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墨書 Inktalez
When Gu Yan stepped onto the bluestone slabs in front of the old house, it felt as if he had crossed into another world, a wave of familiarity washing over him. The old house was not much different from his memories; even the grapevines in the courtyard were still entwined around the trellis, only now they were more lush after years of growth. One could imagine that during summer, this shaded little courtyard would be laden with heavy grapes.
Since his grandfather's passing, the family had hired someone to come and clean regularly, and since Gu Yan had informed them in advance that he would be staying for a few days, the house was quite clean despite its age.
Gu Yan made his way to a small hill behind the house, where two graves stood side by side. There was originally his grandmother's tombstone; after his grandfather passed away, his father had fulfilled his wishes by burying him beside her. Beneath the yellow earth lay these two beloved elders, and Gu Yan felt a sense of closeness, accompanied by a surge of sorrow.
He personally placed two bouquets of flowers beside the stone grave before leaving.
While Gu Yan was on his journey to the old house, Dr. Li had not been idle. He had investigated his father's recent whereabouts and correspondence as previously discussed. The results showed that before Gu Yan's return, his father had made an unusual trip to a remote fishing village in the East for no apparent reason, but what he did there remained unknown.
As a father, coming to such a poor and remote place clearly could not have been a whim, especially at such a coincidental time. Coupled with his father's change in attitude towards him and his attempts to induce memories, Gu Yan could almost conclude that his father must have discovered something in that fishing village.
Gu Yan rubbed his forehead and looked at the sky; it was getting late. He decided to stay here for the night and would address any matters tomorrow.
He first wandered around the old house and found no cobwebs even in the secluded corners, indicating that the cleaning had indeed been done well. It wasn't until he felt somewhat tired from wandering that he arrived at his grandfather's study, intending to look for an interesting book to read before bed.
The bookshelf next to the rattan chair appeared somewhat rough in craftsmanship; Gu Yan remembered that it seemed to have been made by his grandfather for his grandmother while she was still alive. Both elders were fond of poetry and romance, with countless miscellaneous books and essays needing to be stored. His grandfather had learned some carpentry skills out of boredom and made a bookshelf himself, which surprisingly turned out to be exceptionally sturdy and had lasted until now—likely older than Gu Yan himself.
Gu Yan extended his index finger along the spines of the books, ranging from Western drama to literary writing, but suddenly his movement halted.
He paused when he found an extremely old poetry collection; the pages on both sides were slightly puffed up, exceeding the width of the spine—evidence that it had been frequently perused by his grandfather during his lifetime. He pressed his finger against the top and gently pulled it out.
At that moment, as he lifted the poetry collection, something seemed to fall from between its opened pages with a soft thud onto the dust-free floor.
What is this...
Gu Yan crouched down to take a closer look. The item that had fallen on the floor was a letter sealed with wax; its edges were slightly oxidized and yellowed, indicating it had some age. In the lower right corner of the letter was a familiar handwriting style.
It read: "To Gu Yan."
This was a letter left by his grandfather.
Gu Yan's expression grew serious as he calmly stood up and walked over to the desk to find an exacto knife. He carefully cut along the edge of the envelope.
He took out the paper from inside and unfolded it; the words came into view.
My grandson, by the time you read this letter, I will likely no longer be around. After all these years, my life has not been in vain; in the end, I will become a pile of bones and a handful of earth, completely devoid of sensation. Therefore, I have nothing to worry about. I believe you all understand and will handle my affairs properly; I have always trusted your father to take care of things.
However, upon reflection, I realize that I am not entirely free of worries. There is an old saying that grandchildren have their own fortunes, but which elder can truly let go?
I am writing this letter to you instead of your father because I know you are different from him. In you, I see the young version of myself—impulsive, full of energy, and unaware of the world's vastness. It is surprising that these traits buried deep within my soul were not inherited by your father but instead passed on to you.
I know that under your father's strict guidance, you have felt too constrained. I remember when you were not yet ten years old, being forced to learn societal niceties before you even reached the height of a stirrup for riding lessons.
I have never supported such things; I want to share my youthful experiences with you, like when I skipped school to climb trees and stubbornly shook all the snow off the branches—just as mischievous.
I hope you can learn some youthful vigor, which is what you lack, rather than becoming as rigid and pragmatic as your father. However, upon further thought, your life is something you must experience for yourself; no amount of advice may be as useful as stepping out into the world on your own. Ultimately, if no one can open this door for you, you might have to continue down this current path. This is not what I wish to see; I only hope you can venture into the outside world and perhaps rediscover some aspirations. A young person like you cannot afford to be so lifeless.
That is why I invited you to accompany me on this journey. I hope you can step out of that cage and see the world.
Looking back now, it seems that I indeed did something good.
I do not know what exactly happened that day. The afternoon before we boarded the ship, I saw you still in your usual state of gloom. But just the next morning, it was as if you had transformed into a different person. Although you still ate, drank, walked as before, and called me grandfather just like always, I noticed a spark in your eyes—a stark contrast to those gray, indifferent eyes from before.
That look was familiar; I recognized it immediately—it reminded me of your grandmother's gaze. At that moment, I knew my grandson was different now.
This is wonderful; watching you become lively and spirited again, seeing you start to rebel against constraints and pursue what you desire feels like a second chance at life for me.
Sometimes encounters can become cherished memories for a lifetime—casual at first but ultimately profound.
This journey turned out well; the original version of you was like a puppet on strings—just a body without a soul—but now that you've disembarked from the ship, you're capable of making your own decisions. This marks a form of growth. I feel fortunate; although I did not spend much time with you, I witnessed an important stage in your development.
...
I do not know when you will discover this letter. If you do see it, I hope you'll remember what I've said.
It is not difficult for young people to fall in love; the greatest challenge lies in maintaining that relationship over time. Your grandmother and I appeared affectionate and loving but had our share of arguments when we were young; yet we ultimately persevered together.
What I want to say is this: my child, if you find someone who brings light to your eyes, hold onto their hand tightly. No matter how many storms may come your way, do not let go—at least do not wait until you're my age and lying in bed unable to move before regretting it.
You carry my blood; learn from your grandfather and take some risks. Being a bit reckless isn't bad; even if mistakes happen, it's part of being young. As long as you're true to yourself and live without regrets towards time and existence itself, that's all that matters.
As I have told you before, my child, you must endure loneliness.
For some paths are destined to be walked alone.
Grandfather
After reading the letter, Gu Yan remained silent for a long time. His hand trembled slightly as he folded the letter and placed it back into the original envelope, storing it away with care.
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