Some people are dead, yet they still live on.
Some people are alive, but they live as though they are dead.
Yang Laosan has recently been tightly enshrouded by this feeling.
Losing a son in midlife, internal family strife, business in crisis... he felt that at any moment he might end up in the hospital room next to the old man.
"Daddy."
Yang Laosan's eldest son, Yang Jiawen's older brother, Yang Jiahao brought over a bowl of ginseng tea: "Now that we are beset on all sides, you need to take even greater care of your health."
Yang Laosan glanced at his eldest son, sighed, and said nothing.
Just then, Yang Jiahao's five-year-old twin son and daughter ran over.
Both children were dressed in mourning clothes, their eyes red and brimming with tears.
Each of them hugged one of Yang Laosan's legs, tilting their beautiful little faces up and staring at their grandfather with anticipation.
"Grandpa, don't cry."
"Grandpa, hug."
