When Yingzi married Chi Wu, the old woman thought to herself that she had truly done right by her youngest son; even if she passed away now, she could face her late husband with a clear conscience.

After the marriage, Wu Zi treated the old woman even better; standing next to Yingzi, it was truly impossible to tell which of the two cared for her more deeply.

The old woman found herself smiling more and more often. Perhaps it was because she had become more cheerful and her spirits were lifted, smoothing the worry lines from her brow. Looking in the mirror, the old woman felt she looked completely different from her younger self, unable to recall when the transformation had begun.

Sometimes the old woman felt a sense of unreality. She remembered the first time she’d looked in the mirror—instinctively, she hadn’t wanted to look a second time—seeing a face that was the very definition of sharp, unblessed, and ill-fated.

She had often used that very description when scolding others, yet she had never truly registered that her own face held that expression. But now, after so many years, the old woman actually saw fortune reflected in her own features; her forehead seemed bright. She studied herself from all angles for a long time,

and only when Yingzi came in to call her “Grandma” did the old woman doubt whether the person in the mirror was truly her.

Yingzi: “Grandma, what is it? Why are you staring in the mirror so much?” The old woman asked, “Yingzi, do you think I’ve changed?”

Yingzi nodded with firm certainty: “You have, you’ve aged, but you’ve become beautiful.”

Yingzi spoke the truth, which aligned with the old woman’s own observation, yet the phrasing felt slightly off. “Don’t try to fool me. Do you think what you said makes sense?”

Cheng Ying replied, “And you think it doesn’t?”

Finishing the sentence, she gently straightened the old woman’s head, making her look directly into the glass: “You’re older, and yes, you are more beautiful. That’s not wrong.”

Fine, the change was undeniable, but the logic was flawed. “You silly girl, that’s what you say about young women growing up to be beautiful. I’m old; how can I be beautiful? Stop trying to trick me, I’m not senile yet.”

Cheng Ying countered, “That’s why I’m even more correct. You’re not senile; you just refuse to acknowledge the facts.”

Well, the old woman’s lingering doubts were swept away by Cheng Ying’s response. Perhaps everyone becomes more beautiful with age. The old woman let the matter drop; after all, beauty held no real importance for an old woman anyway—it wasn't true beauty, just less obvious aging.

By city standards, the level of maintenance the Cheng family matriarch displayed wasn't particularly remarkable. Take Mrs. Chi, for example; she could stand anywhere, and compared to her, the old woman knew she didn’t even bear looking at.

Once the old woman understood this, she stopped dwelling on it. Of course, when she was confused, it didn't matter at all.

As the years advanced, the old woman genuinely felt her strength wane. Sometimes, in a brief lapse, she wouldn't know what she was doing. When awareness returned, fear would grip her—she had nearly lost herself. A frequent plea to Sister Rong was: “You must keep a close watch on me.”

Whenever the old woman said this, Sister Rong’s heart ached, knowing the old woman was finally recognizing her decline.

The old woman enjoyed everything about her life except one thing that troubled her peace: her granddaughter and grandson-in-law lived far away. The old woman felt this was insecure. Why couldn't her granddaughter use her head? A man like Chi Wu, so capable, attracted plenty of sharp-eyed women, and even more discerning mothers-in-law. What if their foundation was undermined someday? The old woman worried constantly, looking at Yingzi and fretting—she was such an oblivious child.

No amount of teaching could fix it.

If only the two children could have a baby soon. Holding this worry, the old woman began to mutter when she saw Cheng Ying, “If I were gone, what would you do? Who would you rely on? With no one watching you, how could I rest easy?”

Cheng Ying felt a pang of sadness, but her words never failed to tease the old woman. “If you’re worried, then live harder! Otherwise, I don’t know what irresponsible things I might do.”

Every time, the old woman would playfully land a few gentle thumps on Cheng Ying’s arm—you troublesome child, always making me worry!

The old woman’s greatest joy was listening to people warm up their voices in the park. It wasn't the quality of the singing, but the envy of the surrounding elderly couples. When she sat down, the old men and women nearby would exclaim, “Oh, Sister Cheng, you are truly blessed! How accomplished your children turned out to be! Three college students in your courtyard—whose family can compare? Especially your granddaughter, I am truly envious; I wish I could send my own two grandsons back to the training camp just to have them inherit half the capability and filial piety of your granddaughter.”

How could the old woman not be pleased by such talk? Her jaw ached from holding back a proud smile; she feared she might burst out laughing right there in public. She always pretended to be unconcerned: “The children are mischievous, nothing special.” Such feigned modesty.

One of the old men spoke up, “Oh, dear sister, don’t be so humble. I saw it myself—last week, didn’t your eldest granddaughter take you out to the suburbs to see a play?”

The old woman pursed her lips, “The child was idle and just wandered off.”

An old woman nearby chimed in, “Two weeks ago, I visited my daughter’s place, and I think it was your grandson taking you out to a performance. Look at you, you truly make us envious. My child, forget visiting me, even when I go to see her, she hardly has time to stay for a moment.”

The old woman could no longer contain herself and smiled like a fool.

In moments like these, the old woman felt she was the happiest grandmother alive. Her grandson and granddaughter were beyond compare; they took her everywhere to see shows, knowing how much she loved excitement. Though happy, she felt a twinge of concern over the gasoline expenses.

That car didn’t run on its own; it cost money.

But Yingzi always reassured her, “We aren’t lacking money in our family now, Grandma. Just tell us where you want to go, and we promise to make you happy. Please don't worry about those small expenses anymore.”

Cheng Ming would add from the side, “We have land, Grandma! We are the landlords! Don’t you worry.”

Although the old woman scolded them as spendthrifts, she truly let the worries go. She still had gold bars tucked away in her chicken coop, and her granddaughter had shown her—their family had so much money, a stack so high she had measured it with her arm. Playing without restraint was definitely fine.

Of course, only Cheng Ying knew the old woman’s true nature, taking the time to stash away that much cash just for her grandmother’s entertainment.

The more comfortable the old woman’s life became, the less she wanted to exercise her mind. Perhaps that’s how her brain grew duller. When life was good, the children were grown, and she didn't need to worry about anything; why should she exert herself? It was better to simply enjoy the blessings bestowed by her granddaughter.

When Cheng Ying became pregnant, the old woman smiled to herself for a long time. In her heart, as long as the two were married and had descendants, they were an inseparable family unit. Wu Zi was as solid and dependable as a nail; he wasn't going anywhere.

Divorce carried such stigma back then, so the old woman felt truly relieved, letting go of the last persistent worry in her heart.

The old woman once told Cheng Ying, “Now that you’re expecting, even if I’m not watching you anymore, I’ll feel at ease. A mother will always think things through more for her child’s sake.”

Cheng Ying hugged her grandmother, “You can’t relax too soon! You still need to watch my child grow up. Aren't you afraid I'll raise the kid into a menace?”

The old woman wanted to playfully swat her granddaughter but stopped, remembering her delicate condition. “Relying on you, I wouldn’t be entirely at ease, but I trust Wu Zi. That child never does anything unreliable.”

Perhaps the old woman relaxed too soon, and that’s why she grew increasingly absentminded.

Sometimes Cheng Ying wondered if making the old woman’s life slightly less comfortable might have prevented her from becoming so befuddled.

Once the old woman became foolish, she played with the children every day. Her granddaughter was so devoted and even gave her two little companions. The old woman was happy from the bottom of her heart, though she couldn't fathom how the three of them managed to play together.

As soon as the babies learned to crawl, Cheng Ying took them to the park to listen to the free street opera, cultivating a shared hobby for the old woman and her playmates. The granddaughter essentially treated her own children as study partners for the old woman. This state of affairs made the surrounding elderly folk intensely envious.

Before the Cheng matriarch became confused, her granddaughter’s filial piety was the envy of many. But now, she was as simple as a child, and her granddaughter still treated her with such devotion, coaxing her as if she were her own young child. How could people not feel jealous?

Every elderly person would put themselves in her shoes: if they were in Sister Cheng’s position, would their own children treat them with the same devotion as her granddaughter treated her?

Thus, even though the Cheng old woman had become silly, she had laid an excellent foundation of social connections for Yingzi and Chi Wu.

The group of elders shared one unified thought: the Cheng granddaughter and grandson-in-law were decent people, worth knowing. People like them were rare now. Thinking that associating with good people leads to good behavior, they hoped that observing such filial piety might help their own children see things more clearly.

Therefore, Cheng Ying and Chi Wu were very popular. The old men and women eagerly introduced their younger relatives to the couple.

It wasn't for any other reason than that the couple was genuinely good-hearted. If they could learn even half of their conduct, they would be content.

Never mind that they were old folks; they were retired workers and former cadres. Could anyone have navigated their careers safely enough to draw a pension without possessing some competence?

A large portion of Cheng Ying and Chi Wu’s network was built by the old woman.

The relationship between the old woman and the couple wasn't without its friction. For instance, when confused, the old woman would still try to steal her great-grandchildren’s mother away. At those times, Yingzi felt helpless, caught in the middle: who should she favor? Why must she face such a dilemma? Oh, my dear grandmother!

If the old woman hadn't been confused, seeing her granddaughter’s aggrieved expression would have made her laugh. She had no idea she was causing her granddaughter such distress.

As the children grew older, the old woman’s health declined further. Strangely, her mind seemed to clear up significantly. Although speaking was difficult, her mind reviewed her life like a rapid, unfolding scroll, as if she were reassessing everything from the beginning.

Looking at her granddaughter then, the old woman would start to weep, her heart aching for Yingzi; she knew she could not let this person go.

In her dreams, the old woman only saw the old courtyard back in their hometown. Upon waking, she would tell Yingzi she missed home.

The old woman was confused, yet she knew she couldn't let go of Yingzi’s hand, unable to feel truly secure without her nearby. But when the end truly arrives, it doesn't matter how unwilling you are or how much you hold on—you truly cannot stop it. The old woman simply closed her eyes.