On an afternoon when the Old Woman was making pasta in tomato sauce in the kitchen and the sun was casting its last lazy rays to the west, a creaking sound suddenly came from behind her. The Old Woman slowly turned around to see that the window, which had been closed, was now wide open. She had only opened one window before starting to boil the noodles. While she was chopping onions, both window panes had swung open. She thought, "It must be the wind."

But the Old Woman was forgetful; it wasn't windy at all. The smell of cooking still lingered in the kitchen.

The Old Woman intended to leave the tomatoes, onions, and the pot of boiling noodles to close the window. It wasn't that she disliked having the window open. But she was fastidious and didn't like anyone doing things against her wishes. Just as she was about to place her hand on the window frame, she paused. Oh, there was a tiny voice coming from the windowsill: "Wait, wait."

"Who's there?" she asked.

From below the window, a small bottle clambered up with a clinking sound. Oh my, a bottle that could climb! It wobbled and set its base down on the windowsill with a "clack," swaying before finally standing upright next to a rusty window bar. The blue substance inside the bottle emitted a tiny noise like water just before it boils.

"Good afternoon to you."

"Who's there?" she asked, her voice utterly astonished.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the glass bottle said, its blue content trembling as if laughing. Actually, a bottle couldn't laugh, but the sound it made felt like laughter. And a very cheerful laugh, like the giggle of a child.

"I am Blue, in the Bottle, so I am Blue in the Bottle."

"Hello, Blue in the Bottle. Are you like the Genie in Aladdin's lamp? And why are you trapped in the bottle? Can I remove the cork?"

The glass bottle shivered. "Oh no! I'm not trapped. I am both Blue and in the Bottle, and these two cannot be separated. I'm not a genie; I'm Blue in the Bottle!"

"Right, my apologies," the Old Woman said.

Blue in the Bottle jumped over the window bar, landing on the Old Woman's shoulder, and then rolled from one shoulder to the other.

"Old Woman, are you lonely?"

Lonely? The Old Woman had always been alone. From birth and now, with gray hair and age-spotted skin, she had always walked her path alone. She had no parents, no children. She didn't mind. Over time, she got used to it. Every morning and evening, she would take stock of herself, seeing no one else beside her, then start or end her day contentedly. Years passed, and now, was that habit considered loneliness?

"I don't know, Blue in the Bottle."

"But I do," Blue in the Bottle said, jumping into the Old Woman's apron pocket, radiating a warm glow into her stomach. It was a calm warmth, like the nameless songs she used to sing as a young girl, somewhere between the ages of thirteen and nineteen. Singing was a way to console herself with "everything will be alright" during times of frustration or sadness. Those songs merged from one to another, soothing her when she felt most hopeless, wondering if she would ever be able to love or be with anyone.

Blue in the Bottle gently affirmed, "It's loneliness."

The Old Woman returned to the kitchen and turned off the pot of boiling noodles. The noodles had become overcooked, looking unappetizing. She drained them, muttering, "Maybe it is."

"That's why I'm here."

"For what?"

"To be friends."

That was how Blue in the Bottle appeared.

–

The Old Woman often coughed in the early mornings and late afternoons. In her youth, she had loved a man who smoked when he was nervous. During the war years, she had worked in a paper factory. The paper dust, the color of old rice, and the smoke-stained walls from many rainy seasons had settled deep into her lungs, making her feel the bittersweet smell of cigarette smoke with every tight chest breath, while her breath seemed tinged with an old yellow hue. In the late afternoons, after eating, she would sit in the rattan chair in the living room, a blanket over her legs, listening to folk songs or the news while clutching her throat to suppress the cough. The cough was severe, but she seldom went to the doctor, believing that seeking diagnosis only led to finding disease. She only drank warm water with peppermint honey.

Blue in the Bottle rolled around the four legs of the rattan chair, the bottom of the bottle clicking on the tiles. It continued to jump onto the armrest, then leapt into the blanket on her legs.

"You need to take medicine."

"No need, little one," the Old Woman waved her hand, then coughed again.

"How long have you been coughing?"

"I don't remember... Maybe for a long time."

The television's antenna occasionally showed clear images, sometimes static. A well-groomed editor was reporting on an ocean earthquake with a polished voice. In the neighboring house, a mother and daughter lived together; the mother seemed to be washing dishes, causing the pots and pans to clatter. In another house, a young man was rinsing laundry and hanging clothes. The shared clothesline stretched under the brown-red roof, full of old plaid shirts, looking like flags fluttering from afar. The Old Woman had lived alone in this neighborhood for a long time, since she knew she was getting old. She couldn't precisely count the time, but since moving here, she had been coughing like that.

Early in the morning, the coughing fits reminded her of when she was young, when she was in love.

"Back then, Phi had a peculiar habit. Whenever he was deep in thought, he would frown like an owl, snort 'huh,' and fumble in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. I still remember the color of the cigarettes he smoked, a dark brown pack that shimmered with a hint of gold in the sunlight. It was a simple yet beautiful color. He would stick a cigarette in his mouth, then grab a matchbox. He had a way of striking matches both irritably and hesitantly, as if he didn't want anyone to see his nervousness. The flame flared up, and he would quickly light the cigarette, taking a deep drag. That's when I laughed—teenage me was so easy to amuse. Because of my laughter, I ran out of breath and had to inhale the smoke from his mouth. The smoke was tangled like broken threads..."

"So, where is your friend Phi now?" Blue in the Bottle asked.

"He stayed behind."

"Behind where?"

"In the past."

Blue in the Bottle jumped onto the small table near the door, looking out to see a few empty terracotta pots rolling around by the hinge.

"Let's plant flowers, you and I. Let's plant lilies. When they grow well, they become a lush bush, blooming profusely."

"I don't know, buddy. I'm feeling weak..."

Blue in the Bottle gently rolled closer, radiating warmth, trying to comfort her as best as it could.

-

When Blue in the Bottle arrived, October had just begun. The horizon turned golden where it met the azure dome of the sky. The weather became dry, and with the lack of moisture, the air grew light and clear, allowing some cold breezes from the distant mountains to reach the old city. Blue in the Bottle made it its mission to roll around the window bars in the kitchen every day, observing the sky to predict the weather. It seemed like the most pleasant time of the year, but who knew, the cold might come tomorrow.

To the Old Woman, the weather didn't matter. It had no bearing on her. She didn't feel connected to many things either. Perhaps it was since the war, when she still felt unimportant even in the midst of smoke and fire. Back then, countless girls volunteered as militia and logistics workers. She was just one of millions who sacrificed themselves for the resistance, so she felt like nobody. After a few years as a militia member, she became a worker at a paper factory in a newly liberated area because the war needed paper to record the fallen, books to print evidence of right and wrong, collective pride, and hidden personal sorrows. Even in the liberated area, the factory could still be bombed, but she wasn't concerned. She thought, if she fell today, everything would pass like a long dream. But she lived until the day of independence. The glorious peace covered everywhere, forgetting a person who was no longer young in the streams of vehicles and high-rise buildings that began to flood the country. She drifted into those currents.

Blue in the Bottle asked, "Where did you go?"

"Seems like a small town, being rebuilt at the time. Not much left to remember."

"And Phi?"

"I never saw Phi again since I was sixteen or seventeen. No, we didn't break up, silly! He and I went far, but in different directions. So, we never met again. Gradually, I forgot almost everything. Only vaguely remember Phi smoking when embarrassed, and me standing by, inhaling his smoke..."

Old age often comes with forgetting. Life is like that. Forgetting a young man she once knew is nothing special, something that could happen to any old person under these roofs. But Blue in the Bottle looked very sad. It rolled onto the gray woolen coat pocket of the Old Woman, silently nestled amidst the slightly frayed fibers. Its blue content warmed, the heat spreading into the Old Woman's chest. Suddenly, she realized it resembled a child about to cry. So, she comforted it:

"There, there, don't be sad. Sing something, little one. I like hearing you sing."

Nestled in the pocket, Blue in the Bottle whispered a song. Its voice sounded like a child with a runny nose trying to sing. The high, slow, unclear notes seemed to come from a Ho Quang song in an old Hong Kong movie. Blue in the Bottle sang very softly and sadly. The Old Woman heavily sat on the bed, squinting her eyes. Inside her, the sadness of forgetting settled. She once loved Phi, deeply. Now, as he was forever forgotten, she still knew she had once loved him. She lay down, closed her eyes, and slept in the sorrow of time. Blue in the Bottle kept whispering its song until her breathing slowed and evened out.

-

One day, the Old Woman told Blue in the Bottle to sit in a small plastic bag with a drawstring. She asked if it would suffocate. Blue in the Bottle assured her that the hazy plastic only slightly obstructed its view and didn't suffocate it at all, considering it had been inside a bottle anyway. The Old Woman, reassured, drew the bag's mouth closed, put on a sweater, wrapped a scarf around her neck, grabbed the bag, and they both went out into the street.

They passed by fried tofu stalls and wonton noodle shops, walking through closely packed houses, some being repainted over crumbling plaster walls. The streets had a brown-yellow hue, like thousands of small paintings created by time, gently drifting behind them. As they crossed a bridge over a small canal, Blue in the Bottle looked down and saw patches of swaying waterweeds, interspersed with lush green reflections from the sky. Along the way, the Old Woman waved at those who greeted her with a toothless smile. Blue in the Bottle softly murmured sounds of wonder, like a child trying not to gape in astonishment at the ever-changing scenery around them.

The Old Woman said, "Today, we're visiting family."

They both took a bus to the train station near the market. The Old Woman bought two tickets, one for an adult and one for a child. The young man with a buzz cut at the ticket counter blurted out while checking the tickets, "Are you bringing your grandchild?"

"Yes, yes," she replied, and they both boarded the train. She sat in one seat, placing a thick scarf, a few ripe mangoes bought at the market, and Blue in the Bottle in the middle.

"You might get a little dizzy, kiddo."

"I used to be a sailor, so it's no big deal."

As the train started moving, Blue in the Bottle whispered to the Old Woman about its days as a cook's assistant on a cargo ship crossing the Indian Ocean.

"I held a place of honor in the kitchen. A high and clean place. Others had to deal with raw meat and fish, washing dishes, and leftovers. But my place was pristine, neat. My job was easy, just staying in the cupboard. Whenever the kitchen light went out, the cook would take me out as a flashlight because I shone like the Lighthouse of Alexandria, much better than a flashlight. On lucky days, I even got to the first officer's room. On the ship, no room lights were allowed after ten o'clock to save power. But sometimes, he liked to read or write letters late at night. I became his reading lamp. Every time he wrote letters, he often cried..."

From the Old Woman's place to her relatives' house, the train had to cross both rivers and mountains. They traveled from lowlands to highlands, so the train mostly climbed. The journey was long. Sometimes Blue in the Bottle felt like it was ascending to the highest point in the sky. The deep October sky was dotted with a few clouds and shaded with dark forests. The train's rhythmic chugging as it entered the vast nature made Blue in the Bottle sleepy. Its light dimmed, like a child slowly closing its big eyes. Blue in the Bottle leaned to one side, settled down, and slept.

By dusk, the two had arrived at the mountain town. Waiting at the station was a young girl carrying a basket of teaching materials, a forest green scarf around her neck. Her name was Man, a teacher at a school in the town.

Man embraced the Old Woman with her slender young arms. The gray mist wafting in the station slipped into the Old Woman's lungs, making her cough a few times. She smiled, leaning her head on Man's shoulder. Blue in the Bottle, still in the coat pocket, had just woken up to find itself embraced in warmth.

"Why did you come up here? In a few months, I'll be back in the city and will visit you."

Man said, holding the basket of mangoes for the Old Woman. She led the Old Woman down the slope to her house. Around them, the evening light was tinged with a rosy hue, with the fog gradually thickening around the branches. After a long walk, they arrived at a small house. Far in the distance, faint lights flickered from the town's kitchens.

Blue in the Bottle stretched to look at the house by the mountain—a sight it had never seen before. Its life as a sailor had taught it much about the sea and cities around the Indian Ocean, but mountains were entirely new. Man glanced over, "Oh!" She exclaimed, seeing Blue in the Bottle making a soft hissing sound in the Old Woman's pocket, its round eyes wide with surprise.

The Old Woman quickly reassured Man: "That's Blue in the Bottle. Because it's 'Blue' and 'in the Bottle,' that's what it's called."

Man curiously asked, "Is it like a genie, grandma?"

"I don't know, Man." The Old Woman gently patted the pocket. Blue in the Bottle wobbled a bit, then looked at Man, giggling with the sound of bubbling water. Man stopped being surprised. The world was vast, with countless strange things. If she were amazed by everything, she'd have no time to teach.

So, Man quickly got used to Blue in the Bottle. Back at her house, a shared residence for teachers built by the border guard team's fundraising efforts, Man took a basket, lined it with a warm towel, and placed Blue in the Bottle inside, then held the basket close. Blue in the Bottle felt like a baby nestled in its mother's arms. Man lit a fire and cooked some porridge. The Old Woman sat by the stove, warming her hands and smiling toothlessly. Occasionally, she coughed. The prolonged coughing fits, like age, stemmed from distant memories of a love scented with cigarette smoke. The coughing weakened her, but it didn't make her uncomfortable or worried. Man, on the other hand, was not as calm. She kept asking questions throughout dinner and even after the Old Woman had fallen asleep, leaving only a few warm embers in the stove.

When the Old Woman first met Man, she was still a student. At that time, she was so slender that even a gust of wind could lift her up to the sky.

Back then, the city had a volunteer program for young people. The adults in the organizing committee said, "You young folks, you don't yet understand how hard it is for lonely old people. There are losses and sorrows you have not experienced. But you can share and help the elderly living alone in our city, which will also open a door for your hearts to become more compassionate."

The slogan for the volunteer program was not as lengthy. But after six months of taking care of the Old Woman, Man thought so. Taking care of the elderly was a way to open a new door for herself.

Back then, the Old Woman was extremely irritable. She would get angry over the most trivial things. Man never got angry. Every time the Old Woman was upset, Man would just listen gently, and a small smile would blossom on her face. It was the kind of smile only very young people who truly loved life could have. Man was a poor student, slender and struggling. But Man always had a radiant smile. Every time Man smiled, the Old Woman could no longer stay angry. Then she felt a bit sad. It seemed that she had not been able to smile like that for a long time. The period between her fifteenth and twentieth years must have seen some beautiful smiles. But alas, they had drifted far away, and she could never find them again.

The Old Woman's loneliness and vague nostalgia for a distant past had been present since Man arrived. Man carefully helped her climb the stairs to the balcony each afternoon to gaze at the sky. She didn't understand why the Old Woman's eyes held a bit of longing when looking far away, past the crowded rooftops. She didn't understand why the Old Woman never told stories of the past like other elderly people or why she had no family, and the sadness silently lingered around her like the last drop of water enveloping a weary fish.

At that time, everything about the Old Woman felt like a strange premonition to Man. It seemed she understood that, decades later, she might also become a parched tree hundreds of years old, having shed the joyous moments of life and only vaguely retaining the sad days. The Old Woman's time was dark and somber. Other colors, the greens, yellows, reds, and oranges, the vibrant hues of joy and happiness, seemed to have left her long ago.

And then there was Phi.

Phi, whom she had loved dearly.

Phi, a tall, bashful young man from long ago, who smoked cheap brown and gold cigarettes. Phi, who stood on the bridge, talking about grand future plans. Phi, who wanted to leave and never look back.

What she remembered about Phi from the past was a bit more than now. Back then, she was also more easily moved. When the Old Woman told Man about Phi, her voice and seemingly her heart trembled as if she were a young girl again. The Old Woman also remembered the songs she used to hum at sixteen to express her feelings when she was too shy to speak. Instead of saying, "Phi, I love you," a young girl back then would only sing those silent songs.

She once told Man a story she now had forgotten.

"One day, Phi arranged to meet her on the bridge on a windy day. He rode his father's bicycle, a small paper-wrapped package in the basket, a large satchel tied to the back. He wore an olive-colored shirt, stood by the handlebars, looking down at the swirling water. She was very worried, fearing that the strong wind would blow both him and the bicycle into the river. She called to him, but he didn't turn around. His eyes were searching the waves where the river met the distant horizon. He stood there for a long time, seemingly saying a lot, yet perhaps nothing at all. What did he say? That his ambition was to go to a place that needed him and his friends to fulfill the dream of a country where no one would fall. That ambition was worth living for and even worth dying for. Then Phi opened the package in the basket, took out a wide-brimmed red hat, and put it on her head. Her cheeks suddenly grew hot and wet. She hurriedly wiped them with her sleeve. When she looked up, Phi and the bicycle were gone. He had coasted down the bridge slope, riding off into the distance."

That was the most complete story she could tell about Phi.

The red hat he left behind had blown away on a windy afternoon, like a flower sucked into the sky amid yellow dust. When the melodies vanished from her lips, nothing remained.

Now, in the small house on the misty mountainside, the Old Woman was sleeping, while Man was placing Blue in the Bottle against her forehead, telling it old stories. Blue in the Bottle lay still, trying to hold back the bubbling sobs from deep within the glass bottle. It thought of a young girl who had grown old with no one by her side, a bright red hat containing gentle songs that had drifted into the past, a small love swept away forever by the fierce waters.

"The Old Woman likes to hear me sing," Blue in the Bottle whispered to Man.

"Yes, because she can no longer sing."

"Man, why is that?"

"Why what, little friend?"

"Why is it so sad?"

"I don't know either. But little one," Man said, "I came here because I wanted to live joyfully and usefully. I teach children and help the women's association teach mothers how to stay healthy. She also wanted me to live like this, even though she was always grumpy with me. But coming here, I left her behind, and often I feel very sad. Can you stay with her and comfort her for me? If possible, I hope you can do something miraculous."

"Something miraculous?"

Man smiled gently, "Yes, isn't it true that a bottle with a cork always contains a wish?"

"I'm just Blue in the Bottle, Man." It hesitated a bit.

"Just being Blue in the Bottle is already miraculous, just think a little more about it, okay?"

Man whispered, then smiled tenderly, and gently touched her forehead to the neck of the bottle.

-

Two days later, the Old Woman and Blue in the Bottle bid farewell to Man. She accompanied them to the station, wrapped a woolen scarf around the Old Woman's neck, and handed her a jar of honey infused with various forest herbs. With red-rimmed eyes, she said, "Goodbye, grandma. I'll visit you again in a few months." As the train started to move, the Old Woman looked back at Man standing on the platform, watching the young woman gradually fade into the forest's shadow until the mist finally enveloped her as the train creaked down the tracks toward the city.

As the forests paraded by and the clouds in the sky shifted shapes, Blue in the Bottle rolled into the Old Woman's clothes. She was coughing heavily and hoarsely. After a while, she said, "Alright, let's plant peace lilies."

Blue in the Bottle rose a little, seeing the Old Woman's eyes gazing into the distance. Her face was weary. Then she fell asleep to the rhythm of the train chugging through the boundless spaces.

On the return trip, the train picked up new passengers at every station. When people walked past their seats, Blue in the Bottle only dared to glance up a little, seeing the hurried looks on their faces, concealing secrets about their lives beneath thick coats. But with its tiny, sensitive glass heart, Blue in the Bottle still sensed that many people were eagerly anticipating the joy of returning home. When the train entered a tunnel through the mountains, and the scenery suddenly turned dark, Blue in the Bottle rolled gently into the scarf on the Old Woman's lap, radiating warmth.

Blue in the Bottle had its own private secrets. It had a heart brimming with miracles. Thus, a blue liquid could sing, laugh, emit light like a lighthouse, and warm like tears on our cheeks when we cry—for all the joys and all the sorrows.

-

When they returned to the city, back to the small house in the alley lined with brown roofs, the Old Woman went into the storage, diligently searching for a white ceramic pot. She washed it clean and left it to dry in the yard. The next day, the Old Woman and Blue in the Bottle went to a plant shop and brought back three small peace lily sprouts. Among the deep green leaves was a sharp, white bud. She rolled up her sleeves, took a breath, and started gardening. This little garden, just a pot, would have good soil, holding enough water to nourish a big peace lily bush and a small patch of grass for Blue in the Bottle to raise a cricket.

It found a black cricket in the kitchen corner. The little cricket was trying to escape but was blocked by Blue in the Bottle. No matter how it jumped, it couldn't roll as quickly as Blue in the Bottle. So, the cricket hopped into a tin can, scared stiff, not daring to come out.

But Blue in the Bottle treated the cricket very honorably. It fed it daily, sang lullabies to it at night, and occasionally let it play among the peace lily leaves or around the four legs of the rattan chair. When it hissed to call the cricket back, the little cricket obediently jumped back into the tin can and nibbled on the grass provided for it. If this were a Hong Kong martial arts movie, Blue in the Bottle could be called a gentleman. It liked being kind. At night, one bottle, one can, one liquid, and one cricket silently slept together under the green leaves.

January came, and drizzling cold rain covered the sky. The Old Woman coughed more, and her eyesight worsened. The moisture made her joints ache. The sharp pains came and went in shorter and shorter cycles. Next to her bed were painkillers and a cup of warm water. Yet, the Old Woman still tended to the peace lily every day. The pot was placed near the door, below which was Blue in the Bottle's and the cricket's nest. Now, the plant had grown well. This type didn't fear cold and humidity, still sprouting new leaves and many white buds. The buds bloomed like large ladles, with fresh green veins running along the petals. After tending to the plant, the Old Woman poured herself a hot cup of tea with the honey Man had sent, sat on the rattan chair, turned on the TV to watch the news and opera. She fell asleep heavily. And so, day and night passed.

Blue in the Bottle rolled around her feet, looking up at her peaceful and heavy form, its entire body suddenly warming, and the blue liquid inside it rose. From the bottom of the cork, drops fell like tear-filled eyes.

"Cricket, what do you think I should do?"

In the dark, Blue in the Bottle's whisper went unanswered. The cricket was asleep, its wings folded. Blue in the Bottle turned. From the middle of the bottle, a tiny light like a grain of rice began to glow, gently spreading a bioluminescent light like the clearest ocean water illuminated by the morning sun.

That was its Lighthouse of Alexandria.

It was its heart full of miracles.

Once upon a time, a wizard lived in a distant ocean. He fell in love with a fisherman's daughter when their fishing boat strayed into his guarded waters. He wanted to give her a gift to win her favor, but seeing his possessions, he realized nothing was more precious than his magic. He placed his magic in a glass bottle found at the ocean's bottom, then put the bottle in a large clam shell and climbed onto the boat to give it to her. She hesitantly accepted the gift, her heart full of fear because the wizard had an ugly face with a hooked nose and eyes as blue as blowtorch flames. After giving her the gift, he leapt off the boat and transformed into a school of shimmering, multicolored fish, spinning around before disappearing into the deep waters. The fish formed a shimmering veil, wrapping around the boat, praying and watching over her from the ocean's depths.

The fisherman's daughter remained fearful. She didn't know he had sacrificed everything for her: his magic was in the bottle, and his body had turned into fish lost in the sea. Perhaps those fish would continue to multiply, and every time she went to sea, they would splash mournful waves while watching her, but she never understood. A few days later, under his protective spell, she and her father returned near the harbor, and she threw the magical gift back into the sea, fearing it would scare the townspeople. How naive she was to reject such a generous love.

Carried by the water, the bottle sank to the ocean floor. Countless timelines passed above it, and the magic inside gradually settled, crystallizing into a radiant being. Then life emerged from the bottle's bottom, pushing the entire bottle out of the sand and mud. The bottle floated to the surface, shining like a newly born star. When a sailor on a long-distance ship picked it up, it moved, able to sing, laugh, comfort others, and emit warmth as if offering a hug.

But above all, its heart was always full of miracles.

"Cricket, what do you think? Should I open the cork? I will no longer exist, but before that, I will be able to do miraculous things." Blue in the Bottle talked to itself and then asked the cricket. But the cricket didn't respond, for it was asleep on the spring rain tapping rhythmically on the brown tin roof.

When January had just passed, the Old Woman realized that she didn't have much time left. She could count each breath through her nose, the faint, hollow breaths feeling like the remnants of a life that had ended long ago.

She smiled and continued her old habits. She still sat in front of the rabbit ear TV to listen to the news and watch opera, a blanket on her lap while sitting in the rattan chair, comforting Blue in the Bottle by saying, "Little one, sing something, I like hearing you sing." Blue in the Bottle would again sing softly, in a child's voice.

February brought an unusually cold spell. The weather turned cruel and harsh. The Old Woman lay in a daze on her small bed, covered with an extra layer of blankets, listening to a singer on the radio sing "La Vie En Rose." "I always thought love was just a word, something people wrote to embellish songs. But when you kissed me, I awoke, realizing I was wrong and love was in my heart." It was a beautiful song, but the Old Woman only caught a few words. Her throat tightened, white breath escaping her nose. She looked at the gray March sky through the small window. She watched Blue in the Bottle trying hard to take care of the black cricket with a look of compassion.

One cold night at the end of February, Blue in the Bottle couldn't sleep. When you are about to part with a loved one forever, you can't sleep. The cricket nestled in the grass, its tiny legs whispering, turning over a few times and chirping sorrowfully. The night grew colder, and finally, no breath remained in that tiny brown-black body.

Rising from her sickbed, her limbs aching and nose stuffy, the Old Woman buried the cricket beneath the peace lily leaves with a solemn ceremony. She made a small grave for the cricket. Blue in the Bottle stood upright and solemnly beside it like a little tin soldier. "Goodbye," it said to the beloved cricket's grave. For the next three days, it couldn't stop warming up, like it was sobbing.

The Old Woman held it to her chest. "Oh, little one, oh, little one." She could only say that much, then fell silent, letting the pain and sadness seep into her body.

March was long and silent. When April came, the trees and sky became gentle in a chorus of fresh green, the Old Woman knew that Blue in the Bottle would soon face another loss. She was dying.

"Oh, little one." She repeated, her weak hands gently tapping the bottle. Blue in the Bottle wished it had eyes to cry.

"Old Woman?" it asked. "Is there anything else you want to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"For example, do you want to eat a certain type of cake, meet someone, find something? A wish, do you have one? I can do it, anything, as long as you uncork me," Blue in the Bottle said firmly.

She tried to smile: "Wouldn't you evaporate if I did that? No, no, Blue in the Bottle, it's better if you stay inside. Go, climb up to someone else's window. There are lonely people everywhere, you'll soon find someone who needs you."

"You know my story, the one from long ago?"

"Love, if not carefully kept, will evaporate, won't it?" the Old Woman tapped on the bottle.

Day by day, she had less and less strength. One morning she woke up and found she couldn't get out of bed. She couldn't move a finger, let alone reach for the cup of water beside her bed. She could only lie there and listen. The mother and daughter next door were doing laundry. The sound of running water was so pleasant. The cries of street vendors in the alley were so clear and soulful. The sound of clothes flapping in the wind on the shared clotheslines of the neighborhood... Then all the sounds faded, and after a while, they stopped completely, as if her ears had turned to stone. She moved her lips, and a tear fell. She blinked, and her vision blurred. Instead, she saw, for the last time in her life, the image of a bridge spanning a wide river and a bright red hat being swept away by distant yellow dust.

With all its might, Blue in the Bottle climbed up to the roof. April's sky was vast and intensely blue, covering all the roofs, large and small, in the neighborhood. Blue in the Bottle compared its own color to the sky's, proudly noting that they were identical. It seemed as though the sky had shrunk into the bottom of the bottle, and from the bottom, it reflected the full depth of the vast sky above. Around it were old houses of a small city, layered with time on the tin roofs and corners. The poignant sounds of the little alley made its whole body tremble.

Taking one last look at the familiar shape of the alley, Blue in the Bottle thought it might be both laughing and shedding countless tears.

And then, Blue in the Bottle leaped into the air, drawing a radiant arc like a rainbow after a tender rainy afternoon. At that moment, it felt lifted, embraced by the sky. Then with a crash, Blue in the Bottle shattered into countless tiny glass pieces on the ground. Among the shards was a small pool of blue liquid, sparkling under the sunlight.

-

A young girl threw off her blanket and woke up in a small room familiar as a memory. It was an old time, a day tinged with the color of aged paper. The radio on the shelf near her bed played "La Vie En Rose." The music filled the atmosphere, making her smile. She sat up, feeling her body light. Music was always a blessing to her, resonating in her lungs, making each breath she took and released full of life. Her nostrils flared in the light. She joyfully slipped into her brown sandals and opened the door to step outside.

Before her, a river was rising. From the deep bottom, a massive wave slowly rose, covering the streets into a river whose meeting point with the horizon was far away. The water rose, and where she stood elevated to meet it. The roofs were submerged below her feet, immersed in the water. A school of shimmering, multicolored fish swam around the mossy green windows, around the shirts strung between the clotheslines that had now become perches for seven-colored snails. The river was clear, reflecting a strange blue. The color seemed to be a perfect blend of the most beautiful ocean water and the clearest sky. A magnificent blue. The water reached her ankles, making a hissing sound like a child's laughter, nudging her to walk.

Following the water's direction, she climbed onto a bridge that rose from the river, shaking off massive drops of water and drying in the golden sunlight. The little girl stepped onto the bridge, hesitant and excited. She took a few more steps, and then a few more. Finally, gathering all her courage, she reached the top of the bridge.

A tall young man, wearing an olive-green shirt, stood next to an old bicycle, waiting for her. In the bike's basket was a small package, and behind the bike was a large satchel. He was about to leave. He looked at the river, telling himself that downstream lay the land he sought. It was a place where he could live and dedicate himself entirely to the country he loved more than life itself.

Nothing had changed. Even now, in this surreal realm, Phi was about to leave the little girl.

She approached him, knowing she would cry.

Phi looked at her, appearing a bit awkward. Then, realizing she had never been angry with him, he smiled brightly. He took her hand, pulling her close, holding her small hands tightly. He kissed her hair and opened the small package in the bike's basket, taking out a bright red hat and placing it on her head. He hugged her tightly and whispered something in her ear. She cried, sobbing uncontrollably. Hot tears soaked his shoulder. Then she whispered in his ear. Miraculous words, words that could make love follow her for the rest of her life.

He let her go, climbed onto his bicycle.

Under the brilliant sky, he rode away, forever.

She stayed, holding the red hat tightly on her head. Now, no one could take it from her. She hummed softly, marveling at how wonderful it was to sing away sadness.

At her feet, the water began to recede, the bridge gradually lowering. She walked down the bridge to a hillside full of peace lilies. Among the lush green leaves with white flowers, a little boy peeked out, looking at her with eyes as deep blue as the river earlier. He approached her hesitantly. Immediately, she recognized him, stifled her sobs, and greeted her new companion with a bright smile.

"Hello, little one."

"Hello," he replied, his ears turning red.

How peculiar, this scene. A bit of gentleness secretly took root somewhere and spread through the air like dandelion fluff. It could make you sneeze because of the tickling, bring tears to your eyes because of the stinging, and make you cough because the soft wind seemed to tickle through your chest.

They were silent for a while, but one of them had to speak first.

"I'm Blue, no longer in the Bottle. But I still know how to sing, laugh, and hug others. I can still do miraculous things with the wizard's magical heart."

She smiled: "So, do you still want to be friends with the lonely Old Woman?"

Blue, no longer in the Bottle, replied by hugging her warmly.