The yellow rice cake had been cut into small pieces and arranged on a plate. Two cups of liquor sat on the table—one filled to the brim, the other carefully poured to just half. The grandfather and grandson sat across from each other, sharing a simple dinner that left them both content.

Shen Duoyi picked up a piece of rice cake, dipped it in sugar, and placed it into Grandpa Shen’s bowl. “Grandpa, have a taste. Don’t let it stick to your dentures.”

Grandpa Shen picked up his chopsticks and started eating. “Sweet. And the red dates smell nice. I’ll have a few more pieces.”

Though they’d agreed on just two bites, Shen Duoyi didn’t stop him. Silent, he continued picking up pieces, dipping them in sugar, and passing them over, without eating anything himself.

“Duoyi,” Grandpa Shen mumbled between bites, “did you sort out that problem with Xiao Qi?”

“Yes, it’s resolved. He’s fine. We’re both fine. Don’t worry,” Shen Duoyi replied.

“Who’s worried about you two? I was just asking,” Grandpa Shen said, setting his chopsticks down and patting his slightly rounded stomach through his clothes. “I’m full. You eat.”

Lowering his head, Shen Duoyi picked up a piece of rice cake, skipping the sugar, and shoved it into his mouth. Then another. And another. His cheeks puffed out as he ate rapidly, tears welling up and streaming down his face, catching in his lashes and falling onto the table.

Though the rice cake was swallowed, his tears continued to fall—either streaming down his cheeks or dripping straight onto the table with soft plops.

Grandpa Shen watched him and sighed. “Don’t cry. How old are you?”

“I’m not crying,” Shen Duoyi stubbornly retorted, his eyes wide with effort. “I just choked.”

“You’re exhausting me,” Grandpa Shen sighed, his voice slowing down. “When your parents passed, you cried under the blankets every night. You thought I didn’t know, but I did. After you fell asleep, I’d come in with a towel and wipe your face.”

Back then, he couldn’t rest easy. If he were to leave, who would wipe the tears from his beloved grandson’s face?

But now, Grandpa Shen was at peace. He knew Qi Shi'an would be that person.

Picking up his liquor cup, Grandpa Shen’s shaky hands spilled a few drops as he brought it to his lips. “Duoyi, drink with Grandpa.”

With red-rimmed eyes and trembling shoulders, Shen Duoyi raised his own cup. Leaning forward, he clinked it against Grandpa Shen’s, then drained it in one go. The fiery liquor burned its way down, igniting all the grief and bitterness within him.

Just past 8 p.m., Grandpa Shen, freshly washed and visibly tired, lay down to resume his dream. Washing him had left Shen Duoyi sweaty, so he took a quick shower and hurried back to sit by his bedside.

After tucking Grandpa Shen in, Shen Duoyi lay down beside him. He remained vigilant through every noise—the snores, the occasional gasps for breath, even the sound of the wind against the windows—all of it kept him alert, waking him at the slightest disturbance.

Grandpa Shen’s face, flushed slightly from the alcohol, looked less sallow than before. With the small light off, he lay peacefully, slipping seamlessly into his dreams.

In his dream, the weather was bright and clear. Grandpa Shen stood on the steps of his courtyard, wearing a pair of new cloth shoes that felt surprisingly light. Walking down the steps, he realized he was spry again, no longer needing his cane.

The long alleyway had been swept clean, and his tricycle, parked nearby, was spotless. He checked the time—it wasn’t yet time to pick up Duoyi from school.

So he sat on the doorstep, basking in the sun, reciting lines from his favorite storytelling episodes for his amusement.

“Chapter 99: Yuchi Gong Whips Shan Xiongxin, Luo Shoubao Admires Li Shimin!” he intoned, mimicking the cadence of the famed storyteller Shan Tianfang.

As he pondered the specifics of that chapter, faint voices called out from the distance.

“Dad, Dad.”

A man’s voice and a woman’s voice. Grandpa Shen froze, listening carefully, feeling a pang of familiarity. Standing, he walked down the steps, his movements clumsy but filled with purpose.

The voices came from the end of the alley. Turning, he saw two figures waving at him—a man and a woman. It was Shen Yunsheng and Xue Jiayu, his son and daughter-in-law, who had died in an accident.

Stunned, Grandpa Shen took one unsteady step after another, as though walking on cotton, each footfall soft and uncertain. As he drew closer, the figures became clearer.

Shen Yunsheng held a suitcase, looking like he had just returned from a train route. He waved. “Dad, why are you stopping? Come here.”

Xue Jiayu smiled from beside him. “Dad, Yunsheng’s calling you.”

Grandpa Shen kept walking, until finally, he stood before his son and daughter-in-law. Reaching out, he pulled them into an embrace, tears streaming uncontrollably. “Yunsheng, Jiayu…”

“Dad, be happy. We’re all here now,” Shen Yunsheng said, wiping away his father’s tears. “Jiayu and I are waiting for you. Let’s go home.”

Grandpa Shen turned back to glance at the alleyway. “Where’s Duoyi?”

“He’s off playing,” Shen Yunsheng replied. “Let’s go.”

The sunlight was warm, and Grandpa Shen felt young and carefree. Standing between his son and daughter-in-law, he walked forward with a spring in his step. But just as he took a few steps, he seemed to hear a faint voice calling him.

“Grandpa.”

“Grandpa? Grandpa!” Shen Duoyi’s shout jolted him awake. Grandpa Shen let out a wheezing sound as Shen Duoyi leapt to his feet, fumbling for medication, only to realize Grandpa Shen’s mouth was tightly shut, his airway seemingly obstructed.

“Grandpa! Grandpa, wake up!” Shen Duoyi screamed, his voice breaking. He crouched by the bedside, dialing emergency services with trembling fingers, his pleas frantic and desperate.

As soon as he hung up, Grandpa Shen exhaled sharply, and the phone slipped from Shen Duoyi’s grasp, landing on the floor.

“Grandpa! Grandpa!” He shouted, leaning over the bed, trying to rouse him.

“Ah… ah…” Grandpa Shen’s eyes opened slightly, the cloudy whites devoid of any light, shadowed by a heavy haze. His wrinkled neck strained as if making a final effort, veins bulging under his paper-thin skin.

In a voice barely audible, Grandpa Shen murmured, “Yunsheng, Jiayu, you’ve finally come to get me.”

Shen Duoyi’s ears rang, the sound of death tolling all around him.

A heart attack. From his throat to his arteries, everything within Grandpa Shen seemed to shut down all at once. The emergency medication was too late, and Shen Duoyi could do nothing but stay by his side.

When the sound of the ambulance siren reached him, it felt as if it were announcing the end. Grandpa Shen had already fallen silent.

In that moment, Shen Duoyi felt transported back to when he was seven years old, staring at the rubble of his family’s housing block after the accident. Surrounded by cries and sobs, even his parents’ bodies were nowhere to be found.

Now, he knelt by Grandpa Shen’s cooling body, unsure whether to collapse in wailing grief or cling to him in a final embrace.

Grandpa Shen had once said that when the time came, Duoyi mustn’t cry. But Shen Duoyi sat there, gripping his grandfather’s stiff hand, gazing into the pitch-black night outside the window.

The sun would rise again. But for Shen Duoyi, there would be no more family to greet it.

Outside the ICU, Qi Shi'an sat on the sofa working overtime, handling projects that Zhang Yiming had been responsible for. He rarely dealt with clients directly, so each call stretched on with extra pleasantries.

Juggling upcoming dinner meetings, rescheduling a few conferences, and continually shrinking his sleep schedule, Qi Shi'an knew he was in for a long haul. Zhang Yiming’s recovery timeline was uncertain, and Qi Shi'an braced himself for a prolonged battle of endurance.

He didn’t mind. All that mattered now was the safety of his friend.

You Zhe entered with two cups of hot tea. They settled into opposite ends of the sofa, diving into their respective work. Qi Shi'an stifled a yawn, rubbing his temples. “Usually, we’re competing to see who does better. Now, we’re suffering together.”

You Zhe chuckled wearily. “I don’t know when this brother-in-law of mine will wake up. Worst case, I’ll hand over a few clients to you guys.”

Without looking up from his emails, Qi Shi'an replied, “So he’s officially your brother-in-law now? You’re really eager to marry off You Si. Meanwhile, you’re 35 and still single.”

You Zhe grinned. “If I’d hired Shen Duoyi back then, you’d probably still be single too.”

The comment struck a chord, making Qi Shi'an pause. It was a tough time in his life, and the thought of Duoyi gave him a moment of comfort. Having just sent an email, he couldn’t help but open his past email exchanges with Shen Duoyi.

He remembered how Duoyi had once asked for advice, and he, standing in Munich’s Marienplatz feeding pigeons, had stopped everything to reply. He had even sent a picture of a roasted chestnut stall, adding: “The weather’s cold—perfect for a bag of warm chestnuts.”

Pulling out his phone, he thought about the late hour and how Duoyi was likely asleep. Still, he sent a message: “I’ll bring you some candied chestnuts tomorrow. Come to the 30th floor to get them.”

Satisfied, he closed his laptop and headed to the adjoining room to nap.

In the Qiuye hutong, every courtyard was brightly lit, the neighbors bustling about to help with the funeral arrangements.

Grandpa Shen had always said he wanted to be sent off through the hutong so the neighbors could see him one last time. Shen Duoyi had brought him here, fulfilling his wish, as if coming home.

The courtyard gate bore white paper decorations and a white mourning cloth. Grandpa Shen’s body was laid out in the living room, surrounded by offerings and his photograph. Lin Yuzhu’s eyes were red from crying, and Fei De’an silently wiped away tears as he helped dress Grandpa Shen in his burial clothes and shoes.

Shen Duoyi, clad in white mourning clothes with a white band tied around his forehead, arms, and waist, draped himself in a white mourning robe and sat vigil beside Grandpa Shen.

Neighbors came in waves but refused to leave, gathering in the courtyard. Old Hu cried the loudest, clutching Shen Duoyi as he sobbed through half the night.

“Duoyi, have some water.” Lin Yuzhu reached out to wipe the tears streaming down Shen Duoyi’s face. She retreated to the bathroom, overwhelmed and sobbing. Shen Duoyi held the water in his hands without drinking, silently letting his tears fall, unheeding.

From arranging the funeral parlor to ordering wreaths and confirming the burial time with the cemetery, Shen Duoyi managed it all. Deep into the night, he waited for dawn to come, promising himself he’d grieve properly then.

By 4 or 5 a.m., the neighbors dispersed to rest, preparing to return in the morning for the send-off. Shen Duoyi rose from his chair and knelt by Grandpa Shen’s side. He ran his hand through his grandfather’s hair, brushing against his sunken cheeks—cold and lifeless.

“Grandpa, you still haven’t finished listening to White-Browed Hero or gone fishing with Grandpa Huo,” Shen Duoyi murmured, his voice trembling. “Don’t leave. Stay with me for two more years… just two more years…”

“Duoyi, don’t do this.” Fei Yuan, notified by Lin Yuzhu, had rushed over and now pulled him up. “They say during vigil the soul lingers at home. If you cry like this, how can he leave peacefully?”

Shen Duoyi collapsed to the floor, unable to stand. He clutched Grandpa Shen’s sleeve tightly, his voice low and broken as tears pooled on the floor. “Grandpa…”

The funeral parlor van had already arrived, parked at the entrance of the alley to wait for morning. The neighbors stirred early, arriving to offer their condolences. Fei De’an distributed black armbands while Lin Yuzhu and Fei Yuan prepared breakfast.

After washing his face, Shen Duoyi donned the white mourning hat, pinching himself hard in a futile attempt to let physical pain eclipse the ache in his heart.

In the bedroom, a few elderly women were folding paper ingots. They rose to console him when he entered. He nodded in thanks, his voice hoarse as he reassured them he could manage. Spotting his phone on the bedside table, untouched since the night before, he picked it up to request leave from work.

That’s when he noticed the unread message: “I’ll bring you some candied chestnuts tomorrow. Come to the 30th floor to get them.”

It was from Qi Shi'an.

Shen Duoyi locked himself in the bathroom, pressed the call button, and listened to the mechanical tone as he tried to steady himself. He told himself to stay calm, not to worry the other person.

“Hello?”

The call connected, and Qi Shi'an’s voice came through. Shen Duoyi’s fragile composure crumbled instantly. His hands trembled as he gripped the phone. “I’m in Qiuye hutong. I won’t be going to work today.”

Qi Shi'an, just stepping into his office, sensed something was wrong. “What happened? Why do you sound like this?”

Shen Duoyi opened his mouth, but his voice faltered. “Last night… my grandpa passed away.”

The dial tone felt like a death knell. The warm bag of candied chestnuts slipped from Qi Shi'an’s hands, scattering across the floor. Stunned and heartbroken, he took a deep breath to steady himself.

Opening his phone’s photo gallery, Qi Shi'an found the picture of Shen Duoyi and Grandpa Shen. He quickly uploaded it to his computer and printed it. Grabbing the photo and his car keys, he left his office.

As he stepped into the elevator, he ran into Annie, who had just arrived for work.

“Mr. Qi—”

“I have something urgent. I won’t be in today. Reschedule or cancel all my appointments,” Qi Shi'an instructed without breaking stride. In the elevator, he headed to the consulting department, ignoring greetings from employees. Spotting Supervisor Tang and Team Leader Qi near the pantry, he approached them.

“Shen Duoyi has a family emergency and won’t be coming in for a few days. Split his projects and clients between you two.” Before either could respond, he added coldly, “Help him out, not steal his resources. You both owe him that much.”

Without waiting for a reply, Qi Shi'an left, driving as fast as he could to Qiuye hutong. When he arrived, the funeral parlor van was already parked at the entrance. The sight of it made his chest tighten as he turned off the ignition.

He removed his cufflinks, watch, and tie, shedding all his accessories before stepping out of the car. Walking down the alley strewn with yellowing leaves, he spotted the courtyard at the end. The white mourning cloth fluttered above its gate.

Striding to the entrance, the cries and wails from inside grew louder. Ascending the steps, he stopped short at the sight before him. The door to the house was wide open, and Grandpa Shen’s body lay inside. The courtyard was full of mourners, their faces etched with sorrow.

But what pierced Qi Shi'an’s heart most was the sight of Shen Duoyi. Dressed in full mourning attire, he was the sole family member performing the rites.

Qi Shi'an reached up and tore a strip of mourning cloth from the doorframe with a sharp rip. The sound drew the attention of the neighbors, who looked up to see him tying the strip around his forehead.

Shen Duoyi was not alone. From this moment on, Qi Shi'an was his family.

He strode into the house and knelt beside Shen Duoyi, bowing deeply to Grandpa Shen’s body. Mourners bowed in respect, while Shen Duoyi, overwhelmed and exhausted, could only lower his head in thanks. His blurred vision didn’t register who had joined him, but he instinctively bowed in return.

As his forehead neared the ground, a warm, dry hand stopped him. He looked up to see Qi Shi'an kneeling in front of him, wearing the mourning cloth.

“You’re here,” Shen Duoyi choked out.

Qi Shi'an gently wiped the tears from Shen Duoyi’s face, though they wouldn’t stop flowing. He nodded. “We’ll send Grandpa off together.”

The time for the funeral procession arrived. The casket was prepared for sealing, and Shen Duoyi staggered to his feet, sobbing uncontrollably as he leaned on the casket. Qi Shi'an held him steady and took out the photo he had brought.

“Duoyi, put this photo in the casket. Let Grandpa take it with him so he won’t worry about you.”

Tears fell onto the photo as Shen Duoyi took it. In the picture, he and Grandpa Shen sat side by side, smiling warmly as they celebrated a birthday. “Grandpa, if you miss me, look at this,” he said, placing the photo gently on Grandpa Shen’s chest. He broke down, crying, “Grandpa, it’s time to go.”

Outside, about ten neighbors gathered to carry the casket. Qi Shi'an, also clad in mourning attire, took the lead. The alley was lined with neighbors paying their respects, all there to bid Grandpa Shen farewell.

Shen Duoyi, holding his grandfather’s portrait tightly, stood at the forefront, his eyes vacant.

Lin Yuzhu handed him a porcelain bowl. “Duoyi, make the offering.”

Taking the bowl, he raised it above his head and clenched his jaw before smashing it to the ground. The sharp crack of shattering porcelain was immediately followed by the somber sound of funeral music and the wails of mourners.

The procession began, carrying the casket out of the alley. At the end of the road lay the funeral van that would take Grandpa Shen to the crematorium, where all that remained of him would be reduced to ashes.

Holding the portrait, Shen Duoyi walked ahead. He could no longer cry, nor could he shed another tear. All he knew was to keep walking.

At seven years old, he had walked this same way, carrying the portraits of Shen Yunsheng and Xue Jiayu. Back then, it was rubble and the absence of bodies. Now, Grandpa Shen lay in the casket behind him. The outcome was the same—they had all left him.

As the mourners’ cries filled the air, Shen Duoyi’s lips trembled. It was time to say goodbye.

“Grandpa, travel well,” he murmured.