Chapter 79: Old Master Qian’s Hidden Worries

Apart from the residential houses that have preserved two or three centuries of history, the town also boasts several centuries-old trees. Among them, the oldest is a yellow horn tree said to be over fifteen hundred years old, and the pier of the old street sits beneath its boughs.

Xiao Wu led Chen Xin along the riverside old street for more than ten minutes, then through a narrow stone staircase descending between two wooden buildings. They finally stopped in front of a row of old houses by the water’s edge.

“The old man here is surnamed Qian—just call him Grandpa Qian. He’s not a local; years ago, he ended up here as a refugee, married Granny Qian, and settled down. People say his original surname wasn’t Qian, but he took his wife’s name after they married. Grandpa Qian has quite a temper. When we go in, listen more and speak less. See what kind of mood he’s in before bringing up the past.”

Of all the townsfolk, Grandpa Qian lived the hardest life. He was solitary and irritable, having lived alone for nearly thirty years, making a living from fishing. Though he’d lived in the town for fifty or sixty years, he’d never visited anyone else’s home. In the days when Granny Qian was alive, he’d been somewhat better, but after her illness and passing, he shut his door to the world, refusing both to step outside and to accept help.

Yet despite living alone, Grandpa Qian was still in good health.

This wooden building was no better than the last place they’d visited, Old Li’s home. There was no private bathroom; several families along the riverside shared a single toilet.

“The town has already allocated funds to build a new public restroom up ahead—right there where it’s fenced off,” Xiao Wu pointed out. “The ground here is very low, so there’s no way to deal with sewage. The toilets have to be cleaned out every two months, otherwise no one could bear to live here.”

As he spoke, Grandpa Qian came to open the door but didn’t invite them in. He simply stood at the threshold and asked Xiao Wu what brought them.

“This is Xiao Chen—she wants to do a report on elderly care and was hoping you’d agree to an interview.”

Grandpa Qian was small and thin, his old face deeply wrinkled, his skin darkened by sun and wind, marked with age spots, making him appear stern and aloof.

He gazed silently at Xiao Wu and Chen Xin for a while, then suddenly asked, “How many people will see this report of yours?”

Chen Xin paused, immediately sensing what mattered to him, and said, “It’ll be reported first in the city, but our organization has a provincial-level assignment about elderly care. If the story goes well, it’ll be submitted at the provincial level.”

She noticed Grandpa Qian’s brow furrowed, as if he wasn’t satisfied.

“If you’d rather not be part of an official report, we can submit it online. Many newspapers now have digital versions, and more and more people are online—the impact would be much broader than just the province.”

That seemed to convince him. After a muttered reply, he opened the door and let them in.

To their surprise, Grandpa Qian’s home was exceptionally tidy, nothing like the clutter one might expect in the home of an elderly man living alone. If not for the poor natural light, it could almost be described as bright and spotless.

It was the first time Xiao Wu had ever been allowed inside; in the past, Grandpa Qian would only exchange a few words at the door, even refusing to let officials carrying gifts step inside, making them sit outside instead.

The house was small, two rooms, with a little living room-cum-dining area of barely five square meters. The riverside room had its door open; an old wooden bed stood by the window, with a neatly folded quilt atop it. Against the wall at the foot of the bed was an old-fashioned desk, empty except for a wooden photo frame popular two decades ago, holding what seemed to be a family portrait.

The other room’s door was closed. Chen Xin, not prying, simply followed Xiao Wu and sat on a wooden stool.

“Is that Granny Qian?” she asked, noticing a photograph on the wall ahead—a woman in her forties or fifties with short hair, smiling radiantly.

“That’s the last photo my wife left before she passed,” Grandpa Qian said, sitting down beside the photograph.

His gaze upon it was calm, with the quiet satisfaction any ordinary person might show—none of the deep, romantic longing described in novels.

“If you have questions, go ahead and ask.” Grandpa Qian was straightforward; since he’d agreed, he would cooperate, for better or worse.

“There aren’t any special questions, just wanting to know what difficulties you face living alone, how you solve them, and what sort of support you hope the government might provide.”

These were routine questions; that was all her organization needed—any memoirs or tales of hardship were usually spliced together by editors after a simple account from the interviewee. Of course, there had to be a factual basis, no pure invention. Still, the editors’ writing was always more stirring and emotional than any firsthand account.

Chen Xin was well prepared. She turned on her recorder, signaled to Grandpa Qian, and began gathering information in a conversational way.

As the interview went on, Xiao Wu, listening beside them, was dumbfounded. He’d worked in the town for nearly three years and thought he knew every elderly resident intimately—yet this was the first he’d heard that Grandpa Qian had a child!

“Grandpa Qian, why didn’t you ever mention it? Do you know where your son is now?”

According to Grandpa Qian, thirty-five years ago, his son was twenty when, after a fierce argument over his mother’s illness, he left home and never returned.

Grandpa Qian avoided talking about the reason for the quarrel, but it was clear he was deeply wounded. This time, he asked if they could help find his son, so the boy could come home and pay respects at his mother’s grave.

“I’m already over eighty now, and I don’t have many years left. The boy doesn’t have to look after me, but I just hope he can come home, burn some incense for his mother at New Year and other holidays.”

Grandpa Qian looked up at the photograph, and at last, a touch of tenderness softened his features.

“Lanlan suffered all her life. I failed her. I hope in her next life she meets a good man and lives a happy life.”

His wish was simple, yet it pressed heavily on the heart.

Chen Xin jotted down a few notes in her notebook, then asked Grandpa Qian for more details about his son, intending to help him find the boy if she could.

After they left Grandpa Qian’s house, Xiao Wu fell into uncharacteristic silence.

“I always thought I was doing right by my job, but today I realize I’ve only scratched the surface,” he said, sniffing and turning to Chen Xin. “Comrade Xiao Chen, thank you for teaching me something today. I’ll keep working hard.”

“Huh?” Chen Xin, still thinking about how to help Grandpa Qian, was taken aback. She had no idea what she’d done to move Xiao Wu so deeply.