The taxi came to a jarring halt as the asphalt simply ceased to exist. From that point on, there was only packed earth, ruts from old wheels, and the familiar scent of damp clay mixed with woodsmoke. The driver scratched the back of his neck, looking ahead as if the car itself refused to go any further.
"This is as far as I go, kid. If I go in there, I'll get bogged down."
Tiān Shù nodded in silence, paid the fare, and climbed out with his backpack. As soon as the door slammed shut, the sound of the engine fading away seemed to sever his last connection to the present. Only the wind remained.
The village before him seemed smaller than in his memory.
It's always like that… when we grow up, the world shrinks.
Houses of ancient brick and dark wood lined the narrow path—curved roofs, laundry swaying on lines, chickens scratching near bamboo fences. The thin mountain mist enveloped everything in an almost dreamlike haze. For a moment, he felt as if he had traveled back decades in time.
If it weren't for the weight in his chest, he could have sworn he was still a child running barefoot through the dirt.
He took the first step.
The earth crunched under his soles.
Then another.
His heart beat faster with every meter.
"I'm back..."
The smell hit him first—steaming rice, hot oil, herbal tea. The same scent of every morning of his childhood.
And then came the faces.
An elderly woman sweeping the front of her house froze mid-motion. She squinted, trying to focus.
"...Shù?"
He blinked, surprised.
"Auntie Lin?"
The woman dropped her broom instantly.
"Lord in heaven! It really is you!"
She approached hurriedly, cupping his face with wrinkled hands, searching his features as if fearing he was an illusion.
"Look at you… you got so tall… so thin… just like when you were little, only stretched out!"
Despite her playful tone, her eyes were already red.
"You haven't shown your face in years, you ungrateful boy."
Tiān Shù tried to smile.
"University… I got busy…"
Empty excuses. The words stuck in his throat.
Other doors began to open. A man carrying buckets of water stopped in his tracks. Two children whispered. An old man leaning against a wall widened his eyes.
"Hey… isn't that old Zhao's grandson?"
"It's the boy, Shu!"
"He's returned..."
The voices mingled—low, respectful. There was no party, no exaggerated joy; it was a lukewarm, sincere reception, pierced by a collective grief.
It was as if the entire village were in mourning.
A grey-bearded man—the blacksmith he vaguely remembered—approached and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You've grown well," he said. "Your grandfather would be proud."
The sentence hit like a physical blow.
"Did he… talk about me?" Tiān Shù asked without realizing it.
The man let out a short laugh.
"Talked about you constantly. Pretending not to, of course. That stubborn old goat."
"'The boy only studies, he's going to become a big head with no muscle—what a waste! Muscles make the man, you know!' That's what he'd say," Auntie Lin added. "But then he'd spend the whole afternoon bragging to everyone else."
"'My grandson got into the capital's university. He's not like the bums around here with no future,'" the blacksmith mimicked the raspy voice. "'He's not just anyone, no.'"
The world seemed to stop. Tiān Shù stood motionless.
"...He said that?"
His grandfather almost never praised him to his face.
He almost never said anything at all.
So… he was boasting… behind my back?
A painful warmth rose through his chest to his eyes. He turned his face away, wiping them quickly with his sleeve.
How ridiculous… crying in front of everyone…
"Hey, hey," Auntie Lin softened her voice. "Don't hold that in alone. No one here is going to pretend to be strong today."
She squeezed his hand.
"Your grandfather helped this village more than you imagine. Fixed roofs, chopped wood for the elderly, brought medicine to those who couldn't get to town… He was grumpy, but he had a massive heart."
"We're going to miss him," the blacksmith murmured.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Respectful.
Tiān Shù looked around. Every face there carried a memory of the old man. He wasn't just "his grandfather." He was a part of the very structure of that place.
Like a pillar no one notices… until it falls.
"Thank you…" Tiān Shù said, his voice low, nearly failing. "For looking after him… when I wasn't here."
Auntie Lin shook her head.
"Foolish boy. He was the one looking after us."
She pointed toward the end of the street.
"Go. Your house is still there. The folks have already started the funeral preparations."
The old wooden house emerged in the distance, half-hidden among trees, exactly as it was in his memories. The chair on the porch was still there.
Empty.
The wind rattled the door, creaking slowly.
Tiān Shù took a deep breath. Every step toward that house felt heavier than the last. It wasn't just the return of a grandson. It was the return of someone who finally understood—too late—the silent love that had always been by his side.
Simultaneously, a handsome man with green-tinted hair disembarked from a plane. As he walked through the terminal, he held a serious conversation on his cell phone.
"I just arrived. The flight was delayed, but I'm on the ground. Going after the kid now."
On the other end of the line, in a temple in Beijing, an elderly man sipped his tea calmly.
"Li Weizin, move quickly before the wrong hands reach him first."
"Master, please... You're talking to the best. I guarantee no one lays a finger on the boy."
"In that case, the boy is as good as dead."
"Hey! A little confidence wouldn't hurt, you know?"
"Confidence? You're a loafer, that's what you are! A stagnant useless brat who doesn't know how to use martial arts properly!"
"Why, you grumpy old man! When I get back, we're settling this with our fists, you hear me, you old geezer!?"