The old house in Huimin County was left by his grandfather. Grandpa was a soldier back then, fought devils, participated in the three major battles, and when he went to Fujian to cross the Taiwan Strait, his grandfather, who had already boarded the ship, was called down again, saying that he wanted to be trained as a reserve cadre, so he settled in Putian, Fujian, and later transferred back to Huimin until he retired.

However, I don't know if these things are true or not, although I have also seen photos of my grandfather in a military uniform, but when I was sensible, my grandfather was already very old, and those things only appeared in other people's words. However, after the Qingyue Taoist learned about the things that happened to my grandfather before, I felt that my grandfather was a legend.

The second uncle didn't go back to the old house with me, saying that he was too sensitive to those things and was afraid of being sad, so he wouldn't go.

Early the next morning, I got into the car back to Huimin, and at about eleven o'clock, I came to the alley where the old house was located.

This is the Xiguan Street of the county seat, with the demolition of the old city, many houses along the street have been demolished and rebuilt, but those old houses that are not along the street, because most of the people who live are some old people and old cadres, so they have stayed, most of the houses have been decades old, the outer wall of the alley is a little mottled, gray and abrupt, some ugly.

I don't know whose family planted the grapes, the grapevines that sprang out along the outer wall into the courtyard inside, and from time to time I could hear the chirping of birds, compared to the hustle and bustle of the city, I suddenly felt that I understood why my father lived in the old mansion back then.

It's a quiet and relaxing environment that's the perfect place to calm down and find something.

I walked through the alley and counted the doors, because I hadn't come back for many years, and I had changed the same new door, so I couldn't see the door of my old house.

Sixth! I stood in front of the brand-new security door, took out the key that my second uncle gave me, opened the door, and walked in.

This row is a bungalow, a two-meter-long corridor when you enter the door, and a ten-square-meter courtyard after you go out.

The yard was deserted, and when my father was there, he had opened a field on one side and planted some seasonal vegetables, which were now also overgrown with weeds.

I glanced around, looked up at the slightly harsh sunlight, walked to the front of the house, and opened the door.

In those days, only cadres could choose this kind of big house.

The furniture had been almost removed, except for a few dilapidated cabinets and two old wooden beds. The second uncle cleaned up quite neatly at the time, and now it looks quite comfortable except for a layer of ash on the surface.

I went into the smallest bedroom I'd ever lived in. Said it was a bedroom, in fact, it was used as a study by my grandfather, and then there was me, in order to cultivate my enthusiasm for learning, he simply set up a single bed for me in the study, so that I could sleep in the sea of books.

But who knew that within a few years, I would go to Jinan, and this room would become an ornament.

The single bed in the room was still there, the bookshelves were empty, and there was nothing left.

There was a hint of dust in the air, and there was a bit of choking. I exhaled a few breaths and turned to walk into the room across from my father.

A bed, a desk, a cabinet with a bookshelf above and a wardrobe underneath, these were the only three things in my father's room. For as long as I can remember, there have only been these three.

I looked around, because there were too few things, and some of them were very simple furniture, and at a glance, I could see that there was nothing. I bent over and pulled open the drawers and stuff, and I still didn't find anything.

In my memory, my father was in the old house, except for his own bedroom, he only went into the bathroom and kitchen - he has a habit of cleanliness and likes cooking, and he usually doesn't go to other people's places, including my son's bedroom, the bedding in it and something, all of which were cleaned up by my second uncle when he came back.

I sat on the bed, looked at this very empty room of more than ten square meters, and sighed. Maybe it's because I'm overthinking? My father didn't leave anything behind.

Glancing at the time, it was already twelve o'clock at noon, and I was a little hungry, so I got up and wanted to look for it again, and if I didn't, I went back.

In a short time, I searched the whole house again and found nothing. I sighed and walked to my father's desk, held the edge of the table with both hands, looked out the window opposite, shook my head and said to myself, "Forget it, let's go back!" ”

I reached out and nudged on the edge of the table, pushing my body away, turned around and just took a step, I felt as if something was wrong, and hurriedly turned to look at the edge of the table I had just grabbed, and found that the top of the table, which had been used for decades, seemed to have cracked, and the side of the two-inch-thick table top had cracked crookedly with a very thin slit, and if you didn't look closely, you really couldn't see it.

"Ahem, old furniture!" I thought I had found some clue, but it turned out that when I pushed the table, my fingernails had stuck in this gap.

I straightened up and slapped the table, and was stunned: Huh? Looks like I've found some clues! I slapped the table and felt the table shake slightly, and it was very slight, definitely not the whole table of the table.

I hurriedly bowed back to look at the gap, reached out and lifted it up, and the crack instantly became much larger, but it still couldn't be opened.

I frowned, and reached out to pull out all the drawers under the tabletop, and when I looked up from below, there was nothing special......

Am I being nervous? I smiled self-deprecatingly, reached for the drawer and pushed it back, looking at the gap and pondering.

I reached out and knocked lightly on the table a few times, I felt that there was no place to be hollowed out, and I reached out and pressed it a few times, suddenly my eyes lit up, my mouth grinned, I reached out and pressed the top of the gap, and pressed it down, I heard a "click", and the lock inside was opened!

Haha, I knew that when I was a child, I especially liked to eat snacks and didn't like to eat, so my father thought of a way to lock my snacks in a small wooden box, and only when I was honest and full did I take out a few packs from it. I secretly opened it at the time, but no matter how I tried to get it, the seemingly unlocked box just wouldn't open.

It wasn't until many years later when I grew up that my father told me that the box that seemed to have no lock was actually locked, but not outside, but inside, which was a very ingenious structure, and it was impossible to open it by pulling it hard, only by punching the central axis of the horizontal and vertical cross, pressing the lid down and pushing it, the lock inside was opened, and when the lid was closed, as long as it was pulled forward, it would automatically lock.

After so many years, I couldn't help but feel a little sad when I saw this kind of lock again, snorted, and reached out to lift the table top that had been unlocked.

It was a dark compartment about the size of eight sheets of paper, with only an old, thin notebook inside. The cover of the notebook is plastic, with a lotus flower drawn on it, and it looks like it is some years old.

I took out the notebook and found that there were many torn sheets inside, and there was less than half of it left, and the cover was a little sticky, probably because it had been sealed for too long.

I sat back on the edge of the bed and carefully uncovered the notebook.

On the title page, the father's name is written: Gu Wenzhong. My father's handwriting is very good, very elegant, and very temperamental. Flipping back, there are some diaries, and they are particularly interesting, my father's diary is like a primary school student, recording what he did from morning to night, from brushing his teeth and washing his face, to selling millions of objects, everything.

As I looked at it, I thought to myself, maybe my father's diary keeping is the second, and practicing calligraphy is the first. Looking at the chic hard pen calligraphy on each piece of paper, I suddenly felt that my father, who had been away for seventeen years, was standing beside me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I reached out to wipe it and continued to look down.

Finally, after turning more than a dozen pages, I came across some valuable diaries: for several days in a row, my father was recording the changes in his body, and that year he was in his early thirties, but the muscles of his body began to atrophy, and he couldn't even lift twenty pounds of white flour in one hand. This situation made my father more and more nervous.

Finally one day, my father found that he had gray hair, his physical condition was deteriorating, and in the face of this aging body, he could no longer suppress his emotions and collapsed......