A group of boys worked with great skill, dividing tasks without needing to discuss it.

Three of them climbed the tree to pick persimmons, while the other three carefully caught them in baskets.

All the ripe and nearly ripe persimmons were harvested.

By the time the movers had finished setting up the furniture, the boys had finished picking the persimmons.

As agreed, Jiang Shengnan divided the persimmons among them.

While handing them out, she casually smiled and said, “You boys are quite skilled at picking persimmons, aren’t you?”

The boys, slurping the persimmon juice, instinctively responded, “Yeah, we pick persimmons every year.”

“Hmm?” Jiang Shengnan smiled knowingly at the boys.

Realizing she had misunderstood, one of them quickly explained in a bit of a panic, “Grandma, we’re not picking your persimmons; we’re picking the ones from our own trees.”

Jiang Shengnan burst out laughing.

She teased the boys who had finished eating the persimmons, “I know. This place didn’t belong to my daughter-in-law before, anyway.”

The boys laughed cheerfully and asked Jiang Shengnan why her daughter-in-law had bought the house but wasn’t living there. “We have a huge skating rink nearby, it’s so fun!”

Jiang Shengnan winked at them, “Does buying a house mean you have to live in it?”

The boys nodded in unison. “Yeah, why buy it if you’re not going to live in it?”

“Because I like it,” Jiang Shengnan replied.

The boys’ eyes widened in shock as they stared at Jiang Shengnan. “Grandma, your family must be really rich!”

Being able to buy anything just because you like it, even a courtyard!

“No, not really,” Jiang Shengnan shook her head and said no more.

The boys didn’t press further, knowing that money can be a sensitive topic.

Having satisfied their craving for persimmons, they said goodbye to Jiang Shengnan and Cen Father, jumping over the wall to leave.

“Those kids are really something. Talking to them makes me feel young again,” Jiang Shengnan said, still smiling as she looked at Cen Father. “Way more fun than talking to you.”

Cen Father protested, “If I’m so boring, how did we spend half a lifetime together?”

Jiang Shengnan scoffed, “That’s just because I was kind. Otherwise, with your personality, you’d never have found a wife!”

Cen Father let her tease him, watching her with fond eyes.

Ever since they returned to the capital, Jiang Shengnan had completely shed the tense and busy demeanor she’d had while working in the northwest.

It was as if she’d returned to her younger self, free of worries and full of vitality.

Cen Father felt a pang of sympathy for the old, hardworking Jiang Shengnan, but he was also glad she could finally set aside the burdens she’d carried for so long.

They left the persimmons in their courtyard home and called Chuxia when they got back, reminding her not to forget to pick them up.

Jiang Shengnan laughed heartily and said, “You can also check if the furniture I arranged is in the right place. If you don’t like it, you can move it yourselves.”

“Mom, I trust your taste,” Chuxia replied.

Back in their small house in the northwest, Jiang Shengnan had decorated her and An An’s room beautifully.

When Chuxia had a day off, and coincidentally Cen Huai’an was off too, she drove with him to the courtyard house in Xidan.

As they opened the red-painted doors, they saw the yard covered with dried yellow leaves.

The persimmons that hadn’t been picked earlier had turned red in just a few days.

Chuxia stepped in, the sound of crunching leaves beneath her feet. “An An, your grandmother said the persimmons are in the main house’s living room. Go check them out.”

She walked over to the persimmon tree, contemplating how to pick the ripe fruit that remained.

Just as she approached the tree, a flurry of wings flapped noisily, and a group of birds that had been feasting on the persimmons took off.

“Mom, there are persimmons—lots of them!” Cen Huai’an called out as he emerged from the house holding two persimmons.

Jiang Shengnan had already told them that the overripe persimmons couldn’t be stored for long.

She had given some to the boys who helped pick them and to the movers, but there were still too many to keep.

Since it was too late that day, she had brought some to Chuxia’s house.

The rest, which were still good for a while, were left in the courtyard since Jiang Shengnan didn’t want to carry them on the bus.

Chuxia and Cen Zhengnian couldn’t finish eating all the ripe persimmons, so they shared some with Shi Qin and her colleagues at the hospital.

The rest, Cen Zhengnian took to the research institute.

The courtyard house wasn’t soundproof, and being an open courtyard, sound traveled easily.

Just as Cen Huai’an finished speaking, a black head popped up from over the wall next door.

“Hey! Are you the owners of this courtyard house?” a grinning boy asked from the wall.

Cen Huai’an looked up at the smiling boy. “Are you one of the kids who helped my grandma pick persimmons?”

“Yep, me and my friends. The persimmons on your tree are almost ripe again. Do you need help picking them?”

Cen Huai’an glanced at Chuxia, who stood nearby, smiling.

When their eyes met, she chuckled and said, “An An, you decide.”

The boy chimed in, “All we ask for is a share of the persimmons. Isn’t that a great deal?”

Cen Huai’an nodded. “Yes, go ahead and pick them.”

The boy’s grin widened as he turned and waved his friends over.

Soon, they all jumped into the courtyard.

Curious about Cen Huai’an, the boy asked while picking persimmons, “My name’s Dou Baishui. What’s yours?”

Helping catch the persimmons, Cen Huai’an replied, “Cen Huai’an.”

“That’s such a cool name!” Dou Baishui exclaimed.

“Yeah, totally!” chimed in the others.

One boy with thick eyebrows and dark skin complained, “Unlike my dad. He named me Liu Jianguo. There are three others with the same name on my street!”

“Me too!” A girl with a bob cut chimed in. “My dad named me Liu Hongxin, saying it means ‘a red heart towards the sun,’ but it’s so old-fashioned.”

The other teenagers started to complain about the names their parents had casually given them.

Chu Xia didn’t join in their conversation.

After watching them pick persimmons for a while, she went inside to check on the arrangement of the furniture brought from the Northwest.

Her grandfather’s calligraphy still hung in the bedroom she shared with Cen Zhengnian.

No matter how many times she looked at it, the carefree and spontaneous energy in the writing always made her feel a sense of longing.

Chu Xia suddenly remembered the piece of calligraphy that Cen Zhengnian had written for her.

She had carefully kept it at home, sometimes taking it out to admire it when she thought of it.

Since they reunited in the capital, they hadn’t exchanged letters anymore, and Cen Zhengnian hadn’t written with a brush in a long time.

Feeling a sudden urge, Chu Xia took out paper and pen from her bag.

After wiping the table, she leaned over and started writing a letter.

But after just writing Cen Zhengnian’s name, she didn’t know how to continue.

She lifted her head and looked outside.

The teenagers, along with Cen Huaian, were happily picking persimmons, their joyful voices filling the courtyard.

Chu Xia’s lips curled up into a smile.

Now she knew what to write.

“Zhengnian, today Anan (Cen Huaian) and I came to the courtyard house to look at the furniture from the Northwest. The house hasn’t changed much since we bought it, except that the once-bare persimmon trees are now full of fruit.

Here, Anan and I met a group of interesting teenagers…”

Chu Xia wrote about Dou Bo Shui climbing over the wall and the conversations and scenes of the persimmon-picking.

“I went inside and saw Grandpa’s calligraphy again, which reminded me of the first time I went to the Northwest.

Back then, you even stayed up late to write a piece of calligraphy for me.

Thinking of how I felt when I first saw it, I still feel joy.

Thankfully, Anan didn’t understand the meaning of that poem back then, sparing me some embarrassment.

But I regret that since coming to the capital, I haven’t seen you write like that again.”

When the persimmon-picking finished outside, Chu Xia had also finished her letter.

She ended it with:

“The ripe persimmons were picked into baskets by Anan and the teenagers. They were so happy, and as I watched them, I thought that perhaps this is what a beautiful life is. It’s just a pity you weren’t here to see it. I hope you can be here next time we pick persimmons.”

Chu Xia folded the letter.

On her way back home from the courtyard, she stopped by a shop to buy an envelope.

Cen Huaian, puzzled, asked, “Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma are all in the capital. Who are you writing to, Mom?”

Chu Xia, noticing his curious gaze, handed him some envelopes. “These are for you.”

Every month, Cen Huaian still wrote letters to his friends, Bangzi in Liangzhou and his friends from the Northwest.

These were friends with whom Cen Huaian had never lost contact.

They were all in high school now, and they had even made a pact with Cen Huaian to take the college entrance exams in the capital and attend university together.

Cen Huaian didn’t think much about the stack of letter paper his mother had.

He thought it was all for him.

However, when he eventually ran out of paper and asked his mom for more, Chu Xia shrugged and said, “Mine is all gone too.”

That night, when Cen Zhengnian returned home, he noticed an envelope on the desk in their bedroom.

He assumed it was Chu Xia’s, so he didn’t pay it much attention.

But when he placed his work papers on the desk, he caught a glimpse of the recipient’s name on the envelope—his own.

Cen Zhengnian’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

He picked up the envelope and, upon seeing the familiar handwriting and sender’s name, a smile appeared on his face.

Opening the letter and unfolding the paper, he was immediately swept into memories.

He gently ran his fingers over the handwriting on the envelope.

It had been a long time since he had received a letter from Chu Xia.

Shaking off his thoughts, Cen Zhengnian began reading the letter from the top.

As he read, the smile on his face grew uncontrollable.

The scenes Chu Xia described—Cen Huaian and the teenagers picking persimmons, her checking the furniture, and seeing her grandfather’s calligraphy—all came alive in his mind.

When he reached the part where Chu Xia mentioned the letter about the delicious fruit and beef from the Northwest, Cen Zhengnian paused, remembering that letter vividly.

He chuckled to himself, but a twinge of guilt stirred within him.

Holding the letter, he headed to his study.

Chu Xia, who was sitting in the living room going over her patients’ medical cases, noticed Cen Zhengnian’s figure and the letter in his hand.

Her lips immediately curled into a smile.

Cen Huaian, who was eating an apple, noticed his mother’s smile.

Puzzled, he followed her gaze to his father but saw only Cen Zhengnian’s back.

Now he was even more confused: What’s Mom smiling at?

A short while later, Cen Zhengnian emerged from the study, holding a piece of freshly written calligraphy.

Cen Huaian was still bewildered.

Cen Zhengnian, smiling, presented the calligraphy to Chu Xia. “Do you like this?”

Chu Xia unfolded the piece, revealing a poem, “Guan Guan cries the osprey on the islet in the river. Gentle and graceful is the lady; the gentleman seeks a companion.”

Cen Huaian’s eyes widened in shock.

He glanced back and forth between Cen Zhengnian and Chu Xia before quietly shifting further away on the sofa, trying to make himself less noticeable.

Chu Xia took just one look at the poem before quickly folding it back up.

Her face turned a light shade of pink, but the smile on her lips couldn’t be hidden.

She looked up at Cen Zhengnian, clearly pleased, and nodded. “I love it!”

Cen Zhengnian sat beside her. “You’re not going to finish reading it?”

Chu Xia shook her head, glancing over at Cen Huaian, who was still in the living room. “I’ll finish it in our room.”

Cen Zhengnian chuckled. “Alright.”

Cen Huaian felt like the proverbial third wheel in the room, big and brightly conspicuous.

Later, Cen Zhengnian finished reading the rest of Chu Xia’s letter in their room. Carefully, he put it away, his gaze drifting to Chu Xia, who was still admiring his calligraphy.

“I also hope that next time we pick persimmons, I’ll be together with you and An An.”