My name is Asheng. He is about 8,000 years old this year.
When I was seven years old, I fell into an ice cave and was submerged for three days before walking home by myself. From then on, people in the village hid when they saw me and called me "fool".
I'm used to it. A person lives in a cave outside the village, watching the sunrise and sunset, and watching people under the mountain being born, growing up, growing old, and being buried in the soil.
Don't speak. Don't come closer. Don't leave.
Until that day, a little baby ran up the mountain, fell, got up crying, saw me - and then smiled.
"Uncle Asheng!"
For the first time in eight thousand years, someone called me "uncle".
His name is Xiao Shitou. He comes to me every day, brings me food, chats, and leans on me to look at the moon.
I thought it would last a long time.
Until the barbarians came.
That night, the village disappeared. Before his death, his father put him into my arms: "Watch him grow up for us..."
I escaped with him. Watching him grow up, get married, have children, get old, and leave.
Then there is his son. His grandson. His great-grandson.
Generation after generation, they call me "Uncle Ah Sheng", "Grandpa" and "Shou Gong".
I sent every one of them away.
But every time, a new kid would come up to me, lean on me, and ask:
"Shou Gong, will you always be here?"
I looked at the moon.
"Yes."
As long as there are people who need me, I will always be there.
This is the village guard.
