I returned to my hometown during the Spring Festival holiday that year. The next day, my uncle drove for more than an hour through the mountains and arrived at my uncle's small village. There are fellow villagers in the village who my uncle knows and help look after my grandfather’s grave.
The fellow held a sickle and led my uncle and us to the heights of a mountainous area. Although it was winter, nameless weeds that were too tall were entangled with branches of trees, thickly blocking the road ahead. The fellows walked in the front, pushing and trampling with their hands and feet, and using sickles to cut off the branches and grass stems that refused to give way. We followed closely one after another and barely passed. When we turned around, we could no longer see the way forward. All we could see was the same desolate miscanthus.
After walking for more than 20 minutes, I saw a tomb, the shape of which could still be distinguished in a space of more than 20 square meters. The fellow villagers took care of it every day and maintained the distinguishable boundary between the tomb and the weeds. I was a little at a loss. It was really difficult to equate grandpa with this mound of dirt among the grass.
My earliest memory is of my grandpa holding my hand and writing the word "中" in small regular script. Grandpa said: Words must be correct, and people must be correct. The first vertical stroke of Chinese characters is the most difficult. Only by holding your breath and concentrating, and having a force of energy running through it, can you write something decently.
I am my grandfather’s most beloved granddaughter. Among the younger generations, she always ignores the complaints of the older generation and spends all her time reading and writing with my grandson. He didn't care about his grandchildren, he only took care of me and taught me. At that time, I didn’t understand. I just wondered why I had to practice calligraphy, memorize poems, and learn a lot of rules every day while other children went out to play.
When I was three years old, I took a bumpy car and arrived at a small town with muddy construction everywhere. Grandpa said that here is the largest stone Buddha in the world.
At that time, transportation was inconvenient and communications were underdeveloped. The Rongxian Giant Buddha is undergoing comprehensive renovation. The outer extension is covered with scaffolding, and workers can walk freely on springboards made of vertical bamboo pieces. My grandpa took me to look for a place selling tickets for a long time but couldn't find it, so I followed the example of a worker and crawled through the scaffolding layer by layer and walked up. Grandpa introduced the Buddha with great interest. How could I know anything at the age of three? I only played with grasshoppers, glutinous rice cakes, and climbing mountains. I had no idea that this was my grandpa’s good intentions for me.
The only thing I remember about that day was the light seeping out from the gaps between the scaffolding and the boulders, illuminating the Buddha’s facial features clearly. Grandpa stood among the scaffolding, pointed to a deep and beautiful symmetrical arc on the smooth boulder a few meters ahead, and said excitedly: "That's the lips of the Buddha."
I was shocked at that time. Okay, Buddha is too big, and people are too small.
After that time, I followed my mother to live in a small town in the northwest. My grandfather came to the northwest from his hometown to take care of me.
This city dug out of the Gobi Desert, with its flying sand and rocks, is very similar to the scene in Journey to the West when the Iron Fan Princess stirs up the banana fan. In winter, there are only Chinese cabbages and potatoes kept in the vegetable cellar.
In contrast, in my hometown, I have to buy vegetables three times a day just to eat freshly. The vegetables have to be picked with dew and cooked with force, and they are not allowed to stay overnight. The season is always green, and there is no duplicate of the side dishes alone.
Grandpa’s picky taste buds can still taste a dish with all kinds of different heat. No wonder grandma is always careful when buying and cooking. Her serious expression shows the concentration of a chef cooking, integrating body and soul. The delicacies of my childhood make it difficult for me to seriously evaluate the so-called "deliciousness" because I had already eaten all of them and could never find them again. It was such a picky grandfather that he insisted on staying for a year in this demonic Western Region described in Journey to the West.
He held my hand to write the first calligraphy character, and the strength in his palm gave me my first understanding of Chinese calligraphy, "Qi". I practiced every day, and at a very young age I could write beautiful and unfamiliar words with a brush. When I was five years old, my grandpa got a video of an old Taiwanese lady teaching ABC, and asked me to sit on a small bench and face the TV. Learn English. Although I was always bored to the point of dozing off, I was always afraid of disappointing my grandpa so I simply kept going. Every night, he took me to count "one two three four" and finished counting the prefixes of the numbers.
Later, when I went to elementary school, he rode his 28-inch bicycle to school to pick me up from school every day.
Every time the school gate opens, students rush out of the gate like a flock of sheep, wearing the same blue uniforms and smiling faces. I can always see my grandpa waiting for me by the curb next to the door from a distance, and my grandpa can always see me among a group of children spreading flowers.
Watching my picky and strict grandpa picking me up despite severe cold and storms every day, I knew that I could only be like my grandpa, who was not afraid of cold, tiredness, or difficulties.
There is no grandfather who can’t learn it, and if he doesn’t, there is no way this thin old man can’t learn it. Therefore, I am always ashamed that I "don't understand, I don't know". How can I be my grandpa's granddaughter?
The medical treatment and climate in the small northwest town are too harsh. Grandpa suffers from bronchitis all year round, and his diet and daily life are a kind of toleration. He needs to go home for treatment and medication. After that he started writing to me once a week. The letters contained poems, articles, and life principles, telling me what was going on in my hometown and that everything was fine. I had to reply to the letter once a week. If I didn’t know how to write, I would just follow the instructions and answer my grandfather’s inquiries one by one.
I always think that my grandpa never raised me as an ordinary child. He wanted a talented girl who was well-educated and good at playing, playing, chess, calligraphy and painting, but I turned out to be so ordinary.
He never gave my education to others, whether it was my mother, school or teachers. He was educating me according to his own standards. I often think about how I can avoid disappointing my grandpa. Apart from disappointing him, I had nothing to really fear as a child. I didn’t care what kind of person I wanted to be, as long as my grandpa was satisfied.
As I grew older, my grandfather’s health became worse day by day. For more and more time, he sat quietly and stubbornly on the wicker chair beside the square table for a long time. I can only go back to my hometown to see my grandpa during holidays.
During my college year, I used the first money I earned from a part-time job to buy white wool. I turned on the emergency light at night and knitted scarves for my grandpa. At that time, my grandfather rarely left the house. Bronchitis often made him breathless, and he felt like he was coughing out his internal organs whenever he moved. The doctor said that there is no heating in the south and the climate is cold and humid. Keeping warm can relieve pain.
I was going back to my hometown to see my grandpa during the winter vacation that year, so I had to make preparations beforehand: first, to pass the exam well, and second, to knit a scarf. Exam review and scarf planning were intertwined and finally struggled to be completed in those two months. I met my grandpa during the winter vacation.
A few years later, my aunt chatted with me: "That scarf is long and thick, and because it is made of whole hair, it hurts my neck. Grandpa's skin is very red. Wear it with you. It's so heavy." It’s not comfortable yet. The old man just kept it on if nothing happened. If it didn’t work, he would take it off and put it back on slowly. I’m not allowed to tell you this.”
When grandpa left, he put the scarf on him. In my ear, my aunt said, this is what grandpa asked me to do. I had just started working at that time, and when my grandfather was critically ill, he couldn't buy a plane ticket, so he took the train for two days. When he got home, he was already buried.
While chatting, we walked back from the mountain. The way forward was no longer visible, but the fellow took us to the bottom of the mountain with a sickle, slashing all the way.
I always feel that my grandpa has never left me. I often ask him back, Grandpa, have I let you down? So, try your best to live a righteous life.