30. Green Grove Manor

The car entered the Bamboo Sea scenic area, weaving through endless avenues lined with bamboo. When it rolled over a small bump, it jolted noticeably, waking Tang Yiyi from her slumber. She blinked a few times, still dazed, and murmured, “I must have fallen asleep.”

“We’re almost there,” Qin Baike replied.

Tang Yiyi gazed at the sea of green bamboo, opened the window, and took a deep breath of the fresh air. “The air is wonderful!”

“Mm,” he responded.

“Still playing this song? Let’s change it,” she suggested.

Qin Baike reached over and turned the music off. “We’re arriving soon. Let’s listen to the wind instead.”

Tang Yiyi admired the scenery and asked, “How did you find this retirement home? It’s so far from the city.”

“It’s run by a couple who are my comrades,” he explained.

“Oh,” she replied.

They left the main avenue of the scenic area and took a climbing dirt road, twisting twice before reaching a long wall at the end of the path. On the wall was a wooden sign, roughly fifty by twenty centimeters, bearing the words “Green Plant Manor” in brush strokes, with a painted arrow pointing right beneath it. The handwriting resembled a child’s doodle, but the awkwardness revealed a certain skill, a deliberate imitation of childishness.

Plants crawled all over the wall, and a section was covered in blooming roses. Following the wall to the right for another fifteen meters, they came upon two wide iron gates, left open. Qin Baike drove in and stopped just past the entrance, nodding to a young man stationed at the guard post before continuing forward.

He turned left, driving along the wall until he reached a makeshift parking area shaded by a simple canopy. “Let’s get out here and walk,” he said.

He took a folding wheelchair from the trunk, set it up, then opened the back door and unbuckled his mother’s seatbelt. He gently lifted her and settled her into the wheelchair, shouldered their luggage, and pushed her toward a row of two-story houses.

As they approached, a cheerful middle-aged man emerged from inside, grinning widely. “Aunt Qin, welcome back!” he greeted, then turned to Tang Yiyi, “You must be the skilled young doctor everyone’s been talking about?”

Tang Yiyi laughed nervously, shot Qin Baike a sideways glance, and replied, “I’m still an intern. Next year, I’ll officially become a doctor of Chinese medicine.”

The man chuckled heartily, “If Baike says you’re skilled, then you’re definitely not ordinary.”

Qin Baike introduced him, “This is Mr. Fan.”

Mr. Fan thumped Baike’s shoulder with a fist, “What boss? I’m just an old farmer.”

“I haven’t seen any farmers around, but everyone here calls you Mr. Fan,” Baike teased.

They entered the first floor of the house. Hung above the entrance was a wooden plaque inscribed with wild, unrestrained cursive characters.

“What does it say?” Tang Yiyi asked, pointing at the plaque.

Mr. Fan glanced up, grimacing as if with a toothache, “Green Plant Manor.”

“…”

“You think it’s a bit much, right? I told them using cursive script for a sign isn’t suitable. These old men can be so stubborn—see over there?” He nodded in a direction. “The one in the yellow shirt, he’s from the provincial calligraphy association.”

At the edge of the vegetable garden, an old man with silver hair slicked back was fanning himself while carefully examining a loofah vine.

“He does look like an artist,” Tang Yiyi commented admiringly.

Mr. Fan smiled, “As long as they’re happy. Old children, really—they’re just like a bunch of kids. As long as they don’t tear the house down, I let them do as they please. Who knows, maybe he’ll decide it looks bad and change it in a while.”

Calling this place a retirement home didn’t quite fit; it felt more like a country inn, only much larger than most. The entire courtyard was rectangular, with the gate in the middle of the long side. At the center stood a huge camphor tree, its broad shade spreading wide, beneath which sat a stone table and seven or eight rattan chairs.

To the left were three small, independent houses. Along the right wall grew a dozen camphor trees, all lush and thriving, with several fitness machines commonly found in residential communities set beneath them.

All around the courtyard, here and there, were patches of flowers and plants, growing vibrantly wherever you looked. The row of two-story houses directly opposite the gate was where Tang Yiyi stood now. The far left downstairs was the kitchen and dining area, the far right held two rooms.

The central space, spanning about three rooms, had all its non-supporting walls replaced with folding screens, now fully opened so that the rooms formed a large activity hall. Inside were a tea table for tasting, an automatic mahjong table, lounge chairs for sunbathing, and two treadmills. Each functional area was separated by folding doors, which could be closed for privacy.

Beyond the activity hall lay a vast vegetable garden, planted with many kinds of vegetables. To the right of the garden was a sunroom, its glass walls revealing a profusion of flowers and cultivated saplings.

A concrete path ran between the garden and the sunroom, leading to a wooden platform. From there, one could look out over the undulating Bamboo Sea below the mountain.

Turning back, the second floor of the two-story house had a large balcony outside each room, about five rooms in all.

Qin’s mother, unable to climb stairs, lived in one of the three independent houses with others who had difficulty walking.

Mr. Fan explained that this place was originally built as temporary accommodation for staff during the scenic area’s construction. It was quite rudimentary at first, but as the scenic area expanded, the staff moved elsewhere, leaving it vacant.

The greatest advantage here was for plant cultivation—the climate, air, and water were perfect. He thought it was a fine spot, with convenient transport, so he and his wife rented it, built the sunroom, and started a flower and plant business. Gradually, the business flourished and grew busier.

After retiring from the army, Mr. Fan joined his wife in running it. Since it was their own venture, they insisted on managing it themselves. All the camphor trees and greenery you see are the result of their ten years of dedication.