Ripples of the Rhône

The commotion outside the gate drew more neighbors, fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans, their curious gazes fixed on the two minibuses parked prominently before Number 9 Courtyard. Benjamin carefully leaned his mountain bike back against the noodle workshop window, then stepped out into the courtyard entranceway. As he did, his eyes widened slightly. Descending from the second minibus, alongside the familiar crew members hauling equipment, was a figure he recognized – the Director of the City Television Station himself. The two men flanking the Director exuded an aura of quiet authority that marked them as anything but ordinary functionaries.

"Ben! Over here!" Yan Li waved him over as the group approached the courtyard gate. She gestured towards the two officials. "Allow me to introduce you. This is Director Zhang from the Tourism Bureau, and Director Li from the Municipal Propaganda Department. They're here for the documentary's opening ceremony."

"Director Zhang, Director Li," Benjamin greeted them smoothly, offering a respectful nod. His posture was impeccable, the years of his grandfather's tutelage evident in his bearing.

Director Li from the Propaganda Department stepped forward, his gaze surprisingly warm. "So you're young Benjamin! I know your mother," he said with a practiced smile. "We've crossed paths professionally a few times."

Benjamin maintained his polite expression. His mother worked in the Provincial Organization Department; any interaction with the Municipal Propaganda Department would be tangential at best. This felt like a stretch, a forced connection. He acknowledged it with a gracious smile, choosing not to question the tenuous link. Just keep it smooth, he reminded himself.

Director Zhang from Tourism wasn't to be outdone. "And how is the esteemed Mr. Gu?" he inquired, his tone equally affable. "I paid my respects at your home during the Spring Festival. Hard to believe half a year has flown by already."

"Grandfather is in excellent health, thank you," Benjamin replied, his smile unwavering. "He maintains his routine religiously – up at dawn for his exercises at Jiefang Pavilion, then chess with his friends. He rarely returns before noon." 

"That's quite a distance from your residence!" Director Zhang exclaimed, genuine surprise flickering across his face. "Walking there and back must take well over an hour?" 

"Grandfather cherishes his exercise," Benjamin explained. As he spoke, a subtle shift occurred. Almost instinctively, he turned his head slightly, his gaze drawn towards the open gate of Number 9 Courtyard. 

Luna had emerged, drawn by the arrival of the crew. Stepping into the sunlight, her eyes lifted – and instantly collided with Benjamin's sharp, observant gaze. Her breath hitched. A reflexive flinch, a deliberate aversion of her eyes, was her only response before she focused intently on the activity around the minibuses.

Benjamin's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. A flicker of pure confusion, quickly masked, passed through their depths. The evidence was undeniable now, even to someone determined to give the benefit of the doubt. Luna Lin was actively avoiding him. Why? The question hammered in his mind. He'd been careful, kept his distance these past few days, given her space. What could he possibly have done in that absence to warrant this sudden, icy withdrawal? Could Cynthia's teasing suggestion – absurd as it seemed – hold a grain of truth? The thought was unsettling.

Luna had heard the tail end of Benjamin's conversation with the officials as she approached the gate from the covered walkway. Each polished word, each effortless interaction steeped in unspoken privilege, felt like a tiny needle pricking her heart. The chasm between their worlds yawned wider with every passing second, a vast, unbridgeable gulf laid bare. It wasn't something she could ignore, even if she desperately wanted to. It was the inescapable reality of the street they lived on, the invisible walls built by family names and positions. 

She kept her face resolutely turned away, refusing to meet Benjamin's eyes again, focusing instead on the bustling crew unloading tripods and camera cases. She busied herself with smoothing her simple cotton skirt, a familiar gesture born of nervousness.

Benjamin, true to the impeccable upbringing drilled into him by his grandfather, remained a picture of composed courtesy. While internally, the encounter with Luna churned like a stormy sea, his exterior showed not a ripple. His smile remained perfectly calibrated, his responses to the officials fluid and respectful. He seamlessly navigated the small talk about the neighborhood's charm and the documentary's potential impact.

A brief, symbolic ribbon-cutting ceremony was held at the courtyard gate, marking the official commencement of filming. The three officials offered final words of encouragement before departing. With the formalities concluded, the documentary crew sprang into action. 

Yan Li, microphone in hand, practically vibrated with enthusiasm as she explored the small courtyard. "Oh, it's just perfect!" she exclaimed repeatedly, her voice carrying. "This authentic courtyard life! The tranquility, the connection... it's absolutely precious. I'm quite envious, you know! Truly!" Her admiration for the traditional setting was effusive and genuine. 

The reality of the cramped living space soon imposed itself. Luna's grandmother's home, a modest dwelling of barely thirty square meters, couldn't possibly accommodate the entire crew and their equipment. After a quick huddle, the crew decided the courtyard itself, specifically the area beneath the old grape arbor, would be the ideal filming location. 

It was mid-June. The grapes hanging in dense clusters from the wooden lattice overhead were still unripe, their skins a vibrant, translucent green like scattered jade beads. They cascaded down, heavy with potential, creating a lush canopy of vine and leaf. Flanking the arbor stood two pomegranate trees. Their branches were adorned with nascent fruit, small orbs already blushing a deep, promising red against the glossy green foliage. The contrast between the emerald grapes and the ruby pomegranates was striking, a vibrant tableau of life suspended in the dappled sunlight.

Tripods were set up, cables snaked carefully across the packed earth. Luna gently guided her grandmother to a sturdy wooden stool placed beneath the cool shade of the grapevines. The older woman was to be the first interviewee. 

Luna's resemblance to her grandmother was undeniable, especially now, sitting side by side. The grandmother, despite her years, carried the unmistakable grace of a woman who had been a great beauty in her youth. Her skin, though lined, retained a remarkable fairness; her features – the elegant arch of her nose, the defined shape of her lips – spoke of classic refinement. Age had not diminished her presence. Her snow-white hair was meticulously combed and coiled into a neat bun at her nape, secured with a simple black hairnet. She sat with a quiet dignity, her posture erect, radiating a timeless, almost classical elegance. 

Under the verdant canopy, bathed in the shifting patterns of light and shadow, the two women presented a captivating picture. The grandmother, serene and wise; Luna, youthful yet composed beside her. Their shared features, the gentle animation of their expressions as Yan Li began her questions, the soft laughter that occasionally drifted on the warm air – it was a scene of effortless beauty, a living portrait framed by nature. 

Benjamin stood slightly apart, near the entrance to the walkway, observing. His gaze lingered on Luna. Seeing her here, animated and engaged, her earlier tension momentarily forgotten as she focused on supporting her grandmother, stirred something deep within him. The confusion and frustration he felt moments ago softened, replaced by an involuntary pull, a profound appreciation for her quiet strength and the vivid life she embodied in this timeless setting. His lips curved into a genuine, unguarded smile, a stark contrast to the polite mask he'd worn for the officials. For a moment, the invisible wall seemed thinner, the courtyard's magic momentarily bridging the unspoken divide. He watched her, the sunlight catching strands of her dark hair, the way her eyes lit up when her grandmother recounted a small anecdote, and felt an unfamiliar, potent yearning take root. The puzzle of her avoidance remained, but here, under the green grapes and the promise of red pomegranates, the sting of it lessened, overshadowed by the simple, captivating reality of her.