Page 315

"You little brat, do you think I don't know you?" Zhang Erhe snorted. "You don't come here unless you need something. So, what's up?"

Zhang Jue paused for a moment, then obediently took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it for Zhang Erhe.

Zhang Erhe took a sip and slowly exhaled a smoke ring: "Tell me, as long as the sky doesn't fall, your dad will take care of everything for you."

“Dad…” Zhang Jue gritted his teeth, “I told you, you have to hold on.”

"Go ahead."

"My fourth uncle... is dying."

Zhang Erhe's hand holding the cigarette paused almost imperceptibly, then he took another drag: "Ma Qianli?"

"……Correct."

Zhang Erhe was silent for a few seconds, his voice devoid of emotion: "People will all pass away when they reach a certain age. I'm prepared for that."

Seeing his father's calm expression, Zhang Jue finally breathed a sigh of relief: "Dad, shall I take you to see him?"

"Okay." Zhang Erhe blew another smoke ring. "Go in and tell your mother."

Zhang Jue responded and turned to walk into the house. Just as he stepped inside, he heard a muffled thud behind him. He whirled around—

Zhang Erhe had already collapsed to the ground.

"dad!"

After Zhang Erhe was taken to the hospital, the doctor sternly advised Zhang Jue, "Director Zhang, Mr. Zhang's health really can't take any more strain. We must help him calm down and slow down..."

Before he could finish speaking, the ward erupted in commotion—Zhang Erhe absolutely refused to lie down.

Zhang Jue hurried inside: "Dad, your health..."

“Take me to see your fourth uncle.”

"dad--"

“I told you, take me to see your fourth uncle.”

Unable to persuade him, Zhang Jue turned to Guan Xue for help. Guan Xue, seeing her husband's stubbornness, knew the bond between Zhang Erhe and his brothers, and patted Zhang Jue on the shoulder: "Goudan, let your dad go. He won't rest in peace until he sees your fourth uncle one last time."

With no other option, Zhang Jue had to put an IV drip on Zhang Erhe, push his wheelchair, and take him to the special care ward.

In the ward, Ma Qianli, who had been in a coma for several days, seemed to sense something and groggily opened his eyes. Wu Fa, who was leaning against the headboard, was startled by the sound of the medical equipment. He looked up and met Ma Qianli's slowly turning gaze.

When Zhang Erhe was pushed in, Ma Qianli had already been gently helped up by Wu Fa.

Eyes facing each other.

"Second Brother..." Ma Qianli forced a smile, "Why are you looking like this?"

Zhang Erhe laughed too: "Fourth brother, you talk like you're some kind of hero. Pull out that tube before you talk to me."

Ma Qianli chuckled self-deprecatingly, "I'm afraid I'll never be able to pull it out in this lifetime."

He took a breath and suddenly started rambling on about the past. Zhang Erhe didn't interrupt, only occasionally humming in agreement.

After a while, Ma Qianli started breathing heavily again, his voice growing softer and softer: "Second Brother... I have to go."

"Where are you going?"

"Go find Qiqige...go find the boss..."

"Nonsense!" Zhang Erhe glared. "You'll definitely live. There's an old saying, 'A scourge lasts a thousand years'—a scourge like you, won't you live for nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine years?"

Ma Qianli smiled weakly: "Then you're wrong, Second Brother. A thousand-year-old tortoise and a ten-thousand-year-old turtle—I reckon you can definitely survive ten thousand years."

"Good lad, you're indirectly insulting your second brother." Zhang Erhe chuckled. "Then I'll take your good wishes. May your second brother live for ten thousand years, and he'll flatten your grave by then!"

Ma Qianli laughed along, but then suddenly frowned, as if something was wrong: "Second Brother... I heard that Third Brother is not doing well either. After I leave, please go and see him for me."

"Sure! But it's best if you go see for yourself."

"Second Brother, I know my own body." Ma Qianli's voice softened. "If I die, don't be sad. You have to live for me for a while longer... help me with the funeral arrangements, bury me in the same grave you buried me in back then, with Qiqige by my side."

"Hmph, you faked your death to fool me back then, are you trying to fool me again this time?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes..." Ma Qianli mumbled in response, his voice growing weaker and weaker. Finally, he lowered his head, as if he had fallen asleep.

Zhang Erhe panicked. With an IV drip still attached to one hand, he leaned forward with all his might, and the needle pierced his skin: "Fourth Brother! Fourth Brother!"

Several people quickly squeezed in through the doorway. Zhang Jue immediately leaned over, touched Ma Qianli's nose with his nose, and then shook his head: "Dad... Fourth Uncle is gone."

Zhang Erhe didn't faint this time. He forced himself to stay awake, letting the nurse clean the blood off his hands, without saying a word.

Zhang Erhe handled all of Ma Qianli's funeral arrangements from beginning to end. After burying him and filling the grave with the last shovelful of earth, Zhang Jue wanted to take Zhang Erhe back to the hospital. But Zhang Erhe refused, saying, "I want to go see your third uncle."

"Dad, your health—"

"I told you, I'm going to see Wu Qian."

No matter what he said, the boy wouldn't listen, so Zhang Jue had no choice but to send him to Wu Qian's house.

P.S.: This is for my new book, "The Courtyard House," and I'm the Ancestor. I'm asking for some attention because my traffic is so low!

Chapter 573 Farewell 2

In Wu Qian's small courtyard stood a pomegranate tree, its leaves mostly fallen, leaving only a few wrinkled pomegranates hanging from its bare branches. Wu Qian sat on a wicker chair under the eaves, covered with a thick blanket, and his cloudy eyes brightened when he saw Zhang Erhe being wheeled in.

"Second Brother, what brings you here?" He tried to stand up, but Zhang Erhe waved his hand and pressed him down.

"Lie down, don't move." Zhang Erhe's voice was still a little hoarse. "Old Fourth is gone, I came to tell you."

Wu Qian fell silent, his hand slowly moving to the armrest of the rattan chair, where several shallow marks were etched—marks from Ma Qianli's younger days. He had seen people making money by trading antiques, so after receiving his first share of the profits, he bought this recliner. The seller claimed it was top-quality Hainan rosewood, but later, after having it examined, it was indeed rosewood, but not from Hainan; it was from Vietnam, and not from a single piece—it was pieced together from several other pieces! In short, he not only failed to find a bargain, but he was also fooled!

He initially kept this a secret from his three brothers. Later, when the family was really struggling to make ends meet, he borrowed some money from Zhang Erhe. Zhang Erhe didn't say anything, but somehow Ma Qianli found out and made fun of him for two years. Ma Qianli also carved words on the recliner, saying he would carve it in stone as evidence!

"It's good that he's gone..." After a long while, Wu Qian finally spoke, his voice as soft as a sigh, "It saves him from suffering. He told me that he just wanted to get a good night's sleep."

Zhang Erhe remained silent, gazing at the herbs drying under the eaves. Wu Qian had been tinkering with them for the past two years, claiming they could calm the nerves. He used to laugh at Wu Qian's fussing around, but now, looking at them, he felt a strange emptiness in his heart.

“He also said,” Zhang Erhe paused, as if recalling Ma Qianli’s voice, “that I should live a few more years in his place, so I can see you!”

Wu Qian laughed and coughed twice: "That's just how he is, always trying to arrange everything. Well, Second Brother, you... you'd better live well, so he doesn't keep nagging you over there."

"Don't worry." Zhang Erhe picked up the thermos next to him and poured Wu Qian a glass of warm water. "I still have to keep an eye on you, old man, so you don't end up like him, leaving whenever you want."

Wu Qian took the water glass, his hands trembling violently, spilling some water on the blanket: "Me? I'll be done soon. This body of mine can't hold on much longer."

"Nonsense!" Zhang Erhe glared at him. "Back then, you were stabbed by that guy, and the doctor said you were beyond saving. But what happened? Not only did you survive, you even chased the guy who stabbed you out of Beijing! What's this little ailment compared to that?"

Wu Qian looked at him and suddenly sighed, "Second Brother, we're all getting old. Back then we could be so powerful, but now we can't even hold a cup of water." He pointed to the pomegranate tree in the yard, "Look at that tree, it blooms in spring, bears fruit in autumn, and in winter, it sheds its leaves as it should. That's the rule."

Zhang Erhe didn't reply, he just stared at the tree. Yes, it's all according to the rules. But when the leaves actually fall, he still feels reluctant to let them go.

"You must have worried a lot about the fourth brother's funeral arrangements, right?" Wu Qian suddenly asked.

“Of course,” Zhang Erhe said. “He told me he wanted to be buried next to Qiqige, and I took care of it.”

"That's good..." Wu Qian nodded, closed his eyes as if he was tired, "When I'm gone, bury me there too. When we get there, the few of us can get together again, just like when we were young, drinking and bragging."

Zhang Erhe's eyes reddened, and he turned his head away: "Let's talk about it later. Let's get through this winter first."

The sun slowly set in the west, casting long shadows of the two people. A voice blared from a television in someone's home, singing, "At the ends of the earth, at the corners of the sea..."

The singing was faint, but Wu Qian heard it clearly and hummed along, "When will you return, my lord..."

Before leaving, Wu Qian asked his son to take out a small wooden box and hand it to Zhang Erhe: "Inside is the inkstone that we pooled our money to buy for you back then. You were doing well in school, and we were counting on you to make us rich and successful. But we never expected you to end up with us in the black market!"

Zhang Erhe took the box; it was heavy. Upon opening it, he saw the two characters "奋进" (meaning "strive forward") engraved on the inkstone, the strokes worn faintly.

"I'm leaving." He tucked the box into his coat, his voice trembling slightly.

"Second Brother," Wu Qian called out from behind, "live well."

Zhang Erhe didn't turn around, he just waved his hand. As the wheelchair was pushed out of the courtyard gate, he heard Wu Qian coughing behind him, one cough after another, like a dull knife cutting into his heart.

Zhang Jue couldn't help but say, "Dad, Uncle San..."

“I know,” Zhang Erhe interrupted him, looking at the dusty walls in the alley. “I know everything.”

Some farewells don't need goodbye. Just like the wind in this old alley, it comes and goes, taking away fallen leaves and time, but it can't take away the friendships etched in our bones.

Three days after Wu Qian left, Zhang Erhe already had a premonition.

That night, he sat in the courtyard when he suddenly saw a shooting star streak across the sky from the south and fall silently. He slowly opened his eyes and called out, "Guan Xue."

Guan Xue came out of the house: "What's wrong?"

Wu Qian is gone.

Guan Xue was startled: "Who told you that?"

Zhang Erhe slowly stood up, leaning on his cane, and looked towards the southern night sky: "The wind told me, the swallows told me. The wind of Beijing, the swallows flying south... they all told me."

Guan Xue was stunned for a long time: "Erhe...aren't you sad?"

Zhang Erhe didn't turn around, but simply said, "When I saw him that day, I already had a premonition."

He slowly walked back into the house. That night, Guan Xue noticed that he hadn't slept at all. He would sit up from time to time, touching the old inkstone by the bedside without saying a word, touching it again and again.

From then on, Zhang Erhe's body was completely out of control. He spent more and more time in a coma and less and less time awake.

In April 2022, in a hospital ward, Zhang Erhe suddenly opened his eyes.

Today, it was Zhang Jiao's turn to stand beside him. Guan Xue was three years older than Zhang Erhe, and although she was in good health, Zhang Jue and Zhang Jiao were always worried about letting her keep watch at night. Zhang Jiao was dozing off by the bed when she suddenly felt someone gently stroking the top of her head.

She woke up with a start: "Dad! You're awake?"

"Yes, Jiaojiao."

"Dad, are you feeling better?"

“I’m much better, Jiaojiao…” Zhang Erhe said softly, “Let’s go home.”

Seeing her father's unusual demeanor, Zhang Jiao felt a pang of anxiety and forced herself not to cry: "Dad, let the doctor examine him first."

She ran outside to call a doctor, then called Zhang Jue, her voice trembling with tears: "Gou Dan... Dad's not doing well, he just stood up... it's a final burst of energy before death..."

"Sister, don't cry. Let the doctor examine you. I'll be right there!"

When Zhang Jue arrived at the hospital, the doctor shook his head after reviewing the test results.

"Doctor, is my dad really dying?" Zhang Jue's voice was strained.

The doctor nodded: "Old Zhang's health has reached its limit. If he's willing to work on a ventilator, he might still—"