In the old man's muddy, lifeless eyes, it was as if a sudden light flickered, and mustering all his remaining strength, he mumbled, "I just want to have two cups of Xifeng before I die."
Wen Yan couldn't bear it, so he went to prepare, but by the time he returned, he heard the old man had been rescued but was still in a coma.
Not many days later, he went again, but this time Wen Yan couldn't get close, couldn't go near; the man had already passed away. In the end, he truly looked nothing like himself, pitiful and wretched.
Back then Wen Yan felt awful; he even regretted not trying earlier to fulfill the old man's wish.
That expression—a mix of regret and relief—is something Wen Yan just can't forget, no matter what.
The family members were still moved, saying the old man couldn't bear to leave his grandson, couldn't bear to leave this or that.
Wen Yan knew best: all the old man wanted was to have two drinks before dying, just that simple.
