Grandfather

Delon seemed completely unaware of what was wrong with the words he had just shouted. He was like a drowning man who had finally surfaced, doing nothing but gasping greedily for breath. And so, he cried out again and again: "Karen, you are my grandfather!" "Karen, you are my grandfather!" "Karen..." Karen understood Delon's emotional turmoil and naturally overlooked the minor slip of the tongue. With a smile, he replied, "Grandfather." Hearing that address, Delon finally quieted down, as if he had been administered a potent sedative. He sank back into his chair, looking as though all his energy had been sapped away in an instant, yet he did not lapse into gloom. A new surge of strength called hope was pouring into him. He had accepted the realization that Karen was his grandson, but he had not yet grown accustomed to the changes it brought. For instance, such an outstanding young man carried the bloodline of the Guman family. The Rubik's cube he conjured was so delicate and exquisite—did this mean the future of the Guman family... The corners of the old man's mouth twitched. He was fighting to keep from breaking into an idiotic grin, especially in front of his newly recognized grandson. Yet he found it almost impossible to restrain himself. Joy and decorum clashed violently within him, making him want to squirm along with the tumult, as if an itch had broken out all over his body. In the end, the old man pointed upward and spoke: "Er, Karen, lunch should be ready upstairs. Why don't you head up and eat first? Your grandmother... your maternal grandmother made plenty of delicious food for you." "All right, Grandfather." Karen gave Delon a slight bow, turned, and left the workshop. This "reunion" had been rather simple, but it was only natural under the circumstances. Karen had been unprepared, and Delon had not had enough time to prepare. As for breaking down and weeping in each other's arms, that was obviously unrealistic. Once Karen stepped out, Delon covered his mouth with one hand, his body rocking back and forth on his chair. The old man's eyes crinkled into crescents, and behind the hand hiding the lower half of his face, a broad grin had surely bloomed. Having attained inner redemption regarding his late daughter, what he now had to face—and daydream about—was the hope such an exceptional grandson could bring to his twilight years. If he didn't think about it, fine; but once he started, he couldn't stop at all. Previously, Delon had felt Karen's working style was too unyielding and aggressive, somewhat at odds with his own philosophy of work and life. Now, he felt that this was precisely the vigor a youth ought to possess! If Karen were decadent and ossified like an old cabbage like himself, that would truly be hopeless! Once that hurdle was cleared, Karen seemed to have no flaws in the old man's eyes—only virtues. A major reason for grandparental doting is that when one's own children are born, parents are not yet old; in their prime or even their youth, they are still fumbling forward through their own lives, and many are not truly prepared to be parents at all. By the time the grandchildren arrive, the road has already been walked halfway or is drawing near its end. At this stage, one can finally pause, hoping and planning for the next generation to walk this road more steadily and successfully. It is as if fate has granted a second chance, allowing one to draw upon a blank sheet of paper once more, this time with the benefit of experience. Delon wanted to pick up the paintbrush too, but when he looked at the canvas before him, he found it already filled with exquisite detail. Anywhere he tried to add a stroke seemed superfluous. Yet this brought him no sense of defeat. The joy of reaping what was already ripe was beyond words. Since the younger generation had no need for his planning, he didn't mind adopting their perspective directly, using them to "re-experience" life anew. In the end, even though he knew the barrier was active, the old man still suppressed his voice with a guilty conscience. What he wanted to say next was something he knew sounded shamelessly boastful, yet he could not resist the urge to say it: "No wonder Karen is so remarkable. It turns out the blood of my Guman family flows in his veins." *** Karen returned to the living room, and Richard walked over to ask, "What did my grandfather want to talk about down there?" "Nothing much." Karen shook his head. "Just some matters regarding work." "Oh. My uncle-in-law and I are heading out to buy some fruit." "Isn't lunch about to be served?" "Grandmother still has a few dishes to make, so it won't hold things up." "Go ahead, then." Richard lowered his voice and said, "I've caused you trouble again this time." He was referring to the matter concerning Inquisitor Dake. "It only took a single word. What trouble is there to speak of?" Karen refrained from adding that they were family anyway. In truth, this was hardly a big deal. A problem that seemed monumental to one person might be resolved with a single casual sentence in the eyes of someone on another level. "Heh-heh." Richard grinned and stepped out of the entryway with his uncle-in-law. Mr. Aisen walked up to Karen, looked toward the stairs leading to the basement, and then looked back at Karen. "Uncle, it's done." "It's done." Mr. Aisen nodded, then pointed toward his study. "I'll head back to the study first." "All right." Mr. Aisen had been moved by the scene, but although he could greet people nowadays, expressing emotion remained difficult for him. He could only return to his study to compose himself. Karen walked into the kitchen, where Madame Tangli was stir-frying a dish—bitter melon with sliced pork. Seeing Karen enter, Madame Tangli said, "I blanched the bitter melon first." "Mm." Karen leaned naturally against the kitchen doorframe. "That was fast." Madame Tangli smiled as she tossed the wok. "The old fool definitely couldn't let his guard down, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of you, so he told you lunch was ready upstairs." "Yes, you're quite right." "He's happy." "I know." "Today is his birthday, Karen. I have a request." "Go ahead." "Kaixi and the others aren't coming back for lunch. I'd like to invite the whole family over this evening so we can all have dinner together, and I'll prepare a large birthday cake. What do you think?" "Sounds good. I agree." "Then you..." "I intended to rest this afternoon anyway. I don't have any pressing business." "Then sleep here this afternoon, all right? Use Richard's room." Pausing, the grandmother added, "I'll go change Richard's bedding to fresh sets in a moment." "All right, Grandmother." Just then, Old Delon walked into the dining area. The dining room connected directly to the kitchen. The old man gingerly pulled out a chair at the very edge of the dining table and sat down. This seat was the farthest from the kitchen, but it offered a clear view inside. He was like a greedy child, yearning to catch a whiff of the aroma. Madame Tangli glanced outside, caught sight of her husband's sheepish display, and could only shake her head as she asked, "Karen, when do you plan to get married?" "No rush. Work is busy right now." "Your fiancée isn't in a hurry either?" "She wants to try pursuing a career of her own—she wants to be a fashion designer. I support her." "She only did that because she noticed you lacked enthusiasm for marriage, and since she didn't want to pressure you into it, she deliberately found an excuse for you, giving herself a way to save face as well." "Oh, is that so? Then I was thoughtless." "You know it better than anyone." Madame Tangli unceremoniously popped that hypocritical bubble. Karen could only rub his nose in mild embarrassment. Sitting out in the dining room, Old Delon seemed to be muttering to himself, lightly tugging at the tablecloth as he mused, "It's better to marry early. Getting married early is good..." He wasn't addressing anyone directly, so it was awkward for others to respond. He was like a child watching other kids play a game while sitting on the steps nearby; to mask his detachment and keep anyone from noticing his longing to join in, he pretended to be busy admiring the white clouds in the sky. Old Delon even raised his head to stare up at the dining room chandelier. Ah, dust seemed to have gathered again; time to clean it. "Get married early, have children early." Madame Tangli dished out the food and began washing the wok for the next dish. Karen shook his head slightly. "I'm not ready yet." "What is there to get ready for? While my limbs are still agile and I can still hold a spatula, I can help you look after the child." In the dining room, Delon lowered his head, stroking his fingers as he murmured, "Right, right, right, we can still do our part." "Grandmother, look—Grandfather says we still have work to do, so there's no rush for children." "Eh?" Delon looked up in bewilderment. That was not what he meant at all! "You need to take your personal life to heart. Work is never-ending. People are like screws, always assuming that once this screw is driven in, there will still be plenty of time to leisurely attend to the matters in their hearts. But the truth is, there really isn't that much time." "I understand what you mean, Grandmother." "Yet you'll still follow your own mind?" "Mm, yes." "Help me taste the soup, adjust the seasoning, and toss in the garnishes." "All right." At that moment, the doorbell rang. Old Delon got up and went to the entryway to answer the door. It was Philomena. She was not wearing her clerical robes. Instead, she had on a red turtleneck sweater and blue jeans. Yet she possessed a peculiar knack: no matter how youthful and bright her attire, on her, it always gave off a gloomy, oppressive air. "You're here," Delon greeted her with a smile, inviting her inside. Philomena looked at Delon. As an exceptional assassin and a user of dreamcraft, she could easily sense his emotions, yet she offered no greeting regarding them. Most of the time, someone like her was hardly pleasant company; her expression and demeanor always made it seem as if everyone around her owed her tens of thousands of point coupons. Yet because of Delon's personal past, he felt a fond warmth toward this girl from the Felscher family. Philomena stepped into the living room and was about to sit down when Delon pointed toward the dining room. "We're talking in the dining room!" His voice was raised, as though deliberately emphasizing the point. Philomena walked into the dining area. Karen, who was leaning against the kitchen doorframe, turned to look at her and gave a nod. "Minister." Philomena saluted Karen. "Take a seat." "Mm." Philomena sat down. Delon poured a cup of tea, set it before Philomena, and then sat back down in his previous spot. "Your performance last time was still lacking," Madame Tangli began to nitpick. Philomena remained silent. "Cat got your tongue?" Madame Tangli called out. "A matter of strength," Philomena finally answered. "My absolute strength was insufficient. There was nothing I could do." "That's all the ambition you have? As an assassin, if you only dare strike at targets whose absolute strength is beneath yours, what kind of assassin are you?" "The opponent was an assassin as well." "Hah, useless." Philomena's expression did not shift in the slightest. She simply lowered her head and began drinking her tea. Karen found it rather novel. So this was the usual atmosphere between his grandmother and Philomena during their walks. It seemed his grandmother truly lacked the temperament of a teacher. Fortunately, Philomena was far more resilient than most students. Madame Tangli began setting the dishes on the table, and Karen stepped in to help. Just then, Richard and the others returned carrying fruit, and lunch began. At the table, Delon did not deliberately speak to Karen or pass him dishes. He remained quiet and perfectly normal. Dake took the initiative to strike up conversations, and Karen contributed a few replies, with Richard mostly keeping the banter going. All in all, while the lunch was not as boisterous as one might imagine, it was quite pleasant. After the meal, Karen prepared to rest. Richard watched his grandmother enter his bedroom, strip all the bedding, and replace it with fresh sheets and duvet covers. Deeply moved, he stepped forward and hugged her. "Grandmother, you're the best." "Out of the way, don't interrupt my work. If I finish setting it up earlier, Karen can get some rest earlier." Richard: "..." "Karen, it's ready. Come up and rest." "All right, Grandmother." Karen lay down on Richard's bed. Philomena came in first and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "Sit on the chair." Hearing this, Philomena stood up, moved to the chair across from the bed, and said, "Minister, I would like to request leave." "The reason?" "Special training." "Special training? Where?" "I don't know. She arranged it." "She" presumably referred to his grandmother. "Then follow her arrangements. Leave is approved. How long will it take?" "I don't know, but if you have need of me, you can summon me back at any time." "Mm." Philomena looked at Karen and asked, "Are you staying for dinner as well?" "Yes. Are you busy this afternoon?" Philomena paused for a moment before answering, "No." She actually had nothing to do. Alfred's role for her was to serve as their young master's muscle and bodyguard. She was incapable of handling administrative tasks anyway, so they couldn't assign her an office director post like Richard's. "Then stay for dinner too." "All right." The moment she finished speaking, Philomena closed her eyes in the chair and fell asleep. Sleeping was always the easiest thing for her. Just then, Madame Tangli walked in carrying a glass of warm milk. Seeing Philomena with her eyes shut, she scolded immediately, "I told you, you are not permitted to sleep with your defenses lowered!" Having just drifted off, Philomena opened her eyes. "I'm beside the Minister." "It has nothing to do with whom you're beside! You must keep yourself in a state of cultivation at all times. Go find a spot at the fruit stand outside to sleep, and then tell me how many customers came this afternoon and how much fruit was sold!" Philomena stood up and walked out of the bedroom. Madame Tangli set the milk on the nightstand, her stern demeanor instantly melting into warmth as she faced Karen. "Drink the milk before you sleep." "All right, Grandmother." "Do you think I'm too strict with her?" "No, you're doing it for her own good." Assassins suffered the highest casualty rate. "The same goes for you. Now that your rank is higher, don't risk your life like before." "I understand, Grandmother." Richard appeared at the bedroom doorway and said, "Karen, I'm heading back to headquarters to work. I'll return for dinner tonight." "I can approve your leave." "No, no, no need, I actually have quite a lot to do." Richard winked at Karen. He had already sensed that his father's mood today was off—a bit too worked up, as if he might look for an excuse to beat him this afternoon just to let off steam! Sensing this omen, Richard decided it was best to slip away back to the office. "Go on, then. By the way, Memphis's appointment letter came through—he's your office deputy director. But he has some family matters, plus a part-time assignment Alfred gave him, so he might occasionally arrive late, leave early, or even miss work. Alfred approved all of it." "Bah, what does that matter? I won't get mad! Memphis is my brother. Sure, he's older than me, but I've always looked at him like a little brother. You have no idea—it's a good thing he met me, or with that wooden head of his, how could he ever survive in the workplace? He'd starve to death begging on the streets!" Mr. Aisen happened to appear at the doorway carrying an ashtray, his eyelids immediately drooping. Even so, he set the ashtray on Karen's nightstand, with a damp paper towel lined inside. "Mr. Aisen, I don't smoke." "It's fine." Aisen shook his head, then set down a carton of cigarettes. This was also a brand of church cigarettes that produced a numbing effect on the soul, and its price was even higher than the variety from the Church of Thunder. Aisen knew that whenever Karen suffered soul injuries or exhaustion, he required such things to suppress the pain. "This is...?" "I bought them." "All right, thank you." "Enough, let Karen rest." Madame Tangli ushered everyone out and shut the bedroom door. Richard sighed and teased his grandfather standing beside him: "Grandfather, sometimes I truly wonder which of us is the real grandson of the Guman family—me or Karen?" Delon replied, "It used to be you." "Huh?" "Aren't you supposed to be busy with work? Aisen, go drive your son to work." Aisen came over holding his belt, car keys dangling from it. "No need, Father, get some rest. I can manage on my own." Aisen looked up at his son and said, "Move." "Grandfather, tell my father quickly—I can get to work by myself!" Delon said, "A lot has been happening in the district lately, and it's rather chaotic outside. Having your father drive you to work will put our minds at ease." "Put your minds at ease?!" "Get downstairs!" With a crestfallen face, Richard could only trudge downstairs and follow Aisen out. Once they had all departed, Delon began setting up a Peaceful Rest Formation over the bedroom door, designed to aid sleep and improve its quality. When he finished, he quietly brought over a chair, placed it right outside the bedroom door, and sat down. Holding a newspaper in his hands, he glanced at the paper, then back at the bedroom door. *He is your son,* Delon said in his heart. *Father failed to protect you, but Father swears he will protect your son.* Passing through the living room, Madame Tangli looked up at her husband sitting outside the bedroom door on the second floor. She couldn't help but shake her head with a smile. When their eldest daughter was young, he would sit outside her bedroom door every morning pretending to read the paper while waiting for her to wake up, yearning to hear the very first "Daddy" of the new day. And now, he was waiting for Karen to wake up, step outside, and call him "Grandfather" once more.