper lunch, only picking at scraps of ingredients to tide themselves over.
Only when firecrackers began crackling outside did Ding Ding finally take off his apron.
The sound of the Spring Festival Gala on television made their table feel less quiet. The food in Bai Congming's bowl was piled into a little mountain-even though Ding Ding had only given him one helping of each