Part 3
Berlin in front of the camera was free, but that freedom had limits.
Because the people watching him through the lens included not only fans who liked him but also many others with different gazes and agendas.
His teammates were trustworthy, but that didn’t mean Berlin would voice all his thoughts without reservation.
The dream world had no intersection with reality; they seemed to be parallel lines. Berlin couldn’t touch anything here; he was someone drifting outside this world. And Cecil had exchanged his deepest secret with him.
The connection between them was unique.
“This is my dream, so I can sunbathe as much as I want, for as long as I want, without worrying about getting tanned. I can feel the temperature of the sunlight; it’s no different from reality.”
Berlin swung his long legs happily as he said this, then turned his head to launch a surprise inspection with a sly look. “Cecil, a day has passed. Have you guessed what I grabbed during my Zhuazhou ceremony?”
Cecil’s golden eyelashes fluttered twice as he shook his head. “I can’t guess.”
Berlin smiled cheerfully, eyes narrowing, looking like a satisfied cat that had just eaten two dried fish.
“Student Cecil, the first lesson you must learn is never to give up on answering immediately. Even if you encounter a question you don’t know, you should actively guess the answer.” He said this solemnly, then shook his head to indicate that Cecil’s approach wouldn’t do.
Cecil was someone who took advice well.
He thought for a moment and spoke, “I think you didn’t grab any of the prepared items.”
“Mhm.” Berlin looked at him, his eyes curving into two crescents. “Half right.”
He swung his legs casually and revealed the answer. “I grabbed my grandmother’s thumb.”
“That day was also Grandma’s birthday. Grandma and I share the same birthday.”
“Grandma was the one who controlled the finances in the family, and she was the eldest. From that day on,” Berlin smiled very happily, “I became Grandma’s favorite little grandson, and everyone else in the family had to stand aside.”
Cecil could roughly understand what he meant, and a trace of a smile flitted across his eyes.
Since Berlin had promised to tell Cecil his story, he continued.
He would stay here all night before leaving. After telling his story, he would relay One Hundred Thousand Whys to Cecil.
“Mom and Dad had to go to work; they were quite busy. From kindergarten through elementary school, Grandma would wait at the school gate early every afternoon to walk me home. Occasionally, we’d swing by the vegetable market, and I could choose what I wanted to eat right there.”
“Generally speaking, as long as it was nutritious, Grandma would agree happily.”
Berlin counted on his fingers, sniffing as if drooling. “It’s such a pity you can’t eat it. My grandma was an amazing cook. Her specialties were Sweet and Sour Fish, Braised Pork, Dry-Fried Shrimp, Fried Sauce Noodles, Boiled Sliced Pork… Sigh, the fact that I didn’t grow into a little fatty as a kid is purely due to my superior genes.”
Cecil didn’t know what genes were, but he could sense Berlin was secretly praising himself.
“I couldn’t stay still as a kid. I liked being outdoors in the sun and didn’t like being cooped up at home.”
“I spent the whole weekend at Grandma’s house so my parents could have their ‘couple time’, haha.”
“There was a small park next to Grandma’s house with paved steps leading up a small hill about fifty meters high. She often said taking me out for a stroll was like walking a puppy. Every time she saw another grandpa in the small park sunning his Teddy dog, she would say hello: ‘You brought your grandson too? What a coincidence.'”
Berlin laughed, rocking back and forth. “That grandpa always thought Grandma was cursing him and would hold back a belly full of grievances every time. Only later did he figure out that Grandma wasn’t actually making fun of him; she was purely teasing her own little grandson.”
Meeting Cecil’s gaze, Berlin explained, “A Teddy is a type of small dog.”
Worried that dogs weren’t called dogs in this world, he specifically mimicked a “Woof.” “That kind of small animal.”
Cecil’s eyes drifted left and right. “Um, I know.”
Berlin: “……”
Whatever, he had embarrassed himself plenty of times; one more wouldn’t hurt.
He forced himself to ignore his burning ears and rubbed his earlobe awkwardly. “Cough, anyway, I often climbed the hill in the small park with Grandma.”
“Puppies need to be walked to burn off energy so they don’t tear up the house; I was pretty much the same when I was little.”
“Since we lived in the same neighborhood and ran into each other often, later on, we frequently climbed the hill with the grandpa walking the Teddy.”
“The grandpa’s legs weren’t great. The little Teddy looked charmingly naive, but you could tell it was old; its back leg had a bit of a limp too.”
“Dogs are spiritual animals; it was much more understanding and intelligent than I was in kindergarten.”
“For a short mountain path that young people could walk up and down in half an hour, Grandpa and Grandma needed to walk slowly, taking two hours.”
“The little Teddy walked in front on its inflexible short legs, very, very obediently. Every now and then, it would stop and look back to see if Grandpa had caught up.”
“When Grandpa stopped to massage his legs and rest, the little Teddy would patiently sit down and wait, never rushing him no matter how long it took.”
“I ran back and forth heartlessly, doing shuttle runs. The little dog would just look at me with round eyes like black grapes, tilting its head, not chasing instinctively after a running person like other dogs would.”
“Later I thought, maybe the little dog was old, or maybe it always remembered that the leash leading it was held in Grandpa’s hand, and Grandpa was tired and needed to rest.”
Cecil listened quietly. He saw the smile hanging on Berlin’s face—it was very warm, a look of nostalgia he had never possessed.
“They would sit and rest in the pavilion built halfway up the mountain. The little Teddy would sit by Grandpa’s feet, watching the red sunset with him. Sometimes no one said a word; they just watched the sunset and felt the breeze.”
“Grandpa wasn’t as attentive as Grandma. Later on, Grandma would always remember to bring a small plastic dish for the little Teddy, sharing the water she brought with it. Occasionally, she would even share the ham sausage she brought for me with the dog.”
Berlin stopped, falling silent for a moment, looking a bit lost in thought.
So Cecil asked, “And then?”
“Just like that, day after day passed for a long time. The year I started elementary school, I don’t remember exactly which day it was, but Grandma and I waited a long time and didn’t see Grandpa bring the little Teddy again.”
“I asked Grandma, ‘Why didn’t Grandpa and the little Teddy come today?'”
Berlin hugged his knees and rocked gently.
“It took Grandma a long while before she shook her head at me and said Grandpa moved away, and wouldn’t be coming anymore.”
“I was really unhappy when I heard that. I was angry. ‘Then why didn’t Grandpa come to say goodbye to us?’ Grandma looked at me and smiled, saying, ‘Yes, exactly, so we won’t come climbing the mountain anymore either.'”
“From then on, our evening routine switched from climbing the mountain to chasing TV dramas.”
Berlin knew Cecil wouldn’t understand well, so he briefly explained what a TV drama was to him. “Didn’t I tell you before about tools that record images and sound? A TV drama is where people play different roles to enact a story—one that might have existed or is purely fictional—and then it’s recorded with those tools for more people to watch.”
Cecil understood.
Confirming Cecil understood, Berlin continued telling the story of his childhood.
“Grandma liked watching historical dramas. At that time, every channel on TV was playing a particularly popular drama called Kangxi Dynasty—” Berlin wrinkled his nose thinking about how to explain this show to Cecil, found it too troublesome, and shook his head, righteously skipping it. “Anyway, it’s a show from many years ago.”
Hearing the word “Dynasty,” Cecil could guess a little, and didn’t mind that Berlin didn’t elaborate, knowing it wasn’t the main point.
“It aired promptly at 8:30 every night. Before that, Grandma would make me take a quick shower so watching it wouldn’t delay my bedtime.”
“We’d eat dinner early, and after showering, I could dry my hair and watch with peace of mind. The electric fan would whir. Grandma didn’t like turning on the air conditioner; if she still felt hot, she’d hold a palm-leaf fan to fan herself.”
Berlin demonstrated to Cecil what a palm-leaf fan was. “Grandma always fanned with vigor; it created a strong wind, cooler than the electric fan. It felt so comfortable when I scooted next to her to steal some breeze.”
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