Twilight had fallen, and deep violet clouds hung at the edge of the sky—a sight hard to witness within the city.
After dinner, under the pretense of taking a walk, I found myself strolling by the lake.
Da Huang followed leisurely at my side, wagging his long tongue to cool himself off.
Though “leisurely” might be the word, if one looked closely, it was clear that Da Huang was simply too tired to move any faster, trudging along behind me with heavy steps.
Had this been a few years ago, when his body was still strong, he would have been darting circles around me, bouncing with endless energy, his drool dripping all over the ground or onto my pant leg.
Back then, I used to resent him for it—thought this unkempt Da Huang didn’t know how to take care of himself or his owner’s image, and I’d often have to grumble and rewash my pants.
As for now… Even if I wanted him to run, to play, Da Huang could only let out a low “woof” and force himself to wag his tail and jog a few paces before giving up in exhaustion.
The sun that once seemed it would never set or wane had at last become the evening sun, ready to dip below the horizon.
Being a long-haired dog, Da Huang was easily affected by the heat. Here in this southern village during the Qingming season, he was already panting heavily from the warmth.
As my thoughts wandered, the phone in my pocket began to buzz and chime—”di-gu di-gu.” Without even looking, I knew it was a message from Zhi Nian.
The people in my family were all rather aloof. If not for my youthful enthusiasm to try and change the family’s constant coldness, that three-person family group chat wouldn’t even exist.
To this day, the chat records in our family group exuded an unmistakably business-like air. We only talked about necessities; trivial matters and everyday details were never discussed.
If it were a work or colleague group, it would make perfect sense.
Sometimes, I even felt this sort of atmosphere was nice—everyone focused on work, no unnecessary chatter, boundaries respected, each keeping their own privacy.
But… we are a family, after all. Not a single greeting, not a word of warmth—it always feels cold and distant. Maybe my own laid-back personality is because of my parents’ influence?
The breeze by the lake was cool and pleasant, and my mind, for the first time in a long while, began to drift and relax.
I shook my head, tossing those miscellaneous thoughts into the trash bin, and sent them off with a “permanently delete” package.
Normally, I am driven by a sense of purpose; even when I get sentimental, I force myself to quickly readjust, refocusing my attention on things that truly need it.
How to put it? I am not particularly self-disciplined—I simply can’t stand having my mind clouded by gloom, with my thoughts dragged down, slow and muddled.
A sense of insecurity from losing control of myself—perhaps that’s how it can be described?
With such thoughts in mind, I found a relatively mosquito-free spot where a villager had brought over a long stone slab that could be used as a bench.
Mainly, Da Huang couldn’t handle much exercise anymore; he needed regular rest.
Da Huang, dragging his hind legs, slowly followed and then lay down tiredly at my feet.
His eyes, clouded like murky glass beads, gazed up at the sky. What would a dog’s mind be thinking at a time like this? Did Da Huang know he was old now? No longer able to push me to stop resting and hurry up so he could run around.
I patted Da Huang’s head, and instead of looking at the sunset-drenched skyline, I gazed quietly at the still surface of the lake.
The lake was filthy, not something one would want to approach for a closer look.
It hadn’t been cleaned for ages; even from a distance, the ink-green surface seemed to radiate filth.
Thankfully, the smell wasn’t overpowering; the expected stench was faint, not nearly as strong as the stench of pig manure that sometimes wafted from villagers’ pig pens near the path.
Settling myself on the stone, I pulled out my phone and sent brief replies to Zhi Nian, who was enthusiastically bombarding me with messages and stickers.
The tomb-sweeping and ancestor rites at Zhi Nian’s home had wrapped up quickly. I didn’t bother asking about the details, and she simply told me she was already back in her small coastal county, followed by a flood of chatter.
Shen Zhi Nian: “[Rolling Cat.gif]”
Shen Zhi Nian: “Gu Fan, when are you coming home after you’re done? These few days off are so boring—I want to go out and wander around with you.”
If I wanted, I could have taken the bus or let my father drive me home today.
But the reason I came back to this backward little village during Qingming was not to commemorate ancestors long gone, nor to mourn my uncle who passed away last year…
I put down my smartphone, its screen still lit, and looked toward the old general store not far away, its only illumination a single small night lamp.
My real reason for coming back to this village, every time, had always been to discover whether that dreamlike experience in the mountain behind the village was real.
“Da Huang, stay here and don’t move. I’m going to buy something.”
“Woof… woof…”
Da Huang understood human speech. He responded in a low voice.
His throat was raspy now; in the past, he’d bark excitedly and tug at my pants, demanding to go with me.
Back then, if I didn’t want him running wild, I’d either have to give in and take him along, or tie him to a tree with his leash.
Now, he was far past the age of needing a leash. In this remote, backward village, there was no need for such modern inventions anyway.
After settling Da Huang, I got up and walked straight toward the lakeside general store.
If I still get nothing tomorrow, I suppose I’ll never return to this village again…
—or, to be precise, maybe just once more, after marriage, bringing my wife to pay a simple visit to my grandparents.
I don’t know if Zhi Nian will be my future wife. I hope she will be, but I also worry she might… After all, I don’t think I’m truly able to bear the responsibilities of a husband. Such a wonderful cat girl shouldn’t have to entrust her whole life to me.
Lost in these wild thoughts, I arrived at the door of the general store.
By the dim light of the little night lamp inside, I saw the old man with white hair sleeping on a recliner, a newspaper covering his face.
“Hello?”
I called softly. The old man twitched violently, then slowly took down the newspaper. His eyes wandered for a moment before settling on me.
“You’re that kid from this morning, the one who got bewitched by a cat? What do you want?”
The old man’s voice was choppy, like an old tape recorder—uncomfortable to hear.
I took a moment to organize my thoughts, then began to describe my experience in the bamboo forest this afternoon in plain, easy-to-understand words.