Uncle, I'm so lucky to have met you.

　　Today, I suddenly feel afraid of the passage of time, and what I can't bear to part with is you, the vegetable vendor.
　　Do you still remember me, vegetable vendor? The first time I saw you was on our first day selling vegetables. It was midday, the market was bustling, and the vegetable vendor's stall was tucked away in a corner—yes, not very conspicuous. At first, I didn't recognize him. I bought some carrots and bean sprouts from an auntie in the middle of the street. Her prices weren't particularly cheap, even a bit pricey. Clearly, the auntie was a shrewd businesswoman, perhaps hoping to make a small profit. Then, my companions told me that the vendor's vegetables were cheaper. And then, I saw a kind-looking man, probably close to 60 years old, sitting under a parasol, with a few carrots and some greens in front of him. I initially thought he only had a few kinds of vegetables and didn't intend to order from him regularly. But his kind smile and warm words touched me. Later, I learned that he and his wife actually ran the stall together, offering a variety of high-quality vegetables at low prices. Then we decided to get the uncle's phone number so we could order vegetables from him from now on. Our memories began from there.
　　I remember that typhoon; you were at the school gate early as usual, even calling to ask if we needed to drive in, saying you were worried we'd get soaked. You always thought of us so much. Did you ever consider that it would increase your workload, that driving would be so much more difficult for you, especially with the rain? At that moment, I was so touched. Stepping outside, seeing you, with your unsteady gait, limping around with those umbrellas, I felt a pang of heartache through the rain.
　　The uncle always thanked me, but when I said thank you, you always said, "Don't say thank you, you don't like hearing that." I knew it was your way of showing your concern for us. Uncle, at that moment, I felt I had to salute you. You sold vegetables honestly, you cared about your customers, and you didn't just focus on the price. Perhaps that's the highest level of business acumen. Uncle, I hope you live well. Meeting you during my rural service trip was truly lucky.