Chapter 53:
Peach Blossom Spring (Part 10):
This Was the Door to His Heart, Chen Henian’s Peach Blossom Spring…
Grandpa Chen didn’t just talk. He spanked Chen Henian, a light but firm pat on his backside.
Chen Henian was stunned, then pulled along by his grandfather’s hand, his mind still reeling.
The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air, the last rays of sunlight dappling the path, illuminating half of his grandfather’s face, the white hair gleaming.
He was led back to his “home.”
But this “home” was unfamiliar, a distorted version of his memories.
He stepped through a large wooden door painted brown, beneath a dark, tiled roof, the threshold high, yet perfectly accommodating his height, the ceiling higher than he remembered, as if the house had been expanded.
He touched the walls, smooth and painted white, no dirt or cracks, no weeds growing in the corners, the floor paved with stone tiles, not the packed earth he remembered.
A large pigsty housed three fat, white piglets.
This wasn’t his home. His face hardened, the nostalgia replaced by a cold indifference.
They had been poor, their crops barely enough to feed themselves, their house old and dilapidated, the roof leaking, his grandfather too old and frail to climb ladders and repair it, having to trade precious eggs for help, only two hens in their yard, his grandfather reluctant to part with them, seeking shelter during rainstorms, never raising pigs.
This illusion, crafted for him, was a crude and insulting imitation. He stood in the courtyard, his face darkening.
“Oh dear—” Grandpa Chen suddenly exclaimed, as if remembering something, rushing inside and returning with a basket of unhusked rice, scattering it on the ground outside a chicken coop.
“I’m getting old, my memory is failing me,” he chuckled.
A dozen plump chickens emerged, clucking and pecking at the rice.
Chen Henian noticed a large rooster with a bright red comb. Ignoring the rice, it fixed its gaze on him, then charged, its beak pecking at his legs.
Chen Henian, already in a bad mood, kicked the rooster, sending it flying, feathers scattering. It scurried back into the coop.
“Not afraid of chickens anymore?” Grandpa Chen laughed. “When you were three, a rooster pecked your bottom, and you cried so hard, insisting I cook it for dinner. It was our only rooster then. I had to beg a neighbor for a chick.”
Chen Henian frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
“You were three, of course you don’t remember.” Grandpa Chen’s face crinkled into a smile. “Xiao Nian, can you promise Grandpa something?”
“What do you want?”
“Don’t forget about Grandpa, alright?” he asked, his voice gentle, his posture slightly hunched, like a lonely old man longing for his family’s return.
Chen Henian should have been angry. An illusion had no right to say such things, to adopt such a pitiful demeanor.
But a pang of guilt struck him, his heart aching, his eyes fixed on his grandfather’s face.
He was a terrible grandson. He had abandoned his grandfather, following Zhou Xianzhi, his childhood plagued by illness and nightmares, his memories fading, unable to even see his grandfather’s face clearly in his dreams.
This was the first time in over a decade he had seen his grandfather so clearly, and he felt a surge of gratitude, despite the illusion’s falseness. “I’ll always remember you,” he said, his voice firm.
I won’t forget again, he promised silently.
“Grandpa,” he said softly.
“Yes, my dear boy,” his grandfather replied, his voice filled with warmth.
A sense of peace settled over him, a comforting illusion, turning him into a silent fool.
His grandfather led him inside, a happy smile on his face. “Sit, sit and eat.”
He served him rice, placing the chopsticks in his hand.
“Try it.”
“Grandpa couldn’t celebrate your sixth birthday with you, so I’m making it up to you now. Look, chicken, melon, eggs, all your favorites.”
“Eat a drumstick, you need to eat more meat to grow strong.” He piled food onto Chen Henian’s plate, his voice filled with concern. “You’re tall now, but too thin. Be careful, the wind will blow you away!”
“And some vegetables, they’re good for you. Will you eat some now?”
The food piled up on his plate, a small mountain.
He remembered disliking those thick, green vegetables as a child, only eating the delicate florets, his grandfather always saving them for him, but he would force himself to eat a few bites, not wanting his grandfather to have only the undesirable parts.
He couldn’t speak now, only nod and shake his head. His grandfather urged him to eat, and he obeyed, the flavors, though imaginary, still bitter and unpleasant.
If his grandfather were still alive, would they be like this? Would he be able to provide for him, renovate their house, buy piglets, ensure they had meat every day?
He understood now.
This was his heart’s desire, his ideal life.
The illusion had conjured the people from his memories.
Fake, yet real.
Because his memories of his grandfather were real, even if he had forgotten, his heart hadn’t.
“Grandpa,” he said, his voice hoarse, his head lowered, his heart aching. This was the grandfather who loved him, the grandfather he was about to kill.
“My dear boy,” Grandpa Chen stood up.
He heard slow, shuffling footsteps, then a hand on his head.
“My dear boy,” his grandfather said, stroking his hair.
“Without Grandpa, do you have a new home now?”
“No…” Chen Henian replied, his voice choked with tears. “I won’t have a home anymore.”
“That’s not true,” his grandfather said. “My dear boy, you’ll find a new home, and someone who loves you, just like Grandpa. Grandpa will be watching over you from heaven, even if I can’t be there with you.”
Tears streamed down Chen Henian’s face.
“Don’t cry,” his grandfather patted his back. “Live a good life, be happy, and Grandpa will be happy too.”
“Grandpa is so happy to see you like this, so grown up.”
Chen Henian looked up, his eyes meeting his grandfather’s. “Grandpa, do you really see me?”
“Of course,” his grandfather’s eyes were filled with pride.
Tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away, seeing tears in his grandfather’s eyes too, his vision clouded, the tears clinging to his eyelids, like unshed grief.
His grandfather cupped his face, his voice filled with love and regret. “My dear boy, you’ve suffered so much. I wish you could stay here, but you can’t. You have to live.”
The knife, unused until now, was placed in his grandfather’s hand, the blade pointed towards himself. He took Chen Henian’s hand, placing the knife in his palm.
Chen Henian gripped the knife, his hand trembling, his grandfather’s hand firm and steady, guiding him.
This was the door to his heart, his Peach Blossom Spring.
The illusion could grant his wish, he could stay here forever, in this idyllic world, until his body died, his soul extinguished.
To leave, he had to kill the person before him.
His grandfather had given him the knife.
His grandfather would do this for him, willingly sacrifice himself.
“My dear boy, it’s time for you to go,” his grandfather said softly.
“Grandpa,” Chen Henian’s voice was choked with tears. “Talk to me a little longer, I don’t want to leave you.”
He wasn’t an illusion, he was his grandfather.
Chen Henian was calmer than ever before, his tears not blurring his vision, his heart not swaying his resolve. He would kill this man, but what would fill the void in his heart?
“My dear boy, Grandpa loves you.”
As his grandfather spoke, Chen Henian plunged the knife into his heart.
He closed his eyes.
His grandfather embraced him, his head resting against his warm chest.
He had killed the person he loved most. His grandfather’s form dissolved into dust, the warmth of his touch fading, the comforting embrace gone, the illusion collapsing around him like a crumbling house.
Tears streamed down his face, a torrent of grief, the ashes before him like the fire from his past, burning in his chest, the black snow swirling around him.
He covered his face with his hands, hiding his sorrow in the darkness.
“Is he awake?”
“I think so, his eyes are open.”
“He’s… crying.”
Zuo He didn’t know what to say. Chen Henian was the last to wake up. Jiang Wan had managed to rouse Zhao Cuicui, but they couldn’t approach Chen Henian, the ghost guarding him, its protective aura keeping them at bay.
Jiang Wan had said he would be safe, so they had restrained the Great Shaman and waited.
When he finally woke up, no one spoke, his eyes filled with tears, the skin beneath red and swollen, his gaze cold and distant.
The ghost reached out, gently wiping away his tears.
“Don’t like… tears,” it said, its voice filled with confusion and a strange agitation, its tendrils swirling around him.
“It’s alright,” Chen Henian’s voice was calm, his tears contained, his eyes dry, his expression carefully blank, his emotions hidden.
“I should thank him.”
His voice was soft, yet his words were sharp, laced with a chilling resolve. “He fulfilled my wish, how thoughtful.”
“Then let’s carve out his heart.”
