The next morning, Zhang Xiaohua opened his eyes and saw the unfamiliar yet comfortable little room. Only then did he remember that he was sleeping in his grandmother's house.
Zhang Xiaohua rolled over and got up. It was still early, and Zhang Xiaohu had gone to bed late the previous night and had not yet woken up. Zhang Xiaohua went outside alone.
The courtyard was silent. The rising sun had just sent its first thread of warmth into this ordinary little yard. Zhang Xiaohua stood there for a moment before leaving through the gate and heading straight behind the house.
His grandmother's grave was very neat, its small mound utterly free of weeds. One glance was enough to tell that someone tended it often. Seeing it from afar, Zhang Xiaohua felt a dull ache in his heart. When he reached the grave, he knelt in worship and remained there blankly, not knowing how much time passed before a voice came from behind him. "Xiaohua, after not seeing you for several years, you've grown up. You handle yourself and treat others very well. If your grandmother's spirit knows below, she'll be happy too."
Zhang Xiaohua suddenly turned back. "Father, there are many things where I don't know whether I've done right or wrong. But as long as I feel I can face my own conscience, I'll do them. Perhaps I'll be right, perhaps I'll be wrong, but it's best not to leave myself with regrets."
Looking at the face of his son, now showing the bearing of maturity, Zhang Cai said with relief, "Your father is just a country farmer. I don't know how to say anything more. As long as you think it's right, go do it. And don't regret it."
"I know, Father." Zhang Xiaohua said, "Everything has been