“I’m fine.”
Three words, clear and fluent, as if she had always been able to speak that way.
The room fell silent at once.
It was not an ordinary silence, but as if all sound had been abruptly stripped away. The grandmother’s breathing, the faint clatter of the ladle in the young woman’s hand against the stove, the rustling of the boy at the doorway shifting against the frame, all disappeared in that same instant.
The air seemed to freeze, even the dust drifting in the sunlight appearing to pause for a moment.
The grandmother was still crouched there, her knees bent in the same posture, the wooden cane in her hand tilting to one side as though it could no longer support her.
Her cloudy eyes fixed on Jiang Wanning, as if she could not believe what she had just heard.
“Wanwan…” the grandmother’s voice trembled like a dry leaf in the wind. “What… what did you say?”
Jiang Wanning looked into those clouded eyes now shimmering with moisture, and something inside her chest was struck hard.
She knew she should not have spoken so fluently.
A girl who had been foolish for fifteen years could not suddenly become articulate overnight. It defied logic, it would invite suspicion, it would bring trouble.
But she knew something else as well.
She did not want to pretend to be a fool anymore.
She understood very clearly what lay ahead. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, floods, extreme cold, plagues, human disasters, one after another, each more brutal than the last.
When that time came, a “foolish” Wanwan would not be listened to, no one would follow her, no one would entrust their lives to her.
If she wanted to protect these people, she could not remain a fool.
So she stopped pretending.
Jiang Wanning raised her head and met her grandmother’s gaze. Her voice was not loud, yet every word was distinct.
“Grandmother, I said I’m fine.”
This time it was not just three words, but a complete sentence, with clear structure and logic.
The grandmother’s hand loosened, and the wooden cane fell to the ground with a loud clang, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
She did not pick it up. Instead, she reached out with trembling hands, those hands covered in calluses and age spots, and cupped Jiang Wanning’s face.
They were shaking badly, as if holding something fragile that could shatter at any moment.
She drew Jiang Wanning closer, so close that Jiang Wanning could see every wrinkle at the corners of her eyes, and could smell the faint mixture of stove ash and medicinal herbs on her.
Tears gathered in those cloudy eyes, glistening but not yet falling, held there like beads of light.
“Wanwan…” the grandmother’s voice was hoarse to the point of breaking, as if something were lodged in her throat, forcing each word out with effort. “Call me grandmother again… call me once more.”
Jiang Wanning looked into her eyes, her chest aching with a deep soreness.
She remembered the scene from her dream, the world collapsing, volcanic ash falling like snow, the grandmother using her own body to shield the girl, her skin blistered by the burning ash, yet still whispering, “Wanwan, don’t be afraid.”
This person had given everything to protect a foolish child.
And now that child could speak.
“Grandmother,” Jiang Wanning called again, her voice carrying a slight nasal tone, not feigned but real, her nose stinging with emotion. “It’s me. Wanwan.”
At last, the grandmother’s tears fell.
Not one by one, but in a torrent, spilling down her deeply lined face, running into the corners of her mouth, down her chin, dripping onto the back of Jiang Wanning’s hand, burning hot.
“It’s my Wanwan… my Wanwan has come back…”
Her voice broke into sobs, like a child’s, her lips trembling as she repeated it over and over.
“My Wanwan has come back… my Wanwan has come back…”
She released Jiang Wanning’s face only to pull her into a tight embrace, holding her so firmly that Jiang Wanning could feel the sharpness of her thin shoulder blades pressing against her chest.
The grandmother’s body shook violently, as though an earthquake were raging within her.
“My Wanwan…” she cried, “I have waited fifteen years… I thought I would never see this day in my life…”
Held in that embrace, Jiang Wanning rested her chin against the grandmother’s shoulder, her eyes drifting toward the crooked wooden door, toward the small muddy courtyard outside, overgrown with weeds.
She did not cry, yet her eyes burned with heat.
The second uncle-in-law finally came to his senses. The loofah sponge in his hand slipped into the basin with a splash.
He wiped his hands on his apron, then wiped his eyes, took two steps forward, then stopped, as if afraid of startling her.
“Wanwan?” His voice was tentative, cautious. “Do you… do you recognize me?”
Jiang Wanning lifted her head from her grandmother’s arms and looked at his round face, slightly reddened by the heat of the stove.
In her dream, this person always stood by the stove, leaving the thickest bowl of porridge for Wanwan while drinking the watery rice soup himself, so thin it reflected a person’s face.
Once, when Wanwan had a fever, he stayed awake the entire night, pressing a cold cloth to her forehead, changing it again and again until dawn.
“Second Uncle-in-law,” Jiang Wanning said.
Tears streamed down his face instantly.
He grabbed the loofah sponge and scrubbed the already gleaming iron pot with force, the loud clanging sounds masking his sobs.
The grandmother still held Jiang Wanning, her tears falling onto Jiang Wanning’s hair one drop at a time.
The second uncle-in-law turned his back to them, scrubbing the pot noisily, water splashing across the stove.
Jiang Wanning remained still in the grandmother’s embrace.
She suddenly thought of her previous life.
For twenty-five years, she had grown up in an orphanage, never adopted. It was not because she was unattractive, nor because she lacked intelligence, but because she did not know how to smile.
That kind of warm, inviting smile that made people want to take you home, she could not learn it. Her emotions seemed sealed beneath a thin layer of ice, visible yet untouchable.
She had thought her life would continue like that, working alone, eating alone, sleeping alone, dying alone.
But now, held tightly by a hunched grandmother who smelled of age, surrounded by a family so poor they could not even afford a thick bowl of porridge, all crying for her, she suddenly realized that the layer of ice had shattered.
Not gradually cracking, but breaking apart all at once.
She could feel the grandmother’s body warmth, feel those rough hands gently patting her back, feel the weight of tears falling onto her hair.
These sensations were so real that her nose began to sting, her throat tightened, and her eyes grew hot.
She did not cry, but she knew she was only a thin barrier away from it.
After a long while, the grandmother’s sobs finally softened.
She loosened her hold on Jiang Wanning, wiped her face with her sleeve, then carefully smoothed Jiang Wanning’s hair.
Her movements were slow, her hands still trembling, yet deliberate, as if she were performing something very important.
“Wanwan,” the grandmother said, her voice still hoarse but calmer now, “tell grandmother… when did you… when did you learn to speak?”
Jiang Wanning had not yet thought of an answer.
Everything had happened too suddenly. She needed time to process, to untangle the chaos in her mind.
So she spoke softly.
“Grandmother, Wanwan is a little tired. I want to rest for a while.”
At those words, the grandmother immediately nodded, her voice filled with tenderness and urgency.
“Alright, alright, my Wanwan should rest. Don’t think about anything, just have a good sleep.”
Those hands marked by time gently patted her head, her gaze filled with worry and affection.
Jiang Wanning responded softly, then turned and walked toward the inner room. Her steps were a little heavy, yet deep within her heart, there was a faint, steady warmth.