Password

The room was dark and damp, only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock, like a dull judgment, knocking on Old Man Li's heart one sound at a time. He sat on a hard wooden stool, hunched over, his cloudy eyes staring at a stain on the floor. The shape of the stain resembled a distorted human face.

He couldn't remember when he told his grandnephew, Xiaolin, the password. Perhaps it was when Xiaolin came to see him and diligently peeled him an apple; perhaps it was when Xiaolin helped him to the hospital, chattering about how difficult his work was; or perhaps, it was simply because he was old, confused, his memory like a sieve with a leaking bottom, unable to hold anything.

That string of numbers was his life savings, his only sense of security in this cold city. He once thought that Xiaolin was his last support in this world, his last connection to blood kinship.

He clutched the passbook in his hand, a thin sheet of paper, so light it felt like it could be blown away by the wind at any moment. The numbers on it, like tiny black insects, crawled into his eyes and pricked his nerves.

63,897.22… 33.56.

He couldn't believe his eyes and counted repeatedly, once, twice, three times… Each time, the number was like a bottomless black hole, swallowing his hope, his past, his future.

He thought of Xiaolin, the child who used to sit on his lap, the child who would sweetly call him "Grandpa." Now, he was grown up, with his own life, his own calculations. He was like a bird with growing wings, eager to break free from this old nest and fly to a wider sky.

Old Man Li tremblingly stood up and walked to the window. Outside, skyscrapers stood tall, the dense windows like cold eyes, staring at him. He felt like an insect trapped in a spider's web; the more he struggled, the tighter it became.

He wanted to call Xiaolin, to ask him what was going on. But he picked up the phone and put it down again. He knew, even if he asked, what good would it do? Would Xiaolin admit it? Would he return the money to him?

He suddenly realized how lonely and powerless he was in this world. He was like a part abandoned by the times, forgotten in a corner, left to rust and slowly decay.

The phone rang abruptly, breaking the silence in the room. He jumped, startled, and almost dropped the phone.

"Hello…" His voice was hoarse and dry, like a withered leaf.

"Grandpa, it's me, Xiaolin." Xiaolin's voice sounded a little hurried on the other end of the line. "How… how have you been feeling lately?"

Old Man Li didn't answer; he just held the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force.

"Grandpa, I… I'm in a bit of a bind, I need money urgently…" Xiaolin's voice became hesitant. "I… I…"

Old Man Li closed his eyes. He seemed to see Xiaolin standing in front of him, with an expression he had never seen before, an expression that made him feel unfamiliar and afraid.

"I know…" he said slowly, his voice barely audible. "I know…"

He hung up the phone and slowly sat back down on the stool. The room fell silent again. Only the ticking of the old-fashioned wall clock continued, sound by sound, like some kind of endless torment. He looked at the floor. the stain, which continued to look like a distored human face, and it seemed to mock his stupidity, his naivety, his despair.