After the Qingming Festival passed, it had been over a month since Eldest Brother left.

The family hadn’t gathered for over a month either.

As for the children, those who should go to university in other cities went to university, those who should attend middle school attended middle school. The three youngest were each taken back to their respective homes—after-school programs were arranged for those needing them, nannies were hired for those requiring them.

After the first seven days, Sun Youping reopened the clinic and resumed seeing patients as usual. The first day was lively—not with people coming to see a doctor, but neighbors from the streets coming to sit for a while. This one brought something they’d made by hand, that one brought something they’d steamed themselves. None spoke words of comfort, just asked a few routine pleasantries and left.

One neighbor stood with him on the street corner, chatting endlessly about the sprouting Chinese parasol trees. Said the parasol trees weren’t as good as phoenix trees—phoenix trees grew perfectly straight, not only producing beautiful strings of purple flowers, but also having leaves large enough to provide substantial shade in summer.

Sun Youping stood with his hands behind his back, looking up at the parasol trees. After a long silence, he agreed, “Phoenix trees are good. Phoenix tree trunks grow straight enough that when cut down, they can be sold for money.”

Uncle also came to sit every day. Sometimes he talked, sometimes he didn’t. Most of the time he either drank tea or took a nap, then rode his bicycle back home. In the old man’s words, once you retire, all that’s left is waiting at home for the King of Hell’s invitation. Also in his words, some children are alive in this world, but already dead in their parents’ hearts. His eldest son had rebelled and left home in his youth, with no news for ten or twenty years.

Mother Sun was completely at leisure now. Every day she only cooked three meals for the two of them. If someone called, she’d go play mahjong for a bit. If no one called, she’d sit on the sofa watching TV dramas, often falling asleep while watching. The sun shone on her for one whole day, then another whole day.

Sun Jingfei had long since moved to the new house, which was close to Ke Yu’s school. Ke Yu had previously boarded at school, but after the move became a day student. Sun Jingfei managed his daily life on one hand, while wrangling with Ke Yong over the divorce on the other. His side had a very firm attitude, insisting on custody of Ke Yu. Sun Jingfei had no time to deal with it, because the family hadn’t recovered from Eldest Brother’s situation and didn’t want any more complications.

Second Brother was busy. These past two years, the restaurant business wasn’t as good as before. Either inviting internet celebrities to check in, or thinking of ways to get on recommendation or review lists—in short, all requiring various forms of hype to increase visibility. Honest, straightforward business was no longer fashionable.

Sun Jingcheng had come to the clinic a few times, but only stood at the entrance for a bit, chatted a few words with Uncle if they ran into each other, then left. He never went upstairs.

The three siblings had an unusual agreement—none had suggested in the group chat that they return to the clinic to gather. In other words, Eldest Brother had left, but his voice and smile remained upstairs at the clinic. No one had the courage to go up.

Until that day, when Second Brother drove past the clinic and saw Sun Youping standing at the entrance stretching his limbs, Mother Sun holding a broom sweeping the road in front of the door. He sat in his car for a long time, then sent a message in the siblings’ group chat, suggesting they go out for dinner that evening.

When Sun Jingcheng received the message, he breathed a sigh of relief. If Second Brother hadn’t suggested it, he was planning to. They couldn’t just abandon their parents there while they each escaped back to their own families, could they?

That evening the three siblings found a deserted place and talked heavily and intermittently for three or four hours, then hugged each other tightly before going their separate ways home.

When Sun Jingcheng reached the new district, it was already past midnight. Zhou Yu was long asleep. He felt vaguely excited and didn’t undress or shower, instead pressing his whole body on hers and rambling on about how they’d gather at the clinic for a meal on Saturday.

“Sounds good.” Zhou Yu responded. She felt they should have gone back long ago. But because everyone’s state wasn’t good, going back would just add to each other’s distress, so she hadn’t said anything, giving them time to work it out themselves.

“Did you drink?” Zhou Yu asked him.

“Had one glass.”

“Go wash up. You still have to work tomorrow.” Zhou Yu touched his face.

Sun Jingcheng rubbed half his face in her palm and went to the bathroom to wash up.

After washing, he couldn’t sleep. He rarely drank alcohol normally—whenever he did, he got excited. But tonight’s situation was special. Without drinking a bit, some words couldn’t be spoken. It seemed the older you got, the more affected you became. Some things that didn’t seem like much when young became unspeakable now. The siblings had talked about many things, with topics constantly circling around Eldest Brother, around their aging parents. They thought the four siblings would squabble and fight until they lived to a ripe old age—never imagining Eldest Brother would bid permanent farewell at forty-four in such a dramatic way.

Zhou Yu couldn’t sleep, disturbed by his tossing and turning. She told him, “If you keep flipping, get another blanket.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Sun Jingcheng turned on the light and got another blanket.

Zhou Yu found the light irritating and told him to go sleep in the guest bedroom.

Sun Jingcheng wouldn’t go, wrapping himself up tightly and lying down properly. Zhou Yu couldn’t be bothered with him and wrapped herself up to continue cultivating sleepiness. After a while, Sun Jingcheng gently turned over and patted her back lightly. “Next time I come back too late, I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom.”

Zhou Yu had sleep issues—the slightest disturbance kept her awake. When they were newlyweds, they’d been in a semi-separate bedroom state. In any given week, there were always two or three days when they slept separately.

Zhou Yu nestled closer into his embrace. Sun Jingcheng lifted the blanket and held her, saying reassuringly, “Sleep.”

“Can’t sleep.” Zhou Yu found his lips and kissed him, getting straight to the point.

Sun Jingcheng kissed her back, turned to press down on her, fumbled for protection from the drawer, and threw himself fully into it.

The two had crossed physical boundaries half a month ago. It was a weekend when they went mountain climbing. Blame it on that day’s sunset being too beautiful—they couldn’t help kissing, and afterward Sun Jingcheng carried her back to the tent.

Afterward, the two reached an unspoken understanding and tacitly stopped mentioning divorce. They didn’t have a heart-to-heart talk either. At this age, having gradually understood life thoroughly, some things no longer needed to be discussed or clarified like young lovers would.

Life in all its vast complexity, in all its inexplicable confusion, couldn’t be explained in a few words. Fighting is fighting, being good is being good—there aren’t so many whys, nor is there need to explain why. If one had to seek a reason for everything, relationships between people would be too exhausting.

Perhaps the highest and most admirable human spirituality is the capacity to feel. It draws people to people, nations to nations, and classes to classes through the purest emotions. When we see children orphaned and displaced by war, our first reaction is to feel sad without asking why. No one would calmly first understand the causes of war, then curse these children: “You deserve it!”

People are inexplicably born, inexplicably grow up, inexplicably fall in love, and inexplicably die. There’s no logic to it.

The greatest benefit of getting older—is talking less, no longer relentlessly asking so many questions about why. Being forced to learn acceptance, accepting life’s forces beyond our control, accepting existence’s impermanence.

After they finished thoroughly and satisfyingly, Sun Jingcheng lay on top of her panting, not getting up. Zhou Yu patted his back soothingly, saying nothing. She knew perfectly well how much pain he’d been in this past month.

Sun Jingcheng licked her neck like a cat, saying it was salty. Licking and licking, he wrapped his limbs around her, holding her tightly, making obviously sexual movements to provoke her. Zhou Yu kissed him, soothed him, and when his emotions calmed down, said softly, “I understand. I understand everything.”

Sun Jingcheng rested on her body for a while, then went to shower. When he returned, the two chatted and fell asleep. Before sleeping, Sun Jingcheng kept worrying about something. Not until he drifted hazily into dreams did he remember wanting to comfort Zhou Yu—when her father left, she must have been in great pain. Even though it was far too late, he still wanted to comfort her.

Thinking this, he entered his dreams. He saw that girl who always stood behind her mother, tall and fair, composed and graceful. Only her features were unclear. He could no longer remember what she looked like as a young girl—in fact, he had never looked at her carefully.

The next day, Zhou Yu was woken by her alarm clock. First she stretched her limbs in bed, then slowly sat up on the edge of the bed for ten seconds, then rushed to the bathroom to wash up. Meanwhile, the person who claimed to go jogging rain or shine remained buried under the blanket, complaining that her alarm was too loud.

Zhou Yu ignored him. Earlier he’d sworn he’d drive her to school in the morning.

Drive her, my ass!

She knew it would be like this, so a month ago she’d bought a new energy vehicle—very compact, so small she could maneuver it into any parking space with ease. The key point was it was cheap, just a few tens of thousands.

Sun Jingcheng looked down on it, saying it was a dung beetle shell. He said this, but whenever his car was restricted by license plate numbers, he’d shamelessly sit in it, brazenly asking her to drive him to the company.

When Sun Jingcheng woke again, he sat on the edge of the bed for two minutes, then changed clothes and went jogging. He ran back carrying a bag of breakfast, and while eating breakfast, found the family group chat and tagged Mother Sun, saying he’d come back for dinner on Saturday, and also listed the dishes he liked.

Mother Sun replied instantly with an OK hand gesture. She wasn’t very good with pinyin—often a single OK meant she’d received the message.

Mother Sun’s instant reply made Sun Jingcheng feel unbearably guilty. What Zhou Yu said last night was right—all the siblings were too cruel, cruelly leaving their parents in place while they all fled in panic.

Then in the group, Sun Jingfei listed dishes, Second Brother listed dishes, Second Sister-in-law listed dishes, and Zhou Yu also listed dishes. Eldest Brother’s avatar would never again reply: “Busy at the bureau, you all eat first.” Eldest Sister-in-law would also never again reply: “Anything’s fine. I’ll come help in the afternoon.”

After replying in the main group, they chatted privately in the siblings’ group. Sun Jingfei tagged Second Brother, asking how his discussion with Second Sister-in-law went. Last night Sun Jingfei had suggested letting Jiaxing and Jiarui continue to be cared for by Mom, since after all, this gave her something to do. Because besides caring for grandchildren, she didn’t know what else to do when idle.

When people don’t know what to do, that state is most draining. They overthink, they feel aimless and lost.

Second Brother only replied: “Let’s talk when we meet tonight.”

Sun Jingfei was impatient and asked him, “Is Second Sister-in-law unwilling?”

The children had all been present during Eldest Brother’s situation. Except for Sun Yuyan and Sun Jiarui, who didn’t quite understand the meaning of death, thirteen-year-old Sun Jiaxing probably understood it all. That night, Ke Yu happened to be at his grandfather’s house—otherwise she would have considered taking him for psychological counseling. If Second Sister-in-law didn’t agree, she could completely understand.

Second Brother still said the same thing—let’s talk when we meet tonight.

That evening, besides Sun Jiarui coming over, no other children came. Sun’s parents didn’t ask, but Second Sister-in-law explained that Jiaxing was old enough now, and to cultivate his independence, they’d arranged for him to board at school a few days ago.

Mother Sun quickly responded, “When children grow up, boarding school means less worry.”

“Mom, would you mind helping us take care of Jiarui for a few more years? We both get off work late, and the nanny at home doesn’t care for him as well as you do.” Second Brother said while looking at Sun Jiarui. “Jiarui, would you like to stay at Grandma’s?”

“Yes! Grandma’s cooking is delicious!” Sun Jiarui had been making a fuss at home for a long time, clamoring to come to Grandma’s. Said he wanted to play with his younger brother, wanted to play with his older brother.

Mother Sun quickly agreed, saying taking care of children wasn’t tiring at all.

Second Sister-in-law glanced sideways at Second Brother, who’d made the decision on his own, then looked at Mother Sun with an extra layer of white hair, but said nothing.

Sun Jiarui ate and ate until he lost his appetite. Forgetting his parents’ instructions, he said he missed Yuyan and Jiaxing, and also missed Big Brother Ke Yu. Sun Jingfei said, “I’ll have Big Brother Ke Yu come play with you tomorrow. Tonight his classmate asked him out.”

At the dining table, they chatted briefly. After the meal, Zhou Yu and Sun Jingfei collected and washed the dishes. Second Sister-in-law took a cloth to wipe the dining table. Mother Sun took several bags of food from the refrigerator for them to take home—all things the children loved to eat. She also packed two bags and told Sun Jingcheng and his sister to take them to Eldest Sister-in-law. And to check on how Yuyan was doing.

Sun Jiarui, too bored, went downstairs alone to lie on the clinic’s long bench and play. After playing for a while, he asked Sun Youping, “Grandpa, does dying mean you’re gone, never to be seen again?”

Sun Youping was startled, then nodded. “Yes, it means never to be seen again.”

Sun Jiarui was curious. “Then where did Uncle go after we couldn’t see him anymore?”

“To… to heaven, I suppose.”

Sun Jiarui didn’t understand, but he knew going to heaven definitely wasn’t a good thing—otherwise the adults wouldn’t be sad. He quickly asked, “Then will Mom and Dad die? Will Jiaxing and Yuyan die? Will you and Grandma both die?”

“We all will.” Sun Youping said slowly. “But that’s a very long time from now.”

“How long?”

“Probably… after we’re very old, after you grow up and get married.”

“Then if I don’t grow up and get married, won’t you all die?” Sun Jiarui countered.

“Probably.”

Sun Jiarui thought about it, then asked, “Then Grandpa, when I become an adult, when you’re as old as the village chief in Pleasant Goat—with white beard and white eyebrows… using a cane—you still won’t die, right?”

“Probably not.” Sun Youping said very patiently.

Sun Jiarui felt relieved. He could continue growing up. What he looked forward to most was becoming an adult. This was also what he thought was the most distant thing. At this moment he thought of a very grand and powerful idiom—”heaven and earth endure.” The teacher said it meant forever and ever.

He seemed to understand they wouldn’t be together forever and ever. When he became an adult, when Dad and Grandpa were old enough to become like the village chief, that’s probably when they would die, right? Thinking this, he slowly felt reassured. Growing up, getting old, dying—these were all very, very distant things from him.

To be honest, he wasn’t very sad about Uncle’s death, because he still had Mom and Dad, Grandpa and Grandma, his uncles and aunts, Jiaxing, Yuyan, Ke Yu… so many, many people with him. But he couldn’t say this, because it felt like saying it would earn him a beating. Before coming, Mom had repeatedly instructed him not to mention Uncle or Yuyan.

Suddenly he was very confused, feeling like Grandpa was deceiving him. For example, Grandpa said people die when they get old, but Uncle wasn’t old! Uncle was clearly younger than Grandpa! He racked his brains but couldn’t figure it out, but he knew he couldn’t ask, because Grandpa’s expression at this moment made him very sad. He seemed to understand these were words that would make adults sad—absolutely couldn’t ask.

Becoming an adult… becoming an adult… did that mean frequently being sad and upset? He pondered this with distress.

At this moment, playmates called him from outside the door. He dashed out like he’d sprouted wings, and his distress instantly vanished completely.