My grandfather remains a vivid presence in my memory. Our time together was marked by simple pleasures, like shared snacks and television. His viewing habits were consistent, always tuned to three specific channels: the Network News Broadcast with Weather Forecast, Across the Strait, and the classic Journey to the West. He'd rewatch these programs endlessly. Before retiring for the night, he'd use the remote stick to power down the television.

I recall my final visit to his home during the winter. I squatted down on the windowsill, noticing the room wasn't adequately heated. He began to cough while sitting cross-legged on the fire bed. My grandmother was in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I can't recall the exact number of days later, but I remember my father taking me to the hospital. He was coughing in his hospital bed, still sitting cross-legged. My father and his siblings took turns providing care. I felt helpless, a sophomore in high school. After the visit, I said, "See you, grandfa." He nodded silently. My uncle, however, questioned my departure, "Why did she just say goodbye?" I left for school without further interaction.