12th day of the first month of the year Gui Mao

Cremation

At seven in the morning, we arrived in Shijiazhuang in the blink of an eye.

Upon some reflection, I realized that the last time I came to Shijiazhuang was seven years ago. Back then, it was also because of a transfer, passing through Shijiazhuang. The subway in Shijiazhuang was newly built at the time, and the roads were heavily congested. My mother and I squeezed into a small bus with a lot of luggage. It took over an hour from Shijiazhuang North Station to Shijiazhuang Station due to the congestion. It was a hot summer back then, and as a child who grew up in Inner Mongolia, I found it hard to bear the heat of the Central Plains.

Suddenly, Shijiazhuang has undergone significant changes. The streets are much cleaner, and the pickpockets are nowhere to be seen. My impression of the dim, gloomy, especially misty weather, with pedestrians bustling about, their eyes empty and lost, dirty streets, and eyes full of malice, has changed. I always found people from Hebei to be quite strange, in a peculiar way. The environment shapes the people, and amidst the vast crowd, I can easily identify people from Hebei.

After getting off the train, we immediately took a bus, and it seemed like everyone on the bus was heading to Shijiazhuang North Station. The bus was small, but the driver skillfully navigated it through the streets. I sat on the bus for a while, feeling dazed, not remembering anyone or anything, just realizing how much Shijiazhuang has changed compared to seven years ago.

Upon entering the train station, we transferred to the high-speed rail.

At Shijiazhuang North Station, I happened to encounter the high-speed train bound for Ganzhou West from Beijing West. I opened the app to check this train, and the ticket from Shijiazhuang North to Ganzhou West also costs over nine hundred… which is too much for me as someone with limited means… Haha.

At ten in the morning, I returned home dazedly. As soon as I got off the train, I arrived at the doorstep, feeling a bit dazed.

My mother hurriedly rushed towards the coffin where the body was placed, crying bitterly, while I stood by, feeling at a loss. Following the crowd, I entered the house to drop off my backpack and then returned to the courtyard. I carefully observed the coffin with its low-temperature function. I couldn’t be absolutely sure if my grandpa was lying inside because I didn’t see his peaceful face through the transparent cover. I circled around to observe several times before noticing a layer of cloth covering my grandpa’s face. All I could see was the transparent coffin wrapped in a thin cloth.

Here, I saw death.

I didn’t feel any scent of death, but it was real that my grandpa had disappeared, as if he had been erased… I watched my uncles, aunts, and mother all dressed in mourning clothes, and my aunt handed me a white headpiece, which I put in my pocket. Many old acquaintances suddenly appeared out of nowhere, catching me off guard. I smiled faintly as I listened, the Hebei dialect that I hadn’t heard in many years now flowing smoothly into my ears, bringing back many forgotten memories.

My grandpa’s house is located on the mine.

“Mine” can be thought of as a large company organization that includes schools, residential buildings, activity centers, cultural centers, and so on. So, the interpersonal relationships in this organization are somewhat peculiar. For example, neighbors are all colleagues, every household knows each other for many years, and many of my mother’s elementary, middle, and even high school classmates have lived their entire lives “on the mine”.

“Mine” has been a part of my mother’s life since she started school, and it seemed like everything could be arranged “on the mine”, from schooling to work. I found this fascinating. But in the end, my mother uprooted herself and moved 1031 kilometers away from “the mine” to marry in Bayannur. The streets around “the mine” were often filled with coal trucks passing by, raising clouds of dust and coal ash everywhere. Since I can remember, “the mine” has been filled with a haze of coal ash, and even the trees on the side of the street are gray. The air is filled with the smell of rubber, mixed with the smell of burning and various odors.

“Mine” has always been a kind of synonym in my mind, a combination of rural and urban areas. It’s not as bustling as a town, but it has the same functions; it’s not as desolate as the countryside, but it’s just as remote. “Mine” connects with “village”, making this desolation closer to a modernized village—a village with a coal mine. But coal resources are always limited. Since my mother started working, the financial resources and resources of “the mine” have gradually declined, from school education to elderly care services, the overall strength has been declining. A town that consumes energy for development is destined to decline. Since Hebei Province strictly limited mining, “the mine” began to struggle, from not being able to pay wages to complete shutdown and closure… “Mine” is destined to be eliminated by the times and destined to decline.

At five in the afternoon, the hearse from the funeral parlor arrived and took my grandpa away for cremation.

Then, he became a small box, the eighty-four years of his life weighing only a few dozen pounds, turned into a square box. Light as a feather, lying behind his colorful photo. Every time I see that photo, I think of the old man lying on the bed in the living room, wearing a white vest and shorts…

Tomorrow morning at five o’clock, we will officially lay him to rest, burying him in the underground where he lived for decades.

In Xingtai City, Hebei Province.