Years later, when the uncle was gone, Yue Kelan buried a new cannonball beneath a marker of driftwood. He didn’t need to throw it anymore—the act had woven itself into the town’s memory. Each New Year, families gathered, sharing stories of small, deliberate rituals that turn endings into beginnings. In that way, the uncle’s cannonball kept working—not as a weapon, but as a quiet engine of hope and letting go.