Jiang Sifan stood at the door, watching his retreating figure. He didn't follow.
Out in the courtyard, Jiang Guoqiang stood for a long time.
The wind blew, making the leaves of the osmanthus tree rustle.
He looked up at the bare branches and remembered the year Lu Fan had come to their house to repair the irrigation ditch, covered in mud and laughing like a child.
He remembered him trying to catch fish in the pond, falling over and over. He hadn't caught many fish, but he'd turned himself into a mud man in the process.
He remembered him bustling about in the hospital, pouring water for Pan Lanfang, peeling apples, and calling for the doctor.
He had hated that man for nineteen years. But the man he hated and the man he remembered didn't seem to be the same person.
He shook his head and turned to go back inside.
In the kitchen, Wen Wan was squatting by the sink, washing dishes.
Pan Lanfang stood beside her, drying the bowls with a dishcloth, and the two chatted idly.
