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Lin Suzhen was approaching seventy, her hair now completely gray.
Years of toil had taken their toll, leaving her with a slight hunch that made her appear much shorter than Zhuang Zi’ang. Yet, when she looked up at her grandson, her gaze was filled with warmth and affection.
“Zi’ang, if your father bullies you again, just tell Grandma. I’ll set him straight for you.”
Zhuang Zi’ang nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Mm, I understand. Thank you, Grandma.”
To Zhuang Wen Zhao, his parents had long since become old and muddled, their words carrying little weight in his eyes.
“Xiao Yudie, welcome to our home,” Lin Suzhen said with a gentle smile as she turned to Su Yudie. “Are you and Zi’ang dating?”
Su Yudie’s cheeks flushed. “No, Grandma, we’re just good friends.”
Zhuang Jianguo, feigning a stern expression, chided, “You old woman, don’t go making things up. The kids are still in school!”
Lin Suzhen quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m just an old lady from the countryside. I don’t always know the right things to say.”
“It’s alright, Grandma,” Su Yudie reassured her, though her heart raced like a startled deer. She stole a glance at Zhuang Zi’ang, who seemed lost in thought.
His heart felt heavy. The higher his grandparents’ expectations, the greater their disappointment would be in the end.
For now, though, the two elders were simply overjoyed, already treating Xiao Yudie like their granddaughter-in-law.
The small courtyard was pristine, filled with the harmonious sounds of chickens clucking and dogs barking. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fruits and vegetables, exuding a rich pastoral charm.
Once inside, the two elders bustled around, pouring tea and offering fruit.
“Xiao Yudie, make yourself at home. Don’t be shy.”
“Zi’ang, don’t just stand there—peel some fruit for Xiao Yudie.”
“What do you like to eat? Let Grandma cook it for you.”
…
It was just past ten in the morning, still some time before lunch. The four of them sat in the living room, watching television.
Knowing his grandparents’ preferences, Zhuang Zi’ang switched the channel to a Yue Opera performance of Liang Zhu.
As one of the four great love stories in Chinese folklore, the tale of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai was widely cherished. Many forms of opera had adapted the story, but Yue Opera remained the most famous, boasting a legacy of over half a century.
Zhuang Zi’ang leaned in and whispered to Su Yudie, “Young people don’t usually like this. Please bear with it and keep them company.”
Su Yudie looked serious. “I think it’s really beautiful!”
Zhuang Zi’ang smiled, assuming she was merely being polite. Traditional opera, with its high-pitched melodies and intricate performances, was far removed from the tastes of modern youth.
In all likelihood, out of a hundred young people, it would be difficult to find even one true opera enthusiast.
Back in music class, he had learned about Liang Zhu‘s violin concerto—scenes like the oath at the grass bridge, the farewell at eighteen, the resistance to marriage, and finally, the transformation into butterflies.
The opera on TV was approaching its climax.
Glancing at Su Yudie, Zhuang Zi’ang was surprised to find her fully engrossed, her feet tapping in rhythm with the music.
She wasn’t just pretending—she was genuinely captivated.
When Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, bound by love and tragedy, finally transformed into butterflies and danced freely, Su Yudie’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Zhuang Jianguo and Lin Suzhen exchanged astonished looks.
Why was this little girl so deeply moved by the performance?
Without thinking, Zhuang Zi’ang gently wiped away her tears with a tissue.
“Big dummy, do you think people can really turn into butterflies after they die?” Su Yudie asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes,” Zhuang Zi’ang answered softly. “They become free, fluttering among the flowers forever.”
If death only meant becoming a cold, lifeless body buried underground—nothing more than bones consumed by insects—it was far too cruel.
So, the ancients spun beautiful myths, weaving dreams of lovers reuniting as butterflies.
Looking into Su Yudie’s tear-filled eyes, Zhuang Zi’ang thought to himself, When I die and become a butterfly, will you recognize me when I land upon your hair?
But butterflies have such short lives—often less than a month.
In the grand scheme of things, a human life is just as fleeting as dust in the wind.
In just over two months, all of my love, sorrow, and joy will vanish.
Xiao Yudie, by then, please forget me as soon as possible.
As noon approached, Lin Suzhen went to the kitchen to cook, and Su Yudie eagerly insisted on helping.
Inside the rustic kitchen, she fed dry wood into the stove, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on her face.
Zhuang Jianguo beamed with approval. “What a thoughtful and capable girl.”
Su Yudie, shaking off her earlier sadness, grinned. “Grandpa, Grandma, if you like opera, I can sing for you!”
“You can sing opera?” Lin Suzhen asked excitedly.
“I didn’t know how before, but after hearing it just now, I can sing it,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Zhuang Zi’ang was stunned.
Could she really be one of those rare musical prodigies with a photographic memory for melodies?
Clearing her throat, Su Yudie began to sing:
“I am Liang, brother Liang, it should not be… Ying Tai, an arrow through the heart…”
The melody and lyrics matched perfectly with the performance they had just watched on TV.
The two elders were grinning from ear to ear, utterly delighted.
When she finished, Zhuang Zi’ang asked, “Have you studied this piece before?”
Su Yudie shook her head. “No, that was the first time I heard it.”
“You memorized it after just one listen?” He was dumbfounded.
“Of course! You don’t know how? You’re always the top student—don’t tell me you’re actually this dumb?” she teased.
Zhuang Zi’ang was at a loss for words.
She called him “Big Dummy” every day, and maybe there was some truth to it.
A sudden thought crossed his mind—if he took her to listen to that old trickster play Dreaming of Butterflies, could she transcribe the score?
Maybe they could play a duet together and create something truly beautiful.
The dishes cooked over firewood were rich with flavor, far more fragrant than the ones in the city.
Lin Suzhen had spent her life cooking, and her skills were evident in every dish.
Su Yudie, a self-proclaimed foodie, was in heaven, her delight plain for all to see.
As Lin Suzhen handed them each a chicken leg, she said, “Zi’ang, you must bring Xiao Yudie back during summer vacation.”
Zhuang Zi’ang lowered his head, biting his lip, his hands trembling slightly.
Grandpa, Grandma, I’m sorry.
I won’t have that chance anymore.