Chapter 98 Belated Guilt

After being discharged from the hospital, Grandpa Huo felt much better, but he was still recovering from a serious illness and easily fatigued. After waking up from a nap in the afternoon, he asked Uncle Chen to brew a pot of light Pu'er tea. He then sat in the rocking chair in his study, gazing out the window in a daze.

After finishing processing several urgent emails, Huo Yanli passed by the study on his way downstairs and saw that the door was ajar, so he knocked lightly.

"Grandpa, are you awake?"

"Come in," the old man's voice came from inside.

Huo Yanli pushed open the door and entered, seeing his grandfather draped in a thin blanket, holding a teacup, but gazing absently out the window. He walked over and sat down on the small sofa beside him: "How are you feeling? Is anything bothering you?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine." The old man turned his gaze to his grandson, his eyes gentle. "It's just that I've been lying down for too long, and my bones are a little stiff. I'll be fine after sitting up for a while."

He took a sip of tea, put down the teacup, and gently stroked the smooth surface of the purple clay cup with his fingers. The study was quiet, with only the soft creaking of the rocking chair.

“Yanli,” the old man suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but with a solemnity that came from deep reflection, “Today in the car, I said that Zhiyi has worked hard these past few years, and I meant it sincerely.”

Huo Yanli slightly tightened his hands on his knees: "I know."

“Then do you know,” the old man turned his head, looking directly at him, his eyes, which had seen the world, now filled with complex emotions, “why I insisted that you fulfill this marriage contract back then?”

Huo Yanli was silent for a moment. He had considered this question over the past few years. Initially, he thought it was simply that the old man valued his word, even to the point of being somewhat stubborn. Later, after spending more time with Song Zhiyi, he occasionally felt that perhaps his grandfather valued her character. But he had never delved into it further.

"Because of... your agreement with Grandpa Shen?" he asked cautiously.

The old man shook his head, and the rocking chair came to a stop. The light from outside the window shifted slightly, illuminating his graying temples.

“An agreement is one thing. But to really force a lonely girl onto someone you’re unwilling to marry…” The old man paused, his tone becoming heavy, “relying on a joke from decades ago isn’t enough. You’re my grandson, and I want you to find someone you like more than anyone else.”

Huo Yanli's heart skipped a beat. He realized that what his grandfather was about to say might concern some truths he had never known before.

“That’s because…” he asked instinctively.

The old man didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted back to the window, as if traversing time and space, returning to a specific moment. After a long while, he finally spoke slowly, his voice carrying a distant, wistful quality:

"It's because I've met Zhiyi before. At her grandfather's funeral."

The cemetery on the outskirts of Beijing is solemn and desolate, with its evergreen pines and cypresses.

Shen Jianguo's funeral was low-key and solemn. Few people came to pay their respects, but those who did were of high caliber. Among them were his former comrades-in-arms and colleagues, as well as younger generations he had mentored.

When Mr. Huo received the news, he was recuperating in the south. He immediately instructed his secretary to book the earliest flight back to Beijing. Shen Jianguo was not only an old comrade-in-arms, but also a friend with whom he had shared life and death; on the battlefield, Shen Jianguo had shielded him from shrapnel. He remembered this kindness for the rest of his life.

When I arrived at the cemetery, the ceremony was nearing its end. The sky was overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low as if they were about to press down at any moment. A cold wind blew through the cemetery, swirling up the withered leaves on the ground and making a desolate sound.

Most of the mourners had already left, leaving only a few standing a short distance away, talking quietly. Guided by staff, Old Master Huo walked towards the newly built tombstones.

Then, he saw the girl.

She stood before Shen Jianguo's tombstone, dressed in pure black, which made her skin appear excessively pale. She stood straight, like a young pine tree, facing the cold granite tombstone alone.

Grandpa Huo stopped in his tracks, not immediately approaching. He noticed the girl's shoulders were thin, but her back was ramrod straight. She wasn't crying, at least not from his angle; there was no sobbing, no trembling, not even a bowed head. She simply stood quietly, her gaze fixed on the small black-and-white photograph on the tombstone.

The wind tousled her hair, and a few strands clung to her cheeks, but she seemed oblivious.

At that moment, Old Master Huo suddenly had a strange feeling—this girl did not possess the common vulnerability that comes from being overwhelmed by immense grief. On the contrary, she was surrounded by an extreme quietness, an almost frozen focus.

He slowly took a few steps closer and heard her say in a very soft but clear voice:

"Grandpa, don't worry."

The voice was calm, with little variation, yet it carried a resolute power.

"I will finish the journey that you and Mom and Dad didn't finish."

She spoke slowly, each word deliberate and deliberate, as if making a promise or a vow.

After saying this, she bent down and gently placed the bouquet of white chrysanthemums she was holding in front of the tombstone. Then, she reached out and her fingertips gently brushed over the three characters "Shen Jianguo" on the tombstone, lingering for a moment.

Standing a few meters behind her, Old Master Huo watched this scene, and something inside him was struck hard.

He had seen too many funerals, too many grieving relatives. But this girl before him was different. Her sorrow was restrained, profound, like an undercurrent beneath the frozen ground. And even more intense was the light in her eyes—not the light reflected from tears, but a resolute, determined, almost burning light.

How old was she? She looked no more than twenty-five or twenty-six. She had just lost her last loved one in this world. But she did not collapse, she did not lose her composure. Standing before the grave, she made a promise to herself and to her deceased grandfather, a promise concerning ideals, inheritance, and the fate of the nation.

This is not a girl who is immersed in sadness.

This is a warrior who has forged sorrow into armor, found his direction in life, and is ready to embark on a solitary journey.

Old Master Huo stood there, forgetting to step forward, forgetting that the cold wind made his old wounds ache. He was a veteran of many battles and had seen countless people, but he had rarely been so moved by such a young figure.

The girl stood there for a moment before finally turning around. She saw Old Master Huo and clearly recognized him; a faint look of surprise flashed in her eyes before quickly returning to calm. She gave him a slight bow as a sign of respect, then turned to leave. Her steps were steady, without the slightest stumble.

"Child," Old Master Huo couldn't help but call out to her.

Song Zhiyi stopped, turned around to look at him, her eyes clear: "Grandpa Huo."

"You..." Old Master Huo had many questions he wanted to ask and comfort, but looking into those overly calm eyes, he didn't know where to begin. "Please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, Grandpa Huo." Song Zhiyi nodded, her tone polite but distant. "Grandpa passed away peacefully. He said that he and my parents had done everything they could, and the rest was up to me."

She said, "It's my business," so naturally, so matter-of-factly, as if she had taken on a heavy burden, as if it were her right.

Grandpa Huo's throat tightened. He remembered Old Shen's last words on the phone, and the countless times he had said, "My granddaughter is too strong-willed and too sensible. I really can't rest easy about her."

Now, he has seen it with his own eyes.

"If you encounter any difficulties in the future, feel free to come to Grandpa Huo anytime." That was all he could say in the end.

Song Zhiyi nodded again, said nothing, bowed slightly once more, then turned and walked step by step down the stone steps of the cemetery. The hem of her black coat fluttered in the wind, and her figure appeared exceptionally solitary and resolute against the vast天地 (heaven and earth).

Old Master Huo stood there, watching the figure disappear into the distance. The cold wind still howled, but a fire burned in his heart.

At that moment, an incredibly clear thought took shape in his mind:

This child cannot be left to walk that inevitably arduous path alone. Old Shen is worried, and so is he.