Chapter 1
I saw Chen Zhoujing again the day after Jian Zihua's funeral.
—June 17th Brief Record
"Help! A body has floated up in the Chengkou Dawan River!"
Ahhhh—
The women harvesting rice at the gate cried out in alarm, ignoring the gloomy weather, and all rushed out the door. The burly, dark-skinned woman who had just been waving was now running anxiously towards her next house.
As fate would have it, during the plum rain season, a torrential downpour began just as a group of people were running towards the Da Wan River. The raindrops, large as beans, fell like a broken string of pearls, their impact sending shivers down everyone's spines.
In the Dawanhe area of Sancheng County, Hebei Province, the towns and primary schools are closely connected, and many are related by blood. When something happens, it's like dandelions being scattered by the wind, spreading everywhere.
A person died by the river, and soon after, the people who were busy with their crops and had disappeared gathered together.
"My goodness, whose family is this? Their bodies are all swollen."
"Hey, hey, hey, you're not dressed yet. Have you notified the brigade?"
A rustling sound came from the crowd, but no one dared to step forward.
The corpse was exposed to everyone's view, shirtless, swollen, and its face was in no better condition. The people were a little far away, so they couldn't see the specific details of the face.
But that small area that smelled of decay was completely cleared out.
Suddenly, someone burst into tears.
"Oh, my elder brother!" The woman rushed over, her short body squeezing through the crowd to the front. She looked young, but her head was full of white hair, which added to her age.
His face was dark from years of sun exposure, and when his narrow eyes were closed, they wrinkled up.
The burly, dark-skinned woman who had called for help pulled her up. The woman's weak legs seemed to suddenly find strength, and she stumbled to the side of the corpse.
The rain poured down harder and harder, soaking her body from her hair to her bent back and the soles of her feet.
The crowd watched in the rain, but no one used an umbrella; they were all soaked to the bone.
"It's Jian Zihua."
"It's that madman..."
Someone in the crowd murmured, but the voice was too faint and was drowned out by the light rain.
*
Jiangzhou and Jeju are both located in East China. In mid-June, affected by the plum rain season, there was continuous rainfall, with drizzle and thunderstorms, creating a somber yet solemn atmosphere in the city.
Pedestrians hurried to and fro, and the damp, sticky rain added a touch of bittersweetness to the reunion of those who had been apart for so long.
Jian Sheng answered He Ying's call and rushed back to Jizhou from Jiangzhou to attend Jian Zihua's funeral.
She stood at the door, closed her umbrella, and shook it out. Raindrops splashed from the umbrella and landed on the cement ground, with a few drops falling on her white sneakers.
The shoes have several marks on the upper, indicating they've been worn for quite some time, but their bright white color gives them a misleading, brand-new appearance.
She wiped herself with a piece of paper and stomped on the carpet a few times, as if trying to get rid of the mud on the soles of her feet. The process only took a minute before a relative who appeared out of nowhere yelled at her. Then the relative used his rough hands to pull her inside and told her to kneel in front of Jian Zihua's portrait.
Jian Sheng stood before the mourning hall, her face slightly pale and expressionless. Amidst the constant noise around her, she slowly knelt down, her long, jet-black hair, reaching her waist, spreading out to both sides as she bent over.
People came in and out intermittently, and they knelt for about twenty minutes.
Suddenly, she received a message on her phone from an art agent.
THalia: The gallery has sent a letter saying your work can be exhibited. There's something else I need to tell you. One of their collaborators recently returned to China, and he now has contact information for many overseas collectors—these are all key resources. I'll recommend him to you; seize this opportunity.
Not long after, THalia sent me a WeChat contact.
The profile picture is of a black and white husky with thick fur, its heterochromatic eyes staring at the camera with a fierce look, gazing coldly ahead amidst a snowy landscape.
Jiansheng has applied to add it.
"Ahhh..." Suddenly, a scream rang out from the lobby, "My dear father..." The scream was incredibly professional.
Jian Sheng frowned, glanced at the person next to him, and silently moved to the side.
At this moment, seven or eight people were kneeling in front of the mourning hall, their wailing mingling with the sound of rain, creating a somewhat oppressive atmosphere in the small hall. This artificially created atmosphere was also mixed with a hint of chaos, as the unprofessional mourning team took a break from their duties.
"Hey, the host is here. Little girl, why aren't you crying?" The person wearing a white headscarf stopped crying, nudged Jian Sheng, and asked in surprise, "I saw that black woman pull you in just now. You were invited here too, right? How much do you get paid for this job? You can get someone here even if they don't cry? Unprofessional."
She had been observing Jian Sheng for a long time, ever since she first entered the room.
Her long, straight black hair reached her waist, smooth and clean, giving her an outstanding air. Her hair was parted on both sides in front of her forehead, without bangs, revealing a full forehead. Her eyebrows and eyes were beautiful and affectionate, and there was a very distinctive mole above her brow bone. She was probably close to 1.7 meters tall, slender and tall, but her complexion was not very good; it was too pale.
The older woman pondered, wondering which family's daughter she was; she was really pretty. Just a couple of days ago, her uncle's family in the county had a young man who had just graduated...
Just a few seconds later, she clenched her fist, averted her gaze, dismissed the thought, wiped away her tears, moved closer to Jian Sheng, and as if remembering something, whispered with a teasing look in her eyes, "Do you know how the person above you died?"
She snorted, pointed at Jian Zihua's portrait, and said disdainfully, "Knowing he was going to die, he lost his mind and often went out at night to steal things. He even made advances towards that young caregiver. In the end, he got his comeuppance. He went out to buy alcohol in the middle of the night and drowned in the Dawan River in Chengkou. It took five whole days to be discovered. When they pulled him out, his body was already rotting. It was so swollen that it was unrecognizable as human. The whole neighborhood was talking about it, but the family still stubbornly insisted that he died of illness. They wouldn't let anyone tell the truth."
"That scoundrel! Everyone in Chengdu knows about his behavior!"
Jian Sheng tightened his grip on his knees, lowered his head, and remained silent.
At the very center of the wooden table, the eyes of the middle-aged man with a wrinkled face and a kind smile were staring at her nakedly, making her scalp tingle.
Seeing that she was silent, the person next to her wanted to get to know her better. She asked, "Hey, where are you from? I see you're young and don't know how to cry. I'll add you to our group. Next time you need to cry at a funeral, just follow me. With practice, you'll get the hang of it. You can call me Aunt Yang."
"Little girl, what's your name?"
"Jian Sheng." At the same time, a middle-aged woman with a full head of white hair and a dark face peeked in through the door. She was the woman who had knelt in the rain and called out to the corpse, Jian Sheng's aunt. She called out to the woman inside, "Someone is looking for you."
The sound of the mourning procession grew louder when He Ying appeared, and then subsided when she left.
Upon hearing the name, Aunt Yang immediately fell silent, her hand freezing as she reached for her phone.
Jian Sheng ignored what was in front of him and slowly walked to the door.
After Jian Sheng left, Aunt Yang quietly moved to the far left.
"Good heavens! It's this little girl! Oh dear..."
"This young girl was probably just brought in to make up the numbers. I've never seen her in the village before. She's quite pretty..." The person next to me with red and swollen eyes suddenly spoke up.
“Jian Zihua’s own daughter.” Aunt Yang’s eyes darkened.
"Then you'll have to dock pay, since you're bringing up someone's daughter!" the man exclaimed.
Aunt Yang glanced at her, shook her head, and her sobs grew louder.
Outside, the sky was dark, and the rain was falling steadily. The dampness and the stuffy, windless atmosphere made him inexplicably irritable. Jian Sheng frowned, about to ask He Ying where she was, when suddenly, a voice came from the side.
"Miss Jane."
The newcomer was dressed in a well-tailored black suit, with raised eyebrows and a cold gaze. His smile was so fake, ridiculously fake, that it didn't seem out of place with his wooden face.
Jian Sheng was taken aback by the large group of people behind him.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"My boss asked me to send you a wreath." The man in the suit raised his hand, and the group behind him brought a wreath from the back of the room. Then, amidst the deafening sound of suona horns at the entrance, they entered the hall to pay their respects.
Even after all that was done, Jian Sheng was still a little confused.
After the crowd dispersed, only the serious-looking man remained. He asked in a low voice, "May I ask who your boss is?"
"My boss's surname is Chen," the man said before leaving.
As he turned around, Jian Sheng noticed the scar on the back of his neck and was startled.
Li Jing, Chen Zhoujing's childhood friend.
He returned to China...
Chen Zhoujing... a name that is both unfamiliar and familiar.
In the same scene that accompanied the name, the pain of the pliers twisting her body gradually emerged, tormenting her until she could hardly breathe.
Until He Ying's voice rang out from behind.
"What are you standing there for? Who were those people just now? They were carrying a wreath and giving a lot of things. I remember which family they are?" She came out of the house and patted Jian Sheng on the back.
Jian Sheng's shoulders twitched, and after a few seconds she turned her head and said, "Remember me."
He Ying's face froze: "What do you mean by 'remembering you'? Why would someone remember you if they gave you a gift? What is your relationship? It's only appropriate for your fiancé or fiancé to remember you if they give you a gift. What kind of behavior is it for a complete stranger to give you a gift? Our relatives are watching!"
Not many people came to the funeral today, no more than twenty-five in total. Including the mourning team and the band, the rest were people who came and went intermittently. Jian Sheng was too lazy to argue, and regardless of where the custom came from, he repeated word by word: "Remember me."
After saying that, he turned around and went back into the house.
"Hey, how can you talk to your aunt like that... Why are you still angry, little girl? You're so stubborn. Your father died and you didn't shed a single tear. You're a cold-blooded animal, your heart is harder than iron." He Ying patted her chest, seemingly still angry, and pulled the person next to her, saying, "Just like her mother who died young."
Jian Sheng could hear what was said afterward, but she didn't turn around to retort. She stood in the center of the hall and stared at Jian Zihua's portrait for several minutes. His face was always smiling at her, just like every time he saw her in his life, which was disgusting.
She turned and looked around. The concrete floor was much better than the potholes outside the door; at least there were no puddles. There were two rooms downstairs with their doors open inwards. The two damp, moldy old wooden doors were emitting a musty, rotten smell that irritated her nostrils.
It creaks and groans when someone walks by, like thin glass that could shatter at any moment, so fragile. The couplets on the door frame, oxidized and white, are tattered and completely collapse after being soaked by rain, rotting on the ground.
There was nowhere to stand in the entire house; she lived there for thirteen years.
Jian Sheng smiled, then turned and left the house, leaving Jeju and returning to Gangju.
After that, she had no further contact with anyone in the Jian family.
*
Jeju State Guest Hotel.
Chen Zhoujing stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, looking down at the city through the rain. Evening raindrops, illuminated by neon lights, slid down the glass, blurring his vision.
"It's been delivered." Li Jing pushed open the door and entered from the outside, walked to the sofa and sat down, looking at his back as he slowly spoke.
"Did she say anything?" Chen Zhou asked in surprise.
“No.” Li Jing leaned back. “What do you want her to say?” His tone was cold, just like him, a born machine, showing no emotion except when faced with Chen Zhoujing’s extreme behavior.
He added, "Don't have high hopes for her. She won't be grateful to you, much less like you."
Chen Zhou's shoulders slumped, and he forced out a few bitter words: "She won't."
His voice was quite low, as if he lacked self-confidence, and it seemed that he was always uncertain about Jian Sheng's situation.
Li Jing chuckled and changed the subject: "The curator sent a message inviting you to an art exchange on Saturday. The invitation has arrived."
“Miss Jane’s work is highly appreciated by those collectors, and she will come to you.”
Chen Zhoujing looked away from the window, turned around and sat down on the sofa, facing Li Jing opposite him, but lowered his head and stared at the shiny leather shoes on his feet.
"Now that Jian Zihua is dead, does that mean we have a chance?"
"Now that Jian Zihua is dead, are we free?"
His voice carried a hint of bitterness and was very cold, like an ice cellar tens of degrees below zero.
"But...but I did that kind of thing..."
Li Jing lifted his eyelids and looked at Chen Zhoujing in front of him.
The face had become much thinner due to the torment of time and illness, which made the strong and handsome features appear even more delicate. However, the eyes no longer had the spirit of youth, as if they had lost their vitality after a serious illness.
Li Jing said coldly, "Jian Sheng is a person without emotions, cold to the bone."
"You're starting to look more and more like her," he thought to himself.
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