When I returned, he was still leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed, as if he hadn't moved at all.

"Master Yang, I heard that you have great abilities, you can see the past and predict the future. I want to consult you."

He did not open his eyes or speak, but swallowed hard a few times.

I brought over another chair and sat down, saying that there were a lot of things to discuss, so I would speak slowly and he could listen slowly.

"In 1944, a woman followed another family to the county to sell medicinal herbs, and when she returned, only the man was left. Can you tell me, where did the man's wife and child go?"

"A woman lured Japanese soldiers back to the village, killed someone and stole medicine, then followed the Japanese soldiers. Can you also predict what this woman was after?"

"A woman returned from dealing with the soldiers, and just as the Japanese surrendered, she gave birth to a boy with Japanese blood flowing through his veins. Can you also predict the name of this boy's father, and whether he is alive or dead now?"

"A woman was shunned by all, but there was one man who took care of her for her entire life. Yet she remained the biggest enemy to this man. Can you predict the reason of this man’s actions?"

Master Yang finally couldn't hold back any longer, he sat up straight, and opened his eyes.

Murky tears rushed out, filling the crevices of his face and trickling down uncontrollably.

He began to cry loudly, I have never seen an elderly person cry so heartbreakingly.

Most of them, like Grandma, are accustomed to all worldly events, unable to stir even the slightest ripple in their hearts.

"For what? I told you yesterday, it was for atonement, he is guilty. I am guilty, I am guilty."

"I cannot predict, I cannot figure it out. But as long as I know, I'll tell you, child, for sixty-four years, I really can't hold it anymore."

Master Yang wanted to start talking, but didn’t know where to begin, and hesitated for a long time.

"Let me tell you, Tian Qing."

Grandma, who had been dozing, woke up holding a bowl of hot porridge.

Trembling, she walked over and handed it to me, her wrinkled old hand patting Master Yang's shoulder.

A man who cried like a child, standing next to a woman as strong as steel.

Rustle, rustle.

In a bowl of hot soup, fragments of Grandma's life came together in my mind. Although the cracks remained clear, they could not be mended.