Belle said softly, “My great-grandmother would be happy to know my decision. She’d praise me for growing up, for becoming sensible, and for having a plan for everything I do. Before coming here, I visited her grave and talked to her for a long time.”
Belle shared an exceptionally deep bond with her great-grandmother. Before she even started kindergarten, she spent nearly every day by her side. She was the apple of her great-grandmother’s eye. Her great-grandmother often said she had been waiting eagerly for Belle’s birth and that, among all her great-grandchildren, Belle was the one she loved the most.
When her great-grandmother passed away, Belle was thirteen, newly entered into junior high school. It had happened nine years ago, in the eleventh month of the lunar calendar. The weather in Wiltspoon was chilly. It was a Saturday—one she remembered with painful clarity.
That afternoon, when Belle came home from school, her great-grandmother was in high spirits. She looked perfectly fine, eating well and sleeping soundly, just like any other day.
That night, Belle insisted on sleeping with her. Curled up on her great-grandmother’s bed, she chatted endlessly, sharing all the funny stories from school. Her great-grandmother listened with delight, laughing warmly at every little joke.
She reminded Belle to make more friends and not to study too hard. Her grades were already excellent, she said, and her health mattered more. She told Belle to always take care of herself—and to think of her great-grandmother, too.
Belle hugged her arm and acted coquettishly, saying she thought about her great-grandmother every day. She asked whether Great-Grandma thought about her while she stayed at home.
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