Seeing you yesterday, I suddenly understood that the destination of this journey wasn’t Grandpa, but being reunited with you. A lot of things will end here, but this is also a beginning. Our connection won’t be severed once Grandpa is gone. It will always be there, tight as ever. And after today, it will be completely in our hands.

The Morning After

The sky is bright and the wind has stopped rattling the window. Gray light fills the room. On the table are two empty wine bottles and two glasses. Li Jiaqi goes to the window and looks out.

“The snow’s not so heavy now,” she says.

“I should go,” says Cheng Gong, but he does not move.

Jiaqi looks into the distance. “I think I can see Dead Man’s Tower.”

“There was a fire a couple of years ago. It got burned down.”

“There aren’t any trees around there, how did the fire start?”

“Not sure. Kids setting off fireworks, I think.”

Cheng Gong goes to the window.

“Kids like it there,” says Jiaqi.

“All the bones were burned to ashes. Maybe that’s what they wanted—the dead people, I mean. To not leave any traces in this world.”

“Mm.”

They look out the window. Snow covers the jagged rocks of Central Gardens, the winding pathways, patiently wrapping everything in the world, softening its angles.

Jiaqi turns to Cheng Gong. “Your spirit intercom. What happened to it?”

“Can’t remember. I think it’s in one of the boxes on our balcony. Why?”

“Wanted to have a look,” she said. “Maybe it still works.”

Cheng Gong shrugs. “It never worked.”

“I remember once we were playing house, and when I sang a song, your granddad blinked. I thought I could use the spirit intercom to sing to him …”

The man in the bed stirs. As Jiaqi and Cheng Gong go over, he opens his eyes.

“Everyone’s here,” he mumbles.

Jiaqi looks at Cheng Gong. “Maybe you should fetch the pastor.”

“The pastor died two years ago.” Cheng Gong looks out the window, frowning, trying to bring something into focus. His hand sinks into his pocket. “I’m going out,” he says. “Cigarette.”

Jiaqi watches him go, then turns back to her grandfather, Li Jisheng.

“The nail. Do you remember the nail?” she asks.

The man in the bed looks at her. An enormous force seems to be pulling him into a world behind him, a world whose gates will soon be shut forever. She strokes his forehead gently.

“Do you feel guilty?”

He stares at her, though his gaze passes right through her to some cavernous space.

“Turn off the light, it’s too bright,” he says.

Jiaqi goes over to the wall and puts her hand on the switch, but doesn’t press it. The light is already off. In the gloom, she hears the man sigh. She goes back towards the bed, but pauses in the middle of the room. She listens. Silence here, silence outside. The walls vanish, the room is limitless. Jiaqi kneels and buries her face in his side. Through the blanket, her temples sense the shape of his hand. Jutting bones, which might conceal strength that hasn’t yet ebbed away.