After reciting a long passage of poetry, the tiny Hu Tao leaped into the air, flipped once, and landed steadily on her feet.
"Grandfather, how was that? I recited all of your poems without a single mistake."
Her grandfather smiled and patted her head. "Hu Tao is such a good girl."
Though his little granddaughter had a strange personality, her talent in every area pleased him greatly. When she grew up, she would surely be able to take over Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. He wouldn't have to worry about the parlor having no successor.
Just as her grandfather was feeling happy, little Hu Tao also smiled. "Grandfather, I didn't just recite your poems. I also made up a few lines myself. Do you want to hear them?"
Her grandfather: "???"
Making up her own poems? He paused for a moment. A three-year-old writing poetry? Even the most famous poets in Teyvat couldn't boast such talent.
He chuckled. "I didn't know little Hu Tao could write poetry too. Go ahead, recite it for your grandfather."
He was curious. What kind of poem could a three-year-old come up with?
Hu Tao immediately flipped over and stood on her head against the wall again, shaking her head as she recited with mock seriousness:
"The sky is vast, the fields wide—Hu Tao never forgets her poems. Beyond the pavilion, beside the ancient path—Hu Tao reads them a thousand times."
"Grandfather, Grandfather, how was that? Is it a masterpiece?"
After finishing her "masterpiece," she flipped down happily and grabbed her grandfather's sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes, waiting for his verdict.
Her grandfather burst out laughing. "Good, very good. You've already reached half of your grandfather's literary level. In time, you'll surely write poems worthy of publication."
Her grandfather had loved poetry all his life. His greatest wish was to publish his own work. But no publisher had ever shown any interest.
Hu Tao beamed. "Great! Then I'll keep writing. How about this one: Suddenly, like a spring breeze overnight, a thousand graves, ten thousand tombs all buried at once! Grandfather, how's that one?"
Her grandfather considered it. "It's a good poem, but it sounds a little awkward."
After thinking it over based on his years of experience, he felt that the word "all" was a bit redundant.
Hu Tao blinked, thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up.
"Grandfather, I've got it!"
"Suddenly, like a spring breeze overnight, a thousand coffins, ten thousand graves all buried at once—what a magnificent sight that would be!"
"Our business at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor has never been this good!"
Hearing her exclamation, her grandfather chuckled. "Silly girl, rather than seeing our business flourish, I'd prefer a world without death or illness. Wouldn't that be better?"
Hu Tao thought for a moment. "No!"
Her grandfather blinked. "Huh?"
Hu Tao said, "If there were no death or illness, Wangsheng Funeral Parlor would have no business, and we'd starve!"
Her grandfather burst out laughing. "Hahaha, little Hu Tao is right!"
In the sunset, the white-haired grandfather and little Hu Tao chatted and laughed together, discussing their poems and jotting down their new creations in a notebook, saving them for possible publication in the future.
As night fell, Hu Tao's grandfather shouldered a special shovel from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, hunched over, walked out of the courtyard gate.
Hu Tao called after him, "Grandfather, will you be home early tonight?"
He smiled. "Don't worry. There's only one client tonight. Once I finish digging, I'll be back as soon as I can."
According to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's rules, physical labor like digging and filling graves shouldn't have to be done by the director personally. But ever since his son and daughter-in-law had left, and Hu Tao's grandfather had taken over the parlor again, it had fallen into decline. All the workers had left. The aging grandfather had to dig and fill each grave himself.
Under this constant physical strain, his already frail health deteriorated further.
Watching her grandfather's hunched figure carrying the shovel, Hu Tao silently resolved that as soon as she was strong enough to lift a shovel, she would help him dig.
The night grew deeper. Hu Tao waited a long time, but her grandfather didn't return. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, when Hu Tao heard the thrush's song, she knew her grandfather must be back. The moment she opened her eyes, she saw him holding his beloved birdcage in one hand and a fresh peach in the other. The thrush was his favorite pet, and the peach had just been picked from the forest.
Hu Tao glared at the chirping thrush, squatted on her chair, and within moments, the peach was reduced to nothing but a pit.
Burp.
Delicious.
Her grandfather laughed. "Always thinking about food. Hurry up and get to school, or you'll be late."
Hu Tao said carelessly, "No school today."
Her grandfather smiled. "Ah, it's the weekend, is it? Since you have time, I'll teach you a special skill."
Hu Tao immediately leaped off her chair. "A special skill? Is it digging? Or funeral procedures? Grandfather, Grandfather, teach me! I want to work with you too!"
She eagerly grabbed his clothes, begging him to teach her.
Seeing her enthusiasm, her grandfather smiled with satisfaction. "It's not digging or funeral procedures. It's planting trees."
Hu Tao looked puzzled. "Planting trees? What's that?"
Her grandfather glanced at the peach pit in her hand and smiled. "You'll see in a moment."
After deciding to plant a peach tree, her grandfather led Hu Tao around the courtyard, searching every corner until they found a suitable spot.
He took a small shovel and carefully dug a small hole in the ground. "Little Hu Tao, put the peach pit in the hole."
Hu Tao looked at the pit in her hand and suddenly felt a wave of sadness. Her eyes grew a little moist.
"Grandfather, is the peach pit dead? Are we holding a funeral for it?"
Her grandfather burst out laughing. "A funeral for a peach pit? What a thought."
In all his years, he had never heard of planting a tree being described as a funeral for a pit.
After placing the pit in the hole, her grandfather let Hu Tao do the rest—covering it with soil, watering it with spring water, and adding some special fertilizer.
When it was done, Hu Tao looked at the small mound of earth and felt a mix of emotions. Was this a funeral? Burying a peach pit was certainly an unusual thing to do.
In the days that followed, Hu Tao followed her grandfather's instructions, watering the little "grave" every day.
Until one day, while she was watering it, she noticed something that left her utterly astonished.
A tiny sprout had emerged from the little grave.