When I place that rough pottery vase on the living room windowsill, sunlight filters through the blinds, casting dappled patterns on its surface. This vessel was hand-crafted by my grandmother last year at a Jingdezhen pottery workshop—the crackle glaze formed during kiln firing resembles the laugh lines around her eyes. Every time I change the water, my fingertips touching the coarse clay body remind me of her calloused hands guiding mine as she taught me to shape clay. What I place in the vase is not just freshly cut peach blossoms, but also the ancient wisdom she often murmured: "Nurture objects, and they nurture you in return." Now each morning as I refresh the water, the sound of liquid seeping into the porous walls evokes her humming while watering plants in the old courtyard. Though miles apart, this earthy tenderness accompanies me silently in the morning light, day after day.