Li Sui gave herself the entire morning to test whether she could enjoy the art of sugar painting.
Unconstrained by traditional patterns, she painted whatever came to mind.
The white stone slab was soon covered in a chaotic array of doodles: a teary-eyed puppy, slightly misshapen kitten paws, and what she considered her masterpiece—a very convincing pile of poop.
As the molten sugar syrup flowed once more, she first drew a circle, then added eyes and a mouth, followed by three strands of hair on top, and finally a round belly and limbs.
Just as she was about to finish the last stroke, Zhou Jinghuai leaned over the table with his right hand, admiring her work.
Li Sui pointed at the design on the slab, looking smug. "Guess what this masterpiece is called?"
Zhou Jinghuai replied, "Middle-aged Three Hairs."
"Nope." Li Sui wagged her index finger in front of him. "This is called 'You in Thirty Years.'"
Zhou Jinghuai remained unfazed and took the copper spoon from her hand. "Let me try."
Li Sui stood up to give him her seat, even considerately guiding his wrist as she explained the basic hand movements.
But as a beginner, Zhou Jinghuai clearly struggled with the spoon’s tilt—either pouring too little or too much. Frustrated, Li Sui pressed her palm against the back of his hand, applying slight pressure.
"Hold it around this angle, then move slowly."
"Like this?" Zhou Jinghuai wasn’t a quick learner, but his attitude was earnest.
He drew a semicircle, sealing the bottom with a straight line.
Then, on that line, he added a tiny door.
When he stopped, Li Sui blinked. "That’s it?"
Zhou Jinghuai nodded. "Mm."
"What is this? Sushi? A mud hut?"
"This masterpiece is called—" Zhou Jinghuai stood up and dropped the words with a smirk, "'The Two of Us in a Hundred Years.'"
Li Sui’s lips twitched.
Oh. A grave.
The morning passed surprisingly fast amid their playful bickering. When Li Sui looked up, she was startled to realize she had been painting for three hours.
She remembered coming across a psychological term once—flow state—referring to complete immersion in an activity, to the point of losing track of time.
She had experienced it before, like when gaming.
But she never imagined she’d feel it while sugar painting.
Free from constraints, she didn’t feel the usual exhaustion after work. Instead, she was energized, as if she could keep going for hours.
The only regret was that her self-taught creations—uneven lines, awkward transitions, lack of aesthetic appeal—were far from presentable.
Zhou Jinghuai gave her a sincere suggestion: "Go learn from the master at the south gate."
"Scholarly exchange isn’t stealing," Li Sui muttered to herself as she headed south, "It’s academic collaboration."
The elderly sugar painting vendor was still under the tree, carefully crafting a design for a mother and her son.
A small brown dog lounged contentedly at her feet, enjoying the evening breeze.
Li Sui lined up behind the mother, her eyes fixed on the pristine white slab.
In less than twenty seconds, the old woman’s swift hands conjured an Ultraman—legs apart, left fist clenched, right arm raised in the iconic transformation pose.
She carefully pressed a stick onto the sugar and handed it to the little boy.
No boy could resist Ultraman.
Sure enough, the child clutched it excitedly, waving it at his mother. "Mom! It’s Ultraman! Ultraman!"
"You look like a little troublemaker sent to torment me," the mother teased, though her smile softened as she paid.
"Thank you," she said to the vendor before leading her son away. "Why aren’t you eating it? Don’t waste money if you’re not gonna have it."
"Mom! It’s too cool! Can I show it to my classmates tomorrow?"
"Fine, fine, whatever you say."
As the pair disappeared into the distance, the old woman’s gaze shifted to Li Sui. She seemed momentarily startled before setting down her spoon and rubbing her hands awkwardly. "Did the money for the wiring repairs fall short?"
"No, no." Li Sui waved her hands. "Grandma, could you make me a sugar painting?"
"Oh?" The woman didn’t question it and nodded warmly. "Of course. What would you like?"
Li Sui glanced at the QR code in the corner but dug out a twenty-yuan bill instead, placing it in the cash box.
"Don’t." The woman tried to return it. "This one’s on me."
After some polite refusal, Li Sui took nine yuan in change. "Grandma, I’d like… a stalk of wheat."
The woman wasn’t surprised. "Your name, right? Your grandfather mentioned his granddaughter was called Suisui."
"Yeah."
Skill born of practice made the task effortless. Even with an impromptu request, the wheat stalk took shape gracefully under her hands.
When Li Sui held the finished piece, she marveled at the plump, evenly spaced grains, brimming with vitality.
Suddenly, she recalled her grandfather’s words.
He’d said, The wheat tells you whether the soil was tended with care—that’s why we named you Sui.
Li Sui thought, Maybe the customers’ reactions already tell you whether the sugar painting was made with heart.
A wave of defeat washed over her—yet mixed within it was something inexplicable, something even she couldn’t name.
She thanked the woman and turned to leave but was called back.
"Suisui."
Li Sui looked back in confusion.
The woman tidied her tools as she spoke. "I nearly forgot. Your grandfather left some things with me. If you’ve got time, wait a moment?"
Li Sui returned to the stall, surprised. "What things?"
"Some books." The woman pointed at the housing complex across the street. "I live over there. Let me fetch them."
Books?
Li Sui remembered her grandfather loved reading in his free time. But between his passing and the chaos afterward, she hadn’t noticed what became of his treasured collection.
Staring at the complex’s entrance, it dawned on her—this kind-faced woman must be Xu Mei, the one her grandfather occasionally mentioned, who lived across from the market.
Assuming there’d be a lot to carry, Li Sui offered, "Grandma, let me go with you. It’ll be easier."
"Alright." Xu Mei didn’t refuse, wheeling her cart across the street with Li Sui in tow.
They passed a basketball court and entered an elevator.
Li Sui reached for the buttons. "Which floor, Grandma?"
"Oh dear, I’ve forgotten." Xu Mei frowned, deep in thought.
Assuming it was just old age affecting her memory, Li Sui reassured her, "No rush. Take your time."
"I think I left it in the apartment on the fifth floor... or was it the sixth? Oh no, maybe the eighth." Xu Mei nodded decisively. "Yes, it's the eighth floor."
"..." Li Sui was so stunned she forgot to press the elevator button. "Grandma, how many apartments do you own?"
"Just three," Xu Mei replied with a smile.
Just... three.
If Li Sui owned three apartments in such a prime location, she couldn’t even imagine how carefree she’d be.
Once again, she felt the stark reality of wealth disparity.
When Xu Mei had mentioned the night before that money wasn’t an issue, Li Sui had assumed she was just putting on a brave face—especially since Xu Mei spent her days tirelessly running a street stall.
Li Sui pressed the button for the eighth floor and asked curiously, "If you don’t need the money, why do you still run the stall?"
"When you’re old, the worst thing is having nothing to do," Xu Mei said, fishing a keychain from her pocket and searching for the one to the eighth-floor apartment. "My son says I’m just looking for trouble, but I genuinely enjoy it. It’s much happier than sitting around at home."
"Did you learn sugar painting as a child?"
"Oh no, I only started after retiring—so, about ten years ago."
Xu Mei pushed the door open to reveal a spacious, spotless living room flooded with light.
After pouring Li Sui a glass of water, Xu Mei said, "Have a seat. It’s in the bedroom—I’ll go get it."
Li Sui considered offering to help but hesitated, thinking it might be impolite to enter someone’s bedroom uninvited.
"Oh my! You’re home?" Xu Mei’s surprised voice suddenly rang out from the bedroom. Li Sui glanced over curiously but couldn’t see inside. She only heard Xu Mei urging, "Perfect timing—help me carry this box out."
A deep, sleepy male voice grumbled, "What is this?"
"Just carry it, quick."
"Fine—"
With a drawn-out sigh and the sound of shuffling, Li Sui awkwardly tightened her grip on the glass. The next moment, a tall figure emerged carrying a cardboard box.
He stood a little over six feet, with a healthy tan, short hair, and a loose black T-shirt paired with wide shorts. Spotting Li Sui, he froze and blurted, "Who are you?"
"Where are your manners?" Xu Mei smacked him on the back. "This is Grandpa Li’s granddaughter, Li Sui. You should call her ‘jie’ (older sister)."
Turning to Li Sui, she introduced, "This is my grandson, Jiang Zhuo. He’s a junior at the Polytechnic University."
"Hello," Li Sui greeted with a polite smile, standing up to take the box from him.
"It’s heavy," Xu Mei said, patting Jiang Zhuo’s arm and gesturing for him to set the box on the coffee table. She added proudly, "Li Sui has taken over her grandfather’s shop. Look at how filial she is."
Jiang Zhuo studied her for a moment before suddenly asking, "The one next to the qipao store?"
"Ah," Li Sui replied, unsure why he’d asked but nodding. "Yes."
Jiang Zhuo gave a brief nod and, without another word, turned and went back to his room.
"That boy, no manners at all," Xu Mei muttered, shaking her head at his retreating figure.
Li Sui didn’t mind. She opened the box and pulled out the top book—The Origins of Sugar Art. Several page corners were worn ragged, proof of how often her grandfather had flipped through them.
Where he’d encountered unfamiliar characters, he’d meticulously noted pinyin and annotations in the margins.
Seeing his familiar handwriting, Li Sui’s nose stung, but she held back her tears.
"Grandma, why did my grandfather leave these books with you?"
"Your grandfather told me back then that..." Xu Mei sighed before continuing, "After he passed, if the sugar painting shop closed, these things would stay with me for disposal. But if the shop stayed open for more than three months, I was to give them to you. Who knows what that old man was thinking."
Xu Mei didn’t understand, but Li Sui grasped it instantly.
Her grandfather must have believed that if the shop closed after his death, it meant she had no real interest in sugar painting. In that case, leaving the books with a fellow enthusiast ensured they’d have a home—and spared her any guilt.
But if the shop remained open, these books were his final gift to her.
While alive, he’d never mentioned any of this, leaving the choice entirely in her hands.
It felt like a boulder had been dropped into a still lake—the impact sent ripples surging, their echoes lingering long after.
Li Sui could hear her own heartbeat, loud and rapid.
Taking a deep breath, she thanked Xu Mei and struggled to lift the heavy box.
"It’s too heavy," Xu Mei said, reaching out. "Let Jiang Zhuo carry it home for you."
"No need, I can manage," Li Sui insisted, hugging the box as she shuffled awkwardly toward the door.
Xu Mei didn’t press further.
The door clicked softly shut.
Xu Mei walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and began planning dinner—only for the doorbell to ring again.
She set her apron aside and went to answer.
Outside, Li Sui stood in the dim hallway, panting under the weight of the box but grinning ear to ear, her eyes shining brighter than ever.
"Grandma Xu," she said, breathless but beaming.
"Can I learn sugar painting from you?"
