Nainai quickly slaps his arm, scolding him for drinking in front of the kids. Yeye, the more bubbly of the two, lifts his shot of baijiu and thanks the borders for finally opening up so we could have this rare family reunion. However, they're still kicking and cooking on my screen today. To my grandparents, the virus should've been a death sentence. The nine days in 2022 that I, a fit long-distance biker in my 20s, spent convulsing in bed with a hellish COVID fever felt like an exorcism. My heart dropped when my mom first broke the news to me. And their morning walks now consist of more resting than walking. Following Yeye's second hospitalization, they've retired from their nightly badminton matches. After she and the rest of my relatives in Wuhan caught COVID last December when China abruptly lifted its restrictions, my grandparents have felt significantly weaker. My grandma is known for her frugality, but this time, she's more concerned about the crowds of people. Nainai would rather have Yeye's home cooking. My uncle had suggested an outing to the Yangtze River Park to watch the lights show followed by a lavish dinner at Wuhan's hottest restaurant. I'll join them shortly after my book tour ends. Yeye's birthday is next month, coinciding with the Mid-Autumn Festival and, most important, my parents' first visit back to Wuhan in a decade. A typical lunch for my grandparents: Cantonese-style ginger chicken, freshly-made sausage over rice and a shot of baijiu liquor for my grandpa.
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