Chapter 114: Cherry Jam
The basket of cherries in the back seat gave off a sweet fragrance. Wen Yan looked back every now and then, his fingertips still stained with fruit juice from the harvest. “Should we make cherry jam first when we get back?” He turned to look at Pei Zhouye, his eyes shimmering with anticipation. “I’m still thinking about that bread and cherry jam we had at Professor Zhang’s house.”
“Alright, anything you want.” Pei Zhouye freed a hand to wipe a fruit stain from the corner of Wen Yan’s mouth. “But we have to wash the cherries first. Be careful not to cut your hand when pitting them.” He had already decided to clear the kitchen counter the moment they got home and find a clean glass jar specifically for Wen Yan’s jam. Just like the snow from Shencheng and the wine they had brewed, he wanted to carefully collect these warm, small moments.
Once home, Wen Yan immediately rushed into the kitchen with the cherries, tied on his little bear apron, and got to work. Pei Zhouye followed, first boiling a kettle of water and then taking out a strainer and a pitter. “I’ll help you pit them while you wash. The division of labor will make it faster.” Wen Yan nodded and poured the cherries into clean water, scrubbing them carefully. The droplets of water on the cherries looked like scattered diamonds—exceptionally beautiful.
The two spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen until the cherry jam was finally done. Wen Yan poured the piping hot jam into a glass jar and closed the lid, looking at his results with satisfaction. “Smell that? It’s so fragrant! We’ll taste it once it cools down.” Pei Zhouye hugged him from behind, his chin resting on Wen Yan’s head. “Our Wen Yan is amazing; you can do anything.”
“Of course,” Wen Yan tilted his chin up proudly. “Later, I’m going to learn how to make cherry pie and cherry mousse. I’m going to try every way to eat cherries.”
Early the next morning, Wen Yan served the cherry jam with bread and held it out to Pei Zhouye. “Quick, try it and see if it’s good.” Pei Zhouye took a bite; the sweet but not cloying jam mixed with the wheaty aroma of the bread spread through his mouth. He couldn’t help but nod. “It’s good. Even better than the one at Professor Zhang’s.” Hearing this, Wen Yan’s eyes crinkled into a smile.
As the days passed, summer soon arrived. Pei Zhouye fulfilled his previous promise and took Wen Yan camping by the sea. They had bought a tent, sleeping bags, and a grill in advance, along with plenty of ingredients: oysters and chicken wings for Wen Yan, and corn and eggplant for Pei Zhouye.
It was already afternoon when the car reached the seaside. As Wen Yan pushed the door open, he was enveloped by the sea breeze carrying a faint salty tang. “Wonderful!” He ran excitedly toward the beach, his bare feet treading on the soft sand and leaving a trail of shallow footprints. Pei Zhouye followed behind with the tent, watching Wen Yan run like a child, the corners of his mouth curving upward.
Together, they set up the tent and positioned the grill nearby. Pei Zhouye was in charge of starting the fire, while Wen Yan helped skewer the food, occasionally sneaking a cherry. “Stop sneaking bites,” Pei Zhouye tapped his nose. “I’ll let you eat your fill once they’re grilled.”
As the sun began to set, the barbecue was finally ready. The oysters Pei Zhouye grilled were exceptionally succulent; topped with minced garlic and chili, one bite tasted like the entire ocean. Wen Yan couldn’t stop eating, though he didn’t forget to hand a chicken wing to Pei Zhouye. “You eat too. This wing is perfectly grilled.”
The two sat on the beach eating barbecue as they watched the sun slowly sink, dyeing the sky a vibrant orange-red. Wen Yan leaned against Pei Zhouye and said suddenly, “Pei Zhouye, do you think we should come camping every summer? Just like we go to see the ice sculptures in Shencheng every winter.”
“Alright,” Pei Zhouye squeezed his hand. “Every summer, I’ll take you to eat all the seaside delicacies and watch every sunset.”
That night, they lay in the tent looking at the stars through the mesh window. The seaside stars were incredibly bright, like a handful of crushed diamonds, with the occasional shooting star streaking across the sky. Wen Yan quickly closed his eyes to make a wish. Watching him, Pei Zhouye asked with a laugh, “What did you wish for this time?”
“I’m not telling you,” Wen Yan winked playfully. “It won’t come true if I say it.” In truth, his wish was very simple: he just wanted to be with Pei Zhouye forever, seeing the sights and doing the things they loved together every year.
In the middle of the night, Wen Yan was woken by the sound of the waves and found Pei Zhouye missing from the tent. He quickly put on his shoes and went out to find Pei Zhouye sitting on the sand, gazing at the distant ocean. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Wen Yan walked over and sat beside him.
“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to watch the sea with you a bit longer.” Pei Zhouye draped his coat over Wen Yan. “The seaside is cool at night; don’t catch a cold.” Leaning against him and listening to the waves, Wen Yan felt exceptionally grounded.
Early the next morning, they watched the sunrise together. The sun rose slowly from the horizon, dyeing the water gold while seagulls circled and cried out. “So beautiful,” Wen Yan sighed. “Even more beautiful than I imagined.”
“We’ll see many more beautiful sights in the future,” Pei Zhouye kissed his forehead. “As long as you’re by my side, every view is the best view.”
As they left the beach, Wen Yan looked back several times with reluctance. Pei Zhouye laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back next summer.”
At home, Wen Yan organized the photos from the beach, printed them, and pasted them in the album. There were photos of them running on the sand, grilling together, and watching the sunrise—every single one was filled with the flavor of happiness.
“Oh,” Wen Yan suddenly remembered something. “We need to set up the grape trellis at the cabin. If we don’t go soon, the vines will start growing all over the place.”
“Alright, we’ll go tomorrow.” Pei Zhouye nodded. “I’ve already contacted the workers; they’ll be waiting at the cabin tomorrow morning.”
The next day, they went to the cabin. The workers were already in the yard and greeted them immediately. “Mr. Pei, Mr. Wen, we’ll start on the trellis now.”
Wen Yan and Pei Zhouye didn’t stay idle, helping to hand over tools and steady the timber. Though they were sweating, they were incredibly happy. Watching the trellis take shape bit by bit, Wen Yan imagined the summer when the vines would cover the frame and hang heavy with purple grapes, and how he and Pei Zhouye would sit beneath it in the shade. His heart was full of anticipation.
Once the trellis was up, Wen Yan and Pei Zhouye carefully guided the vines onto the frame and secured them gingerly. “There, that’s done,” Pei Zhouye wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It won’t be long before the vines cover the whole thing.”
“Then we’ll put a table under it,” Wen Yan said with a smile. “In the summer we’ll drink cold drinks, in the autumn we’ll eat grapes, and in the winter we’ll soak up the sun. It’ll be so comfortable.”
“Alright, anything you want.” Pei Zhouye pinched his cheek. “We’ll also hang some small lanterns from the trellis. It’ll look beautiful when we light them at night.”
Before leaving the cabin, Wen Yan watered the vines with the care one would give a child. “We’ll come back next week to check on them,” he told Pei Zhouye. “To see if they’ve grown new shoots.”
“Okay, next week.” Pei Zhouye nodded, his heart full of warmth. He knew Wen Yan didn’t just care about the vines, but about the small moments of beauty they created together and every stretch of time they walked through side by side.
Over the next few weeks, they visited the cabin every weekend. The vines grew rapidly, soon covering half the trellis and sprouting many tender green leaves. Wen Yan watered and fertilized them every day, looking forward to them blooming and bearing fruit.
One day, while watering, Wen Yan noticed several tiny flower buds among the leaves. “Pei Zhouye, look! The grapes are blooming!” he shouted excitedly.
Pei Zhouye ran over and followed his finger. Sure enough, there were tiny green buds, like little mung beans. “Wonderful!” He was happy too. “In a few more days, they’ll bloom, and the whole yard will be fragrant.”
Wen Yan stroked the buds with extreme care, afraid of damaging them. “I’ve never seen grape flowers,” he whispered. “I wonder what they look like.”
“I looked it up. They’re white and tiny, growing in clusters. They aren’t as pretty as cherry blossoms, but they’re very fragrant,” Pei Zhouye said with a smile. “We have to make sure to smell them and commit the scent to memory.”
Wen Yan nodded, his eyes full of anticipation. He imagined the trellis covered in tiny white flowers, their fragrance filling the yard as the wind blew. It would be a beautiful scene.
As the days passed, the buds grew larger until, one morning, the white flowers bloomed. When they reached the cabin, the trellis was covered in tiny white blossoms. Though small, they gave off a rich, heavy fragrance.
“It’s so fragrant!” Wen Yan couldn’t help but exclaim. “Even more fragrant than I imagined.”
Pei Zhouye pulled out his camera to take photos of Wen Yan and the flowers. Wen Yan stood under the trellis and made a peace sign with a smile. Tiny white blossoms fell into his hair like a dusting of snow—exceptionally beautiful.
“Pei Zhouye, you take some too.” Wen Yan took Pei Zhouye’s hand and made him stand under the trellis. Pei Zhouye stood there with a smile, and Wen Yan pressed the shutter. In the photo, Pei Zhouye stood beneath the vines, sunlight filtering through the leaves onto him. With a tender smile on his face, he looked exceptionally handsome.
They stayed under the trellis for a long time, only leaving reluctantly as the sun began to set. On the drive back, Wen Yan kept sniffing his own clothes. “My clothes smell like the flowers. It’s lovely.”
Pei Zhouye looked at his happy face and laughed. “When the grapes are ripe, we’ll harvest them and brew fruit wine. Then the wine will carry the scent of the flowers too.”
“Alright!” Wen Yan’s eyes lit up. “Then we’ll drink our own wine under the trellis and listen to the wind through the leaves. It’ll be so relaxing.”
Back home, Wen Yan pasted the photo of the grape blossoms into the album and wrote a note: Summer 2025. The grapes have bloomed. Though the flowers are tiny, they are fragrant, just like our love—ordinary yet beautiful. I hope we can be like these vines, always together, facing the wind and rain and harvesting happiness.
Pei Zhouye read his words, his heart full of emotion. He hugged Wen Yan from behind and whispered, “Our love will be like these vines. Under the nourishment of time, it will grow stronger and bear sweet fruit.”
Wen Yan turned around, wrapped his arms around Pei Zhouye’s waist, and buried his face in his chest. “I believe you, because you’re here.”
In the days that followed, the two continued their peaceful and happy life. Wen Yan occasionally helped Li Wei at the lab, and Pei Zhouye handled company matters, but they always made time for each other—to eat, walk, and watch movies together.
On weekends, they visited the cabin to watch the flowers fade and tiny grapes begin to grow. Wen Yan watered and fertilized them every day, waiting for them to ripen.
One day, while watering, Wen Yan noticed several tiny green grapes on the vines. “Pei Zhouye, look! The grapes are growing!” he shouted.
Pei Zhouye ran over and saw the tiny green grapes. “Wonderful!” He was happy too. “In a little while, they’ll ripen. Then we can eat our own grapes and brew our own wine.”
Wen Yan nodded, his eyes full of anticipation. He imagined eating their own grapes and drinking their own wine, his heart full of happiness. He knew these grapes weren’t just the fruit of the vines, but a testament to their love, carrying every moment they had experienced together and every bit of time they had walked through side by side.
Wen Yan crouched under the trellis, his fingertip gingerly touching a tiny, newly emerged green grape as if afraid of disturbing some fragile treasure. “When do you think they’ll turn purple?” he asked, looking up at Pei Zhouye. The sunlight filtering through the leaves fell across his face, dazzlingly bright.
Pei Zhouye leaned down to tuck a wind-ruffled strand of hair behind Wen Yan’s ear. “Wait another month. Mr. Chen said Cabernet Sauvignon needs to turn completely purple and be covered in white frost before it’s ripe enough for the right sweetness.” As he spoke, he pulled a small notebook from his pocket—the same one he used for the cherry tree notes, now with several pages added for the grapes. “I also noted that we should water less before they ripen, or the grapes will split.”
Wen Yan leaned in to look. The handwriting was neat, with details like “fertilize every Wednesday, avoid midday” marked in red. “How do you remember so clearly?” He couldn’t help but laugh, his fingers tracing the script on the page. His heart felt so warm it was almost overwhelming.
“I’m afraid of forgetting and delaying your winemaking,” Pei Zhouye pinched his chin. “Our Wen Yan is going to drink wine brewed from his own grapes; we can’t have any mistakes.”
That afternoon, they didn’t rush home but stayed in the cabin courtyard.
Wen Yan sat on a small chair under the trellis, flipping through their old albums and occasionally looking up at the tiny green grapes. Pei Zhouye stood nearby organizing his tools, wiping the trowel and watering can clean before putting them in the storage room. Occasionally a breeze blew, making the leaves rustle alongside the distant birdsong in the mountains—it was exceptionally peaceful.
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