The day she died, he was peeling chestnuts for another woman.
Autumn is deep, and the chestnuts have been fried with honey, making them glutinous and hot. He peeled off one after another, and she smiled sweetly.
Aheng looked through the crack in the door for a long time before remembering that in the three years since she had been married to him, she had never eaten any chestnuts he peeled.
Later she found out that she had eaten it once. It was cold and hard, and he pushed it over casually: it was the leftover food from that woman.
She also forgot to tell him that when she was five years old, in southern Xinjiang, she pulled his sleeve to listen to stories. He said, "Next time I come, I will tell you the whole story."
She had waited fourteen years.
He searched for fourteen years.
The person he was looking for was her.
But he saw it twice and didn't recognize it both times.
The first time, when she was five years old, she pulled his sleeve.
The second time, when she was twenty-two years old, she blocked a knife for him and died in his arms.
Later, he peeled chestnuts at her grave for fifteen years.
Peel one, place one, and tell an unfinished story.
Talking about gray hair, talking about not being able to climb that mountain anymore.
People say he is affectionate.
Only he knows——
What he owed her was never a bowl of hot chestnuts.
It's "I recognize you."
But she never heard this sentence again.
Intention: If some love is not expressed, it does not mean that it does not exist; if some love is not seen, it does not mean that it does not hurt.