Chapter 3: A day in the Life of a Weaver's daughter
Amid the vibrant tapestry of Xinyuan's streets, a day began much like any other. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across my room. The city's symphony of sounds drifted through the open window, a reminder that life continued its steady rhythm outside.
"What a good day to begin." I mused.
As I stretched and yawned, my gaze fell upon the sketchbook and camera that had become my constant companions. Today, though, they would rest as I embraced a different kind of artistry – the art of cooking.
With the thought of breakfast, my stomach rumbled in agreement, and I made my way to the kitchen.
The scent of fresh ingredients greeted me as I entered, a symphony of flavors. My mother was already there, her hands moving with practiced grace as she prepared vegetables. Her eyes, like ancient wells of wisdom, met mine in a knowing glance.
"Good morning, Wei," she greeted with a gentle smile. "Ready for a culinary adventure?"
I chuckled, grabbing an apron from the hook and tying it around my waist. "As ready as I'll ever be, Mom."
"Hey Li Wei, won't you brush your teeth first and wash your face?" My mom teased spitting out some facts too.
"Oh yeah, how could I forget." I laughed at myself scrubbing my nape. My memory sucks at times just so everybody knows.
Just a moment and I came back in the kitchen feeling my mouth fresh.
Cooking had always been a shared passion between us, a way to bond and create memories. In a world filled with hidden threads and cosmic connections, this was our space of simplicity and joy.
"What's on the menu today?" I asked, peeking into the pots and pans on the stove.
"We're making dumplings," she replied, her eyes lighting up. "Your favorite."
"Yes! I knew it, you love me so much." With a playful grin, I nudged my mother's shoulder.
The dough was soft and pliable under my fingers.
As we worked side by side, conversation flowed like a meandering stream. We spoke of life, of dreams, and of the threads that only we could see. My mother's tales of ancient weavers and cosmic tapestries intertwined with the aroma of the dumplings, filling the kitchen with a sense of magic.
"I remember when you were just a child," my mother began, her voice soft and reminiscent. "You used to watch me cook with such fascination as if every dish held a secret waiting to be uncovered."
I grinned, rolling out a sheet of dough. "Well, I guess some secrets are meant to be shared."
"What are my girls cooking for today, huh?" My father tickled me and my mother as he showed up out of nowhere.
"Honey, stop!" Mother playfully hit his hand and grinned.
I laughed as I watched them have their time. "Must've been great to have someone with whom we can share our silly side like that huh?" I whispered to the air
"What's it, sweetie?" My mother probably heard my low voice.
"Oh nothing, I said that Dad might want to join us?"
"Oh yes, darling. I will." And he grabbed the apron and made my mother tie it around his waist.
With each dumpling that took shape, it was as if we were weaving a new story – a story of family, tradition, and the unique ability that bound us together.
Finally, the dumplings were ready, neatly arranged on plates like a work of art. We sat down at the table, and the fruits of our labor spread before us. As we enjoyed our meal, I couldn't help but think that cooking was yet another way of weaving connections, of binding hearts through shared experiences.
"All right! Let's eat now," Father announced, his stomach growling in agreement.
"Oh, we made a lot. Your father's stomach will be full of this today," my mother quipped, her eyes twinkling as she exchanged a playful glance with my father.
"Sure, it will," I chimed in, joining the teasing banter with a laugh.
We gathered around the dining table, the aroma of the home-cooked meal filling the air.
"Hmm, oh my, it smells so good." The aroma completely satisfied my nose.
"It is, sweetie." Mom responds with a smile. The clinking of utensils and the chatter of our family created a warm symphony as we shared stories of the day. With each bite, the flavors danced on our tongues, and the love that had gone into preparing the meal enveloped us in a comforting embrace.
As night descended and the city's rhythm softened, I found myself in my bedroom, bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the window.
"I better sleep now." I slipped beneath the covers, the events of the day replaying in my mind like a cherished melody.
With a contented sigh, I closed my eyes, the weight of the day's experiences lulling me into a peaceful slumber. As I drifted off, I couldn't help but wonder what threads of fate would weave their way into tomorrow, bringing with them the promise of new connections and unexpected joys.