Every evening, the caretaker of Hu Song’s house on Pike Street would bring the elderly father, who had been sitting in the garden all day, back into the house and remind him to eat and take his dicine.
Most of the ti, the elderly man was very quiet, much easier to care for than other seniors with dentia.
Around six o’clock, the caretaker would head ho first. Hu Song’s eldest son would co by around eight, after tidying up the restaurant business, to coax the old man to sleep.
The old man’s mory had already declined, but his body was still relatively robust.
Such days passed year after year, day by day, for more than five years.
From six to eight o’clock was the elderly man’s free ti.
Before leaving, the caretaker would turn on the satellite Chinese channel that the old man loved to watch, and only after ensuring that all doors and windows were properly closed, would she lock the door and leave.
After that, like always, the old man continued with every action he perford daily.
Until the clock accurately pointed to seven-thirty, the old man sat in the living room like a wooden figure, with no extra expression, staring blankly at the TV screen.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, or if he was really watching TV.
There was a rustling sound coming from the garden.
The old man still didn’t react much. In this area, there were many stray cats and dogs; it wasn’t unusual for a few to intrude into the garden, and having heard these noises frequently, he was used to it.
However, today the sound in the garden continued for a while, showing no sign of stopping.
The sound was so fine and dense that it gradually drowned out the sound of the TV.
A ripple appeared on the old man’s expressionless face.
The continuous sound stimulated a certain part of his brain, piled up, blocking his mories of certain past events.
"What is that..." The old man jumped up, as if his backside had just been stung by a bee.
He shuffled his feet and walked into the garden.
The garden, neglected during the day, was filled with a strong aroma of plants, with piles of neatly pruned leaves on the ground.
The brisk sound of shears clicking and a girl’s cheerful singing pierced through the silence of the coming night.
In the garden was a Chinese girl. The old man rubbed his eyes; he had a vague impression of her. A few days ago, she was walking with that peculiar foreigner who often ca to visit him.
If it were before, Hu Song would certainly have yelled and chased away this "villain" who was wantonly destroying his garden.
But this Chinese girl, her pruning movents were so skilled, yet she was so young. The contradiction between the two ford an inexplicable sense of balance that left the old man montarily transfixed.
Most of the trees in the garden had been pruned, except for the two-story-high pine tree.
The Chinese girl looked around the garden.
"There’s a ladder in the garage," the old man opened his mouth. Why did he think the girl was looking for a ladder? He should be driving this inexplicable intruder out of his garden.
A step ladder made of aluminum alloy was quickly brought out and set up beside the pine tree. The girl now held a saw in her hand.
Pruning a pine tree is unlike many other plants; one must start from the middle of the tree, removing dead or damaged branches.
Branch after branch of pine began falling, and the old man’s brows furrowed tighter. Suddenly, he rushed forward, grabbing the ladder and shaking it: "Stop pruning, it’ll die." Pictures flashed through the old man’s mind.
In his youth, for the sake of family, reluctantly putting down his gardening shears, leaving ho, giving up his passion. Joyfully discovering that peculiar pine by the cliff, as if it were a rembrance of his lost youth. The Empress Dowager Cake, the best-tasting honey...and the ever-thriving family business.
The scenes abruptly shifted, turning into a wilting pine by the cliff, the bees dead, the hive abandoned, his dreams shattered, wandering disoriented on bustling streets, with the city’s prosperity rushing by, the speeding cars. mory paused...
The old man’s eyes constricted, a string in his mind snapped taut, then relaxed. In his eyes, after alternating waves of pain and loss, clarity slowly returned.
"Co down? Who are you? How do you know our South Gate’s exclusive pruning technique?"
The girl jumped down from the ladder, "Master Hu, you rembered," Xiao Xian took out the emblem that Mao Dazhu had given her, a token of the South Gate.
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