Chapter 89 Grandpa's Letter
After Mr. Huo's condition gradually stabilized, he was transferred to the rehabilitation department for further treatment. Song Zhiyi resumed her normal work routine, but she would still visit him at the hospital every day after work, chat with him for a while, and do some simple acupressure massage.
Looking at the elderly man in the hospital bed who was getting thinner but still in good spirits, she would always unconsciously think of another elder who was also eroded by time and illness—her maternal grandfather's old comrade-in-arms, Grandpa Chen, who lived in a retirement home in the suburbs of Beijing.
In the last two years before her grandfather passed away, his health was already very poor, and he spent most of his time in a sanatorium at a veterans' retirement home. Song Zhiyi would spend at least half a day each week visiting him. Every time she visited, her grandfather would either be playing chess with Grandpa Chen in the activity room or chatting and basking in the sun in the courtyard. The two old men, who had survived countless battles, didn't talk much. They would often just sit quietly, occasionally pointing in a certain direction and saying something like, "There used to be a pillbox over there," or "Your grandmother's pickled vegetables were the best with cornbread."
When her grandfather passed away, Grandpa Chen stood in front of the coffin for a long time, patted Song Zhiyi on the shoulder, and said only one sentence: "Girl, if you need anything in the future, come to Grandpa Chen."
This weekend, Song Zhiyi drove to a retirement home for veterans on the outskirts of Beijing. The environment there was tranquil, shaded by green trees, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city. She found Grandpa Chen's courtyard without hesitation. The gate was ajar, and the soft strains of Peking Opera drifted from inside.
She knocked on the door.
"Come in!" came Grandpa Chen's strong voice.
Pushing open the door, I saw Grandpa Chen lying in a bamboo rocking chair under the grape trellis in the courtyard, listening to the radio with his eyes closed, a palm-leaf fan in his hand, idly waving it. Hearing footsteps, he opened his eyes, saw it was Song Zhiyi, and immediately sat up, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
"Zhiyi, what brings you here? Come, sit down!" He pointed to the wicker chair beside him and called into the house, "Old woman, Zhiyi's here, cut some watermelon!"
"Grandpa Chen, don't bother, I just came to see you." Song Zhiyi sat down in the rattan chair and placed several boxes of nutritional supplements suitable for the elderly and two cans of good tea on the stone table.
"It's good that you're here, why did you bring anything!" Grandpa Chen scolded, scrutinizing her closely. "You've lost weight. Have you been too busy working and not eating properly? Or... did that Huo family brat upset you?" The old man's eyes sharpened. "If you've been wronged, tell Grandpa, and Grandpa will stand up for you! Don't think that just because your Grandpa Chen is retired, I can't handle a little rascal!"
Song Zhiyi felt a warmth in her heart and shook her head with a smile, "No, Grandpa Chen. I'm fine, and the Huo family... treats me very well too. Grandpa Huo was sick a while ago, and I often went to take care of him, so I lost a little weight."
"Old Huo is sick?" Grandpa Chen's joking expression vanished as he asked with concern, "Is it serious?"
"Acute heart failure, now stable, recovering."
Grandpa Chen paused for a moment, then sighed, "We're all getting old. Your grandfather passed away early, and Old Huo's health has always been poor...sigh." He looked at Song Zhiyi, his gaze becoming distant, "Seeing you reminds me of your grandfather before he passed away, always saying how he would leave you all alone after he was gone."
Song Zhiyi lowered her eyes and remained silent.
Grandpa Chen got up and walked into the house: "Wait a minute, there's something your maternal grandfather entrusted to me to keep. He said he'll give it to you when the time comes, or when you've figured it out."
Song Zhiyi was somewhat surprised. Her grandfather had entrusted something to Grandpa Chen for safekeeping?
A moment later, Grandpa Chen came out carrying a small, dark brown wooden box. The box looked quite old, with some wear on the edges, but it was very clean. He placed the box on the stone table and pushed it in front of Song Zhiyi.
“Here it is. Your maternal grandfather said that the things in here might help you understand some things better and reduce some of the burden in your heart.” Grandpa Chen looked at her with kind but complicated eyes. “He said that you are a thoughtful child who carries everything on your own. There are some things he can’t say to your face, and he is afraid that you will feel even more upset if you hear them, so he wrote them down.”
Song Zhiyi looked at the simple wooden box, her fingers gently tracing its slightly rough surface, her heart beating inexplicably fast. She unfastened the box; inside were not many things: a yellowed envelope with the words "To Zhiyi" written in calligraphy, slightly trembling; and a notebook with a small portion of its cover burned, the edges of its pages also slightly charred and curled.
She picked up the letter first. The envelope wasn't sealed. She pulled out the letter inside. It was the old-fashioned kind of vertically lined red-lined letter paper, and the handwriting on it... Song Zhiyi's nose tingled with emotion.
It was her grandfather's handwriting, one she knew all too well. But unlike the neat and powerful handwriting he usually used in his letters to her, the handwriting in this letter was noticeably trembling and weak. Many strokes were drawn out, and the ink had smudged in some places, clearly indicating that he was holding the pen very unsteadily, or perhaps even writing it while struggling with his illness. The letter had several pages.
She composed herself and, under the dappled sunlight filtering through the grapevines in the afternoon, began to read, word by word.
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