Because in this remote region of Siberia, there are only two or three months when the ice and snow melt, and grapes grown in this climate could not possibly be sweet. Moreover, there are no large fruit markets here, so these mouth-puckeringly sour grapes were likely the finest fruit available locally.

I looked at the hospitable old woman and said, "Grandma, next time I come from China to visit you, I'll definitely bring you a big bag of sweet, large grapes."

The old woman seemed to understand the word for grapes and nodded vigorously, looking very emotional.

After picking the grapes, I helped the old woman walk back to the main room.

The old woman continued sorting the grapes, paying me no mind.

I was extremely bored. I had originally wanted to ask the old woman where Andrei and the others had gone, but she surely wouldn't understand me.

So, I could only pace around the house, checking if there were people in the other rooms; perhaps Andrei was still asleep.

Actually, wandering around someone else's home uninvited and looking into every room was very impolite.

But I reasoned that as long as I didn't go inside, just looking from outside the doorways shouldn't matter.

After circling once, I discovered that the house was built entirely of wood. Judging by the timber, the structure must be at least two hundred years old.

It seemed the Yakut people of Chukotka possessed quite skilled building techniques; a wooden house surviving so long and remaining so sturdy could indeed be called a marvel of craftsmanship.

This might also have something to do with the subarctic climate; there are relatively few insects here, making it difficult for woodworms to infest the timber.

This wooden structure had three doors on each side—left and right—four of which led to living spaces, while the two innermost doors opened into the kitchen and the latrine.

All rooms converged into the main living area, making the layout quite open and logical.

I checked; most of the room doors were ajar. I looked into each one but saw no sign of anyone, except for the door next to the bedroom I was staying in, which was locked.

Approaching that door, I witnessed a rather peculiar scene.

The lock on the door was rusted through, as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. Furthermore, there were many gaps between the wooden planks, through which I could see furniture inside draped with dust.

Evidently, someone used to live in this room, but it had since been abandoned.

What was strange, though, was that even though furniture remained inside and people lived in the house, someone should have at least been cleaning, even if the room itself was unused.

People generally prefer cleanliness; there was no reason to let the furniture gather dust and ignore it.

Though I managed to rationalize it, my curiosity compelled me to peek through the cracks in the door.

Just then, I saw what appeared to be a portrait hanging on the opposite wall. The portrait was draped with a black cloth, resembling a memorial picture.

The memorial picture was framed with an exquisite silver border, intricately decorated, but the image itself was so covered in dust that the person's features were obscured.

I was about to move closer for a better look when a hand patted me on the back.

I turned around and saw the old woman looking at me with a gentle smile.

I felt a bit awkward and stammered in Chinese, "It’s... nothing, I was just looking around."

The old woman continued smiling without speaking.

I scratched my head, offered an embarrassed smile, and walked toward the main door of the living room, saying, "I'm going for a walk."

The old woman nodded, said something in Russian, pointed to the sun in the sky, and then made a gesture for eating.

I understood she was reminding me not to forget lunch.

So, I nodded and hurried out the door.

Outside, the sun was bright and warm on my skin. I looked at the lush trees and flowers in the yard, took a deep breath, and walked out of the gate.

Outside the yard was a dirt road lined on both sides with these old, small wooden cabins, some with thatched roofs, others with smooth wooden planks.

Almost every cabin had a small courtyard, most of which were filled with various plants. I noticed a chestnut tree by the road with yellowing leaves hanging heavy with fruit, and small, grayish squirrels scampering up and down the tree.

Occasionally, a flock of wild ducks flew overhead, their quacking sounding distant and ethereal.

Walking to the right along the dirt road led toward the harbor; I could see the glittering sea and small fishing boats navigating the water.

Walking to the left, the street was lined with residences, and at the end of the street was a vast sea of grass. In the grassland, herds of reindeer moved among the scattered coniferous trees, and the herders were dozing under the trees.

I could see three continuous, snow-capped mountains towering at the edge of the grassland, with clouds and mist swirling around their midsections like a thin veil draped over the mountains.

Faced with such magnificent scenery, I couldn't help but take a deep breath and tilt my face up to feel the gentle sunshine.

After a while, I slowly opened my eyes and started walking toward the grassland.

Along the way, I frequently encountered villagers walking on the street, young and old, almost all wearing fluffy fur vests, with their heads wrapped in patterned cloth or wearing fur caps. They smiled and nodded at me, appearing especially friendly.

When I walked past, a few children ran out from their yards and followed me, chattering about something happily.

I smiled back at them, realizing they were probably curious because they had never seen a foreigner.

Seeing me turn around, the children grew shy and scurried back into their yards, secretly watching me over the fence.

I fumbled in my pocket and found a sealed bag of chocolate beans that hadn't gotten wet at sea.

I shook the bag of chocolate beans in my hand and asked, "Do you want some chocolate?"

The children instantly quieted down, their eyes fixed on the colorful packaging, swallowing hard, but none dared to approach.

I shook the bag again and said, "Come on, it’s delicious!"

At that moment, a little girl with rosy cheeks shook the braid behind her head and timidly walked out, shuffling toward me step by step.

Seeing she was only three or four years old, barely reaching my knee, with a runny nose, round cheeks, and large, bright, dark eyes, I smiled slightly and squatted down.

When she reached me, the little girl blinked, stared at me for a moment, and her face grew even redder.

Then, the other children shouted from behind, "Hulu, hulu!"

I assumed they meant, "Take it, take it."

But the little girl still hesitated. After a moment, she slowly opened her two soft, pink hands.

I placed the chocolate in her small palm and squeezed her cheek.

Then the little girl trotted happily back.

Watching the children happily munching on the chocolate beans made me happy too, and I continued walking forward with a smile.

But after only a few steps, I suddenly felt something tugging at my trousers from behind.

I turned to see it was the same little girl from before.

She was chewing a chocolate bean and then said something rapidly in her own language.

I naturally didn't understand, so she pointed toward the yard.

I frowned slightly and saw the other children gathered in a circle under a chestnut tree in the yard, arguing over something.

The little girl tugged my pant leg again, signaling me to come over.

So, I followed the little girl, and as I approached, I heard a faint chirping sound coming from the yard.

Getting closer, I saw that what the group of children was surrounding was actually a nest that had fallen to the ground.

In the nest, three small, featherless birds were gaping and chirping loudly.

The little girl tugged my trousers, then pointed toward the tree.

The other children also frowned, looking at me with pleading eyes.

I immediately understood their meaning; they wanted me to put the nest back up in the tree.

I hadn't expected these children to be so compassionate. I recalled that when I was young and encountered a situation like this, these little birds would have already been squashed by me. Perhaps this was a difference in culture.

So, without hesitation, I picked up the nest from the ground, found a long stool in the yard, and effortlessly placed the nest on the most stable branch.

The children were delighted to see the little birds returned to the tree.