134: Chapter 134 The Note on the Tree

After the storytelling session under the tree ended, the next day, there was something extra on the trunk.

It wasn't writing, but a slip of paper.

The paper was white, folded in half, and hung on a branch, swaying gently in the breeze.

Lin Xiaohe was the first to discover it.

She stood on tiptoe, took the note down, and unfolded it.

There was only one line of text on it, crookedly written: "Mom, I'm doing very well here. Don't worry."

There was no signature.

Lin Xiaohe looked at it for a long time, then folded the note back up and placed it back on the branch.

The wind blew, and the note swayed again, as if waving.

The cat crouched beside the tree roots, looking up at the note, its tail tip swaying gently.

On the third day, there were three more notes on the tree.

One said: "Dad, I'm still swinging on your swing."

Another said: "Sister, I planted a tree, just like the one you planted before."

One said: "Grandma, I can play the guitar now."

Lin Xiaohe read them one by one, and after finishing, she hung them back on the branches.

The wind blew, and the notes rustled, as if they were talking.

By the fourth day, the tree was covered in notes.

Some people used string to tie them, some used thumbtacks to press them, and some stuffed them directly into the crevices of the bark.

The notes were white, yellow, torn from exercise books, or cut from letter paper.

Some wrote "I'm sorry," some wrote "Thank you," some wrote "I miss you," and some wrote "I'm back."

Lin Xiaohe stood under the tree, looking up at those notes.

There were too many of them, and when the wind blew, they all swayed, like a group of white butterflies.

The cat also looked up, its Ear twitching, as if listening to those notes talking.

When the news reached Millfield, Eric was watering the mushrooms.

Sarah ran in and said that the tree in Xinfeng Town was covered in notes, and many people were writing on them.

Eric put down the watering can and walked to the small tree he had planted.

The trunk was bare, with nothing on it.

He crouched down and took a piece of paper from his pocket; it was wrinkled, torn from a notebook.

He wrote very slowly, thinking for a long time for every word: "Mark, after you left, I planted a tree. It has bloomed and borne fruit. When will you come back to take a look?"

After writing, he folded the note and tied it to a branch.

The wind blew, and the note swayed.

He stood up and looked at the note.

"He will see it," he said.

Sarah crouched beside him, also looking at the note.

"He will come back."

Eric nodded.

"He will come back."

When the news reached Greenfield, Martha was playing the guitar.

Hearing the news, she put down the guitar and walked to the small tree she had planted.

The trunk was bare, with nothing on it.

She crouched down and took a piece of paper from her pocket; it was pale yellow, cut from letter paper.

She wrote very slowly, thinking for a long time for every word: "Old man, I planted a tree. It has bloomed, and the fruit is sweet. You can't taste it, but I tasted it for you."

After writing, she tied the note to a branch.

The wind blew, and the note swayed.

She stood up and looked at the note.

"You will see it," she said.

The wind blew, and the leaves rustled, as if in reply.

On the tree in Xinfeng Town, there were more and more notes.

Someone wrote, "Mom, I learned how to make coffee," someone wrote, "Dad, I got into college," someone wrote, "Sister, I got married," and someone wrote, "Grandma, I gave birth to a daughter and named her after you."

Some wrote very long, dense messages, like a letter; some wrote very short ones, only a few words, like a sigh.

The cat crouched under the tree every day, looking up at those notes.

Sometimes when the wind blew and the notes rustled, its Ear would twitch.

Sometimes a note would fall off, and it would stretch out its paw to catch it, sniff it with its nose, and then place it by the tree roots, waiting for Lin Xiaohe to come and pick it up.

Lin Xiaohe came every day after school to pick up the fallen notes and re-hang them.

She hung them very slowly, reading each one.

She saw a note that said: "Brother, you went to a very far place, but I feel like you are right here under the tree."

She hung it high up, where the wind couldn't reach.

She saw a note that said: "Mom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have argued with you that day."

She hung it on a south-facing branch where the sunlight could reach it.

She saw a note that said: "I've been in Xinfeng Town for three years; this is my home."

She hung it on the thickest part of the trunk, the most stable place.

One day, she brought a red cloth strip and tied it to the highest branch.

The cloth strip was new and red, fluttering in the wind, visible from far away.

Molly came out with a cup of coffee and saw the red cloth strip, pausing for a moment.

"Did you tie that?"

Lin Xiaohe nodded.

"Tie it higher, so people further away can see it."

Molly looked at the red cloth strip for a long time.

"They will come."

Lin Xiaohe nodded.

"They will come."

That night, Lin Feng crouched under the old locust tree.

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

"Lin Feng, that tree is covered in notes. So many people are writing on it, writing to those who have left, writing to those in faraway places, writing to their future selves."

Lin Feng took the mushrooms and ate one.

"Did you write one?"

Margaret nodded.

"I did."

Lin Feng looked at her.

"To whom?"

Margaret smiled.

"To you."

Lin Feng paused for a moment.

"What did you write?"

Margaret thought for a moment.

"I wrote, 'Thank you for crouching here.'"

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

"The notes will fly away."

Margaret looked at him.

"What if they fly away?"

Lin Feng swallowed.

"If they fly away, someone will pick them up. If they pick them up, they will see them. If they see them, they will know someone is waiting."

Margaret looked at him and smiled.

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

Lin Feng said, "When I was biting on a straw."

The next morning, Uncle Zhou came to deliver mail.

He parked his bike in front of the Coffee Shop and saw the tree covered in notes—red, white, yellow—fluttering in the wind.

He crouched down and picked up a note that had fallen to the ground.

It read: "Uncle Zhou, I have received all the letters you delivered."

There was no signature, but he knew who wrote it.

He tied the note back onto the branch, tying it very tightly so the wind couldn't blow it away.

He stood up, took the letters from his bag, and posted them on the wall.

After finishing, he stood under the tree, looking at those notes.

He remembered the day he first posted letters on the wall; it was a morning just like this, the wall was still empty, the letters were still new.

Now the wall was full, the doors were open, the tree had grown, and the tree was covered in notes.

He smiled.

He got on his bike and continued riding forward.

The chain jingled, and he rode very slowly, but steadily.

He thought of those notes, those words, and those people waiting for letters.

They will see them.

He smiled and continued riding forward.