Pushing open the old cedar door on an empty stomach, the faint morning light shone on my face.
In the doghouse at the door, Da Huang was fast asleep, his mouth clamped around a red-and-black blanket.
There was always a faint chill carried in the wind that swept through this village, like the dark gray earthen walls all around—cold and seeping up from my ankles. Wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, I broke out in goosebumps.
It was still early. Among the family, only Grandma and I usually got up around this time. After telling her I was leaving, I quickly slipped out of the alley, jogging along the ridges by the roadside fields to warm myself up.
The air was still filled with the acrid scent of burnt joss paper and firecrackers from yesterday’s Qingming Festival, making it a bit hard to breathe.
When I passed by that dirty little lake, I deliberately slowed down and gave it a few glances.
The pollution had gotten so bad that the fish and shrimp that once darted through the water were now nowhere to be seen. The surface was calm, like a pane of green glass stained by plankton, glaring golden in the sunlight.
I didn’t see Old Uncle anywhere, and the door to the general store was only half open. They were probably still sleeping in.
After passing the small lake at the village entrance, I jogged to the market by the threshing ground, bought a few bags of soup dumplings and corn cakes. The shopkeeper, seeing I was unfamiliar, even gave me a free cup of soy milk.
When I returned to the old house carrying breakfast, my shirtless father was sitting on the doorstep, back to the sun, warming himself.
Seeing me walking down the alley, he nodded to me, expression calm.
“Fan, you’re back, huh? Nothing happened on the way?”
“No, just went for a run and grabbed breakfast, that’s all.”
I rarely saw my father at home. It’s not that he was always away on business, but usually, as soon as he woke up in the morning, he’d go sunbathe on the balcony or take a stroll in the park—already living a retired life ahead of schedule.
Inside, I filled my stomach with soy milk and strong tea. Just as I was about to say goodbye and head to the Zhulin, my father, who had been quietly sipping tea, suddenly spoke up.
“Your mother said yesterday that after lunch, we’ll head home. Are you still going to the Zhulin later?”
“Yeah, I am. After today, I won’t come back anymore. Might as well cut off all lingering thoughts—doesn’t matter if I find anything or not.”
Father set his teacup in front of me: “Finish this and let’s head out. I’ll drive you over. There’s a small pond by the Zhulin. I’ll wait there and fish. If you’re not out by noon, I’ll go in to find you.”
“…Alright.”
If it had been a friend saying something like that to me, I definitely would’ve tried to talk my way out of their ambiguous kindness.
Based on my own social experience, if friends or classmates say something like that, it’s mostly just polite words, or a habitual way of showing they care.
But if it’s your own family, you have to see it differently.
Unlike Mom, who’s smooth and sociable, Dad’s always been straightforward and taciturn—whatever he says is what he means. He won’t let anyone refuse him. In a way, he’s as stubborn as a mule.
Because of that, I didn’t try to dodge as I would with others. I simply agreed to his arrangement, went back to where my suitcase was, and stuffed the gear I needed into the adventure backpack my uncle gave me.
When I returned to the main house with my backpack, I found only Grandma burning firewood. Father was gone.
Grandma glanced at me, waved me over, then took several charms of all colors from her pocket.
“Put these in your pocket, for protection. Remember, safety is the most important. You’re the only boy left in the family now, our last seedling. Be careful, okay?”
Hearing that, I suddenly remembered that Uncle still had a son—I shouldn’t be the last seedling. Then I recalled what Little Uncle said at the funeral parlor about Eldest Uncle ‘leaving’. Meeting Grandma’s complicated gaze, I could only nod helplessly and take the charms she’d gone out of her way to get for me.
“Your dad’s waiting in the parking lot. Hurry up and go.”
A familiar female voice suddenly sounded behind me, but it wasn’t Grandma.
I turned and saw my sleepy-eyed mother leaning against the courtyard gate, staring at me blankly.
She didn’t act like those nagging mothers in TV dramas, tugging on their kids’ sleeves and rambling on and on. She just nodded silently at me, then went back inside to rest.
With everything ready, I walked into the alley. Da Huang in his doghouse was already awake, lying by the doorstep and watching me.
Maybe sensing I was about to leave him behind, Da Huang whined softly and circled me slowly.
That signature golden retriever smile hung on his wrinkled old face, looking almost heartbreaking.
I patted his head, comforting him: “Good boy, I’m not gone yet. I’ll come back later and play with you.”
I didn’t dare say too much—Da Huang was old now, and couldn’t take too many surprises.
After a brief goodbye, I stood up and quickly left the alley, ignoring the “woof-woof” sounds behind me.
Dogs are far more perceptive than cats. The only cat I’d seen with real intelligence was the tabby named Xingli that I used to keep… Hmm, Zhi Nian is a catgirl, so that’s different. Still, there’s no denying she’s even more adorable and enchanting than any cat.
If Da Huang were still young, I’d take him into the woods with me, just like when I was a kid, fearless and always exploring.
Maybe next time I see Da Huang, it’ll be years or even a decade later when I come home with my wife to visit relatives. Who knows how long he’ll last… Dogs don’t live very long, after all.
Thinking about all these trivial things, my pace quickened without me noticing. Soon, I reached the parking lot and saw Father’s SUV puffing exhaust.
The driver’s window was open. Father, wearing sunglasses, rested one arm on the sill, looking at me sideways with his usual calm.
He’s already in his late forties, but at first glance, you’d never guess his age. Maybe that’s why Mom chose him?
Easygoing, health-conscious, in good shape, and with excellent looks—whatever I gain through training can’t compare to what my parents passed on to me.
“Get in.”
Father jerked his mouth at me, then tossed the fishing rod from the passenger seat into the back. For the first time in ages, a faint smile appeared on his face.
Seeing him like this, I silently took back my earlier doubts. If Mom had known how obsessed Father would be with fishing, maybe she never would’ve picked him in the first place…