“Spring makes you sleepy, autumn makes you tired, winter makes you hibernate, and summer makes you doze.” When summer arrived and the weather improved, Zhang Peyue became even more drowsy.

The doctor no longer gave her acupuncture. Her medicine had been changed to Western pills plus another kind of bitter herbal decoction.

Shi Qian quietly transferred the spiritual power he had diligently gathered over these days—absorbing the rising sun’s force at dawn and accumulating moonlight essence at night—into the old lady’s body once again.

That day, the old lady was in unusually good spirits. She had Chen Niu push her to the empty sun-drying ground.

A few scattered elderly folks were sunning themselves there, gathered together chatting about the old days.

After finishing his work, Shi Qian wandered over and happened to hear an old man sigh.

“Ai… as you get older, the number of people you know grows fewer and fewer. So all you like to talk about are things from the past.”

Zhang Peyue also followed along with a sigh, blending right in with the group. But her hand had already reached over to rub Shi Qian’s head, her face turned away from the others, looking calm and composed.

Shi Qian blinked.

So this is what kind of grandma you are.

Seeing how practiced she was, it was obvious this wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this.

But Shi Qian really was curious about the earliest part of her past.

After they returned home, he tried to ask, but the old lady only smiled and brushed him off.

He never expected that when the “truth” was finally revealed, he would actually prefer not to know.

In late April, the old lady began falling into long bouts of sleep. Going to the hospital did nothing to improve her condition; there was only a regretful diagnosis. Per Zhang Peyue’s own request, she returned home.

She lay in bed, half-propped up on a cotton-stuffed pillow, her gaze calm as she looked at Chen Niu and Shi Qian sitting on the floor bedding.

“At a time like this, it’s only right to talk about the past, so you two won’t end up knowing nothing at all.”

Two days earlier, Shi Qian had once again poured all his remaining spiritual power into her. The interval was too short, and the small amount of spiritual energy had little effect—nothing that could overturn the doctor’s verdict—but it did make her feel a bit more comfortable, giving her a little more strength.

Zhang Peyue began to speak simply about her past.

“I really was a young miss from a landlord family. In the past, life was indeed better for us than for others.”

“We never had to worry about food or clothing, and we even had money for rouge and jewelry. I almost got to go study at a church school, but my father wouldn’t allow us sisters to go.”

“But once chaos broke out, even having a house full of riches was the same. Whether you had money or not made no difference—you were all just pigs and dogs beneath the butcher’s knife and stray bullets.”

“Brother Qiao left home for seven years, and less than two years after that, he died on the battlefield. All they sent back was a set of blood-stained clothes and an octagonal cloth cap—”

“And this.” Zhang Peiyue stretched out her hand, holding the five-pointed star badge she had used earlier while telling her story. “Back then, in order to resist the invaders together, the five-pointed star on the cap was removed and replaced with two buttons. After his family moved away, I picked up this star.”

“Someone saw me with it on the street, and my whole family was arrested.”

“My father agreed to donate our family property. There were also favors owed from before, plus friends pulling strings outside, so the whole family survived.”

“After we were released, my father wanted to prove his ‘purity’. Also for the sake of protecting the family, he cut off ties with me and broke my leg in public. Then he threw me to the crowd watching the commotion. The shabbiest beggar there cursed me, said someone like me who didn’t know what was good for me deserved to beg with him.”

“That beggar was your grandfather,” the old lady said. “He seemed quite happy at the time, even thanked the old master. I think he said something else too, but I don’t remember clearly.”

Shi Qian and Chen Niu both stayed silent.

She had just learned that the man she liked died defending the country and resisting invasion; then, because of a single badge, she unintentionally brought disaster upon her family; after she thought she had narrowly escaped death, her own father broke her legs and abandoned her, throwing her among beggars…

In those times, how hopeless must a person have been? How could she expect herself to remember everything clearly?

The human mind is wired to avoid pain. Most painful memories get buried.

What remains are those carved too deeply to forget.

Shi Qian felt emotional, while Chen Niu felt guilty.

He could imagine that his grandmother’s later life was not good—possibly even worse, like adding frost on snow.

From what he’d heard of this grandfather he’d never met, he was most likely a bringer of further suffering.

Zhang Peiyue continued speaking, skipping past the parts Chen Niu was thinking about.

“Later, I left my hometown. After wandering for several years, I arrived in this Village. Back then it wasn’t called Shengli Village yet—the name was changed in ’45 to commemorate the victory of the war.”

“After that, I asked around about what happened. After I left, my father used his hidden money trying to escape, but he didn’t succeed. His whole family was arrested again. I learned later that those so-called friends were watching him, ready to sell him out at any moment.”

“A second time in prison, and that time he never came out.”

“He probably never imagined that the one who lived to the end would be me—the so-called troublemaker.”

If you excluded other possibilities and only followed cause and effect, then yes, the five-pointed star badge triggered everything that followed.

But in chaotic times, wealth without someone powerful protecting it was like tender lamb meat dangling before wolves—its final fate was always insecurity.

Chen Niu said, “Grandma, how can any of this be blamed on you!”

Shi Qian nodded. “Moo-moo.”

Right—none of it was your fault.

“There’s no such thing as blaming or not blaming. Blame the times. Blame those holding the butcher knives.” Zhang Peiyue looked at her legs. “Just like I don’t blame my father. Thinking this way, maybe they wouldn’t hate me too much either, so my heart can be at peace.”

Her voice softened with the last few words, like she was tired.

But she still forced herself to stay awake, looked at Chen Niu and the little yellow cow, and finally spoke gently:

“I have no family left. On your grandfather’s side, except for that useless Chen Erjun, there are no other relatives either. Things have gotten to this point—having or not having such relatives makes no difference.”

“I told you all this because…”

“Child, as long as you’re alive, life is very long. Once enough time passes, anything can be overcome. Just keep looking forward.”

Chen Niu nodded with difficulty.

Shi Qian stayed silent.

The moment he heard the word “relatives”, he knew the old lady was worried about Chen Niu.

After she was gone, he would have no family.

Feeling heavy-hearted, he said, “Moo-moo.”

You still have me.

The old lady noticed him. Her eyelids were nearly closed, but she showed a small smile. “Yes, there’s still our Qian Niuhua. You two must live well together.”

Thinking back on this period of time, Zhang Peiyue felt no regrets.

As for her grandson, she had long prepared for her own departure. Once she was gone, the child would still live well—he had enough ability to get by, not worse off than most people.

As for Qian Niuhua, watching their interactions, she felt at ease. She understood Chen Niu. She knew the child she raised wasn’t clever, but capable, and with a good heart.

She fell asleep peacefully, eyes closed.

One day passed, then two, then…

Shi Qian stayed up late and coaxed the morning-glory vine by the window to sprout early, blooming trumpet-shaped flowers ahead of time.

On a warm, sunny day, Zhang Peiyue looked at the flowers outside the window and passed away.

Chen Niu cried until he curled up, hardly recognizable as the tall man he was.

Shi Qian couldn’t bear to watch, but still went to see the old lady after she was dressed in her burial clothes.

The clothes had been prepared for years and were a little loose now, making her face and figure look especially small.

Aunt Du helped arrange her hair. Thinking of the early-blooming morning glories outside, she murmured, “Rest easy, auntie. Even the flower god came to receive you. In your next life, you’ll surely live well.”

Then she called, “Chen Niu, come in.”

The final moment should be witnessed by him before they placed the old lady into the coffin.

Shi Qian was about to call him—he thought Chen Niu didn’t dare come. But just as he reached the doorway, he saw Chen Niu walking toward the room, crying.

Even standing, he was still tall, but his waist, back, and head all seemed drawn inward, unable to straighten—just like when Shi Qian first arrived in this world and saw him carrying heavy wet rice grains on a narrow, slippery ridge, the burden pressing his head low.

Chen Niu knelt by the bed, eyes full of tears, quietly looking at the person who would never open her eyes again.

Nothing looked too different from before…

Wrinkles still covered her face, her brows and eyes were just the same—so how could she simply never wake up again?

Very soon, the house was filled with people, all helping with the funeral arrangements.

Chen Niu kept watch beside the coffin. The money had to be taken from Shi Qian’s mouth and shoved into his hand before he snapped out of his daze and remembered to give it to Xu Youguang and Du Chun.

Xu Youguang quietly said a few words of comfort. Chen Niu finally returned to himself and handled his grandmother’s funeral in a seemingly normal manner.

Amid the mournful sound of the suona, another new grave was added beside the original husband-and-wife burial mound.

A short distance away stood his grandfather’s grave. There had long been no spare space next to it, and it was said that his grandmother had personally chosen that spot back then.

Not just Chen Niu—even after everything was over, Shi Qian felt dazed.

Was that really all it took to send someone off forever?

On the day of the funeral procession, Chen Niu didn’t shed a single tear during the day. His eyes were swollen and red, staring blankly.

But at night, when the house grew so quiet it felt unreal, tears suddenly fell without warning. He bolted out, running toward the burial hill.

Shi Qian blinked away the dampness in his eyes and followed after him.

As they went up the mountain path, the traces from the daytime were still visible. The grass by the roadside had been trampled flat, looking battered and crushed.

They walked past grave after grave—some marked with stone tablets, some without.

The wind blew by, letting out a “woo—” sound, like something in the air had been stirred.

But Shi Qian wasn’t afraid at all.

He knew the people lying in these graves… were all ones whom someone out there still missed dearly. So what was there to fear?

Sure enough, he found Chen Niu in front of the fresh grave.

Chen Niu was crouched very close, hand reaching out as if he could touch the newly packed earth.

Afraid he might do something reckless, Shi Qian grabbed the back of his collar with his teeth and yanked him backward.

Chen Niu toppled over easily.

Shi Qian then planted himself firmly in front of the grave and shook his head at him. “Moo—moo.”

Digging the soil was not allowed.

Tears streamed down Chen Niu’s jaw, dripping into his mouth. He wiped his face, braced his hands to get up—but his strength was all but gone from not eating. His limbs felt weak, so he simply sat on the ground staring at the little yellow cow, tears falling in silence.

Only after a long while did he murmur, “Qian Niuhua… Grandma’s gone…”

“I can’t guess what you want anymore.”

Zhang Peyue had been clever. She often understood what Shi Qian was trying to express better than others.

Hearing that sentence, Shi Qian’s emotional defenses collapsed. He began crying as well.

He wanted to lean in and cry together with Chen Niu, but he was too overwhelmed and accidentally knocked Chen Niu over again.

Chen Niu rubbed the spot on his chest where it hurt, and finally the tears stopped.

He pushed himself upright again and wrapped his arms around Shi Qian’s neck. “Qian Niuhua, don’t be too sad. You’re too strong—be careful or you’ll send me off too.”

Shi Qian, still tearful, glared at him in disgust. “Mooo—”

What kind of hellish joke was that?

Two sheets of paper money blew loose from the bamboo branch and fluttered down, sticking right onto their faces.

It was like each of them had been lightly slapped.

But it didn’t hurt at all.

It only made them remember the many things Zhang Peyue had said that day—her reminders to “look forward.”

They stayed there for quite a while before the pair—one human, one cow—carried the two sheets of paper money and made their way back home in the dark.

Shi Qian wasn’t sure if this counted as “looking forward.” Chen Niu still went to work; he still continued tutoring Shi Qian. But Shi Qian had lost all motivation to study, drifting off constantly, needing reminders to realize he was spacing out again.

Even when Shi Qian dragged him out to play, he had no interest.

To others like Lin Nanyin, Xu Guozi, and Xie Guoan, he seemed easy enough to call over and looked normal at first glance. But those who truly cared about him could tell something was wrong.

While Lin Nanyin and the others were trying to figure out what to do, Shi Qian secretly stole a stack of discarded letter paper from Chen Niu.

—It was from the time Chen Niu wrote a letter after reading the newspaper about the hybrid rice bumper harvest. He had been so nervous that he wrote several crooked characters, creating two sheets of messy drafts.

With her sharp eyes, Lin Nanyin was the first to notice the letter paper.

A few days later, the postman rode his bicycle into Shengli Village and arrived at the Chen household.

“You must be Chen Niu, right? The ‘niu’ as in ‘cow’? You’ve got a letter!”