Chapter 79: The Weight of Grief

The Old Master’s funeral was scheduled for the following day. Old Han and I both rose early, agreeing to meet.

At the entrance of the large hospital, Old Han stood cloaked in her gray-white trench coat, her hood drawn, her face devoid of expression.

After the basketball game concluded yesterday, Old Han had remained silent. In fact, it was Old Han who had carried the Old Master home. We moved with a silent understanding.

Her figure was somewhat slight, yet she insisted on carrying the Old Master back to the hospital, leading the way. I could do little to dissuade her, and no words came to mind, so I simply followed behind her.

The setting sun stretched her shadow long before her as she walked, bearing the Old Master. Each step she took, silhouetted against the final rays of dusk, seemed desolate.

A tall, slender, and solitary shadow danced on the ground.

The hospital staff had offered no further comments, only stating they could temporarily store the Old Master in the morgue until the funeral home was contacted and arrangements made. The doctor advised us to make preparations, contact a funeral company, and return the next day to bid the Old Master farewell.

I followed Old Han upstairs.

She walked ahead, hands tucked into her pockets, head bowed, utterly silent.

Upon reaching the third floor, Old Han still said nothing. She walked directly to the Old Master’s hospital bed and began gathering his belongings.

To call it ‘gathering’ was generous; there were hardly any small trinkets. Just the bag of tea I had brought, the electric kettle I had given him, his teacup, and a delicate little photo frame.

Old Han picked up the electric kettle, held it up for a moment, and then turned to me. “Is this yours?” she asked.

I nodded.

Without a word, Old Han handed me the kettle. “Take what’s yours,” she murmured softly.

I accepted the electric kettle, watching as Old Han meticulously tidied the Old Master’s bed. Her movements were exceptionally careful, as if he were still there, and she feared waking him.

Once the bed was neatly made, she picked up the teacup from the bedside table, along with the tea leaves.

Her movements suddenly paused. She placed the teacup back in its original spot.

After a long while, she gently picked up a photo frame from the table.

Within the frame, presumably in a maple forest, the Old Master was captured bending over, his hair still dark, a joyous smile on his face.

A silent little boy stood beside the Old Master, clutching a basketball, gazing defiantly at the camera.

After a moment, Old Han spoke softly. “Lu Ren.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you think lung cancer hurts?”

“I don’t know. It probably does.”

Silence descended upon us once more.

“Last week, when I came to visit Grandpa, I saw a man in the hallway constantly screaming in pain…” Old Han glanced at the photo frame one last time before tucking it into her pocket. She managed a small smile, her voice hushed.

“The nurse at the time was incredibly impatient. She yelled at him, ‘I told you it’s early stage! You’ll be in chemo soon. A few rounds, and your condition will be controlled. Just smoke less from now on, alright?'”

“But the man just kept wailing, saying, ‘No, I can’t take it, I’m in pain, my chest hurts, give me anesthetic quickly, I’m going to die!'”

“That’s when I suddenly thought of my grandpa. If he couldn’t bear it in the early stages, it must have been excruciating in the late stages.”

I had no idea how to respond to this, so I simply stood there, silent.

Old Han smiled. She turned, tidying the last items on the table: a water glass and a bag of tea leaves.

With her back to me, she held the water glass and put the tea leaves into her pocket. Then, she tilted her head back and softly asked, “Yesterday, when did you two arrive?”

I replied gently, “Roughly when your game started, I think.”

Her voice remained calm, yet a tremor entered it. She asked, “Did my grandpa… did he watch my game to the end?”

“He watched it all,” I said softly.

Old Han’s shoulders began to heave. Still facing away from me, she struggled to suppress a sob. “Did he see that breakthrough I made?”

“He did,” I confirmed.

“And the layup?”

“He saw it.”

“The reverse layup too, did he see that?”

“He saw everything,” I told her.

Old Han’s back was still to me, but the heaving of her shoulders grew more pronounced, and her body began to tremble.

“Then… what did he say?”

The Old Master had actually said nothing at all. He had sat on the bench, the sunlight glaring brightly on the basketball court.

To this day, I wasn’t entirely certain if the last sound I heard from the Old Master was merely a hallucination.

And when the Old Master passed, did he truly know that the girl on the court, wearing a hooded cap, was his grandson?

Old Han still awaited my answer. I recalled the time I had pushed the Old Master to the park, and we watched a group of middle schoolers play. At that time, the Old Master had told me that Xiao Feng used to be incredibly good at basketball, like a gust of wind.

So I told her, “He said you were amazing at basketball when you were little, like a gust of wind. The girls watching you play would scream from the sidelines.”

“And what else?”

I paused for a moment. Then I said:

“He said you were his proud grandson.”

Old Han, still with her back to me, tilted her head back and nodded with understanding.

Suddenly, she snatched the teacup from the table, abruptly pushed past me, and bolted towards the door.

I stood rooted for a moment before giving chase.

Today was also a clear day, just like yesterday, with fragmented sunlight filtering through the gaps in the leaves.

A gust of wind swept through, startling the cicadas in the trees, and their chirping suddenly erupted.

In the hospital courtyard.

Old Han covered her face, her body trembling uncontrollably as she crouched on the ground, making no sound.

I slowly walked up behind Old Han.

Old Han heard the footsteps approaching her and, still whimpering, softly said, “Lu Ren.”

“Hmm.”

Old Han, still crouching, lifted her head to look at me.

My heart felt as if something had seized it.

Old Han was a very strong person. I had known her since elementary school, but only truly became familiar with her in middle school.

Even as a child, she was resilient. The Old Master would occasionally take us out to play, though it invariably turned into watching Old Han play basketball.

Yet, even when she fell on the court, she would simply get back up and flash a smile at me.

Her beautiful eyes were red and swollen from crying, tears streaming down her face. She sniffled hard, her shoulders heaving.

I remained silent.

Fragmented sunlight fell upon her.

Her eyes were glistening, and she was already sobbing uncontrollably, tears sliding from her cheeks to her chin, dripping onto the ground.

She was like a small, wounded animal, just discovered in a forest.

I looked down at her.

“Lu Ren… my grandpa is dead…”

She burst into a loud cry, crouching, appearing utterly helpless, curled into a tiny ball. “My grandpa… my grandpa… is dead!”

I crouched beside her, gently patting her shoulder.

Old Han collapsed into my arms, sobbing, trembling, shaking uncontrollably. I felt her tears instantly soak my chest as she choked out, “Lu Ren, Lu Ren…”

“I’m here,” I said, patting her back.

She clutched the fabric of my shirt over my chest.

Her cries began suppressed, then erupted into a full, wrenching wail.

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