My cousin asked me to go to Wuha, and Hanikezi stuck to me.

When Chen Yi casually mentioned these three things, they seemed trivial, but their significance became clear when they actually happened.

My daughter's third birthday was celebrated quietly; the three of us snuggled up in the living room and had a hot pot meal.

Grandma prepared the broth, Hanikezi chopped a plate full of vegetables, and Chen Yi was in charge of cooking the meat.

The little girl sat upright in her high chair, her dark eyes fixed on the bubbling soup noodles, her little nose sweating with longing.

The three-year-old child no longer runs around the house like she did when she was two; she has learned to wait.

The slices of meat were cooked in the pot until they curled up and changed color. Chen Yi took them out and put them in a bowl to cool them down. She held the small spoon and patiently waited for the temperature to drop before eating them.

Hanikezi stared at her daughter eating for a long time, her chopsticks hovering in mid-air without falling.

"Look at her eyes."

Chen Yi kept his head down, simmering the mutton in the hot pot, without looking up.

"What's wrong?"

"She looks exactly like me when I was a child, round and shiny, with curled eyelashes."

"Your eyes are like mine, but your temperament is just like mine."

"Where is up to you?"

Chen Yi raised his chopsticks and pointed at his daughter.

The little girl was counting the slices of meat in her bowl with her head down, her lips moving slightly as she arranged each slice neatly according to size before starting to eat.

"You don't have that drive to plan things out before doing anything."

Hanikezi pursed her lips and reached out to wipe the oil stains from her daughter's lips.

"Arrangement aside, she talks more than you."

That's true.

My daughter is very quick-witted; she can already speak in long, complete sentences when she's just over three years old.

The kindergarten teacher has praised the child more than once in the parents' group, saying that the child's expressive ability is far beyond that of his peers, and he can tell a story with a clear beginning, development, climax, and conclusion.

But there was one thing about her that made her quieter than any other child her age.

Sometimes, when Chen Yi had some free time in the evening, he would rummage through the corner of his study and find that old guitar.

The strings had been replaced twice, but the scratches on the instrument hadn't been repaired. The sound it made when played while held in one's arms had a rough, warm quality.

My daughter will put down everything she's holding when she hears the music.

He stopped halfway through building with blocks, left his paintbrush on the paper, and ran to the living room.

She didn't make a fuss or come closer to pluck the strings. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the carpet three steps in front of Chen Yi's knees, placed her hands on her knees, and listened quietly to the entire piece with her little face upturned.

A three-year-old child who can sit still for four minutes is considered a rare sight in kindergarten.

Hanikezi had bumped into him several times.

She secretly recorded videos with her phone the first few times, but after recording many more, she stopped.

One evening, she leaned against the study door frame, looking at the father and daughter in the living room, and suddenly spoke.

"I wonder if she'll go into the entertainment industry someday."

Chen Yi was tuning his instrument when he heard this and paused.

"Why would you think that?"

"Didn't you see the way she looked when she listened to you play the piano? It wasn't just that she was looking at it with curiosity; it was like she was dissecting the melody. Last time you played the part where the key changed in the chorus, she frowned a little, just like you used to nitpick when you listened to songs back then."

Chen Yi placed the zither on his lap and glanced back at her.

"We support whatever she wants to do, but whether or not she enters this industry is her own choice. We won't push her away or stop her."

"I wasn't planning on turning her down. It's just that seeing how serious she was, I suddenly had a lingering thought about it."

"While we may wish for her, she's only three years old. Let's focus on teaching her to recognize all the characters first."

Besides her passion for music, my daughter has also become addicted to painting.

There's a low table under the wall by the window in the living room, where crayon boxes and scattered drawing papers are always placed.

Most of her drawings are crooked and distorted; faces are drawn as ovals, arms as two sticks, and the sun is always hanging in the upper right corner of the paper.

Hanikezi put her paintings one by one into a folder, arranging them by date.

Chen Yi flipped through the pages a few times and saw that his daughter's color schemes were quite bold. Red and green, blue and orange, would be called color clashes in the eyes of adults, but in the hands of a child, they had a kind of unreasonable and fierce feel.

One afternoon in mid-April, Chen Yi went to pick up his daughter from kindergarten.

A group of parents were crowded in the waiting area at the entrance. He was huddled in a corner, looking down at his phone, his hat pulled low.

The homeroom teacher, Ms. Li, led the little guy out.

The daughter carried her small schoolbag in one hand and tightly gripped a piece of drawing paper in the other.

"Mr. Chen, today's class topic is 'My Family,' and your daughter drew a particularly interesting piece."

Teacher Li bent down to take the drawing paper from her daughter's hand, unfolded it, and handed it to Chen Yi.

The colors in the picture are vibrant, painted with crayons.

Standing in the very center is a tall adult with a black line drawn around his head to represent hair.

The adult was holding a brown object in his hands, its shape was crooked, and it was barely recognizable as a guitar.

There were many small circles drawn in front of the adults, and each circle had two black dots on top as eyes.

A person stands in front of many people, holding a guitar in his arms.

"When we were in class, we asked each child who they were drawing."

Teacher Li said gently, "Guess what she said?"

The little girl looked up at Chen Yi with a smug look in her eyes.

"I said it was Dad."

Chen Yi squatted down to look her in the eye and reached out to take the drawing paper.

The crayon lines were rough, the color went beyond the boundaries, and the proportions of the figures were all off.

But the figure holding the guitar in the center of the picture is standing ramrod straight.

"What is Daddy doing?"

"Dad is singing for lots of people."

How could you tell that Dad was singing for someone else?

"Because my dad sings for me at home, he must sing for other people outside too."

Chen Yi ran his fingers over the crayon powder on the edge of the drawing paper, and a wave of weakness washed over him.

In the little guy's eyes, he is not a top celebrity who has been trending on social media, nor a movie star who has won major awards, nor the person who sits behind the director's chair and shouts "Action!"

What she remembered was her father sitting in the living room that evening, strumming his guitar and singing.

"Well drawn."

"The teacher also said it was good! The teacher said the colors were used boldly."

Chen Yi folded the drawing paper and put it in his coat pocket, then scooped up his daughter and carried her on his shoulder.

"Go home and show it to your mother."

When I got home, Hanikezi was in the kitchen preparing dinner, her apron covered in flour.

The daughter kicked off her shoes and ran into the kitchen, tugging at her mother's apron strap and shouting.

"Mommy, look at my drawing! Mommy, look!"

Chen Yi took out a sheet of drawing paper from his inner pocket, unfolded it, and laid it flat on the dining table.

Hanikezi put down the rolling pin and came closer to take a look. Her eyes darted around twice, and the corners of her lips couldn't help but turn up.

"Is this Dad?"

"Yes! Dad is singing while holding his guitar."

Who are these round-headed people in front of us?

"There are so many people listening to the songs."

Hanikezi looked up and met Chen Yi's gaze.

He leaned against the dining table, arms crossed, his face expressionless, but she knew that look all too well.

His lips were taut and he didn't smile, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him.

"Look at your daughter."

She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear, "I didn't draw any of the trophies in the whole room, but I remembered you playing the guitar."

Chen Yi turned his head to avoid her hot breath on his ear and replied.

"She couldn't reach those trophies, but she could hear the guitar every day."

"So, what she remembers is the most authentic you."

After dinner, my daughter spread out her drawing paper in the living room and continued drawing.

After washing the dishes, Chen Yi walked out of the kitchen and saw the little girl lying on the floor. She had changed the colors of her crayons several times and added two new figures to the drawing paper.

One was wearing a skirt and standing to the side, while the other, short and small, was squatting in front.

"Who is this?"

The daughter didn't even look up.

"Mom and me. Mom stood on the side watching Dad sing, and I sat in the front listening."

Chen Yi stood behind her for a while, then bent down and touched the little whorl of hair sticking up on the back of her head.

Hanikezi finished cleaning up the kitchen and came out. Seeing the father and daughter, she leaned against the door frame and spoke softly.

"This painting should be framed and hung on the wall from now on."

Chen Yi straightened up and picked up the crayons his daughter had scattered on the carpet, one by one, and put them back into the box.

"Let's see if she remembers this drawing when she grows up."

"She will remember."

Hanikezi came over and squatted down next to her daughter, helping her to flatten the edges of the drawing paper.

"You look much better playing the guitar than when you win an award."