Chapter 493 Funeral
Jin Ping's voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the beeping of the monitor. Every word was accompanied by heavy breathing, and her thin chest heaved violently, as if she had exhausted her remaining strength.
She turned her head, her cloudy eyes fixed on Cui Xiao's profile, tears sliding down her ear and into the pillowcase, leaving dark stains. "Mom knows... knows I'm sorry... I shouldn't have favored your sister and neglected you back then..."
As she finished speaking, her voice trembled with tears. She weakly reached out her hand, wanting to touch the hem of Cui Xiao's clothes, but she didn't even have the strength to lift it halfway up. She could only sway it limply.
"Mom is dying... I just want to hear you say... that you don't hate me anymore... is that okay?"
Jin Ping's voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the beeping of the monitor. Every word was accompanied by heavy breathing, and her thin chest heaved violently, as if she had exhausted her remaining strength.
Cui Xiao abruptly turned her head away, unable to look at Jin Ping's pleading eyes any longer.
Moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the floor, which landed precisely on the back of her clenched hand, highlighting the paleness of her knuckles.
Memories from my childhood resurfaced in my mind: Jinping's verbal abuse, her mistreatment, her favoritism. These images were like scars etched into my bones, painful to the touch.
Cui Xiao abruptly turned her head away, unable to look at Jin Ping's pleading eyes any longer.
"I can't do it."
Cui Xiao's voice was choked with sobs, yet exceptionally clear, and tears finally spilled onto the cold floor.
She slowly turned her head and looked at Jin Ping's face, which had turned pale instantly. Her heart felt like it had been hit by a blunt object, but she still hardened her heart and continued, "But don't worry, I will stay by your side, treat your illness, and do my best to fulfill my filial duty. But forgive me... I really can't do it."
Jin Ping's body trembled violently, as if she had been crushed by those words. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she could only let out a faint gasp.
Her hand slammed back onto the blanket, her breathing suddenly became rapid, and the monitor's sound abruptly turned shrill, emitting a "beep beep beep" alarm.
Cui Xiao's heart tightened, and her previous composure crumbled instantly. She instinctively rushed to the bedside and pressed the call button, her voice trembling with panic, "Doctor, doctor, come quickly."
When she turned around, she saw that Jinping's eyes were still looking at her, filled with lingering pleading and a hint of desperate relief.
...
The lights in the emergency room stayed on all night, and that glaring red light hung in the dark corridor for more than ten hours before finally going out when the first ray of dawn pierced into the hospital.
The doctor removed his fogged-up mask, his brow furrowed, his tone carrying a professional restraint and regret, "I'm sorry, we did our best."
Cui Xiao's body felt as if all the bones had been removed, and she swayed violently. Her arms instinctively tried to grab something, but she missed. The next second, she was firmly supported by a pair of warm hands.
Zhou Mubin was standing guard outside the emergency room at some point. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his shirt collar was wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot, clearly indicating that he hadn't slept all night.
He wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, his palms gently stroking her cold back, his voice low and soft, "I'm here, take it slow."
For the next three days, Cui Xiao acted like a soulless puppet, mechanically handling Jin Ping's funeral arrangements.
When she contacted the funeral home, she remained silent for three minutes on the phone before remembering Jinping's birth date and time.
When choosing an urn, my fingertips traced the cold wooden surfaces of each box, finally settling on one with tiny jasmine flowers engraved on it.
That was the flower that Jingpin loved most when she was young.
The funeral was unusually quiet. Jin Ping didn't have many relatives and friends to begin with, and most of them had gradually drifted away because of her personality. In the end, only she, Zhou Mubin, and Xiao Nuomi, who was being held in his arms, were present.
Little Nuomi wore a tiny black dress, the hem of which swept across the grass in front of the tombstone. She looked up, her little face upturned, and bowed as if she understood but not quite.
Seeing that Cui Xiao's eyes were red, she stood on tiptoe and clumsily wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes with her soft little hands, and asked softly, "Mommy, has Grandma gone to heaven?"
Standing in front of the tombstone, Cui Xiao looked at Jin Ping's slightly immature smile in the black and white photo. The huge stone that had been pressing on his heart for more than ten years finally fell to the ground, and a strange sense of relief rose up on him despite the heaviness.
Those lingering resentments and grievances, those restless nights filled with unwillingness, faded away with Jin Ping's passing, like mist blown away by the morning breeze.
She didn't break down in tears, but her eyes remained red and her hands trembled uncontrollably.
After the funeral, the cold autumn wind blew through the cemetery, swirling up the golden fallen leaves on the ground, making a soft rustling sound as they passed over the tombstones.
A crow landed on a bare branch in the distance, cawed twice, and then flapped its wings and flew away.
Zhou Mubin stood half a step away from Cui Xiao, watching her slender back tremble slightly in the cold wind. He hesitated for a full three seconds before cautiously reaching out his hand.
He first gently touched the back of her hand with his fingertips, and seeing that she did not flinch, he slowly took her hand in his.
His palms were warm and dry, and he tightened his fingers slightly, holding onto that hard-won warmth tightly in his heart.
"How about we stay here for a few more days?"
Zhou Mubin's voice was soft in the wind, but every word was clear, "Go see the place where you used to go to school, or go to the old street to eat a bowl of wonton noodles that you loved when you were a child, as a proper farewell to the past. After all, once you leave this time, you may not come back on your own initiative."
Cui Xiao gazed at the gray sky in the distance, the thick clouds pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe. Countless images flashed through her mind: the laughter of chasing and playing on this street when she was young, the grievances of hiding in the alleyway and crying after being scolded by her mother.
She was silent for a moment, then nodded gently, her voice hoarse from crying, "Okay."
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled patterns of light on the carpet.
Cui Xiao led Xiao Nuomi, who had just finished breakfast, out of the elevator. The little girl clutched an unfinished strawberry lollipop and skipped along beside her, her little leather shoes making a crisp "tap-tap" sound on the marble floor.
Zhou Mubin, who was supposed to pick them up, hadn't arrived yet, so Cui Xiao and her daughter waited outside the door.
Just as Cui Xiao bent down to adjust Xiao Nuomi's scarf, a familiar figure suddenly rushed out of the hotel entrance.
It is Sun Chengjian.
He staggered, nearly bumping into a nearby trash can. He wiped the sweat from his face, his cloudy eyes fixed on Cui Xiao like an old fox eyeing its prey.
Cui Xiao's nerves snapped like a taut bowstring, and almost instinctively she turned to the side, completely shielding Xiao Nuomi behind her.
He held his daughter's shoulders tightly, his fingertips digging into his own arm, and asked in a wary, low voice, "What do you want to do?"
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