The twilight at the county hospital always carried a touch of desolation. The setting sun streamed through the glass windows of the ward, casting dappled light and shadow on Old Mrs. Shen's peaceful face. She lay on the pristine white bed, her hands clasped across her chest. The faint smile on her lips seemed to freeze time, stripping away all her former harshness and shrewdness, leaving only the serenity honed by years of experience. The lines on the electrocardiogram monitor had long since flattened; the monotonous "beep"—once the rhythm of life—had now become a farewell anthem, echoing in the silent ward, piercing the eardrums.
Lin Wanqiu stood by the hospital bed, her fingertips still tinged with the last warmth of Old Mrs. Shen's body. That faint warmth was slowly dissipating, like the setting sun gradually sinking below the horizon outside the window. Tears blurred her vision, streaming down her cheeks and splashing onto the white sheets, leaving a small, dark stain. She remembered the days and nights she had cared for her, remembered Old Mrs. Shen holding her hand on the hospital bed, her eyes filled with guilt and regret, remembered her words, "Wanqiu, the person I've wronged the most in this life is you." A wave of bitterness surged through her heart. All the past grievances, all the grievances that had kept her awake at night, seemed so insignificant in the face of life and death. This old woman who had made things difficult for her at every turn had finally melted the ice between them that had stood for so many years with a belated confession. But this reconciliation was so short-lived, so short that before they could even truly get to know each other, they were separated by death.
Shen Tingzhou knelt before the hospital bed, his tall frame now hunched over. He gripped Old Madam Shen's cold hand tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure, a suppressed sob escaping his throat, like a wounded beast licking its wounds. The man who was once as steady as a mountain, a tough and resolute man, had shed all pretense, letting tears flow freely. He remembered his mother mending his winter clothes in the cold winter when he was young; he remembered how, despite her preference for sons, she had stayed by his bedside all night when he was sick; he remembered faking his death for many years to fulfill his duty, unable to be by his mother's side to fulfill his filial duty, the guilt in his heart gnawing at his heart like a venomous snake; he remembered his mother's cloudy eyes filled with longing and concern for him when she was seriously ill, yet he hadn't even been able to properly say "I'm sorry." "Mother... your son is unfilial..." he choked, his voice hoarse and almost incoherent, "Why didn't you wait for your son to properly repay your kindness before you left like this..."
Outside the ward, suppressed sobs echoed in the corridor from Shen Nian'an and Shen Nianxi. Shen Nian'an, now a young man, tried to control his emotions, but his shoulders trembled slightly. He remembered his childhood; although his grandmother wasn't particularly close to him and often skimped on his rations, she would occasionally secretly slip him a piece of candy during holidays. He remembered visiting her in the hospital when she was seriously ill, holding his hand and telling him to take good care of his sister and listen to his parents, her eyes filled with an unprecedented tenderness. These scattered fragments of warmth now converged, transforming into endless sorrow, making his chest feel tight and he could hardly breathe. Shen Nianxi, meanwhile, nestled in Su Wanqing's arms, crying her heart out, her small shoulders trembling. In her memory, although her grandmother had been harsh, she had become much gentler since her illness, smiling as she watched her dance and reminding her not to overwork herself. This grandmother, who had just shown her such love, was suddenly gone, a fact she found hard to accept.
Su Wanqing gently patted Shen Nianxi's back, softly comforting her, her own eyes reddening. Looking at the grieving family in the ward, she was filled with emotion. She had known Lin Wanqiu for so many years, witnessing firsthand the conflicts and reconciliations between her and Old Madam Shen. Now that Old Madam Shen had passed away, no one was more heartbroken than Lin Wanqiu and Shen Tingzhou. She silently handed them some tissues, saying softly, "Sister Wanqiu, Brother Tingzhou, please accept my condolences. Grandma passed away peacefully; that's a relief."
Lin Wanqiu took the tissue, wiped away her tears, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself. She knew that now was not the time to wallow in grief; Old Madam Shen was gone, and there were still many things to deal with. She looked at Shen Tingzhou and said softly, "Old Shen, Mother is gone, we must let her rest in peace. There are still many things we need to discuss."
Shen Tingzhou slowly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes filled with rage. He nodded, his voice still hoarse: "Yes, I'll do whatever you say."
Just then, a small cloth bag that Old Mrs. Shen had placed under her pillow caught Lin Wanqiu's attention. It was a dark blue coarse cloth bag, with worn edges, looking quite old. She remembered that after Old Mrs. Shen was hospitalized, she always carried this cloth bag with her, even placing it under her pillow when she slept, so it must contain something important. Lin Wanqiu carefully picked up the cloth bag and gently opened it. Inside was a wad of money wrapped in a handkerchief and a neatly folded letter.
The money wasn't much, mostly small bills and a few one- or two-yuan notes, clearly the result of Old Mrs. Shen's gradual savings. The letter was written in Old Mrs. Shen's crooked handwriting, obviously written before she fell ill. Lin Wanqiu handed the letter to Shen Tingzhou, saying softly, "Old Shen, this is a letter left by Mother."
Shen Tingzhou took the letter, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded it. The paper was already somewhat yellowed, and although the handwriting was hasty, every stroke revealed his earnestness. The letter contained few flowery words, only simple and unadorned phrases, yet every word pierced the heart.
To my son Tingzhou, daughter-in-law Wanqiu, grandson Nian'an, and granddaughter Nianxi:
By the time you read this letter, your mother may no longer be alive. In my life, I haven't had much education, I'm stubborn, and I favor sons over daughters. I've done many foolish things, especially towards Wanqiu; I owe her so much. Thinking back to those years when I conspired with Zhang Lan to torment her, to cut her and Nian'an's food rations, and even after Tingzhou's "sacrifice," when I tried to drive her out of the Shen family and seize her dowry, I'm filled with regret. Wanqiu is a good wife—sensible, filial, and capable. I was blind to have treated her well. These past years, watching Wanqiu, through her own abilities, raise Nian'an and improve their lives, even starting a food factory and becoming a wealthy woman envied by all, fills me with both joy and shame for my past actions.
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