Chapter 72: Homecoming

To many people, homesickness is like a cask of vintage wine—it doesn’t feel right to call it nostalgia unless you raise that glass.

But sometimes, it’s more like a bottle of Jianlibao.

Pop the cap, and with that crisp hiss, the fizz erupts along with a rush of emotion. Tears and soda spill out together. Take a sip, and the bubbles dance across your tongue.

Just like those boarding school kids who dash home the moment break starts. Or the children sent to stay with relatives, laughing all day only to cry for home once night falls.

Among all the kids who’d left home, Tan Wenbin was the most human.

Which is why his reaction was the most intense.

Only when his feet hit the familiar courtyard stones, when he threw his arms around Li Sanjiang with all his might, when he heard Grandpa Li call him “Zhuangzhuang” again—only then could he confirm, from the depths of his heart:

Whew. I’m finally back. All the terrifying dangers I went through along the way—they really are over now.

Even his own parents couldn’t give him that feeling.

Li Sanjiang was fond of Zhuangzhuang. Of course, his favorite was still his great-grandson.

“Little Yuanhou!”

That familiar dialect—like the perfect catalyst.

A special light flickered in Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes too.

Li Sanjiang bent over, trying to scoop up the boy. He failed the first time, had to draw a breath and try again before finally succeeding.

Not that the child had gotten too heavy to lift. Just not as light as before.

Liu Yumei sat in a chair sipping tea. The weather had cooled, and she already had a little jacket over her shoulders. Gone was her former grandeur from their days in Shan City; she looked now like a dainty old lady from the countryside.

Aunt Liu smiled and said, “You all haven’t eaten, right? Hang on, I’ll whip up some noodles.”

Li Zhuiyuan climbed down from Li Sanjiang’s arms and headed inside, going upstairs.

Li Sanjiang held a cigarette in his left hand and braced his waist with his right as he walked toward Liu Yumei, sighing.

“Kids grow up fast. At this rate, I won’t be able to lift him much longer.”

Liu Yumei took a sip of tea and didn’t even bother replying.

You could carry a waterlogged corpse, but not a living kid? Please.

The old man was just getting sentimental with his great-grandson back home and looking for an excuse to make small talk.

When Liu Yumei didn’t respond, Li Sanjiang kept talking anyway.

“Getting old. Just like that, in the blink of an eye… Tsk. Life’s strange, isn’t it?”

Liu Yumei replied, “Then shouldn’t you hurry up and get your coffin ready?”

Li Sanjiang awkwardly flicked his ashes. “Mm, right. I probably should.”

“You can’t just think about it. You’ve got to act. Burial regulations are tightening up. If you’re late, you’ll miss the loophole and get dragged off to the crematorium.”

Li Sanjiang gave a sheepish smile and waved her off. “You’re right. Absolutely right.”

“Grandpa Li, let me introduce you. This is Yin Meng, from Sichuan-Chongqing.”

As Tan Wenbin introduced her, Li Sanjiang’s frown deepened.

What? She’s going to live here now?

But once he heard Yin Meng say she only needed food and a place to stay, not wages, his heart settled. Not only did he agree to let her stay, he even said he’d pay her like he did Runsheng and Aunt Liu.

His business needed hands anyway. What he feared was someone waltzing in like a grandmaster.

Liu Yumei noticed the shovel head sticking out of Yin Meng’s luggage and waved her over.

“Girl, come have a chat.”

Yin Meng walked over with a smile.

“Tea?”

“Sure.”

She grabbed a pinch of tea and poured in hot water.

Liu Yumei slightly regretted not making Little Yuan brew her tea before he went upstairs.

“Where you from?”

“Fuling.”

“Where in Fuling?”

“Fengdu.”

Fengdu. Surname Yin.

Liu Yumei didn’t show it, but she kept probing.

“By the docks?”

“Mm, my family runs a coffin shop in the county.”

“Ghost Street?”

“Nana, you’ve been to our place?”

Liu Yumei shook her head. “Never been.”

Ordinary corpse retrievers based by the docks wouldn’t even have gotten to see her face in the old days. But she did know of the Yin family from Fengdu.

Their ancestors had been famous. Ancestors only, though—the family had long since declined.

“So why’d you come here?”

“My grandfather passed. No more family back there. So I followed Little Yuan… I followed him here.”

“You can stay in the west room with Ating.”

“Alright. I’m good with my hands, I can work.”

“Don’t say that to me. I’m not the master of the house.”

“Then you came here like me?”

“Something like that.”

“The noodles are ready! Come eat!” Aunt Liu called from the kitchen.

Liu Yumei gave a small chin nod. “Go eat.”

“Alrighty.”

Once Yin Meng was gone, Liu Yumei fell into thought.

Aunt Liu walked over and sat beside her, whispering, “What’s on your mind?”

“Just got sentimental.”

“Because of that Yin girl?”

“Yes… and no. I’ve been wondering—what really counts as family inheritance? The surname? Some genuine skills? Or maybe… a certain belief.”

“What got you thinking about all that?”

“Since we came back from Shan City, it’s been circling in my head.”

Aunt Liu stifled a laugh. She knew the old lady was just giving herself an out.

“Ating, what are you laughing at?”

“I’m laughing at how twisted you are.”

“No manners. Go slap yourself.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll do it.” Aunt Liu mimed slapping her face lightly.

Liu Yumei chuckled, waving her away. “Go on, get out of my sight. Go do your work.”

“Got it.”

Aunt Liu got up and passed by the three young folks slurping noodles.

“Eat slow, there’s more in the pot. I’ll fry up a few more eggs.”

She went into the kitchen, lifted the lid, and started adding oil while humming softly.

Old lady, let’s see how long you can keep this act up.

She was already picturing the future—when the grand matron would have to set aside her pride and start discussing which kid would take whose surname.

The thought made Liu Ting smile uncontrollably. She was kind of looking forward to it.

The weather had turned chilly. The screen door had already been taken down.

Li Zhuiyuan pushed open the door and saw Ah Li standing inside.

He’d already known she was in his room—no one had been by the threshold downstairs.

On the drawing table were several finished artworks. Around the edges, doorframes. At the base, the threshold. In the center, terrifying things that made your scalp crawl.

One by one, Li Zhuiyuan admired them.

Horrifying as they were, he was delighted.

It meant Ah Li had started facing the horrors she’d been avoiding.

Her recovery had taken a major step forward.

“Hm? Why’s this one stuck underneath?”

He lifted the top drawing, revealing another beneath it.

This one was from a low angle. On the second-floor terrace sat a boy, engrossed in an old book.

Ah Li had drawn him.

“Why didn’t you put yourself in the picture?”

She moved that one aside too. Underneath was another—same level, side profile of the boy reading in a rattan chair.

Then two more. One showed the boy standing in the courtyard at night, a long-haired shadow in a black qipao behind him.

The final one showed the funeral hall of the Ding family in Shan City. Ding Lao’er knelt on the ground, while the boy gave him the internal salute of a senior member.

In every one of her drawings—her eyes were full of him.

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