In June, the roses in front of the Zhou family's old house were in bloom.

Each and every one of them was personally cared for by Zhou Zhengchu. Perhaps it was because of the abundant sunshine and consistently good weather this year that this grove of roses is blooming better than ever before.

When the roses bloom.

The matriarch of the Zhou family has been dead for over a month.

However, the servants of the Zhou family remained tight-lipped about the matter. No one dared to mention the mistress's name, and no one dared to clean the master bedroom. Everything was left as it was.

Time seemed to stand still that day.

No one dared to mention that matter.

Even his wife's funeral almost couldn't be held.

In the end, it was the elders of the Zhou family who took turns trying to persuade him. The elders, who were usually very gentle, rarely lost their temper and smashed the cup.

"What's the point of keeping her trapped like this?!"

"She loved beauty when she was alive. Do you intend to spend your whole life embracing her corpse? Or are you willing to keep her in a cold freezer just to satisfy your own selfish desires?"

The dead cannot be brought back to life; this is a truth that even a three-year-old child understands.

Why is it that when it comes to him, we become so obsessed, possessed, and bewildered?

Sleeping next to a corpse is a truly chilling thought, especially unsettling.

If they don't speak up and persuade him, who knows what else he might do in the future!

They could all see that although he looked normal, he was practically insane.

What normal person could sleep so calmly next to a corpse?

She had already said some harsh words, but seeing the man's pale face, she couldn't bear it in the end. So she spoke a few more gentle words: "You two were husband and wife after all. After so many years together, you must have feelings for each other. Why not give her a proper send-off? Let her go in peace. Otherwise, she'll blame you down there."

“We know you’re feeling bad right now, but how are we feeling any better? You have a child, and even if you don’t care about your own health, you have to think about your child. I can see that he’s just as sad as you are. He’s not married yet, his mother is gone, and he still needs you as his father.”

The man seemed to have taken it all in, but then again, he didn't.

Zhou Ji was so desperate to keep her that he seemed to have gone mad, completely losing his usual calm and restraint, and doing things without any sense of propriety. He watched himself lose control, not wanting to try to salvage the situation at all.

After these words.

Regardless of whether Zhou Ji listened or not, he finally let go and stopped sleeping with the same corpse day and night.

After that come all sorts of procedures, and finally the body is cremated.

Zhou Ji personally took the person to the crematorium, which was an extremely cruel thing for him, but it seemed to be something he had to do. In the end, he was the one who walked out carrying that small wooden box.

In just a few days, Zhou Ji became so thin that he was unrecognizable. His tall and thin figure was pale and bloodless, and he looked extremely haggard.

From then on.

The name Jiang Yue seemed to have become a taboo in the Zhou family; no one would dare to mention her name in front of Zhou Ji again.

At the funeral, Madam Qin from the Qin family fainted after only a short while. No one knew why she was so sad. They had never heard of any deep affection between Madam Qin and Zhou Ji's wife, nor were they related.

However, since Madam Qin's husband held a high position, their family had no need to put on an act.

It's likely that she wasn't feeling well, rather than fainting from distress.

However, Mr. Qin and his son were both extremely pale, both dressed in black suits, which made their faces look even more ashen.

Qin Zhao stood in front of the mourning hall for a long time, his legs stiff and his posture tense. His eyes were red as if they were bleeding as he stared at the photo placed in the center.

It was a very beautiful photo. She looked very young in the photo. She was smiling, her eyes were crinkled, and she was cute and lively. Her cheeks were a little round and rosy. Anyone who saw her would like her.

Qin Zhao stared at the photograph, tears slowly streaming down his face.

Tears fell silently, unknowingly covering her entire face.

As for Zhou Ji, he remained silent from beginning to end, standing there like a statue.

However, he still slept with the urn in his arms at night.

Everyone in the Zhou family knew about this, but they felt a chill run down their spines. They hesitated to speak several times, and no one dared to offer any more advice, since they had already tried to persuade them once before.

You might not be able to persuade them the second time.

Besides, given the previous example, sleeping with an urn doesn't sound so horrifying anymore; it's more palatable. It's like closing a door but opening a window.

The comparison made it seem like a concession was made.

They couldn't help but sigh, because when Jiang Yue passed away, they really didn't expect Zhou Ji to turn out like this.

*

By the time the roses bloomed, the funeral had been almost a month in the past.

The Zhou family fell into a deathly silence. Without the noisy wife, the house seemed to have lost its vitality.

That morning, Zhou Zhengchu picked a few fresh roses.

After carefully trimming and meticulously tending to the flowers, I carefully selected a vase and placed the shimmering blooms into the beautiful vase.

My mother loves beauty and has a particular fondness for pretty things.

Zhou Zhengchu took the vase upstairs and pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The doors and windows inside were tightly closed, as if this could preserve her presence.

But the days went by.

Even with the doors and windows locked, her breath slowly faded.

One day, it will completely disappear.

Zhou Zhengchu carefully placed the vase on the side where she usually slept, against the bedside table, with fresh and beautiful flowers.

She would probably like it if she saw it.

Zhou Zhengchu didn't find his mother's urn in the bedroom, which didn't surprise him at all.

Zhou Zhengchu didn't sleep well last night. In the past month or so, he has only been able to sleep a handful of times.

As I was leaving, I accidentally tripped over the drawer next to me.

He looked down and remained silent for a long time. Then he slowly knelt down, pulled open the bottom drawer, and saw a small piece of clothing knitted from yarn that looked quite old.

The exquisitely made little clothes still look adorable even now.

It's clear that the owner put a lot of thought into it; some pieces were only half-finished and were stuffed into the wardrobe drawer before the owner could even finish sewing.

Pink, blue, white, black—it seems like they have every color imaginable, and every style imaginable.

There were even hand-crocheted tiger-head shoes.

Zhou Zhengchu clenched his fists tightly, clutching the small clothes he could no longer wear. Wet tears streamed down his dark eyelashes, like raindrops slowly falling into the lake and disappearing without a trace.

After a while, tears started falling like rain, continuously.

Tears soaked his entire face, his eyes were red, and the tip of his nose was also red. His hoarse sobs were low and suppressed in his throat.

A prolonged, throbbing pain shot through my chest, a pain that seemed impossible to calm down.

Zhou Zhengchu still remembers when he was six or seven years old, on a bright spring day, on a rare weekend.

There aren't that many courses to take.

He was sent to his mother's side by his father, without the usual look of disgust, and without crying and making a fuss about being sent away.

She glanced at him calmly, then quickly looked away and continued with what she was doing.

Two rolls of fine cashmere yarn rested on her lap. She sat in the sunlight, her pale face seemingly enhanced by the bright colors of spring.

She was quietly knitting a scarf for him. How did he know it belonged to him?

Because his mother asked him what his favorite color was.

It was a very peaceful and normal afternoon, but it is a scene that Zhou Zhengchu still remembers vividly.

*

The butler was downstairs and watched as the young master went into the madam's bedroom. A long time had passed, but he still hadn't come out.

Since my wife passed away, it feels like our family has died as well.

There's hardly any activity anymore.

The gentleman and the young master both seemed perfectly normal; they didn't even shed a tear at the funeral and appeared remarkably calm.

It is precisely this calm that is unsettling.

It's undeniably terrifying.

The butler kept looking upstairs, and several times he wanted to go upstairs and knock on the door, lest the young master do something irreversible.

This kind of irreversible thing certainly includes suicide.

In fact, even now, those of them still feel that their wife's passing is like a dream and very unreal.

Before his wife passed away, she looked quite healthy and didn't seem to be seriously ill. She had a rosy complexion and was in good spirits; she just liked to sleep more than the average person.

The butler waited patiently for another half hour before there was finally movement upstairs; the young master had finally come out of the master bedroom.

He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the young master. The young man's eyes looked red and swollen, obviously from crying.

Her face looked much thinner than it had last month.

The clothes she was wearing also looked a bit looser than before.

His face was pale and sickly, and he didn't look well.

The housekeeper couldn't help but sigh. He wanted to say something to persuade her, but in the end, he didn't dare to mention the lady of the house.

After composing himself, Zhou Zhengchu went to the company.

June passed quickly, and the roses' blooming period was also short; it seemed like they were blooming one day and gradually withering the next.

It declined very quickly.

If you're not careful, it will turn into fertilizer that crumbles into mud.

For the past few months, Zhou Ji has seemed perfectly normal, living his life as usual, going to the company as usual, and attending social events as usual.

Just every day.

You must take the urn with you wherever you go.

Even though they knew something was wrong with him, no one dared to say it to his face, not even a word of condolence.

Zhou Ji handled Jiang Yue's funeral arrangements, and he personally went to the Civil Affairs Bureau to obtain the death certificate, which was just a thin piece of paper.

Only after the account is closed can the body be sent for cremation.

The man carried out the entire process calmly and without making a single mistake.

So it gave others the impression that he would recover from this death soon, since everyone had previously thought that he and his wife did not have a deep relationship.

It is right to be sad when someone dies.

But I won't be so heartbroken that I can't move on.

After waiting for so long, and seeing that his condition was getting increasingly strange, everyone began to have a vague feeling that he might have gone mad.

*

Zhou Ji's death was also very sudden.

That day was just an ordinary day.

He went to Jishan Temple in Xiangshan, a suburb of Beijing, and carefully placed her ashes there. He had inquired and learned that Jishan Temple was very popular, and that prayers made there seemed to be very effective.

But none of that matters.

The important thing is that they say this place has a lot of spiritual energy, so that one can be reborn into a good family in the next life.

When Zhou Ji came out of Jishan Temple, it was drizzling outside, the light rain making the sky look misty.

The world before my eyes was somewhat hazy, and I couldn't see it very clearly.

Zhou Ji held up a black umbrella, and the rainwater dripped slowly down the surface of the umbrella, like a slow-moving river, gradually settling into stillness.

Even on rainy days, Jishan Temple is always crowded with worshippers.

The sky was dark and heavy, with dark clouds in the distance seemingly covering the entire sky.

In front of Jishan Temple was a wide avenue, and the drizzle gradually turned into a downpour.

Cars sped by.

The roadside fence was somewhat obscured by the mist from the rain, making it difficult to see clearly.

Zhou Ji was dressed in a cold, austere black suit, which made his face appear even paler, a bloodless, cold white. His lips were also extremely pale.

The instant he rushed out.

Zhou Ji wasn't thinking about anything; he only heard the child's frightened scream in the middle of the road, and the speeding car seemed about to crash into it at any moment.

The man threw down his umbrella and instinctively ran over, hugging the child tightly in his arms. The car, unable to slow down in time, crashed heavily into his body.

Zhou Ji seemed to hear panicked screams all around him, accompanied by the distant sounds of police sirens and ambulances.

His soul seemed to wander outside, calmly gazing at the body lying by the roadside.

The rain continued unabated, and the water quickly soaked his body. The blood flowing from the back of his head mixed with the rainwater and slowly formed a small river.

Blood and cries combined to create that rainy day.

He felt a deep sense of relief; it felt so good.

He finally died.

At the moment she died, he was already dead too.

Zhou Ji felt his soul grow weary. He blinked, his vision blurry, and through the mist, he seemed to see the girl who had casually tossed him her sword years ago.

She rode on her horse, holding the reins, exuding an air of dominance that was not off-putting.

Even the blazing sunlight behind her couldn't compare to her radiance.

She looked at him and said, "This sword is for you."

He blinked, and tears fell without warning. He opened his mouth as if to tell her not to leave.

The girl held her head high and her back straight, as if she always maintained her pride. She was radiant in the bright, dazzling light.

She rode forward on her horse, seemingly noticing the gazes behind her.

After a while, she turned around and looked at him intently. As if she could see his reluctance, the girl seemed to soften and pursed her lips, saying a few more words: "Let's go."

Zhou Ji saw that he seemed to have finally raised his hand to her; she had come.

And so, he finally stepped into the blazing, dazzling sunlight.