Mr. Dang opened the two doors wide, stretched, did a few exercises, and then stepped out into the yard. Hearing his insistence on returning to his hometown for a while, his sons had already hired someone to clean and tidy up the ancestral garden before the Lunar New Year, even though someone had been tending to it every month. The New Year was over, but spring still felt like it was just beginning. The garden, full of flowers and foliage, wafted around the house with sweet, warm scents carried on the spring breeze. Tiny, glossy pink buds covered the branches like outstretched hands waving hello. He suddenly felt a strange sense of peace. He realized he had been too careless to forget that it had been a long time since he had returned here without rushing because of work and family. He needed to stay and rest, sitting quietly before a cup of fragrant tea, or strolling along the path strewn with fallen leaves, to truly be with himself, to shed the heavy burdens of the past. He went back inside, lit incense, and sat thoughtfully at the wooden table and chairs that hadn't felt the warmth of human presence for a long time. Yesterday, his eldest son had driven him home with a few personal belongings that barely filled a suitcase, but he only stayed with his father for a short while before having to return to the city to prepare for a trip with his small family.

After Mrs. Dang passed away, he requested early retirement a few years early. Although he had a nanny to look after the children, he still devoted much of his time to his grandchildren, as a way of compensating for the absence of their grandmother's care. It's natural for the elderly to love their grandchildren. To be fair, Mr. Dang couldn't really be called old. It was only due to various personal and general reasons that he was forced to leave his official position. His time in front of the computer had decreased. He struggled to keep up with the mischievous antics and laughter of his grandchildren, but it seemed his children and their spouses were still not satisfied. Partly because they raised their children in what is considered a modern way. Moreover, his family used to be middle-class, with servants and helpers year-round, so he never had to lift a finger to do housework, and now he felt clumsy and overwhelmed. Entangled in countless nameless chores, the rain, sunshine, moon, stars, and the wondrous changes of nature now seem distant to him, perhaps only for those with leisure time. In his head and ears, the cheerful, endearing children's songs constantly echo. Funnily enough, they've become familiar and comforting, sometimes even addictive. Friends who occasionally meet him are surprised by how much and how quickly Mr. Dang has changed.

When the children went to kindergarten, he had time to read or meet a few old friends for coffee, chatting for a few minutes about old and new things, enough to forget some of the joys and sorrows of life. Only when his close friend passed away suddenly did he feel a profound emptiness. He should have been the one to die first, because after learning of his illness, with a death sentence hanging over his head, he asked the doctor not to tell his children. He went to see the doctor himself and followed the treatment plan. Only Vu, a colleague in his department, knew the truth and often took him to the hospital for appointments. Vu was from the village; back when he and Khue rode bikes to school together in their final years of high school, Vu would occasionally hop on the back of his bike to elementary school. He would often thank Dang with large guavas, as big as teapots, that he had secretly picked from Khue's garden. After all, she was his cousin, so it was understandable that her mischievous younger brother would play tricks on her.

Unexpectedly, Vu later went to work in the province and ended up in the same agency, in the same department where Dang was the head. The two brothers became even closer than before. They confided in each other about everything, but Vu always vaguely avoided the topic of their old village. With Vu around, Mr. Dang felt at ease, and for some reason, he now wanted to return to his hometown. He used the excuse that he didn't want to disrupt his children's lives to reassure himself. From distant memories, he vaguely sensed that only there could he truly be himself once again, at least in his final days.

***

- Ms. Khue, did you go to the market this morning?

As soon as Vu stepped into the yard, he called out loudly to the homeowner. A yellow dog emerged from the tea bushes next door, jumped up, and barked loudly, causing him to turn around and smile.

- You rascal! You like flattering your neighbors too, huh?

Ms. Khue stepped out from the kitchen porch with a basket of sticky rice under her arm:

- You and your dog, what are you doing causing such a commotion in my house?

The early morning sun slanted, casting a golden hue on one side of her sister's still-shiny hair, now precariously positioned in the twilight of her life. Vu looked at her sister with a cheerful yet slightly worried expression. For more than thirty years, this solitary woman had only returned to the village twice a year, from the twelfth lunar month to the first lunar month, and again in the eighth lunar month. These were the days for the ancestral commemoration ceremonies for her grandparents and parents.

Vũ sat down on the porch, scooping handfuls of sticky rice into plastic bags. The grains felt soft and smooth under his hands. The gentle aroma of the fragrant rice transported him back to a time and place from his childhood. Nights passed when Khuê's yard bustled with preparations for ancestral worship ceremonies, with aunts and uncles busily sifting, pounding, and chatting until late. Her parents had died young, but as the eldest child, she was raised and cared for by her grandmother, who provided her with a good education. Her aunts and uncles also doted on her, ensuring she didn't have to do any hard work, from cooking to working in the fields. Seeing her and Đằng growing up and studying together, Vũ secretly hoped she would find a warm support system after her grandmother's death. But Khuê soon realized the disparity between the two families—or rather, she didn't have a family at that time. Therefore, things never began. After several years of studying and working far away, the first time she stayed home for Tet (Lunar New Year) for the longest period coincided with a major celebration at Mr. Dang's family. On the full moon of the first lunar month that year, the two sisters sat gazing at the moon on the porch. Vu was old enough to understand the stormy silence in her sister's heart...

***

From afternoon until dusk, Mr. Dang felt increasingly tired. Ms. Ngo, who helped him with cooking and a few household chores, had left before the moon rose. He had intended to ask her to stay a little longer, but Vu had called to say he would be coming, so he declined, settling comfortably at the small table and looking out the window. The garden was bathed in the faint light of twilight, and the shadows of the trees seemed to be sinking into the gloomy moment of a late, desolate sunset.

But in an instant, the moon rose from behind the row of betel nut trees in front of the gate, full and radiant. The sky was cloudless, but the air was silvery like mist, making him feel as if his body was becoming light and floating, floating higher and higher...

- Mr. Dang! Mr. Dang!

He opened his eyes wide, feeling someone's hand gently touching his face. A voice, clear and melodious like the singing behind the tea bushes of yesteryear, called out. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a delicate face that flickered before his eyes.

- What did you dream about that made you laugh so much?

Vu put his arm around the old man's shoulder and continued, his voice softer:

Is something wrong? Do you need me to call a doctor?

Mr. Dang rubbed his eyes and looked around. He clearly heard and saw something. Could it have been a hallucination?

Vu helped him sit up straight, poured him a cup of warm water, and then stepped out onto the veranda. He watched him go and rubbed his eyes again. In the bright, silvery moonlight of the Lantern Festival, blending the earth and sky into one, he clearly saw a pair of eyes looking in his direction. Vu chuckled heartily:

I apologize for inviting guests over without asking you first.

Mr. Dang stood up, as if he hadn't felt any of the silly fatigue from the afternoon, walked forward and extended his hand:

- Khue!...

She sat down in the chair opposite, still saying nothing. Just as she hadn't said anything for decades. Only the moonlight could speak for them, conveying what needed to be said at this moment.

Vu was the most nervous of all. He masked his nervousness with a hint of anxiety:

- If the two sisters hadn't arrived in time, things might have gone badly. Aunt Ngo only helps during the day, but what about at night? I think we need to rearrange things...

And he stepped down into the courtyard for a stroll in the moonlit garden. The Lantern Festival night in the village was filled with the fragrant scent of the garden, and mingled with the tranquil sounds of countless creatures joyfully calling out to each other with love.

Nguyen Thi Duyen Sanh