The phrase "I am your meme, forever" was like the warmest vow, completely dispelling the last trace of gloom in Lin Wanwan's heart.
She nestled in his arms, feeling that familiar and comforting scent, her heart filled with immense happiness and contentment.
All the memories, whether sweet, bitter, sour, or spicy, have at this moment become the most precious treasure in their lives, brewing into the finest wine.
The two embraced under the moonlight, quietly enjoying this unique and perfect moment that belonged to them.
...
Time is the gentlest, yet the most ruthless, carving knife.
It has etched the changing times on mountains and rivers; it has recorded the rise and fall of dynasties; and it has left its mark on people's faces.
Many years have passed in the blink of an eye.
The villa on the outskirts of Beijing remains as tranquil as ever. Only the people living there have all become very, very old.
Xiao Che and Lin Wanwan are both over seventy years old. Their hair is completely white, like the first snow of winter, pure and serene.
The "retirement" life that they once enjoyed so much has gradually become something they can't keep up with.
Xiao Che's "Bagua Formation" vegetable garden, which he had once placed high hopes on, was now lush and green, bearing abundant fruit. But this was not his achievement; rather, it was thanks to General Zhang next door, who, after completely giving up on "agricultural enlightenment" for this "theoretical" emperor, simply took matters into his own hands and began to manage it for him.
Now, Xiao Che can no longer even lift the hoe that once made him lose face.
The lake where he once fished out his "ultimate mockery" remains, its waters still rippling. But the proud figure wielding his "dragon-slaying rod" is no longer to be seen on its shore. His hand no longer has the strength to cast that perfect arc.
Even the chess game that had once restored his imperial dignity hadn't been played for a long time. Because his opponent, General Zhang, had peacefully fallen asleep on a snowy morning last winter.
Time takes away all the grand and dramatic moments, leaving only the most mundane daily routines.
It was a warm afternoon that made one feel drowsy.
Beside the already lush vegetable garden, two rattan rocking chairs were placed side by side.
Xiao Che and Lin Wanwan sat side by side in the two rocking chairs, covered with the same soft wool blanket, leisurely dozing off.
The warm sunlight shone on them, a gentle breeze rustled the vegetable leaves, and everything seemed so peaceful and beautiful.
After an unknown amount of time, Lin Wanwan woke up first.
Her eyesight was failing, and she always had to squint to see things, getting tired after a while. She picked up a book from the small table next to her, its edges already curled from repeated reading, and struggled to turn the pages.
Beside her, Xiao Che still had his eyes closed, seemingly asleep. However, in his hands, he was holding a memorial in a rather formal manner—it was a "brief report from yesterday" specially sent by their emperor son, Xiao Tuan, containing only trivial anecdotes to amuse him.
Looking at the "sleeping" old man beside her, Lin Wanwan couldn't help but smile gently.
A tacit understanding had long been formed between them, requiring no words.
She knew he wasn't asleep. He knew she knew he wasn't asleep either.
He's just... a little hard of hearing. Often, he can't hear what she's saying, so to avoid embarrassment, he's learned to "pretend" to be dealing with "state affairs."
Lin Wanwan put down her book, leaned close to his ear, and activated their decades-old "artificial voice pack" system in a slightly louder voice than usual:
"Your Majesty, you're 'pretending' to read again."
The rocking chair swayed gently.
After a long while, Xiao Che slowly opened his eyes, as if he had just woken up from a dream. His reactions were much slower than when he was younger.
He first looked around blankly, and then focused his gaze on Lin Wanwan beside him.
A childlike look of dissatisfaction and complaint appeared on his face, a look that suggested his lie had been exposed.
His voice, weakened by age, had become somewhat indistinct, yet it still carried that familiar, proud tone:
"...Who...who said I was faking it?"
He paused, as if to prove he was really looking at it, and pointed seriously to the "memorial" in his hand. However, his complaints had nothing to do with the memorial.
He grumbled like a child complaining to his parents:
"...Old Zhang...sent his servants to deliver vegetables again yesterday!"
Lin Wanwan listened patiently, her eyes full of smiles.
"...He even bragged to me!" Xiao Che's voice was filled with resentment that had lingered for many years. "He bragged about his chicken...that it laid double-yolk eggs again this year!"
His complaints were intermittent and incoherent, all revolving around old, trivial matters.
Lin Wanwan listened with great interest.
She knew this wasn't a complaint.
This is their unique and eternal "banter".
It is the only thing that has not changed over the years.
She looked at his sullen, childlike expression and smiled helplessly.
Time is a fascinating thing. It has taken away their youth and their strength, but it has not taken away their naive and competitive spirit.
After complaining, Xiao Che seemed to feel a little tired.
He quieted down and stopped talking.
The two of them sat there quietly.
The afternoon sun made their white hair shine.
The rocking chair sways, sways...
Gradually, gradually, it slowed down.
It seems as if it will sway along with the long years, until the end of time.
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