Translator: dapotaturs
Release Date: 03/17/2024
Edited Date: 06/21/2025
……………………………………..
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
In the living room, the second hand of the ‘Sanwu’ old-fashioned mantel clock1a type of vintage-style mantel clock known for its classic design and mechanical movement
ticked away, emitting a rhythmic mechanical ticking sound.
On the right side of the mantel clock was a statue of the White Porcelain Guanyin’2
‘, and in the blue-and-white large incense burner in front of the statue, the half-burnt incense emitted a faint sandalwood fragrance. Grayish-blue smoke rose slowly, drifting from the first floor up the stairs to the second floor and the small attic.
As the hour struck, the mantel clock chimed loudly, waking up Ning Xiaobei, who was sleeping in the attic.
He groggily opened his eyes, momentarily unsure of his surroundings.
The room’s windows were covered with thick curtains, with only thin streams of golden light seeping through the gaps in the two curtains, like golden threads preventing the room from being completely shrouded in darkness.
Where was this place?
Ning Xiaobei was startled and jumped out of bed, only to hit his head heavily on the beam of the attic’s triangular room with a ‘thud.’ The pain made him see stars, and he collapsed back onto the bed, the metal wire bed frame creaking.
“Xiaobei, what are you doing? Wake up and come down, your father has already prepared breakfast. Come down quickly and eat.”
In the living room downstairs, Grandmother Ning, who was reciting scriptures, heard the noise from upstairs. With her eyes half-open, she glanced in the direction of the stairs but did not stop counting her prayer beads.
This voice?
Ning Xiaobei touched the lump on his head, wearing an expression of disbelief—this accent, tinged with Shanghai dialect, belonged to no one but his grandmother, right?
But wait, didn’t his grandmother pass away more than twenty years ago?
He sniffed, catching a whiff of the distinctive scent of old houses in the Jiangnan area, with its damp wooden aroma, filling his nostrils.
Ning Xiaobei released his head and, relying on his residual memory, felt the uneven wall with his right hand. His hand shifted slightly to the right, and sure enough, he found a rope.
Pulling the rope, a small lamp lit up on the left side of the bed, casting a dim yellow light across the less than five square meters attic.
He saw the steel wire military bed he was lying on, the ‘National Bed Sheet’ imprinted with lilies on the bed, the small wooden desk next to the bed, and the skylight blocked by curtains above the desk, his face suddenly changing drastically.
This was his home, but not the apartment building he bought a few years ago, but the old house from his childhood—this was his attic.
“Why turn on the lights in broad daylight? Do you think you’re some kind of rich young master 3 Xiaokai, in Shanghainese, refers to the wealthy young masters in old Shanghai who lack any particular skills. They must be proficient in eating, drinking, and playing, as well as at least one foreign language; otherwise, they cannot be considered Xiaokai, at most, they are just idle heirs. Xiaokai also has its threshold.from the old society? Hurry up! Get dressed, and come down for breakfast. You’re not some big shot who needs to be asked three or four times to eat breakfast,” complained Grandma Ning, though old, still sharp-sighted and sharp-eared, upon hearing the sound of the light switch being pulled upstairs.
“I got it. I’ll be down right away,” Ning Xiaobei said, climbing down from the bed barefoot. The old floorboards creaked and groaned under his weight, emitting a series of mournful sounds.
Grabbing the neatly folded clothes from the back of the chair, Ning Xiaobei draped them over himself and stumbled a few steps. Suddenly remembering the light was still on, he hastily turned to switch it off, plunging the room into darkness once more.
The attic was tiny, with only a bed, a chair, and a desk squeezed tightly against the skylight. Ning Xiaobei’s stomach pressed against the edge of the desk as he reached out and pulled open the curtains in front of the small window.
In an instant, the morning sunlight streamed unreservedly into the tiny attic, as if opening up a new world.
A white dove flapped its wings gracefully in front of the glass window, startling Ning Xiaobei, who instinctively leaned back.
Then came a chorus of cooing as seven or eight pigeons followed suit, gliding past the window. The lead white dove led them in a collective dive towards a nearby pigeon coop on the roof.
Several white feathers drifted down, carried by the morning breeze, and landed before Ning Xiaobei.
Picking up one of the feathers, Ning Xiaobei stared in astonishment at the magnificent sight before him—everywhere he looked, terracotta-colored rooftops were stretching out like a vast carpet. Beneath the red roofs were gray walls, with black doors faintly visible. Hundreds of shikumen buildings sprawled out, extending to the Huangpu River in the distance.
The surface of the river rippled, reflecting shimmering scales that were visible even from a hundred meters away. “Woo woo…” Several ships let out a chorus of horns before turning their massive bodies and heading south down the river.
In the ears, the solemn chime of the clock tower in the Customs House, playing the melody of 《The East Is Red4“东方红” (The East Is Red): A famous revolutionary song in China, often used in state-owned facilities and played from public clocks or speakers.》, faintly echoed, complementing the chiming of the grandfather clock downstairs.
“This… must be a dream.”
Ning Xiaobei’s hand trembled slightly as he held the pigeon feather, unable to believe the scene before him.
In his memory, the old house where he lived had long been demolished.
Not only that but under the bulldozers of urban construction, Shanghai had not seen such vast swathes of shikumen old houses for many years.
In the downtown area, apart from ‘Xintiandi5‘Xintiandi is a stylish pedestrian street in Shanghai, China on Huangpu South Road, the old buildings of Fuyang Lane and Tianzifang were relatively intact, while elsewhere, not even a tile was left after demolition.
“I must be dreaming, I’m dreaming.”
Ning Xiaobei slapped his cheek.
Yes, isn’t there a saying, One thinks during the day and dreams at night?
It must be because he had been sorting through his father’s belongings recently that he dreamt of his childhood.
Ning Xiaobei felt a wave of sorrow wash over him as he thought about this.
His father, Ning Jianguo, had collapsed suddenly at the market last week while buying groceries alone, suffering a heart attack. By the time he rushed to the hospital emergency room after taking leave from work, a white sheet had already covered his father’s frail body.
Everything had happened so suddenly that he hadn’t even had a chance to see his father for the last time, let alone exchange a few words with him.
Ning Xiaobei sniffled sadly.
Was it possible that his father had sent him a dream to convey the final words he wanted to say to him?
He lowered his head and saw the notebook spread open on the desk, with pencil strokes that were both childish and neat. Ning Xiaobei recognized his handwriting at a glance.
When he was younger, he always exerted a lot of force when writing, so his hand would ache terribly after finishing an essay. His father always said it was because he wrote with such force that it penetrated the paper, but his grandmother insisted it was because he had a deep-seated grudge against pencils. If he made a mistake, he’d have to use the eraser more than others.
⟦August 13, 1996, Sunny⟧
The diary entry at the top recorded the date, which would have been yesterday.
In other words, what he had dreamed about was something that had happened during the summer vacation of his fourth grade.
“Xiaobei, if you don’t come down now, you won’t get to eat!”
From downstairs came the angry shout of his grandmother and the sound of her cane tapping on the staircase railing. Ning Xiaobei hurriedly stuffed the feather into the diary, closed the notebook, quickly put on his shoes, and ran downstairs.
Whether it was in the dream or not, his grandmother was the person he feared most in his life. Respecting her, even fearing her, had become a habit ingrained in Ning Xiaobei’s bones.
He dashed down the stairs, and the old lady in the light blue short jacket was already standing at the doorway of the living room, preparing to go out. She looked displeased at Ning Xiaobei, who was still trembling with fright, and once again furrowed her brows.
“Why can’t you come down properly? Are you a monkey? Why jump down like that? What if you fell and hurt yourself? What would a sixty-year-old woman like me do? Do I have to go to the factory to call your father back?” She pointed her yellow bamboo cane at Ning Xiaobei.
Little did she know that although Ning Xiaobei was staring at her blankly, he hadn’t heard a word she said. First, facing this grandmother who always found fault with everything, Ning Xiaobei had long learned the skill of letting words go in one ear and out the other. Second, at this moment, Ning Xiaobei was too absorbed in greedily scrutinizing this long-lost old lady, completely oblivious to what she was saying.
Indeed, she was his grandmother, not the slightest difference from what he remembered.
Ning Xiaobei looked at her excitedly.
The old lady of the Ning family had always been very particular. Originally from Wujiang, Suzhou, she had come to Shanghai with her parents to make a living before the liberation. Because she spoke Shanghai dialect with a strong, lingering Suzhou accent, the people in the lane called her “Suzhou Grandma.”
Shanghai was a melting pot of different cultures, and just in Ning’s lane alone, there were various elderly immigrants from different provinces, such as “Shaoxing Grandma,” “Ningbo Aunt,” “Shandong Uncle,” and “Jiangxi Cousin,” among others.
They, whether themselves or their ancestors, came to this place from afar and settled down. Although everyone spoke the Shanghai dialect, occasionally, between the lines, one could still find a couple of sentences in their hometown dialect, revealing their origins.
In his memory, his grandmother, “Suzhou Grandma,” was the best-dressed old lady in the entire lane. It wasn’t that she wore flashy clothes, but whenever she stepped out of the house, she always wore a set of “outdoor” clothes, colloquially called “mountain green and water blue” in Shanghainese, which meant elegant and spirited.
She would never be like some people who came from the slums6 Xiao Zhi Jiao, in Shanghainese, specifically refers to areas in Shanghai outside the central districts such as Huangpu and Luwan (Shang Zhi Jiao). Before liberation, these areas were the suburban regions of the international and French concessions, outside of the concessions and the city proper., wearing pajamas wherever they went. Some even dared to stroll down Nanjing Road or Huaihai Road in their pajamas and sleepwear, which was simply a disgrace.
As it was still summer, his grandmother typically wore light blue or dark blue cotton short jackets on her upper body, with navy silk cotton trousers underneath, and black cloth shoes. Her hair, which was still mostly white, was neatly combed, tied up in a tight bun at the back of her head, and secured with a red wooden hairpin.
A white handkerchief was tucked on the lapel of her jacket, fastened with two fragrant white orchids, still dewy and delicate.
Ning Xiaobei remembered that his grandmother always wore gardenia or white orchids in the summer.
The flower-selling old lady at the entrance of the lane had been acquainted with her for many years. Every morning, she would use yesterday’s torn-off calendar paper to wrap freshly picked flowers, still dewy, and place them on the Bright Milk Box nailed to the outer wall of the Ning family’s house.
It wasn’t until the year before the old houses were demolished that the flower-selling old lady passed away, and no one brought her flowers anymore. After nearly forty years in the business, she had to stop.
“Hao Po7 Hao Po = Good Grandma!”
The old lady kept chattering away, and suddenly Ning Xiaobei shouted and rushed forward, hugging her.
‘Hao Po’ is how a Suzhou native addresses their grandmother.
Shanghai locals address their grandmothers differently based on their ancestral origins. Besides “hao po,” there are also terms like “en nai,” “qin niang,” “niang niang,” and so on.
In the Ning family, even though Ning Xiaobei doesn’t speak a word of Suzhou dialect, he still calls his grandmother “Good Grandma.”
“Good Grandma, I’ve missed you.”
Ning Xiaobei, who hasn’t even entered the fifth grade, is still not as tall as Grandma Ning. When he hugs her, he even has to stand on tiptoes. He wraps his arms around her thin shoulders, smelling the faint fragrance of Yangzhou rose hair oil in her hair, and excitedly closes his eyes.
“What are you up to, you little rascal? Sneaking up on me so early in the morning, scaring me half to death.”
Grandma Ning jumps in fright at his sudden embrace, awkwardly pushing away her grandson’s enthusiastic hug.
She gives him a stern look, but when she notices the redness in Ning Xiaobei’s eyes, her hesitant hand reaches out and touches his forehead.
“You don’t have a fever…”
“Good Grandma, I’m fine. I just came because I missed you.”
Ning Xiaobei shakes his head with a smile.
Of course, he’s happy. In his memories, his grandmother passed away the year before the demolition.
He remembered it was December 1999. While the whole world was preparing for the upcoming millennium, the Ning family was holding a funeral.
Perhaps due to not being close to his grandmother since childhood, Ning Xiaobei once doubted if he had completely forgotten what his grandmother looked like.
It wasn’t until he saw the adoption certificate that he realized there was a reason his grandmother didn’t like him. It turned out they weren’t related by blood at all; he was brought to the family by his father.
But now, seeing her again, all the previous fear had turned into joy. Even in his dream, it moved him deeply.
“I, I’m going to Mrs. Wu’s to play mahjong… Remember to wash the rice.”
Seeing his strange expression, crying and laughing at the same time, Grandma Ning felt a bit uneasy.
When Xiaobei was still a baby, she hardly ever held him, let alone when he grew up. Suddenly being hugged by this little brat, Grandma Ning felt goosebumps all over her body.
Leaning on her cane, she walked to the door. After a moment’s thought, she turned back, worriedly asking, “Are you really feeling okay?”
Ning Xiaobei shook his head vigorously like a rattle drum, shouting after Grandma Ning’s retreating figure, “Good Grandma, win lots of money!”
Grandma Ning had already stepped over the threshold when she heard this, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Could it be that I’m seeing things early in the morning?” she muttered to herself, turning back to look at her grandson, who was laughing like a fool and quietly asked.
![The Return of The Lord God[quick wear]](https://i2.wp.com/knoxt.space/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/007S8ZIlly1ghl04hyuxyj30hs0owwgu.jpg?resize=85,105 "The Return of The Lord God[quick wear]")
Yuw On BATCFO Chapter 38.2
Seris On AYM Chapter 106