A man who loves growing flowers always has a gentle nature.

A man who loves growing flowers is always gentle.

01

My grandfather was an extremely serious man. He rarely smiled.

According to my mother, when she was young, my grandfather laid down "family rules" for them: they had to be home before nine, they had to report whenever they went out, they were not allowed to sleep in, and they were not to get tangled up with the opposite sex... and so on. When my mother talks about it, her tone carries a hint of helplessness.

Back then, a joke was popular online about a couple on a date by the lake. A wave rolled in, and the girl said, "What beautiful ripples!" The boy scoffed, "It's just a wave." Don't laugh, but my grandfather was exactly that kind of person. When they went shopping, if my grandmother occasionally wanted to act a little cute, my grandfather would glare, take a big stride, and be gone.

Don't laugh, but my grandfather was exactly that kind of person. When he had just gotten married and went shopping with my grandmother, if she occasionally wanted to act a little cute, my grandfather would glare, take a big stride, and be gone.

Romance and mood had nothing to do with him. Over time, everyone got used to my grandfather. He was like a cold, hard steel ruler, with not a trace of softness.

But I felt that deep down in my grandfather's heart, there must be a trace of tenderness hidden away.

02

Because I believe a man who loves growing flowers must have a soft heart.

My grandfather loved growing flowers above all else in his life. In his view, growing flowers required a sense of ritual. It was about his love for life, his sensitivity to happiness, and sometimes it was an ending, and also a beginning.

His yard was full of different flowers. There were common ones like Chinese roses, roses, primroses, and coral... as well as some ordinary grasses and trees. My favorite was the Chinese rose. Back then, my grandfather chose a variety with very good disease resistance, called Blue Sky. When the flowers bloomed, they were a soft blue-purple tone, very special.

Whenever a flower bloomed, I could feel my grandfather's joy.

My grandfather even registered an account on Xianyu, and he would occasionally give away flowers and plants for free there. In his view, the process of growing flowers was joyful, and sharing was a kind of happiness.

03

That year, my grandfather transplanted a crabapple tree from somewhere. Normally, crabapple trees are not strict about their environment and are easy to keep alive. But whether it was because of "not adapting to the soil and climate," even though my grandfather cared for it meticulously, that crabapple tree still grew poorly, and even slowly withered away, looking as if it were about to die.

My grandfather was frowning with worry. A few months later, my uncle, who was far away in another place, had an accident and had his wrist severed by a machine.

And that crabapple tree, I never saw it bloom. In the end, it was still going to wither and die.

My grandmother cried bitterly, while my grandfather said not a word. His expression remained serious. He just silently kept watch at the hospital, staying with my uncle the whole time.

During that period, my grandfather aged very quickly. He was busy caring for my uncle, and also caring for that crabapple. Watering and fertilizing.

The following year, that crabapple actually put out fresh green buds.

04

After my uncle's wrist healed, my grandfather planted even more flowers. I found it interesting, so I took a jasmine plant home from my grandfather. The day I brought it back, the jasmine was more than half bloomed, fragrant and pleasant, with thick, glossy petals. I could not put it down.

For the first couple of days, I was very excited and watered the jasmine every day. But I am a careless person after all. Summer has a lot of heavy rain, and I forgot to move the flowerpot indoors. The jasmine was washed by the rain for more than ten hours, and in the end it was half dead.

My mother, imitating my grandfather, cut off all the dead leaves and branches of the jasmine, until only a bare stem was left.

She vowed confidently that it would grow back again.

However, a year passed, and in the end that stem withered too. It shattered my last hope.

I told my grandfather about this. He was already very, very old, standing in the yard watering, and the setting sun dyed his white hair with a layer of gold. He said: "Growing flowers is just like life. Flowers do not die. Their withering is for a better bloom."

Later, my grandfather took that dead stem, cut off a small piece, and carved it into a bead, strung on a red cord. I wore it for many years. I think it was the most romantic gift I ever received.

05

Flowers do not die.

Every death of theirs is a cycle, and then they bloom again, year after year.

Only after I understood what my grandfather meant did I deeply feel the softness in his heart. Many years after his death, I have always believed that he is watching over me in another way.

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