P2
I am the youngest member of our family. Great-Grandma is the oldest.
When I first met her, she was already one hundred years old.

P4
Great-Grandma lived next door to us. Seven people lived inside my house.

P5
She was single and lives alone in a detached house.
Even as an elder, she avoided troubling others whenever she could.

P6
When the adults were out at work during the day and the students were still at school, by afternoon it would be just Great-Grandma and I left to watch the houses.

P7
Great-Grandma and I — each guarding our own home.

P8
Whenever I was on house-watch duty, I would finish my homework early. There was always so much time left and nowhere for me to go, so I’d run next door to see Great-Grandma.

P9
Without exception, she was always asleep.

I wandered alone through her house, pacing back and forth, wondering what a century-long life was really like.

P10
What struck me the most are the cupboards, stairways, and corners of her house, stacked with countless calendar pages and monthly tear-off sheets. Some were tied into bundles, never once opened.

P11
All their time added together must be nearly the same length as Great-Grandma’s entire life.

P12
Great-Grandma often said to the family:
“I wish to fall asleep and just die like that.”

I was afraid of Great-Grandma dying — even more afraid she might die when I was the only one home.

So from time to time, I’d drift over to her bedside and pick at the thick skin on her feet, trying to wake her up.
But the skin on her feet had a hundred years of thickness — there was no way to reach the itchy spot.

P14
I was always afraid her “wish” might come true.
So sometimes I simply wouldn’t go next door.
I’d hide in my own house and do chores instead.

A few times, Great-Grandma would suddenly appear at our doorway.
Calm and composed, steady on her feet, she would walk across the floor I had just mopped — still wet and slippery. Under my anxious gaze, she would unhurriedly start to wash the dishes, as if she really wanted to join my cleaning team.

P16
When we guarded the houses together, her favourite question was:
“A-Min, how long do you think I still have left to live?”

P17
Before I could answer, she’d turn her head and stare blankly at the people and cars passing by. Leaving me full of question marks, thinking:
“If Great-Grandma never dies… that would be terrifying.”

But then —

P18
One winter afternoon, she came to door of my house with a large picture frame tucked under her arm and said to me:

“Come, let’s return this to its owner.”

I realized she was holding the image of Guanyin someone had gifted her — an image she had worshipped for more than half her life.

P20
“Then no one will be left to watch the house.”

P21
“It’ll be fine like this!”

P22
So, at three in the afternoon, with winter sunlight baking the asphalt, we went out together.

P23
When was the last time the Great-Grandma went out by herself?

As far as I could remember, the farthest she ever went was the market a hundred meters away. Whenever she went, she became the centre of attention—the vendors wouldn’t dare charge her money. Luckily, she always bought very little.

P24
Her rare outings caused quite a stir.
After all, this was “A Hundred Years” walking down the road.

She was like a moving alarm system.
On one hand, people thought, Oh! Haven’t seen her in ages—it’s like an ancient artifact unearthed.

P25
On the other hand, the villagers we passed by kept reminding me: “A-Min, be sure to hold on to Great-Grandma tight.”

P27
Along the way, we passed a revered old tree wrapped in red cloth.
Around that time, someone was giving cultural talks, saying the tree was ninety years old. I thought to myself: even the Great Tree paled in comparison to Great-Grandma—how could it still be called “Great”?

P28
We stopped in front of one of the houses, and an elderly woman selling vegetarian food came out. When she saw Great-Grandma, she cried out in surprise: “Oh! Old Bodhisattva!”

It turned out that Great-Grandma, who rarely went out anymore, still had friends.

P29
Guanyin was returned smoothly, with only a brief moment of polite refusal. The elderly woman cried, while Great-Grandma—who was hard of hearing—didn’t hear a thing.

P30
On the way back, we walked quietly along the country road. The lingering sunlight kept us company. A new year was about to arrive.

P32
This was the world I had only just reached ten years in.
This was the world Great-Grandma had lived in for a hundred years.

P34
We returned home safely. I carefully led Great-Grandma back to her bamboo reclining chair and adjusted it.
Not fully flat—slanted.
An angle only I knew how to set.

Great-Grandma spoke:

P35
“A-Min, how long do you think I still have left to live?”

Looking at the brand-new New Year calendars, freshly delivered and piled by the door; looking at the calendar paper scattered throughout the house—tucked into corners and pinned to walls—I didn’t know whether Great-Grandma heard my answer.

P36
I said: “You have to live until the day all these calendar pages are torn away!”