Some time ago, there was an accident at home, grandpa passed away in a car accident, and the update was delayed, I'm sorry everyone, I may have to delay in the last few days.

I didn't notify you at the first time, I'm sorry. Because at first, I just got the news that my grandfather was admitted to the intensive ICU, so I rushed back to my hometown. I couldn't have imagined that this would be the last one. From the moment he was in a severe coma, he watched his condition deteriorate and eventually died.

My grandfather was an old cadre, but my family was very ordinary, can you imagine that the children of an old cadre would be laid-off workers? I admired my grandfather's character, he hated relationships, and when he was young, he was too strong to have trouble with his superiors. He's a hard-tempered, stubborn old man, I like this kind of persistent person, maybe there are a lot of cute stubborn old men in my pen, that's why.

I like the ordinary, I like all the people who live in the ordinary, because only in the ordinary can there be truth, only in the common weal and woe, and only then can there be many beautiful things in human nature.

My grandfather is an ordinary old man, a man in his eighties, who gets up at six o'clock in the morning to walk, and then buys breakfast and goes home for his grandmother to eat. Sometimes he would suddenly rise to travel, to sketch. He loves to paint, self-taught, and there have been famous contemporary painters who want to accept him as a disciple, because art also pays attention to the teacher, without the teacher you can't become a master. But he was rejected by this stubborn old man. The reason is - I am self-taught, I can't lie to people, I can't say that you taught me. The only chance to truly become a famous painter was lost.

So people often come to the door and trick this old man into opening an art exhibition. Why do you say it's a fraud? Because you have to pay for it yourself, and you have to go to other places with the paintings on your back. The old man is not a smart man, so he often works and contributes to art exhibitions, and of course he is not the one who makes a profit in the end... Therefore, the salesman loves to find him, and he can trick him into buying a bunch of strange things in a few words, which made his grandmother very angry for a while, she is reluctant to even pour laundry water, how can she tolerate spending money indiscriminately...

Yes, my grandfather was never a smart man. If he is smart, he may be able to be in a high position, maybe he can become a generation of famous painters, maybe he can let all his children enter public institutions, maybe Ink's life will change the trajectory because of this, and there will be no more opportunities to write...

It's a pity that he was never a smart man.

But this kind of character is perhaps the most lacking and precious thing in this era. Sadly, if I don't say it, and his relatives and friends don't say it, no one in this world will know what this stubborn old man has done in his life.

He walked peacefully, just like his paintings, his life, and that's probably the only thing to be thankful for.

He often said to me when he was alive: Your ancestors died of starvation, and those years were too bitter and poor, so your generation should cherish them.

The thing he is most proud of is that he thinks I'm a "writer" - but in fact, I can only be regarded as an Internet writer, and these things are indistinguishable from the old man.

He would ask me what I had written, and he would like to see it, and every now and then I would be like a great enemy, and I would be terrified - my skin would be ripped off when this stubborn old man watched "The Devil".

He wanted me to get a driver's license, drove him around China, parked the car, he sketched, I wrote, ate and sleeped, and enjoyed life...

I said okay, well, after a while, I will go to study when my back doesn't hurt, and take you around the world - but in fact, I am just perfunctory, life is not poetry and distance, and you must live in camp, I think so, but now I regret it.

I once found a picture of me when I was a child in my grandfather's painting folder - it was my grandfather's birthday one year, and I painted a "proud painting" for him, and with my eyes in elementary school, the painting was perfect, showing Kakarot and the Great Demon King on paper vividly.

But when I look at it as an adult, I'm quite speechless, because even if the characters are ugly, there are actually seven or eight muscles drawn on the arms of both characters - I am even more sure that I will never have a talent for painting in my life.

But these two paintings were carefully collected by my grandfather and put together with his painstaking paintings. I bet he doesn't even know who these two characters are...

I don't know what I'm writing, it's a bit messy. When the ink mood calms down and there is a state, I will try to update and compensate everyone.

Apologies again.