Chapter 264: The End of the Past
Her eyes were tightly closed, her long eyelashes trembling slightly, as if the gods could hear her voice if she were just a little more devout.
Song Yu'an quickly added, "There's a Bodhi Temple in the city. Once you're better, let's go burn incense and light an everlasting lamp for that child."
His tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable seriousness.
As he said this, he was holding her hand, his fingertips gently stroking the wrinkles on the back of her hand.
Those are the marks left by time, and also a testament to a lifetime of hard work.
He wanted to put her mind at ease and wanted the illness to leave her as soon as possible.
Lighting a lamp is not only to pray for the child, but also to soothe her anxious heart.
Shen Cuifen's gaze softened.
In order to get better as soon as possible, she obediently took her medicine, cooperated with the treatment, and ate her meals well.
Her gaze returned from the void to Song Yu'an's face, a faint but genuine smile appearing on her lips.
She started taking her medication on time and stopped complaining about the bitter taste; she no longer frowned when the nurse came to give her injections; she tried her best to eat a few more bites at each meal, even though her appetite had not fully recovered.
She knew that only when she was well could the family be truly whole.
When she got out of bed, she pinched her belly, blushed, and said, "Mom... have I gained weight?"
As she walked, she looked down at her waist and tentatively pinched the soft flesh of her abdomen.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, like a child who had done something wrong.
I ate more and moved less while I was sick, so my weight naturally increased a bit.
But she felt both ashamed and happy. Being fat meant that her blood and energy were recovering and her body was improving.
Song Yu'an smiled so hard his eyes narrowed into slits: "Being a little chubby is good! Being chubby is good for your health!"
He laughed out loud, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes all came together.
He reached out and gently patted her shoulder, his tone full of affection.
“Look at you, you used to be so skinny, like a bamboo pole, you could fall over with a gust of wind. Now you have a rosy complexion and a round face, you look like a grandmother now.”
After he finished speaking, he burst out laughing.
After leaving the hospital, Song Yu'an didn't go home but went straight to Bodhi Temple.
He drove through the hustle and bustle of the city without stopping.
Sunlight streamed obliquely through the car window, illuminating his slightly graying temples.
He had something on his mind, so he kept walking.
He had promised Shen Cuifen that he would come to fulfill his vow; this was not a formality, but a weighty promise.
He wanted the Bodhisattva to know that they had not forgotten their prayer.
Shen Cuifen knelt on the prayer mat, clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and chanted earnestly.
She knelt on the soft cushion, her back straight, her expression solemn.
Wisps of smoke rose from the incense burner, swirling around the Buddha statue and lingering there.
Her lips moved slightly as she repeated the words in her heart over and over again, her voice very soft, yet every word came from the bottom of her heart.
The scent of incense filled her nostrils, giving her a strange sense of tranquility.
Song Yu'an stood to the side, her gaze sweeping over the scene, only to see Zhou Dajun hiding behind a pillar, secretly watching her.
He was just casually glancing around when he suddenly caught sight of that familiar figure.
The man stood behind a vermilion pillar, half of his body hidden in the shadows, his hat brim pulled low, but Song Yu'an knew his silhouette and posture all too well.
He frowned, and his heart sank.
She clearly said she would let him go, so why did he follow her?
A complex mix of emotions welled up in Song Yu'an's heart.
Anger, confusion, and a hint of secret sympathy.
He remembered Shen Cuifen saying that she would not pursue the matter further and that he should go away and not disturb their lives anymore.
But now, this person has secretly followed her to the temple, watching her every move like a ghost.
Song Yu'an frowned and waved his hand repeatedly at Zhou Dajun, signaling him to leave quickly.
He turned to the side without making a sound, repeatedly urging him with his eyes and gestures.
He quickly pointed outside with his finger and waved his hand, his movements hurried but not ostentatious.
He didn't want to disturb Shen Cuifen, and he didn't want her to get angry in front of the Buddha.
But his gesture seemed to be ignored.
But he didn't move. Just then, Shen Cuifen stood up and happened to see this scene.
Zhou Dajun stood still, his eyes fixed on her.
In that instant, Shen Cuifen slowly stood up, her hands still clasped in front of her chest. Before she had completely stopped moving, her gaze had already caught sight of that familiar figure.
Her movements froze, and her breath hitched slightly.
The two later met at a coffee shop.
The rain that day was fine and damp, wetting the cobblestones of the street.
Neither of them mentioned who proposed the agreement first, but they both came.
The coffee shop is on a street corner; it's small, but quiet.
Wooden tables, leather chairs, and the faint aroma of coffee filled the air, while raindrops slid slowly down the glass outside the window.
Song Yu'an sat at the next table, not getting close, but just listening to their conversation.
He ordered a cup of tea, turned his back to them, but listened intently to every word they said.
He didn't intend to interrupt or get involved.
He knew this was their last conversation, a debt that needed to be settled, and a feeling that needed to be let go.
Shen Cuifen looked up and carefully examined Zhou Dajun. She said softly, "The fact that you are still alive is the best thing for me."
She looked at him, her gaze moving from his eyes to his brows, and then slowly gliding over his lips.
Her eyes held no resentment or blame, only a deep, unfathomable calm.
The sound was as soft as falling snow, yet it struck Zhou Dajun's heart with a thud.
“Mother—” Zhou Dajun’s throat tightened.
Those two words stuck in his throat, almost making him choke up.
He wanted to shout louder, but his voice was as if something was blocking it; it was dry and hoarse, and he couldn't even utter a complete syllable.
He lowered his head, unable to look her in the eye.
Song Yu'an silently opened the cloth bag and placed Zhou Dajun's ID card, household registration book, and marriage certificate on the table one by one.
The movement was very light, yet it carried an irresistible force.
Each document was laid out flat, as if a silent reckoning was taking place.
The paper made a slight rustling sound, which was particularly clear in the quiet café.
Shen Cuifen slowly tidied up and gently pushed it back: "Bian Jiang, go live your life. Raise the child well and don't let him down."
She smoothed out the documents one by one with her fingertips, as if she were sorting out a past event that had ended.
Then, she slowly pushed them back to the center of the table, a little further away from herself.
She called him "Bian Jiang," a name he used to use, and the gentlest name she remembered.
Zhou Dajun looked down at the documents, then at the pale, soft hand that had been withdrawn. His heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly, and he could hardly breathe from the pain.
His vision blurred for a moment.
He had held those hands, grasped them, and gently stroked them on countless nights.
Now, they sit quietly on the table, thin and pale, yet still carrying the unique warmth of a mother.
But this temperature is no longer relevant to him.
He couldn't remember her.
I have absolutely no recollection of it.
But her voice, that soft "Bian Jiang," was like a needle piercing his bones.
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