The world of film and television begins with Hikaru no Go

After the memorial service, Di Renjie did not leave immediately.

He only let Yuanfang and Di Jinghui go back first, while he stayed alone in the ancestral hall.

The candles lit up row by row on the offering table, casting his long shadow on the blue brick floor.

Zhang Rui stayed by his side without saying a word.

Di Renjie knelt on the prayer mat for a few more moments, then suddenly whispered, "Father, your son has returned."

After a long while, he tried to stand up, supporting himself on his knees, but his legs were stiff.

Zhang Rui reached out at the opportune moment and helped him to sit down next to the confession table.

At this moment, Di Renjie removed his hat and placed it on his lap. The solemn expression he had just worn faded, revealing a tired old man's face.

"Connecting to the secluded place".

"exist."

"My legs are a bit stiff from kneeling there. I'm getting old, they really aren't what they used to be."

Di Renjie gave a self-deprecating laugh, but Zhang Rui did not relax as well as he had.

"If you're tired, sit for a while longer. I'll keep you company."

Di Renjie did not reply, but simply leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a while.

Candles lit up row by row on the offering table, and wisps of cigarette smoke curled between the beams and pillars.

Zhang Rui didn't say anything, but just stood to the side, letting the hand that was still resting on Di Gong's arm stay for a while longer.

Di Renjie stared blankly at the memorial tablets of varying heights before him.

Zhang Rui followed his gaze for a moment, then asked softly, "Sir, are these all your family members?"

"Yes." Di Renjie raised his hand and pointed to the top row, "My great-grandfather's name was Zhan, and he served in the Northern Wei Dynasty. My ancestor's name was Xiaoxu, and he was the Left Vice Minister of the Ministry of Personnel in the early Tang Dynasty. When I was three years old, I retired and returned to my hometown. He taught me the first character I knew by hand."

Recalling the past, the old man was eager to talk, and Zhang Rui listened quietly.

The finger continued downwards, stopping on a nearby piece.

"My late father, Zhixun, had a long and winding official career, moving from north to south, and spent his entire life as a prefectural and county official. When I was seven years old, he taught me to judge my first case. Two chickens were fighting over food, and one pecked out the other's eye. My father said, 'You see, evil is not measured by its size.'"

Just as his knuckles were about to touch the last empty space, he paused, withdrew, and didn't say a word.

Zhang Rui stared at the empty seat, remaining silent for a moment before asking, "What kind of person was your father?"

"Upright, not talkative. Always thinking of others, but never of himself. All my meager skills were taught to me by him."

"Were you thinking of them when you were kneeling just now?"

"...Yes. My late father. He served as a local official his whole life. He didn't do anything particularly important, but he governed the counties under his jurisdiction very well. The people presented him with a 'Ten Thousand People's Umbrella' (a traditional Chinese umbrella symbolizing the support of the people). I was still young when he passed away. In the years since, every time I come to the ancestral hall, I think about whether he could see what I have done."

Zhang Rui fell silent, unconsciously applying more force to his hand.

Di Renjie looked down at his arm. The warm touch, faint and indistinct through his robe sleeve, was not heavy and had not loosened.

"I came every year during the years I served as a legal officer in Bingzhou. Later, I was transferred to Chang'an, and I came less often. I didn't come even once during my four years in Pengze. I was thinking of coming back to visit when the court granted me permission to retire. But as soon as the imperial edict arrived, I returned to Chang'an. If I don't come this time, I don't know when I'll be able to come again."

Zhang Rui wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say.

How long did you stay in Pengze?

"More than four years."

"And what about your child?"

"My son is an official in another city, and my daughter is married. I don't see her for many years, so we've gradually drifted apart. Only Di Chun has stayed with me all this time. I brought him from my hometown, and he's been with me for thirty years."

Zhang Rui suddenly remembered something: Di Renjie had once asked him if he had ever thought about his family.

At that time, I told myself that I couldn't remember.

Standing beside Di Renjie now, I suddenly feel that the weight of the word "family" is different from what it was back then.

"Grandpa."

"……Um."

"I'm here with you now."

A wind picked up outside the ancestral hall, making the old locust tree in the courtyard rustle.

Di Gong shifted his shoulders and back, but before he could exert any force, Zhang Rui had already supported his arm and helped him up from the chair.

After he regained his footing, Zhang Rui went back, picked up the crooked prayer mat from the ground, gently brushed off the bit of incense ash on it, and placed it back in its original position.

Di Renjie didn't say anything, he just raised his hand to straighten his clothes, and turned to walk out of the ancestral hall.

As they stepped out of the courtyard, he suddenly spoke up: "You haven't tried the mutton offal soup in Taiyuan yet. It's filled with fresh sheep's blood, and the broth is simmered overnight with sheep bones. It's piping hot, sprinkled with coriander, and one bowl will warm you up from head to toe. I'll buy you a bowl to take back later."

Zhang Rui floated beside him, a smile curving his lips: "Okay."

After dinner, Di Renjie finished explaining the remaining pages of the Thousand Character Classic.

He closed the book, pointed to the sand table, and asked Zhang Rui to write the four characters "Di Clan Ancestral Hall" once each.

Zhang Rui lay face down in front of the sand table, drawing stroke by stroke.

When writing the character “祠”, the “示” radical on the left and the “司” radical on the right are squeezed together again.

Di Gong moved the candlestick over so that the light could fall more clearly on the sand, and pointed it out to him.

"The character '祠' (shí) has '示' (shì) on the left and '司' (sī) on the right. '示' represents sacrifice, while '司' represents management. A shrine is the place where sacrifices are managed. '示' is narrow, while '司' is wide. You wrote '示' too wide, so '司' naturally doesn't fit. Erase it and write it again."

Zhang Rui smoothed out the sand and rewrote it.

After writing it for the fourth time, the four characters finally became more balanced.

Judge Di glanced at it, said "Not bad," and got up to lay out the paper.

Zhang Rui didn't follow. He glanced at Di Gong's back, then lowered his head and smoothed the fine sand in the sand table again.

He placed his finger on the sand and first wrote the character "怀" (huai), then next to it he wrote the character "英" (ying).

He had been secretly practicing for several days, thinking of giving Judge Di a surprise.

It's really not presentable; it's poorly written.

The same problem exists in the character “怀”, where the “heart” radical on the left and the “clothing” radical on the right always clash, with the strokes crowding together; while the character “英” can stand firm, but the last stroke is always not finished properly, either dragging on too long or ending abruptly.

I wrote these two characters more carefully tonight than before, but I was still not satisfied after finishing them, so I erased the character "怀" and rewrote it.

When I was writing it for the third time, I suddenly felt that the light beside me had become brighter.

Di Renjie returned at some point, holding a candlestick and standing behind him.

"Is this my handwriting?"

"……yes."

Di Gong placed the candlestick on the table, bent down, and examined the two characters on the sand table by candlelight.

The character “怀” is squeezed out of shape, with its left and right parts stuck together; the character “英”, on the other hand, stands firm, with thick strokes but a straight structure.

"I haven't practiced enough yet." Zhang Rui subconsciously tried to erase it.

"No need to smooth it out." Di Gong pointed to the densely packed character "怀" (huái). "The horizontal strokes should be flat, the vertical strokes straight. The 'heart' radical should be pulled back, and the 'clothing' radical should be extended outwards. The original meaning of '怀' is to keep something in one's heart. You need to learn to control the flow, to let the character breathe. Only when one stroke is fully extended can the other stroke be fully expanded."

Zhang Rui watched as it glided across the sand, each rise and fall steady and clear.

Write it again.

"it is good."

Zhang Rui smoothed out the sand and rewrote it.

One stroke at a time, very slowly.

Judge Di stood to the side holding the candlestick, without saying another word.

The chirping of insects outside the window started again, sparse, one long chirp and one short chirp.