Chapter 6

It was fifteen days later that I put a checkmark next to the last task on the whiteboard. At this point, there were still three days until the official opening of the Haiyuan Festival. I walked to the window and looked at the decorations in various parts of the campus below, and stretched my arms upwards in place.

But it's this time again.

As autumn arrives, the sun sets earlier. Lately, he often rushes to the student council after finishing training in the evening, and by the time he looks up, it's already dark. Liu Sheng takes off his glasses and rubs his temples. His eyes are dry and sore from staring at the screen for so long. He pulls out a chair, stands up, and turns around. He can only vaguely make out the outline of a figure from behind. He suddenly realizes that this is the scene he sees most often.

There will always be someone who turns their back on you.

When I turned my head, I saw a rare look of confusion in Liu Sheng's eyes. I knew very well that this was the expression of a nearsighted person trying to see things clearly, so at that moment I didn't know that he might have been looking at me, nor did I think that he might have been looking at me.

The door was pushed open, and the minister and two senior students from the second year of high school finally returned after finishing their meeting. They checked the number of gifts and cards placed against the wall, looked up at the two of us, and said, "You've worked hard. Hang in there for two more days, and I'll treat everyone to dinner afterwards. Go home early today."

Upon receiving the order to call it a day, both Yagyu and I breathed a sigh of relief. However, I had been in such a rush that I had left my bag in the judo club room. Before leaving, I had to make a detour there to make sure the coach hadn't locked the door. Seeing that Yagyu had already put on his judo bag, I patted him on the shoulder and said, "See you tomorrow."

Our way home is not convenient, and we rarely walk together except when they sometimes come to "Hechuan" for ramen. To be honest, only Liu Renji and I can walk the same way for a while, because the bus he takes does not pass Rikkai University Station, but only goes to Sago.

There's a fairly long uphill path in front of Rikkai University's senior high school gate that I walk every day. I've heard that this path, backed by Rikkai's white walls and facing the sea, is quite famous among tourists, especially couples visiting Kamakura to see the sea. They'll take the tram an extra stop to Fujisawa and stroll here hand in hand. I think it's because around the beginning of the century, roughly when I was born, a foreign director filmed a movie here.

I looked up the movie title and even rented the DVD. It was an art film that I wasn't particularly interested in. I got sleepy after watching just the beginning. When my mother woke me up on the tatami mat in the living room, I saw the male protagonist on the screen riding his bike uphill. There was no monologue in the background, only the sound of the wind. Behind him, the sun was rising over the sea, slowly emerging until the golden light covered everything. At this point, the movie credits rolled.

To this day, I still don't know what this movie is about, but all I remember is this sunrise, shrouded in a blue filter, like an eternal summer morning.

My middle school Chinese teacher mentioned this movie. She said that the blue color throughout the movie was the color of love. I just rested my chin on my hand, hummed softly, and muttered to myself, "It's just a road, just a sunrise, just a sea."

"You really have no sense of romance, my friend," Niou, sitting next to me, said, shaking his head.

"Would you believe that emotions, which do not exist in a physical form, have visible colors?" I asked rhetorically.

Niou twirled the ballpoint pen in his hand, chuckled, and didn't answer me immediately. When the teacher had changed the subject and returned to talking about the Tale of Genji, I heard him say, "History can't even verify Murasaki Shikibu's identity, so what's so strange about people believing that love has a color?"

"Please, that's a flawed analogy, okay?" I muttered as I turned to the next page.

"You two, who always strive for logical rationality in everything, must be living a very tiring life, Prii." Niou drew an earphone on Murasaki Shikibu's head on the illustration page of the book.

I glanced at him.

"I mean, you and Yagyu." He quickly added the names.

I paused for a few seconds, then used a ballpoint pen to scribble the eyes of the person in the book into a large circle, before replying, "That's why I like being with Yagyu."

"You just like comfort," Niou wanted to say, but he swallowed it back because he wasn't keen on interfering in other people's relationships, even if that person was his good partner. Instead, he ended the conversation with "This is really boring" and a raised eyebrow.

Actually, I've never seen that so-called blue color with my own eyes. I've walked this path for so many years, and I've never seen it even once. It's a little embarrassing to say, but at that moment I didn't even know who Niou was talking about, because almost everyone I consider a friend is a complete logical freak like me. These kinds of people want every question answered, every causal chain complete, and everything labeled "understandable." They're very persistent, and therefore easily get stuck in dead ends.

Ultimately, we all just hope there's a reason that can convince ourselves.

Moreover, Niou Masaharu, who said he "didn't understand" his senior's breakup proposal at the end of summer, is probably no less obsessive than me. People who seem carefree really have privileges.

Now I'm walking slowly downhill alone. The streetlights along the street are as cool-toned as the autumn sea. They reflect off the white walls and envelop the entire road. All I see is a gray haze. I look up at the gloomy sky. Although I haven't heard that it will rain tonight, judging from the situation, this autumn rain is sure to be fierce.

I don't usually carry an umbrella, so as raindrops fell on my nose, I started running. The screen of my phone, which was in the inner compartment of my backpack, flickered twice because it was out of power and turned off. Since it was on silent, I hadn't received the two calls from my mother earlier, and naturally, I hadn't heard her three messages either.

Grandma is missing. The shop closed early. Your dad and I are looking for her outside. If you hear this message, please call your mom back.

If you run into your grandmother near the beach on your way home, remember to call your mother immediately.

Zaomiao, please call back immediately.

Unexpected events in life, like the rain at this time of year, come without warning and catch people off guard.

An elderly woman in a plain-colored kimono stood by the window of a flower shop in front of the station. She was looking at a pot of bellflowers, their petals spread out in a cluster, forming a ball. The warm yellow light from the shop window made the bluish-purple flowers look like they were covered with a thin veil. She wasn't using an umbrella; raindrops slid from her hair to the corners of her mouth, lingering on the deep curves etched by time. Her eyes were full of expectation and radiance. She wasn't longing for the delicate, beautiful flowers; she was looking at everything she possessed. Her love was so intense that anyone who saw her would believe the flowers belonged to her, or even were a gift that should have been given to her.

The rain intensified, gradually turning from light raindrops into a downpour. Genichiro Sanada happened to get off at this stop to transfer trains. Today's meeting ended together, and the president didn't keep any more first-year students to help. Before leaving, he passed by the External Relations Department office, which was already locked. He opened the folding umbrella in his bag, and hurried past pedestrians. He followed behind them, walking quickly, but his dark uniform jacket still inevitably got wet.

"Kotaro, are you going to buy flowers to take home today?" The old woman reached out to touch the glass.

The store manager opened the door with a puzzled look, wanting the elderly woman to come inside to take shelter from the rain. She spoke several times, but the woman seemed not to hear her and wouldn't take the umbrella offered to her.

"I'll wait here for Kotaro to come home. Don't touch me." The old woman stubbornly pushed the shopkeeper away, took two steps back, and almost slipped and fell into a puddle.

Fortunately, Sanada reacted quickly, supporting the old woman from behind with one hand while using his umbrella to shield her head. He bent down and asked in a low voice, "Are you alright?"

"It's Kotaro, you're so late. It suddenly started raining so hard," she said casually, fixing her hair before patting the raindrops off Sanada's shoulder. "Look, you're all soaked."

Perhaps mistaking him for someone else, Sanada thanked the shopkeeper and took a tissue from her. Just as he was about to wipe the rain from the old woman's face, his hand was grasped instead. Her hand was icy cold, clearly from being soaked in the rain, yet she maintained a smile. Her soft Kyoto accent didn't sound like that of a local. Sanada wasn't good with words, so he could only silently help the old woman into the shop and sit down.

"Shouldn't we call the police first?" two shop assistants, about the same age as Sanada, whispered in the corner. "She seems... a little strange."

The old woman had barely sat down when she went straight to the pot of bellflowers without even taking the hot tea that had been poured for her. Her voice was full of joy and delight: "Tora-rou, look, this flower is blooming so beautifully."

When Sanada raised her hand, he noticed a silver tag hanging from the red string tied to her wrist. He asked the florist if he knew the old woman. The florist said he had seen her a few times at the door. She was very conspicuous because she was always wearing a kimono, but she was always accompanied by someone, so he didn't pay much attention.

By the time I reached the nearest market, the rain had soaked into my shirt, making me feel chilly. I sneezed twice and was thinking of borrowing an umbrella from Uncle Yoshida before heading back when I bumped into him driving his van out. Seeing me huddled under the market's awning, he rolled down his window. I thought he was going to offer me a ride, but instead, he said urgently, "Sanae, what are you doing here? Your grandma's gone missing again! The shop owner and his wife are looking for her outside!"

"What did you say?" I shuddered and quickly reached for my phone. I pressed a couple of buttons, and sure enough, the screen was black and the battery was dead.

"Get in the car first," he said, opening the door. "Go back and change your clothes, so you don't catch a cold."

I borrowed Uncle Yoshida's phone to call both my mother and father, but both lines were busy. I waited anxiously to redial again and again. Uncle Yoshida comforted me, saying that the elderly can't go far anyway. But I was still uneasy, clutching my skirt. How could my grandmother's body withstand such heavy rain in autumn?

My maternal grandmother, Yuka Kagawa, had a surname that was a prominent name during the Meiji era, which is probably still considered a prestigious family in Kyoto today. She was the youngest and most beloved daughter in her family. While at school, she met Kotaro Kagawa, a free spirit. The first rebellious thing she ever did was defy her parents' wishes and leave Kyoto for Kanagawa with my grandfather. The stories of my grandmother's youth were the ones I least liked to hear as a child, but my mother would often listen patiently. The romance between the young lady and the free spirit is a kind of beauty I can never experience, like the blue in the movies—a blue I can never see.

But the only thing I know is that there will never be another person in this world who loves my grandfather like my grandmother did. My grandmother's health has been deteriorating since my grandfather passed away. She could still travel on her own for the past two years, but in the past year, she has even forgotten my name occasionally.

Last night before bed, when I turned off the light for her, she held my hand and said, "Little girl, you're so spirited. Your eyes look just like Kotaro's."

I knew a long time ago that she wouldn't recognize me, so all I could do was coax her to sleep, turn around, close the door, and let out a long sigh.

Uncle Yoshida took me home. I hurriedly changed my clothes, opened the shop door, turned on the light, and stood at the door. I thought that if Grandma remembered the way and came back, it would be good to see someone there. Ten minutes ago, I charged my phone and turned it on. I left a message for my mother saying that I was waiting at home. Yagyu sent me two math problems that the teacher had assigned today and asked me how to solve them. Without saying a word, I forwarded them to Niou. Two minutes later, Yagyu sent me another email. I looked at his email asking what was wrong, hesitated for two seconds, and replied that nothing was wrong.

He called half a minute later, and I said, "Grandma is missing again. I need to wait for the call, so I'll hang up now."

By almost eight o'clock, there was still no news. I thought that even if my dad might be annoyed, I still decided to ask my master for help. I had just scrolled down to the "master" contact in my contacts when the headlights of a car driving by in the distance dazzled my eyes. I shielded my eyes with my hand and squinted to barely make out the license plate. The black Bentley and the number looked somewhat familiar.

A moment later, the car stopped in front of the shop. The back door opened, and a tall man opened his umbrella. I struggled to see his face clearly and stood there in surprise, unable to even pronounce his name smoothly. It wasn't until he helped an old woman carrying a pot of flowers out of the car that I realized what was happening and hurriedly ran over to help my grandmother out of his arms.

"Thank you," I nodded twice and said thank you twice, "Thank you, Sanada."

"I'm glad you're safe," Sanada bowed to his grandmother. "Goodbye, and please take care of yourself."

My grandmother seemed to have mistaken Sanada Genichiro for my grandfather when he was young. She was smiling as she looked at the bellflowers in her arms. I rarely saw my grandmother with such a happy smile. As Sanada left, I glanced back at him. Actually, he disliked being driven around in the family car the most. I hadn't seen their driver since the third grade of elementary school. Besides, I really dislike troubling anyone. I would hesitate for a long time before asking my master, someone so close to me, let alone Sanada. I couldn't even bring myself to ask Yagyu.

After informing my mother, I filled the bathtub with hot water and wiped my grandmother's body while she told me that Kotaro had brought her flowers today—blue-purple lisianthus—and that this represented eternal love. I pursed my lips, thinking of that movie, and finally laughed several times, tilting my head back. Perhaps many things really don't need to be understood.

Like my grandmother's happiness, like a color I can't see, not understanding is the greatest kindness to myself, rather than trying to convince myself.