Chapter 2: Tragedy

In the summer of He Rou’s seventh year, the weather was very hot.

Because of her parents’ work, she often stayed at her grandmother’s house in the countryside.

Her grandfather had passed away early.

According to her parents, he died on the day she was born.

Because of this, He Rou’s childhood was unbearably boring.

No playmates, no memories—only the cicadas chirping outside the window and her own self-entertainment.

Since both grandparents were college-educated, even without her parents’ company, He Rou still received all the necessary education.

He Rou was very naughty.

Even though her grandmother had taught many children to grow up, she was always at a loss when dealing with her.

Grandmother didn’t know what to do, but after getting He Rou to touch books, she finally found the golden hoop to restrain the Monkey King.

Grandfather had a small study.

Little He Rou didn’t know what the study was for.

She only knew that no one ever went inside, yet it was always quiet and tidy.

One night, He Rou got up to use the bathroom.

When she passed the study, she saw the light on inside.

This study had always seemed mysterious to her, but this time it attracted her in an extremely tempting way.

Being mischievous, she only wanted to know the truth.

So without any hesitation, she opened the door that stood before her.

“Bang!”

The study was very small: a dark brown desk, a worn-out chair.

The desk was covered with glass, under which were various photos.

Besides that, there were cabinets filled with files and books.

He Rou stared wide-eyed at the scene before her, somewhat confused.

“Grandma?”

On that old chair, her gray-haired grandmother was also looking at He Rou, who had suddenly barged in.

At this moment, grandmother no longer had her usual kindness.

Only the pitifulness and loneliness belonging to the elderly remained.

The corners of her eyes were slightly red, her cheeks bore traces of tears.

Her glasses were placed on a corner of the desk, and her hands were holding a yellowed little notebook, which seemed very precious.

“Xiao Rou…”

Grandmother softly called He Rou’s name.

“Come here.”

He Rou, with somewhat puzzled eyes, walked to her grandmother’s side.

“Here.”

Grandmother picked her up and placed her on her lap.

At the same time, she casually put the yellowed little notebook into the desk drawer.

“Does Xiao Rou like books?”

“No, I can’t understand them. And the school teachers are strict about making us read them. I hate it.”

“Then Grandma has a kind of magic that can make Xiao Rou like books. Do you want to feel it?”

“Magic? Like the kind in cartoons on TV?”

Grandmother just smiled.

Her right arm tightly held He Rou, while her left hand reached back and casually pulled out a book, beginning to read.

He Rou looked up, watching her grandmother’s mouth opening and closing.

At that moment, her grandmother’s unique voice kept entering her ears.

The story was calm, but He Rou loved it.

Yet she didn’t know if what she loved was the story or her grandmother.

Soon after, He Rou slowly fell asleep.

Even though the urge to pee filled her mind, she was very, very sleepy at that moment, so she couldn’t care about that situation.

That night, He Rou fell in love with her grandmother telling her stories, and she also fell in love with reading.

Although she didn’t know many characters, she had a grandmother by her side who was like a dictionary.

Also that night, He Rou achieved the feat of wetting the bed for the first time.

He Rou didn’t remember the names of the books she had read, but she remembered the feeling of her grandmother’s voice entering her ears, the ups and downs of the stories, the hero’s journey, the sadness and fulfillment of the endings.

Except for some esoteric stuff, almost all of the books in grandfather’s study had been read or listened to by He Rou.

But among these books, there was always one that she had never learned about.

That was the little notebook that grandmother had always carefully kept.

He Rou had seen her grandmother holding that little notebook and crying late at night more than once.

It seemed that the story in it was the most touching plot in the world.

She was very curious.

—

After summer came autumn, and after autumn, was it winter?

He Rou didn’t know.

Winter in her impression was cold, but this winter was not cold.

It was even scorching to the point of being unbearable.

He Rou had always been very curious about the story in that little notebook.

If it could move her grandmother that much, then it must be the most touching story in the world.

Finally, after she begged her grandmother countless times, her grandmother finally agreed to read her the story that had been hidden in her heart on the day of the Winter Solstice.

As for why it had to be the Winter Solstice, perhaps grandmother needed some mental preparation, or maybe she had to think carefully about how to adapt it into a children’s fairy tale.

But on the day of the Winter Solstice,

Grandmother died.

She was crushed to death while escaping a fire.

The electrical appliances aged, the sofa caught fire, and grandmother rushed out in panic to call for help.

However, the wall on the east side—it had been tilted for so many years.

It didn’t collapse before, it didn’t collapse after, but it chose to collapse right when grandmother was passing by.

When He Rou hurriedly returned home from school, the house was in chaos.

Part of the fire had not been extinguished.

People were either putting out the fire or standing around watching.

Before the ambulance arrived, grandmother passed away. Before she died, her eyes never closed, because He Rou had not come back yet.

That day, He Rou didn’t know how she got through it.

At night, her parents rushed back from the city.

Grandmother’s funeral was very simple, not very traditional.

Her mother said that her funeral was as simple as grandfather’s.

He Rou also learned that long ago, when her grandparents were young, they had made a promise to each other: when they left, they wouldn’t trouble their descendants.

That night, she squatted in the mourning hall, looking through the transparent glass at her grandmother lying inside, not knowing what to do.

She knew about death, but didn’t understand it.

In her eyes, grandmother was sleeping peacefully.

Gradually, the night grew deeper, and He Rou’s consciousness began to blur.

These past few days, she had been like a walking corpse.

When she finally returned to normal, she was already at her parents’ home in the city where they worked.

It was luxurious, but many pieces of furniture were covered in a layer of dust.

And that little notebook full of secrets, with grandmother’s passing, came into He Rou’s hands.

This was a diary and notebook combined.

It recorded the life of grandfather from the time he met grandmother in college.

The entries stopped on the day he died.

The recordings were miscellaneous.

Sometimes many days had no entries, sometimes a single day’s writing could fill several pages.

It was filled with poetry and love, grandfather’s study notes, life notes, social notes, and grandmother’s occasional comments, time unknown.

What the little notebook recorded most were love and memories.

Ever since grandfather died, whenever grandmother missed him, she would look at this little notebook.

Watching grandfather’s awkwardness in first love, she would still blush and smile like before, then reminisce, then feel empty.

Every time grandmother left a comment, it seemed as if grandfather was right beside her, watching her with her gray hair, hunched back, and red eyes, saying to him the words she hadn’t said at the time.

He Rou didn’t know if grandfather had been waiting for grandmother all along.

The taste of loneliness is not good.

Every time she thought of this, she felt a pang of heartache.