When my grandfather was 94, he was critically ill, and the doctors all said to prepare for his passing. He hadn’t eaten for five days—he was only propped up on honey water and nutrient drips. One time, when he woke from sleep, he said that in a dream a man in black clothes wanted to take him away. He refused to go, but that man insisted on dragging him along. Then my grandfather got angry and beat him up, pressing him down and hitting him for a while. After a few days of acupuncture, he was fine—nothing happened.

When summer came, suddenly his head dipped and he stopped breathing. My dad shouted for the driver to take him to the hospital immediately. On the way, my dad kept calling out to my grandfather. After more than ten minutes, my grandfather woke up. When they reached the hospital, the doctors checked and said he was fine—there was nothing wrong at all.

On the night of the 30th of the twelfth lunar month—i.e., from the 29th to the 30th—just after midnight, around 12:00, my grandfather passed away. He died in a dream, without illness or catastrophe; from beginning to end it was no more than the time it takes to smoke half a cigarette. The next day was the first day of the Lunar New Year.

A few days before he died, my grandfather said, “This time, I guess I’m going to go.” Two people came this time. He didn’t beat either of them this time.

Sigh.....