How did hiring someone to press a pig image during Chinese New Year become a top trend?

The older sister leaned on her broom and glanced at him, her gaze sweeping from the sunspots on his face to the canvas bag on his shoulder and then to the almost falling-off cloth shoes on his feet.

"You mean that old post office on Jianshe Road? It's going to be demolished, in a few days. Just walk straight ahead to the end, turn left and walk about a hundred meters, and you'll see it. The trees are so big, you won't miss it."

"Thank you, big sister."

"Young man, did you arrive on foot?"

"Um."

"Which way did you come from?"

"Henan".

The older woman paused on the ground with her broom, opened her mouth but didn't say anything. After two seconds, she muttered, "These young people nowadays," and then continued sweeping.

A few comments popped up in the live stream chat.

"You didn't stutter or blush when asking for directions, An Shen, you've improved!"

"I used to break out in a sweat just asking for directions, but now I can answer them as soon as I open my mouth. These past three months of travel have not been in vain."

"The five words 'came from Henan' left the eldest sister speechless."

Xu An walked straight to the end of Tuanjie Lane and then turned left.

Then he saw the tree.

The mango tree is huge, its canopy spread out like a green umbrella, blocking out the sunlight for half the street. The trunk requires at least two people to hug it, and the cracks in the bark are so deep that you can fit your fingers in them. The tree looks to be at least forty or fifty years old.

There is an old wooden bench under the tree.

The paint on the bench had chipped away, leaving only a few mottled green patches. The wooden planks were worn smooth and shiny from being sat on, and a wire was wrapped around the legs to prevent them from loosening.

The post office is three meters behind the bench.

It was a small, single-story house with an exterior wall painted a grayish-white like those in the 1980s. A green "China Post" sign was pasted on the wall, the edges of which were curled up, revealing the rusted iron underneath. On the wall to the left of the entrance, a large "Demolish" character was spray-painted in red.

Xu An stood under the mango tree, his heart pounding.

He didn't go in immediately.

He squatted down.

He reached his hand under the crossbar of the bench.

After groping around on the bottom of the wooden board for a few seconds, my fingers touched something.

It was a piece of paper, folded into a very small square, and taped to the inside of the crossbar with transparent tape. You would never notice it unless you specifically reached out and touched it.

He tore the paper off and unfolded it.

Hand-drawn map.

The pencil lines were clean and accurate, marking the walking route from the post office to No. 42 Qingyun Lane. Arrows were drawn at every turn, and landmarks were marked at several key intersections, such as "Turn left at the red barber shop" and "Turn right at the alley opposite the fruit stand".

There was a line of very small text written in the lower right corner of the map.

"Give this to him when he comes."

It was exactly the same as what Zhao Nian relayed.

Xu An folded the map and put it into the inner pocket of his canvas bag, then stood up and walked towards the post office.

The door was open, and the sound of an electric fan whirring could be heard coming from inside.

Behind the counter sat a man in his early fifties, wearing reading glasses and looking at a form. One of the fluorescent light tubes above his head was out, and the other was flickering, making the whole room seem as if the light was about to go out at any moment.

As Xu An walked in, his footsteps echoed softly on the terrazzo floor.

The man looked up at him.

Xu An's throat tightened a little when he opened his mouth.

"Hello, I'm here to retrieve something from a locker."

The man pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

What's the number?

"037".

The man's hand remained still on the form.

His gaze moved from Xu An's face to his canvas bag, then to his cloth shoes, and finally back to his face.

"What's your name?"

"Xu An".

The room was quiet for about three seconds, during which the hum of the electric fan seemed particularly loud.

The man took off his reading glasses and placed them on the counter, then stood up.

"You are An'an."

Xu An didn't speak, but he nodded.

When the man walked around the counter and stood in front of him, his eyes were already red, but he didn't shed a tear. He reached out and patted Xu An on the shoulder, not hard but very firmly.

"I've waited twenty years, child."

The number of viewers in the live stream exceeded two thousand at that moment.

The speed of the comments actually slowed down to the minimum, floating one by one, with several seconds between each one.

He calls him An'an.

"Twenty years."

"I didn't cry, I just got sand in my eyes."

The administrator, Old Chen, led Xu An to the back, through a narrow door, into an even smaller room. The room had three walls lined with metal cabinets, each numbered. Most of the cabinet doors were covered in a thick layer of dust, obscuring the number plates.

Old Chen stopped in front of the third row of cabinets against the east wall.

"037".

The cabinet doors had less dust than the other cabinets, which showed that someone had cleaned them regularly.

The keyhole is an old-fashioned cylindrical lock with a brass lock cylinder. The surface is oxidized and turned green, but it is not rusted.

Xu An took the key out from the innermost hidden pocket of the canvas bag.

The key was small, shorter than his little finger, made of brass to match the lock cylinder, and had a string of numbers engraved on the key handle—the same number his mother had sewn onto the sole of his shoe.

He aligned the key with the lock.

His hand didn't tremble, but he held his breath when he inserted it.

screw.

The lock cylinder turned very quietly, like a screw sliding half a turn inside the sheet metal.

Click.

The cabinet door popped open a crack.

A musty smell, not moldy, wafted out from the cracks. It was the dry, slightly mothball-like scent of fabric and paper that had been in a confined space for too long.

Xu An opened the cabinet door.

There was only one thing in the cabinet.

A cloth bag.

It was wrapped in floral cotton fabric, with the four corners tied tightly. A transparent plastic bag was also placed over the fabric to prevent moisture, and the plastic bag was sewn shut with needle and thread.

Xu An weighed the cloth bag in his hand when he took it out.

It's not heavy, maybe a little over one kilogram.

It matches the weight Zhao Nian mentioned earlier.

He didn't unpack it next to the cabinet. He carried the cloth bag in his arms and walked out. When he passed Old Chen, Old Chen stepped aside to let him pass. He didn't follow or urge him. He just said, "It's cool under the mango tree outside. You can sit there and watch."

When Xu An walked out of the post office, the sunlight suddenly flooded his face. He squinted for a moment and then walked to the bench under the mango tree and sat down.

The canvas bag was placed at my feet.

The cloth bag rested on his knees.

The number of viewers in the live stream exceeded three thousand.

No one sent any comments urging him to hurry up.

More than three thousand people waited quietly in front of their respective screens.

Xu An used his fingernail to pry open the thread sealing the plastic bag. After peeling off the plastic bag, the original color of the floral cotton fabric was revealed. There were several faded daisy patterns on the fabric. It was very soft to the touch, just like the quilt cover he used to use when he was a child.

He untied the knots at the four corners one by one.

The cloth bag was opened.

There are three things inside.

At the very top is a pair of cloth shoes.

The shoe has a black corduroy upper and a white, multi-layered sole. The stitches on the upper are so dense they look like ants lining up. The edge of the shoe opening is finished with a dark red piping. The tiny bend at the seam of the piping is exactly the same as the worn-out cloth shoes on his feet, indicating that they were made by the same hands.

Xu An turned the shoe over and looked at the sole.

A number was pierced into the sole of the shoe with an awl.

Forty-two.

It's exactly the same size as his foot now.

It's exactly the same size as the liberation shoe found in the overturned jeep at the bottom of the ditch.

He placed the shoes aside.

The second item was a notebook with a dark blue hard cover. It was a size larger than my palm and had a different design than my father's, but the thickness was about the same.

He didn't open it; instead, he picked up the third item.

a letter.

The envelope was made of kraft paper, without a stamp or address. It was sealed with glue, and after the glue dried, it left a whitish ring.

The envelope had two words written on the front.

An'an.

He was very familiar with the handwriting.

The "Peace" on the sole of the shoe was written by the same hand, the "Tang" on the peach tree was carved by the same hand, and the letter written to "Xiao An" under the old banyan tree was left by the same hand.

Xu An slowly pried open the seal on the envelope with his index finger.

There was only one piece of paper inside.

The paper was small, a lined page torn from a notebook. The paper was yellowed, but the writing was clear. It was written with a fountain pen, and the ink had faded from dark blue to grayish-blue over the past twenty years.

Three lines of text.

"An'an, your arrival means you've grown up. It's not that Mom doesn't want you, it's just that there's a path I haven't finished walking."

"These shoes were made to fit your dad's feet. He said you'll grow up to be the same size as him. Wear them and walk the rest of the way for Mom."

"No matter how far you go, remember to come home for dinner."

Xu An finished reading these three lines.

He didn't cry.

He folded the letter and put it back into the envelope, which he then placed in the innermost pocket of his canvas bag, where he kept keepsakes. The envelope was tucked away with Grandpa Zeng's wire loop, Old Han's pliers, the old man who mended bowls' copper nails, the old man who repaired cars' mirror, and the projectionist's eggs.

Then he bent down and took off the old cloth shoes he had been wearing for 2,300 kilometers.

The soles of the old shoes were so thin you could see the light through them. There was a thumb-sized hole in the forefoot area that had been sewn up three times with wire but was still leaking. The fabric on the heel was completely worn through, with only the last layer of lining holding it together.

He put on the new shoes his mother had made.

He paused for a moment when he put his foot in.

Just right.

Not too big, not too small. There's about a finger's width of room for your toes inside the shoe. The arch support fits snugly. The multi-layered sole is firm but not uncomfortable on the ground. The corduroy upper gives you a solid feeling of being caught by something when it wraps around your instep.

The shoes she made twenty years ago were sized according to the feet of a father whose child was only two or three years old at the time.

She was right.

The live stream chat finally started moving.

But the speed is still very slow.

"She knew twenty years ago that he would grow up to look like his father."

"It was made according to your dad's foot. Your dad said that when you grow up you will be the same size as him. I read that sentence three times, and each time it hurt more and more."

"No matter how far you go, remember to come home for dinner. All mothers in the world say the same thing."

"An Shen, when you stepped on those shoes, did you know that you were stepping on the soles that your mother had spent countless nights sewing?"

"My mom called me yesterday and said the same thing: remember to eat. I hung up because I thought she was annoying, but now I want to call her back."

Xu An stood up and took two steps beside the bench.

The new shoes made a soft rubbing sound on the cement floor, a completely different sound from the old shoes. The old shoes made a rustling sound when walking because the soles were worn thin, while the new shoes made a crunching sound because the soles were thick.

After walking a few steps, he squatted down, picked up the old shoes, and instead of throwing them away, wrapped them in a plastic bag and stuffed them into the side pocket of his canvas bag.

These old shoes have traveled 2,300 kilometers and now have a name and a history.

Then he sat back down on the bench and opened the dark blue notebook.

The first page is a hand-drawn map, similar in style to the one in my father's notes but with more delicate strokes. It marks the locations of thirty-seven red dots and the routes between each dot.

There is a line of small text in the lower right corner of the map.

"These 37 points are the ones your dad and I didn't finish visiting. I went through them again, and I've written down the current status of each point below."

Each subsequent page records a location, spanning eighteen years from 2006 to 2024. Each location records geological conditions, changes in residents, and road conditions. The handwriting changed from neat at first to gradually becoming messy, and the ink changed from blue-black to blue ballpoint pen ink and then to pencil ink.

Xu An turned to the last page.

There is only one sentence above.

"The thirty-seventh location is inside courtyard number forty-two in Qingyun Lane. You'll find out when you get there."

This sentence was written in March 2024.

Two years ago.

Xu An closed the notebook and put it in the canvas bag, then took out the hand-drawn map he had found under the bench from the inner pocket and unfolded it to take a look.

The route is short; it's just six turns from the post office.

He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

Old Chen appeared at the post office entrance at some point, holding a glass of water. He took a step forward when he saw Xu An about to leave.

"Child, have you found what you're looking for?"

Xu An turned around and glanced at him.

"Found it, thank you Uncle Chen."

"That's good."

Old Chen handed the glass of water over, and Xu An took it, drank a couple of sips, and returned it.

"Uncle Chen, this cabinet has been renewed for twenty years, right?"

Old Chen nodded.

"The last time was in January of this year. Someone left money on the counter without saying a word and left. He signed his name with the words 'Peace and Safety'."

Xu An didn't ask what the person looked like.

He knew the answer wasn't there.

He turned and followed the first arrow on the hand-drawn map out of the post office and turned east.

The number of viewers in the live stream has exceeded four thousand, and the pace of the comments has returned to normal.

"An Shen is going to No. 42 Qingyun Lane."

"This is the address written on the back of the photo, the yard full of crabapple blossoms."

"Do you think someone might be waiting for him in that courtyard?"

"Don't say anymore, I'm afraid I can't handle it."

Xu An walked for fifteen minutes following the map.

Six turns, and not a single wrong turn.

The person who drew the map knew this old town like the back of their hand. Every landmark was marked accurately. The red barbershop was still there, only the sign had changed, and the fruit stand was still there, only the owner was younger.

Qingyun Lane is a very narrow alley. The houses on both sides are old buildings from the 1970s and 1980s. Bougainvillea and ivy climb all over the walls. The power lines overhead are tangled like a spider web. The ground is paved with red bricks from who knows how many years ago, with moss and foxtail grass growing in the cracks between the bricks.

Number 42 is at the end of the alley.

Xu An stopped when he reached the door.

The door was an old-fashioned wooden door, the dark brown paint was mostly peeling off, and the door knocker was made of iron, rusted into a dark brown.

To the left of the door was a low wall, and the branches of a tree were visible through the wall.

The branches are not thick but very graceful, and the leaves are oval-shaped and dark green, glossy in the June sunlight.

Xu An recognized this tree.

Crabapple tree.

It's the same as the one in the photo.

It's the same tree as the one in my old family's yard.

He stood at the door without pushing it open immediately; he glanced down at the threshold.

There was a thin layer of dust on the stone slab of the threshold, and two marks on the dust, which were made by the soles of shoes when someone recently stepped over the threshold.

The marks are very fresh.

The live stream suddenly went silent.

Xu An raised his hand and grasped the iron door knocker.

The door knocker made a dull thud when it hit the iron base; it wasn't loud, but it carried far in the quiet alley.

No one answered.

He pushed the door open.

The door wasn't locked.

With a creak, the door swung open halfway inward, revealing the courtyard inside.

The yard is small, about ten square meters. The ground is paved with pebbles, and clumps of mint and perilla grow in the cracks between the pebbles. Several rose bushes are planted against the wall and are in full bloom.

In the center of the courtyard stands that crabapple tree.

The tree wasn't very tall, maybe four or five meters, but its dense foliage covered half the yard. There was a bamboo chair under the tree, and a folded dark coat was draped over it.

Xu An shifted his gaze from his coat to the ground next to the bamboo chair.

An enamel mug sits on the ground, with about half a mug of water inside, and two freshly fallen crabapple leaves floating on the surface.

The water wasn't completely cooled.

Someone just left.

Xu An neither chased after him nor shouted.

He walked to the foot of the crabapple tree and looked up at the trunk.

The tree trunk is about one meter above the ground, and there are words carved on the bark.

He leaned closer to take a look.

It's not just one line of text, but many lines, carved at different heights and locations. The bottom line of text has been deformed by the growth of the tree bark, indicating that it has been carved for many years.

The bottom line.

"2003, everyone is present and safe."

Go up one line.

"In 2006, Tang came back, and 01 was there."

Going further up.

"2024, An'an will be here soon."

The top row is newly carved; the bark marks haven't fully healed yet, and the wood is lighter in color than other areas.

"He's coming in 2026."

Xu An stood under the tree, looking at the four lines of words. His new shoes crunched twice on the gravel before he squatted down.

His fingers touched a very shallow scratch on the armrest of the bamboo chair.

There is a small symbol at the end of the scratch.

A cross is drawn inside a circle.

He had seen the markings countless times along the entire road.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

News about Zhao Nian.

"Brother Xu, have you arrived at Qingyun Lane yet? I just got some information from a friend at the Geological Survey Bureau. GS-01's true identity has a note in the internal system, and the note says four words."

The second message arrived five seconds later.

"Brother Xu An, those four words mean Xu An's father."