128: Chapter 128 The Cat's Seed

The day after George returned from the door, the cat did something no one expected.

It walked through that door again, but not to play, not to drink water by the lake, and not to doze under the swing.

It took the path on the right, passed through the bamboo forest, walked to the lake, and used its paws to dig a hole under the willow tree.

Then it spat something out of its mouth, placed it into the hole, nudged the soil with its nose, and filled the hole.

It crouched beside it, staring at the freshly turned soil for a long time.

Then it stood up, turned around, and left.

Lin Xiaohe was the first to discover the hole.

She walked through the door, went to the lake, and saw a patch of freshly turned soil beside the willow tree roots—damp, black, and marked with the cat's paw prints.

She crouched down and touched the soil; it was soft and cool.

She didn't know what the cat had planted, but she knew it was planting something.

She stood up, sat by the lake for a while, and then went back to tell Molly.

"The cat planted something inside the door," she said.

Molly was brewing coffee, and the coffee pot in her hand paused.

"Planted what?"

Lin Xiaohe shook her head.

"I don't know.

It used its paws to dig a hole, put something in it, and covered it with soil.

Then it crouched there and watched for a long time."

Molly put down the coffee pot, untied her apron, and followed Lin Xiaohe through the door.

They walked to the lake and crouched in front of the hole.

The soil was still damp, and the paw prints were still there.

Molly reached out, gently brushed away some soil, and saw something black inside—round, hard, and a little bigger than a glass marble.

She picked it up with her fingers and placed it in her palm.

The object was very smooth, with fine lines on the surface, looking like a seed.

"It's a seed," she said.

Lin Xiaohe leaned over to look.

"What kind of seed?"

Molly shook her head.

"I don't know.

But if the cat planted it, it can't be wrong."

She put the seed back into the hole and covered it with soil again.

Then she stood up and looked at the willow tree.

The willow branches hung over the water, swaying in the wind, as if they were also watching the seed.

When the news reached the farm, George was watering the rainbow mushrooms.

Sarah ran in and said the cat had planted a seed inside the door, and Molly said it was a seed, but she didn't know what kind.

George put down the watering can, walked to the church, pushed open the door, and went to the lake.

He crouched in front of the hole, brushed away the soil, and looked at the seed.

It was black, round, and hard.

He remembered planting beans when he was a child; they were also like this—one by one, buried in the soil, watered, and waited for to sprout.

He stood up, went to the lake, scooped up a handful of water, and poured it over the hole.

The water seeped into the soil, wetting the surface of the hole.

He crouched there, staring at the wet soil for a long time.

Then he stood up, turned around, and left.

"It will grow," he said to the cat.

The cat was crouching beside the willow roots, its tail tip swaying gently, as if it were also waiting.

On the third day, the seed sprouted.

A tender green shoot poked out of the soil, with two small, thin leaves trembling gently in the wind.

Lin Xiaohe crouched beside it and reached out to touch the leaves lightly.

The leaves swayed, as if greeting her.

The cat crouched next to the sprout, sniffed it with its nose, and then licked it with its tongue.

After licking it, it narrowed its eyes, and a purring sound came from its throat.

Lin Xiaohe leaned over and sniffed it too; there was a faint fragrance, like grass, and also like mint.

She didn't know what kind of plant this was, but she thought it smelled very nice.

On the fourth day, the sprout grew taller and sprouted two new leaves.

The leaves were tender green, with fine fuzz on the edges, feeling soft to the touch.

The cat came every day, crouching beside the sprout for the whole afternoon.

It didn't play or run; it just crouched there, watching the little seedling as if waiting for it to grow up.

Lin Xiaohe came every day to water it, scooping water from the lake, handful by handful.

The water seeped into the soil, and the seedling, having drunk its fill, stood straighter.

On the fifth day, the seedling had grown into a small tree.

The trunk was thin but very straight, thinner than Lin Xiaohe's arm.

The crown wasn't large, with only a few branches, but each branch was full of leaves.

The leaves were heart-shaped, shiny green, and glistening in the sunlight.

Lin Xiaohe stood in front of the small tree, looking up at it.

She remembered the first mushroom she had grown; it was also like this, poking out of the soil, white and small.

Now that mushroom had turned rainbow-colored, and she didn't know what this tree would turn into.

The cat crouched beside the tree roots, using its paw to nudge a fallen leaf on the ground.

The leaf flipped over, revealing the fuzz on its back.

The cat nudged it again, and the leaf floated up and landed on its head.

It shook its head, the leaf fell off, and it nudged it again, as if playing with the leaf.

On the sixth day, the tree blossomed.

Not just one flower, but many—red, yellow, purple, white—as colorful as wildflowers.

The petals were very small but numerous, crowded together like colorful balls.

Lin Xiaohe stood under the tree, looking up at the flowers.

The wind blew, and petals drifted down, landing on her head, on the cat's back, and on the ground.

She picked up a red one and placed it in her palm.

The petals were very thin, cool, and had a faint fragrance.

She pressed the petal to her nose and smelled it; it was sweet, different from the taste of the rainbow mushrooms.

The cat stood up, used its paw to catch a falling petal, put it in its mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

It licked its lips, caught another one, and chewed and swallowed it too.

It seemed to really like eating the petals.

On the seventh day, the flowers withered, and fruit formed.

The fruits were small, round, the size of glass marbles, but they were different colors—red, yellow, purple, white—as colorful as the flowers.

Lin Xiaohe picked a red one and placed it in her palm.

The fruit was smooth, hard, like a gemstone.

She put it in her mouth and took a bite.

It was sweet, but not the sweetness of sugar; it was a fresh sweetness, like the taste of something just picked from the tree.

As she chewed, she remembered the day she first wrote the word "Listen" on the wall.

She was crouching at the base of the wall, writing the word "Listen" with white chalk, crooked and wobbly.

She didn't know why she wanted to write this word, but she felt the wall should know.

Jenny walked over and asked what she was doing; she said she was telling the wall, "I am listening."

Jenny touched the word and said it would know.

She swallowed, opened her eyes, and smiled.

The cat stood up, used its paw to pick a yellow fruit, put it in its mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

It didn't remember anything—it was just a cat.

But it licked its lips, picked a red one, and ate it too.

It ate three, then crouched under the tree, its tail tip swaying gently, as if savoring the taste.

When the news reached the Coffee Shop, Molly was wiping cups.

Lin Xiaohe ran in and said the tree inside the door had borne fruit, and eating it would make you remember happy things.

Molly put down the cup, walked through the door, and went to the lake.

She stood under the tree, picked a purple fruit, and put it in her mouth.

As she chewed, she remembered the day she first brewed coffee.

Back then, she had just arrived in Xinfeng Town, the Coffee Shop hadn't opened yet, and she had tried many times alone in the kitchen; it was either too bitter or too weak.

She tried for an entire afternoon and finally brewed a cup she was satisfied with.

She carried that cup of coffee, walked to the door, sat on the steps, and drank it slowly.

The sun shone on her face, warm and cozy.

She felt as if she had found a place where she could stay.

She swallowed, opened her eyes, and smiled.

"It's sweet," she said.

She picked a yellow one, put it in her mouth, and remembered another thing.

She remembered the day she first saw that gray cat; it was crouching on the steps, staring at the milk in the shop.

She brought a saucer of milk out and placed it in front of it.

It lowered its head to drink, finished it, licked its lips, looked up, stared at her with those green eyes for three seconds, and then rubbed against her feet.

She crouched down, stroked its head, and it narrowed its eyes, with a purring sound coming from its throat.

From then on, it came every day.

She swallowed and smiled again.

She picked a white one, put it in her mouth, and remembered her father.

Not the sad kind of remembering, but the happy kind.

She remembered when her father taught her to ride a bicycle, holding the back seat and running circle after circle; when he let go, she was riding in front, and he was chasing behind, shouting, "Slow down, slow down."

She was riding very fast, the wind blowing past her Ears, and she felt like a bird.

She swallowed, tears swirling in her eyes, but the corners of her mouth were turned up.

When the news reached the farm, George was cutting rainbow mushrooms.

Sarah ran in and said the tree inside the door had borne fruit, and eating it would make you remember happy things, and Molly had eaten three and smiled three times.

George put down the knife, picked up a slice of rainbow mushroom, put it in his mouth, and then walked through the door to the lake.

He stood under the tree, picked a red fruit, and put it in his mouth.

As he chewed, he remembered the day he first grew mushrooms.

He was crouching in front of the shelf, looking at that pure white mushroom for a long time.

He reached out and gently touched the cap; it was cool and smooth.

He picked a small piece, put it in his mouth—it was sweet.

He swallowed and smiled.

He picked a yellow one and remembered the day he first saw that wall built.

It was autumn, twenty years ago, and it was drizzling.

He stood in front of the wall, looking at those new wooden boards, white, flat, without a single hole.

He reached out and touched them; they were cool and smooth.

He stood there for a long time, then turned and left.

At that time, he didn't know that twenty years later, this wall would be covered with letters, a door would appear, there would be a path behind the door, a tree would grow by the roadside, and the tree would bear sweet fruit.

He swallowed and smiled.

He picked a purple one and remembered his father.

Not the sad kind of remembering, but the happy kind.

He remembered the day his father made him a swing; the wooden board was new and white, and the ropes were hemp.

His father hung the swing on an oak tree and pushed him, swinging him very, very high.

He laughed loudly, and his father laughed too.

He swallowed, tears swirling in his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.

After Sam heard about it, he carried his guitar and walked through the door.

He stood under the tree, picked a blue fruit, and put it in his mouth.

As he chewed, he remembered the day he first played the guitar at the church entrance.

Lin Xiaohe was crouching nearby listening, and the cat was also crouching nearby listening.

He played a very slow song; Lin Xiaohe closed her eyes, and the cat also closed its eyes.

When he finished, Lin Xiaohe opened her eyes and said, "Sounds good."

The cat also opened its eyes and meowed.

He swallowed and smiled.

He picked a green one and remembered the day he first heard sounds inside the door panel.

He pressed his Ear against the door panel and heard a very faint, distant sound, like wind blowing through leaves, like water flowing over stones.

He plucked a string, and the sound inside the door panel stopped, as if listening.

He plucked it again, and the sound inside the door panel started again, blending with the guitar's sound.

He played a very light song, and the sound inside the door panel followed his rhythm, rising and falling, ebbing and flowing.

He swallowed and smiled.

He took off his guitar, sat under the tree, and played a song.

Not for the wall to hear, but for the tree to hear.

The wind blew, and the leaves rustled, as if following his rhythm.

The cat crouched beside the tree roots, its tail tip swaying gently.

Sam finished, stood up, and looked at the tree.

The fruits on the tree were colorful, glistening in the sunlight.

He picked a red one, put it in his pocket, and saved it to eat tomorrow.

That night, Lin Feng was crouching under the old locust tree.

Margaret brought a plate of mushrooms over and crouched beside him.

"Lin Feng, the tree inside the door has borne fruit.

Eating it will make you remember happy things.

George went, Molly went, Sam went, and they all smiled."

Lin Feng took the mushrooms and ate a bite.

"Did you go?"

Margaret nodded.

"I went.

I picked a white one."

Lin Feng looked at her.

"What did you remember?"

Margaret thought for a moment.

"I remembered the day you first came to Xinfeng Town.

You were crouching at the restaurant entrance, holding a straw in your mouth.

I thought you were here to bum a meal."

She smiled.

"Later I realized you were here to make people laugh."

Lin Feng chewed the mushroom, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

"That tree will keep growing."

Margaret looked at him.

"How do you know?"

Lin Feng swallowed.

"Because someone waters it, someone watches it, someone eats its fruit.

When someone eats it and smiles, they will come back.

When they come back, they will water it again.

When it is watered, it will keep growing."

Margaret looked at him and smiled.

"When did you learn to say things like that?"

Lin Feng said, "When I was holding a straw in my mouth."

The next morning, Uncle Zhou came to deliver mail.

He parked his bicycle at the church entrance, pushed the door, and walked through the small door.

He walked to the lake and saw the tree.

The tree wasn't tall, but it was vigorous, with shiny green leaves and colorful fruits.

He stood under the tree, picked a red one, and put it in his mouth.

As he chewed, he remembered the day he first rode this bicycle.

The bike was new, the chain was shiny, the tires were black, and the bell rang as soon as it was pressed.

He rode it, starting from the Post Office, riding through Millfield, riding through Greenfield, riding to those places whose names he didn't know.

Back then, the roads were still dirt roads, bumpy and full of holes, and riding made his bottom sore.

But he felt it was fast, much faster than walking.

He swallowed and smiled.

He picked a yellow one and remembered the day he first received a letter.

On the envelope, it was written, "Post Office, for Uncle Zhou," in crooked handwriting.

He opened it, and there was only a piece of paper inside, with only one line of text on it: "Uncle Zhou, we have seen all the letters you delivered. —Eric"

He swallowed, his eyes turned red, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.

He picked a blue one, put it in his pocket, and saved it to eat tomorrow.

He crouched down, stroked the cat's head, and the cat narrowed its eyes, with a purring sound coming from its throat.

He stood up, turned around, and left.

The chain jingled, he got on his bike, and rode slowly forward.

The wind messed up his hair; he was riding slowly, but very steadily.

He thought of that tree, those fruits, those smiles.

They were behind that door, at the end of that road, by that lake.

He smiled and continued riding forward.

[Chapter 128 End]