Water&Well&Page
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I think to write, I write to think
Stories (64)
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The Old Drifters' Journey Home
My name is Old Chen, and I am sixty-three years old. My wife is two years younger than me; she just turned sixty. Thinking back, we arrived in Hangzhou the year my grandson finished his first month of life—a tradition we call manyue. Just like that, eight years have slipped by.
By Water&Well&Pageabout 9 hours ago in Humans
Thirty-Seven Missed Calls and the Limit of a Father’s Love
My name is Lao Zhou, and I’m sixty-three this year. Don’t let the age fool you; my hair has turned as white as a fresh snowfall over the last few years. It all goes back to a night last winter—a night I’ll never forget as long as I live.
By Water&Well&Pageabout 19 hours ago in Humans
The Eight Realities of Men Over 54
Lao Zhang is 56 this year. He just finished his retirement paperwork last month. The night before last, he swung by my place with two bottles of beer. The moment he stepped through the door, he let out a heavy sigh. "Brother, let me tell you—once a man crosses fifty-four, it’s like cresting a mountain ridge. Looking ahead, it’s all downhill; looking back, the scenery is beautiful, but your legs just don’t have the strength they used to."
By Water&Well&Pagea day ago in Lifehack
A Rented Room for One
I left that light on on purpose. It’s 2:17 AM. Once again, I am staring wide-eyed into the dark at a crack in the ceiling. It appeared last month, cutting across the top of my rental room like a frozen bolt of lightning. Outside, the occasional stray cat yowl drifts in, or the rhythmic thud of a distant construction site pile driver. Further out is the low, perpetual hum of a city that never truly sleeps.
By Water&Well&Page2 days ago in Humans
Filial, But Not Obedient
My name is Wang Xiuying, and I am sixty-eight years old. You might find it hard to believe, but at my age, most women are grandmothers being doted on by their families. Yet, here I am, still serving my mother—the "Old Lady." She’s ninety-four this year and has been bedridden for three years.
By Water&Well&Page3 days ago in Lifehack
Don't Hollow Your Nest for a Half-Grown Son
Sigh, speaking of this, my heart feels like it’s being crushed by a giant boulder—I just have to get it off my chest. Take my cousin’s family as a prime example; it’s a living, breathing textbook case. Now, whenever I meet anyone, I can’t help but nag a little: if your son doesn't yet have the ability to "support a hearth and home," parents should never rush him into marriage, and for heaven's sake, don't lose your head and pour out your "coffin money"—your entire life savings—just to set him up! That’s not bringing a daughter-in-law into the family; that’s digging a hole for yourself, and a bottomless one at that!
By Water&Well&Page3 days ago in Humans
The Cost of a Faraway Sister's Return
To be honest, I’ve kept this bottled up for years. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to seem petty, but what happened a few days ago felt like swallowing a fly—I couldn’t spit it out, and I couldn’t choke it down. After thinking it over, I needed a place to vent about my sister-in-law—my husband's older sister—who married into a family far away.
By Water&Well&Page4 days ago in Humans
The Thin Walls of Solitude
The day I moved into this old walk-up, it was raining. The landlady stood at the threshold, handing me the keys with the weary air of someone who’d seen it all. "Listen, girl," she said, "the soundproofing here is terrible. Keep it down at night." At the time, I didn't think much of it. How bad could it be? It wasn't my first time living in a weathered neighborhood.
By Water&Well&Page4 days ago in Humans
