Old Man Zhou’s apartment was in the same building as where Zhang Yang used to live. Old Man Zhou occupied the first floor of Unit One; his place was smaller, only two rooms.
Old Man Zhou once had a son, but tragically, he died in an accident before graduating from university. His wife passed away soon after, heartbroken, leaving him alone in the small dwelling, which was quite sufficient for one person.
The furniture in Old Man Zhou’s home was worn out. There was only one black-and-white television set and a very old radio; there were no other significant appliances.
Entering the apartment, Zhang Yang glanced around, quickly finding familiar objects resurfacing in his memory.
That radio was intimately familiar. It was an award Old Man Zhou had received during his working years. Back then, a radio was a high-end luxury, much like a mobile phone is in this current era.
In the early 1980s, walking around with a radio in hand held the same impact as carrying a cell phone in '98—both commanded attention.
This radio had been one of Old Man Zhou’s great prides, cherished as a treasure. Back then, Zhang Yang and the other children were only allowed to listen; they weren't even permitted to touch it.
Besides the radio, something else that made Zhang Yang breathe differently was the white foam box.
On top of the foam box lay a messy bundle of cotton cloth. This box was what Old Man Zhou used to sell popsicles and ice cream—the ice cream carrier.
It wasn't like today, with all the modern freezers. Back then, frozen treats like ice cream had to be wrapped in layers of cotton cloth to prevent them from melting.
Such a box could be slung around the neck or placed on the back rack of a bicycle while hawking wares around town. Old Man Zhou never shouted prices; he simply set up a small stall by the roadside, yet still managed to sell a fair amount.
These items were rare by 1998, and in the years to come, they would become almost impossible to find.
“Have you eaten? I have some biscuits here, and candy too—have a little!”
Old Man Zhou went into a room and brought out a metal tin. This box was also quite old, the kind that mimicked the tins used for puffed biscuits back in the day.
Zhang Yang remembered having one just like it, which he used as a pencil case.
“Old Man Zhou, I’ve already had breakfast. I won’t eat these!”
Zhang Yang gently pushed the offering aside, adding with a smile that Old Man Zhou clearly still saw him as a child, unaware that he had grown up.
Finishing his refusal, Zhang Yang continued, “Old Man Zhou, I came back this time hoping to inquire about some old matters. Since I ran into you, would it be alright if I asked you a few things?”
Old Man Zhou had lived here for a very long time. Zhang Yang had intended to find someone to ask, and approaching him seemed the most suitable option now.
“Inquire about things? What do you want to ask about? Just ask me!”
Old Man Zhou responded cheerfully. He was a genuinely warm-hearted person; it wasn't just for Zhang Yang—if a stranger asked him for directions or anything else, he would offer a detailed explanation.
Zhang Yang nodded and asked directly, “I want to know, what illness did my mother actually have back then? Why did she pass away so quickly?”
“Your mother, Shihua?”
Old Man Zhou spoke slowly, a look of confusion still lingering in his eyes. Only after a moment did he truly register Zhang Yang’s face and examine him closely again.
“Yes, Shihua!” Zhang Yang nodded immediately, his gaze fixed intently on Old Man Zhou.
After thinking for a moment, Old Man Zhou said, “What illness your mother had, I don’t know. But her sickness was quite strange. They used a lot of medicine. I remember she brought back quite a few drugs from the Research Institute and even made some kind of pills from them, but unfortunately, nothing could cure her in the end!”
As he spoke, Old Man Zhou shook his head repeatedly.
“Shihua was a wonderful girl, truly. Strong work ethic, highly skilled in her field—how could she just disappear like that? A beauty doomed to a short life, a beauty doomed to a short life!”
Old Man Zhou sighed continuously. Zhang Yang stared at him blankly, a wave of disappointment washing over his face.
The primary reason for his visit was to find out the nature of his mother’s illness. Neighbors were the most likely source of such information, yet Old Man Zhou claimed ignorance.
If even Old Man Zhou didn’t know, Zhang Yang began to worry about his ability to uncover the cause of his mother’s sickness here.
“Old Man Zhou, could you describe my mother’s symptoms back then? What was she like after she fell ill? Do you remember anything?”
Since Old Man Zhou claimed not to know the diagnosis, Zhang Yang didn't give up and pressed further.
If Old Man Zhou could recall some symptoms, it would help. Zhang Yang was a divine physician; he could speculate on the possible illnesses based on the symptoms and conduct his analysis from there.
Old Man Zhou frowned in concentration for a while before saying, “She didn’t have many symptoms. She was fine one moment, then suddenly collapsed. Oh, yes, her face seemed to break out in many bumps. We all said what a shame it was for such a beautiful girl as Shihua to have so many blotches on her face!”
As he finished speaking, Old Man Zhou shook his head again.
“Besides the bumps on her face, were there any other symptoms?”
Zhang Yang asked instantly, his excitement slightly rising. It was good that Old Man Zhou remembered these details; if he remembered the symptoms, Zhang Yang could deduce the disease.
“Nothing else. Back then, Shihua locked herself in her house and wouldn't let anyone in. Even when we neighbors wanted to check on her, we couldn’t. We only knew she was sick when she went out once to collect medicine!”
Old Man Zhou shook his head vigorously, admitting that much of what happened ten years ago was hazy now.
At the time, some people had gloated over Shihua’s illness, saying it was retribution for such a beautiful woman turning into a disfigured monster. Old Man Zhou had cursed those gossips thoroughly, which was why the memory was so deeply etched.
“Just that? Old Man Zhou, think harder. Were there any other distinguishing features, perhaps on her hands, feet, or even her hair?”
Zhang Yang’s brow twitched as he asked again.
Just facial bumps were insufficient to determine a specific disease; many things cause facial eruptions. He needed other features to narrow down the possibilities through joint deduction.
“No, that’s all I knew, and that’s all I can recall!”
Old Man Zhou shook his head hard. He hadn't known much then, and he knew even less now. He truly only remembered these details.
“Why are you asking this now? Isn’t it many years since Shihua passed away?” Old Man Zhou asked, looking at Zhang Yang.
“I was very young then and forgot the cause of my mother’s death. So, I specifically came back to ask. Perhaps someday I’ll write a memoir and record it there!” Zhang Yang said quietly, his face still showing disappointment.
He hadn't invented the memoir story just to fool Old Man Zhou. In his past life, Zhang Yang had always intended to write a memoir when he was older—a summary of his entire life and a treasure for future descendants.
Many ancestors of the Zhang family had written similar accounts, providing considerable inspiration to later generations.
“Writing something? That’s wonderful! You were always so bright, I knew you’d amount to something, boy!”
Old Man Zhou hadn't fully grasped Zhang Yang's words, but he caught that Zhang Yang intended to write about his mother, and immediately began speaking cheerfully.
In Old Man Zhou’s view, anyone who could write was an exceptional person.
“Old Man Zhou, do you remember what specific medicine my mother used to get from the Research Institute?”
Unable to learn the symptoms, Zhang Yang shifted his inquiry to the medication she collected back then.
His current thinking was to infer the cause of the disease through the prescribed drugs. Traditional Chinese Medicine combinations weren't random; if he could clearly identify the herbs, he could likely deduce the illness.
“I don’t know about that!” Old Man Zhou shook his head again, and disappointment flickered across Zhang Yang’s face once more.
If Old Man Zhou was unaware of these details, Zhang Yang would have to find someone else to ask, though he wasn't confident about succeeding elsewhere.
“I don’t know, but someone does!” Old Man Zhou suddenly stated, looking at Zhang Yang.
“Who?” Zhang Yang startled and blurted out the question.
“Director Wang at the work unit. He manages the dispensary. All medicine collected had to be registered there. Shihua always got her medicine from the unit; they should have a record!”
“A record? That’s wonderful! Thank you, Old Man Zhou!”
Like finding a silver lining, hearing Old Man Zhou say this instantly lifted Zhang Yang’s spirits, giving him an urge to jump up.
Having a record was perfect! With a record, he could find out what medicine his mother was taking, and from there, analyze the cause of death. Work unit records were usually kept for a long time.
Furthermore, the Chinese Medicine Research Institute was still operating, though it was not as prominent as it once was.
But that didn't matter to Zhang Yang. He just needed to locate those old records. Records would be far clearer than human memory and absolutely accurate.
“Old Man Zhou, I have something urgent to attend to. I’ll visit again soon to thank you properly!”
Learning that there might be crucial clues at his mother’s former workplace, Zhang Yang could no longer sit still and stood up to leave immediately.
Old Man Zhou tried to detain him a few times, but finally gave up when Zhang Yang insisted.
After seeing Zhang Yang off, Old Man Zhou shook his head as he walked back inside, muttering about how Zhang Yang hadn't even stayed for a meal before rushing off.
As he spoke, he suddenly stopped, a hint of confusion on his face.
“When Shihua was sick, where was her son? I don’t recall seeing her son around that time at all. It wasn't until Shihua passed away that his father brought him out. Yes, that’s how it was, exactly like that!”
Old Man Zhou muttered to himself, then glanced back one last time.
Unfortunately, Zhang Yang was already far away and didn't hear Old Man Zhou’s sudden realization. Old Man Zhou hadn't thought to specifically tell Zhang Yang these things.
The Chinese Medicine Research Institute was located in Fushou Hutong, not far from the residential compound. When he was little, Zhang Yang used to love sneaking into the compound to steal medicinal herbs.
They would boil the stolen herbs themselves but never drank the resulting concoction; they only craved the unique, fragrant aroma of the medicine.
Many children from the staff families did things like this back then.
They also enjoyed sneaking into the cultivation base. These bases usually featured mixed planting—not just herbs alone. For instance, they would intercrop medicinal perennials among wheat fields to utilize the land efficiently and increase the unit’s revenue.
Besides wheat, they also mixed in vegetable patches. Zhang Yang often ran to the vegetable patch to swipe tomatoes or cucumbers to eat, an act for which his mother had frequently scolded him.
On his way to the Chinese Medicine Research Institute, Zhang Yang kept recalling these memories, and a faint smile slowly returned to his lips.
The events of ten years ago felt as if they had just happened. Although he hadn't experienced these things firsthand, recalling them still brought him boundless joy.
This is the sixth chapter written by Xiaoyu, serving as today's guaranteed second update, ensuring Xiaoyu is not behind on minimum commitments.