"These..."
The man immediately noticed the many little flower baskets covering the table in front of the girl.
"So many."
The man was astonished.
"Dad."
The girl's smile faded a little, though the corners of her mouth were still turned up.
He had come at just the right time.
She had been thinking of going to find him.
"I want to visit Mom's grave."
"Tell me where it is."
"Oh."
The man suddenly understood. "These little flower baskets..."
A smile appeared on his face. "Your mother taught you how to make them, didn't she?"
"Mm."
The girl nodded.
"You did a good job."
The man walked into the room and picked up one of the little baskets to examine it closely. "You're as skillful as your mother."
A hint of nostalgia showed in his eyes.
Then the man chuckled. "Are all these little baskets for your mother?"
"Are you planning to cover her grave with them?"
"It's not that exaggerated."
The girl looked at the table. There weren't that many, were there?
She hadn't noticed how many she'd made until they'd piled up.
The girl felt a little guilty.
Maybe there were a few too many.
"But they're not all for Mom."
"Half of them are for A Piao."
The girl explained.
"A Piao?"
The name struck the man as oddly familiar.
He didn't think much of it. Just as he was about to say something, a raised voice rang out abruptly.
"A Piao?!"
Both the girl and the man jumped.
They turned around. "Grandma?"
The man smiled wryly. "Why are you shouting so loudly?"
The old woman ignored him. Her sharp gaze fixed on the girl. "Did you just say A Piao?"
"Mom, what's wrong?"
The man was puzzled by the old woman's reaction.
"A Piao is