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All I can remember about my grandfather is him holding a bamboo pipe in his mouth and sitting peacefully in the sunset wearing a blue cloth coat. When I was a child, I always liked to sit next to my grandfather and watch him exhale smoke from his mouth, drifting from his high cheekbones to his thin hair, and then disappear into the dusk. My grandfather liked to touch my head and tell me stories at this time. I liked to look at the darkening sky while listening to the stories. In the end, all the trees on the mountain were invisible, leaving only the black outline of the mountain. There were a lot of mosquitoes outside in summers like this. There were no mosquito coils at that time, so my grandfather used a sickle to cut a lot of sage on the hillside, dried it half-dry and half-wet, and burned it to repel mosquitoes.