He Zhilan gradually ceased her sobbing amidst the conversation. The blurred faces from memory faded in her mind, yet the potent song sang by her grandpa remained the same.
Seeing the Red Army off, descending from the mountains,
A mix of autumn breeze and fine rain, drizzles unending,
Wild deer crying on the hilltops,
Tree after tree of firmiana, leaves falling clean,
Asking a family member, oh Red Army,
When will the troops, return to the mountains.
"Grandpa, why do you always lift your hand when you hear this song?"
"Miss Zhilan, you don't like it? You still imitate me all the time though, to the amusement of others."
"Hmph! I won't imitate you anymore! It's not fun at all!"
"Granny, the grapes in the yard are so sweet and tasty! I will pick them for Mom and Dad when they come home!"
"Ah, our Miss Zhilan is truly filial."
