Ci Qing
Rain at dusk makes flowers fall easily.
I bid farewell to you, and so a true parting took place.
She was unable to see her sister one last time.
It was a sudden explosion.
The sister and brother-in-law were in the car when the incident occurred. A bomb had been planted in the car beforehand, and once activated, it would begin its countdown. In the instant that Jiang Moyun's plane went from turbulence to stability, her loved ones' lives were reduced to just 10 seconds in what seemed like an ordinary day.
There was also a driver.
After the loud explosion, only wreckage remained, a bloody mess, with no intact bodies left. In the end, only a three-month-old little girl left at home escaped the disaster.
Amidst the scorched ruins, Jiang Moyun's seemingly intact body was secretly riddled with unseen cracks. Immense grief and sorrow quickly materialized, seeping from her shattered soul. She couldn't even shed a tear, numb in silent agony, feeling only utterly lost.
"Why is it so cold even though it's the middle of summer?"
"Why can't I see you even though I'm back?"
When my sister and brother-in-law both got into trouble, the company's stock plummeted overnight, causing widespread panic. My father, who had long since retired from public life, had to suppress his grief and step in to stabilize the situation.
But my father has grown old. He is no longer as shrewd and resourceful as he used to be, able to stir up trouble with just a few words. His figure has long since become short and hunched.
He was so old that he no longer had the energy to investigate this tragedy.
As the youngest daughter in the Jiang family, with no father or older sister above her, she could no longer only think about her own happiness.
But Jiang Moyun couldn't be strong at all. She didn't want to care about the crumbling company. She just frantically investigated the bombing case, working day and night. She wanted an answer.
But what good will knowing the outcome do?
Jiang Moyun dared not think about it further.
The truth soon came to light; it was just an old story—the driver was the child of the third uncle from back then.
That year, my sister was fourteen and took charge of the punishment hall. She first dealt with my third uncle. She used this extremely foolish pawn, who had been pushed forward by others, to intimidate the scheming crowd. In the end, however, she spared the mother and child involved because of a moment of pity.
She was a young girl whom my third uncle had forcibly taken years ago. She had no legal status and was merely kept as a plaything. Although she bore him a son, my third uncle, having lived a dissolute life, would never have noticed this insignificant illegitimate child. The girl, too, had aged and lost her beauty with the ravages of time, and both she and her child were discarded long ago. The mother and son could only depend on each other for survival in poverty and hunger, desperately waiting for their unfaithful husband to change his mind.
But how is that possible?
How could guilt arise from a vile soul?
The idea of suddenly realizing something is nothing but empty talk.
This meant that misfortune was destined to follow him throughout his life.
When the older sister led people to find them, this was the pitiful scene they witnessed—
A "young girl" who was clearly only in her early twenties had an aged and weary face and a withered body. Her cloudy eyes had long since run dry of useless tears, and she could barely speak. She herself was trembling with fear, yet she still tightly hugged a thin, bony child, trying to prop herself up to shield the child, who was just as weak as herself. The two of them held each other tightly, powerless against the suffering imposed upon them by fate, like two tightly intertwined, rotten trees from the roots, their insides already hollow and decaying, easily crushed by anyone.
The subordinates stepped forward to report their identities: "These are the female students that the Third Master forcibly took, but after I heard she got pregnant, he hasn't paid any attention to her for a long time. Later, the Third Madam brought people to make a scene, threw some things, and ordered people to beat her up. It seems that her brain was damaged at that time, and she has been like this ever since. It's been seven years since this child was born."
A mentally challenged mother in her early twenties and a seven-year-old child—Jiang Qingchen couldn't help but feel sorry for them and let them go. But this act of kindness would lead her to suffer a misplaced revenge years later.
That child had no desire to live. His life, forced into existence, nurtured a wicked fruit with hatred, which was then brought back to the Jiang family nineteen years later, resulting in a deafening, shattering explosion.
"Compared to Qingchen's kindness, you are more suitable than your sister in this world."
Jiang Moyun suddenly remembered her father's words.
After going around in circles, it's just another closed loop; in the end, it's all just the cruel tricks of fate.
Who can be blamed? It seems like there's no one to hate.
The child's original sin was the blood of evil. The Jiang family owed the child from beginning to end. They had been enjoying the protection of the Jiang family since birth, and were powerless to do anything about the internal corruption, and turned a blind eye to it. So where can they talk about innocence?
Stupidity was my third uncle's original sin. He disregarded human life, was disregarded by others, and paid the ultimate price many years ago. Perhaps one should curse him, saying he deserved to die, but his bones have been cold for years; what's the point of saying that now?
Jiang Moyun finally stopped her investigation, and could only tell the media that this long-planned revenge was a car accident. The culprit had long since lost his family and couldn't even be found for a trial. It seems her father already knew all along, so he could only ignore this tragedy and let her investigate, probably having foreseen this outcome.
If she had before...
What use is it now?
"If" is the most useless lie in the world.
She is talentless, immoral, powerless, and incompetent.
There was nothing she could do.
Jiang Moyun silently returned to the company, taking on the responsibilities she had neglected for years. She became calm and composed, like a machine with a pre-programmed script, struggling and working tirelessly in areas she had previously had no interest in.
She suddenly felt fortunate that she had taken some courses when she was young and had some experience in business when she was a teenager. This allowed her to quickly cover up the flaws in herself with vulgar money and to blind herself in the stench of fame and fortune, thus escaping the suffering of ruin.
She dared not stop, afraid that if she stopped, she would recall the deafening roar she hadn't heard, as if closing her eyes would bring back the unseen flames; she feared she was still clinging to her unfulfilled dreams, afraid of cowardice, afraid of sadness, and even more afraid of running away...
"We have a long future ahead of us."
No, there is no "after" anymore...
"I was born to dance!"
"No," Jiang Moyun thought, "this is my destiny."
"The morning breeze dries the tears, leaving only traces."
She never saw Wen Yushen again.
"Wanting to write down my thoughts, I speak alone by the railing."
He left only a letter.
The letter contained only a few short sentences:
"Yu Shen, I misspoke. I don't really like dancing that much."
"Yu Shen, don't wait for me anymore."
Wen Yushen searched for her frantically, begging to see her, but she only watched coldly.
Later, he somehow found out where she was and waited for her outside the door all day.
She stood quietly by the window, gazing at Wen Yushen below. The distance between them was so close that she could see the sorrow and pleading in Wen Yushen's eyes.
Jiang Moyun felt saddened by their eye contact.
They were all powerless against the tide of fate.
But Jiang Moyun remained unmoved, silently standing with him from dawn till dusk, watching the sunset together.
The distance between them is too great.
She couldn't help but recall a line of poetry she had read in her childhood: "My heart is in Tianshan, but my body is old in Cangzhou."
The poems and prose that were difficult to understand in my youth suddenly became clear to me without any instruction.
“Yu Shen, Wen Yu Shen.” She murmured the name in her heart, thinking that this person was indeed like his name, a piece of pure white jade, with the purest pursuit and ideals in the world, and a tomorrow more brilliant than the morning glow.
She shouldn't let herself be tarnished, and she shouldn't wait for a predetermined twilight. So, she finally drew the curtains coldly, cutting off the view and calls from behind.
The afterglow held a farewell that was never spoken.
Goodbye, Yu Shen.
"My love, my... ideal."
On the seventh day after her sister's death, her father asked Jiang Moyun to return to the old house. She saw her father slumped in a chair; the ancient mahogany, heavy with the marks of time, could not support his frail body.
In these short seven days, my father aged visibly once again. He lost his beloved when he was young, and now he has lost his daughter in his old age. It seems that the wax of his life has burned out, exuding a deathly aura.
"Mo Yun, bury your sister and brother-in-law... As for Ci Qing... she'll be raised in your name from now on. Don't tell her any of this. She's still such a young child, she doesn't remember anything, she doesn't know anything, so don't let her suffer anymore." There was a long pause between each sentence, as if life itself was slowly slipping away with each word.
"Little Yun'er," her father called her again, and Jiang Moyun suddenly felt a huge sense of panic for no reason. Her intuition told her not to want to hear what was to come.
Something important was slipping through her fingers again; she grasped in vain, but couldn't hold onto anything. Finally, only a weak cry remained, like a humble plea, "Father..."
“Xiao Yun’er, this is actually the name your mother gave you. Perhaps she named you this as her final message to me, that she wanted you to be free and for me to stop clinging to this.” The father breathed heavily. “But I’m so stupid, I could never understand her, not for so many years. She left after giving birth to you, without even leaving me a few words. So I could only guess, and because of my own selfishness, I trapped your sister for so many years. Your sister actually loved dancing too, you two sisters are so alike…”
A tear slid down the corner of the father's eye, stopping abruptly in his deep wrinkles, concealing years of unresolved pain. "Little Yun'er, if you have to blame someone, blame me. Don't hate yourself."
"What are you saying?" Jiang Moyun froze on the spot, feeling as if the blood in her body was being drained away bit by bit. She thought she couldn't possibly understand these words, but every word was precious, carrying a chilling coldness.
The summer sun was blazing, yet a chill crept into my entire body.
“Xiaoyun’er, don’t trap yourself anymore. I know that the company and such are not your dreams. Just take good care of Ciqing. Yu Shen is a good boy. He cried and begged me to let him see you one last time, so I told him your schedule. Please forgive me for taking the initiative one last time. I have delayed you two too much. You two children must take good care of yourselves. I think I should… I can’t hold on much longer.”
“Little Yun’er, don’t be sad. I’m just going to meet with them. I’ve been dragging this out for too long. Your mother must have been getting impatient. How could I let her wait so long?” His consciousness was already a little hazy, and his words became somewhat incoherent, but he was still stroking the string of green prayer beads.
His words became increasingly incoherent.
"Was my Qingchen in pain back then? Qingchen is the most sensible; she would just keep her pain and sadness to herself..."
"Let's change Ciqing's name; this name has a bad meaning."
"Little Yun'er was the most mischievous and clever child; nothing could fool her..."
The sun gradually set, and darkness slowly enveloped the area.
"Remember to wait for me... wait for me to come find you..."
The father looked up, his eyes suddenly softening with tenderness, as if after all these years he had finally seen the figure he had longed for in that beam of light.
She saw her father reach out his hand, and the string of emerald green Buddhist beads on his wrist shone with a faint light in the dim light.
Suddenly, her father noticed her standing to the side, and his gaze cleared again. He took her hand as he had done when they were children and reached out to pat her head.
So she carefully squatted down and gently nestled into her father's arms, just like countless times before, lying on his lap and acting coquettishly.
"Little Yun'er, you want freedom."
These were my father's last words.
The emerald green prayer beads no longer emitted their shimmering light.
It landed quietly on the ground.
The glistening beads were scattered all over the ground.
What were meant to be blessings seemed to have turned into a curse.
Jiang Moyun is trapped in a closed loop of fate, confined by her own limitations.
It turns out that my life stole my mother's life, and my dream stole my sister's dream.
She lay on her father's lap for a long time, feeling his aged body gradually stiffen.
It got dark.
She mourned in silence.
In this world, no one will ever call her Xiaoyun'er again.
The wind howled in the corridor, filling the room with a sense of desolation.
What followed felt like a bizarre dream, and she merely stood by and watched: she saw herself calmly gathering her father's body, picking up the scattered prayer beads one by one. Finally, she secretly kept one, a cracked bead, and carefully strung the rest together, sealing it with her father in the dark, gleaming coffin. She glanced at her father's face one last time, whispering in her heart, "Dad, I took one of your beads, you won't be angry, right? I know you love me the most," she smiled easily in her imagined conversation. Sadly, her sister and brother-in-law had no remains, and she didn't want to see the car, its wreckage a bloody mess. So, she could only select some of their cherished possessions, erect a small cenotaph, and bury them together in a small box; she then held a funeral for all three of them by herself, inviting only the closest relatives, as all three of them preferred not to be disturbed by too many people.
It rained heavily on the day of the funeral. Jiang Moyun stood at the front of the crowd, holding a heavy black umbrella. The umbrella was so heavy that her arms ached and her body ached with indescribable pain. She watched blankly as the three coffins were buried next to her mother, who had passed away long ago, and as the soil was gradually covered, obscuring the coffins.
Hearing the sobs of those around her, Jiang Moyun didn't feel much sadness, only a profound loneliness. From now on, only she and that little child would be left. Perhaps because she had been prepared, Jiang Moyun didn't cry at all. She simply attended the entire ceremony indifferently, without uttering a word, quietly watching the heavy rain wash away the freshly turned earth. She guessed that soon, besides these few tombstones, nothing else would mark their eternal resting place…
This is the tenth day since my sister passed away.
The day after the funeral, she gathered up all the remaining things related to them, except for the jade bead, and then burned them all in a big fire after the rain stopped in the evening.
It was a truly beautiful evening, with towering flames contrasting against the crimson sunset. Jiang Moyun held the child, gazing into the distance, and in a daze, thought that perhaps that day was also marked by a similar fire.
But she will never get an answer.
She lowered her eyes to examine the child's features, seeing glimpses of familiar faces. "What name should I give you?" she murmured to herself, unconsciously uttering her thoughts aloud.
This child, who was usually so well-behaved and smiling, suddenly burst into tears without warning. She tried to comfort her, but couldn't stop the crying. In a panic, Jiang Moyun called the child's name, her voice pleading:
"Ciqing, don't cry, Ciqing."
As a result, the child actually calmed down, held her index finger with his little hand, and peacefully drifted off to sleep.
Jiang Moyun stood there, tears streaming down her face for the first time since her sister's death. She stood there, letting the tears flow silently down her face, and in her immense grief, she decided on the child's name—"Ciqing, Jiang Ciqing. From now on, you will be called Jiang Ciqing."
Tears rolled down the child's face, tracing the undried tear tracks, as if they were weeping for the same rain. From that moment on, there would be no more traces of those who had passed away, and you and I would become their only remaining possessions.
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