Final Chapter: The Wind Passes Through the Roses
As the banquet drew to a close, Zhiwei made a decision that surprised everyone. She stood center stage, took the microphone, and her voice clearly resonated throughout the banquet hall:
"Thank you all for coming tonight. This is the last time I, Shen Zhiwei, will host such a grand birthday party."
The audience erupted in uproar.
She smiled slightly and continued, "From today onwards, I will officially withdraw from all social activities. The 'Wei Nian' brand will also be permanently shut down after its final haute couture fashion show themed 'Eternity'."
"Why?" someone in the audience couldn't help but ask.
Zhiwei's gaze swept across the entire room, finally settling on the dazzling city night view outside the window.
"Because when it's time to take your final bow, you should turn away gracefully." Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable resolve. "I don't want to wait until the applause fades before hastily leaving."
At that moment, everyone realized they were witnessing the end of an era. The woman who had once amazed Beijing for half a century chose to draw the curtain at the height of her glory.
After her 70th birthday party, Shen Zhiwei truly vanished without a trace.
She no longer attends any public events and refuses all media interviews. The "Eternal" haute couture collection show by "Wei Nian" became a final farewell; that show had no models, only static displays. Each garment, like an exhibit in a museum, quietly tells the story of an era's aesthetics.
The news sparked countless speculations and sighs. Some said she was ill, some said she went abroad to live in seclusion, and others said she had finally found true love and was now living happily ever after with that young dancer.
In fact, she spends most of her time in Ya Garden. Ya Garden is quieter now than ever before. After Wang Jingnan retired, he would visit her two or three times a week. The two of them would drink tea under the rose trellis and sit for an entire afternoon, often without saying a word.
"Have you ever regretted it?" Jingnan suddenly asked one day.
Zhiwei was pruning a white rose bush. Hearing this, she paused, then smiled: "Regret what?"
"All the choices. Marrying Li Fuqiang, leaving Li Fuqiang, and...the years that followed."
Zhiwei put down the scissors and gazed into the distance: "Every choice I made was the best I could have at the time. If I could do it all over again, given my mindset then, I would probably still take the same path."
She paused, then turned to look at Jingnan, her eyes clear: "I'm just living the life I wanted to live, what's there to regret?"
Uncle Liang has been gone for many years, but his Longjing Capital still wields considerable influence in the capital market, only the figure who occasionally offered his insightful advice is no longer behind the scenes. The people around Zhiwei, like the changing flowers and trees in a courtyard, have come and gone. Those who have remained by her side the longest are only Wang Jingnan and the no-longer-young "Xiaoyu." From youth to old age, they have witnessed the ups and downs and brilliance of her life.
Over the years, many have coveted her immense wealth, attempting to get close to her through either kindness or scheming. But Shen Zhiwei has always maintained a clarity ingrained in her bones. She established a meticulously structured trust fund early on, providing the team that cared for her with the most generous rewards. At the same time, she made it clear to everyone that upon her death, all remaining assets would be donated entirely to the various charitable projects she had supported during her lifetime, leaving nothing for herself.
The future of this enormous fortune became a beacon hanging over the heads of all beneficiaries. More than anyone, they desired Shen Zhiwei's happiness, health, and longevity, so that they and their descendants could continue to reap substantial returns from the trust. They meticulously cared for her daily needs, filtering out anything that might trouble her, transforming her life into a refined and comfortable haven. Her longevity became a shared goal, one in which everyone's interests were intertwined.
Time flies and ages us all.
One spring afternoon, Zhiwei was taking a nap alone under the rose trellis in the elegant garden.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warming her face. She had a long dream, a dream of her mother, Xu Anyi, Li Fuqiang, Song Tianming, and all the other people who had appeared in her life. In the dream, they smiled at her, then gradually faded into the distance.
She passed away peacefully in her sleep, her face serene, a faint smile even playing on her lips. Beside her lay an open book, "The Return," held together by a dried rose in plastic wrap.
When the housekeeper found her, the roses were in full bloom, and petals fell on her, like a gentle farewell.
The news sent shockwaves through the entire city.
The funeral was extremely private, with most media outlets declining access. However, a scene from the funeral, captured in a few leaked photos, shocked everyone.
The pallbearers for her were eight distinguished men of different ages and backgrounds. Among them were a successful business tycoon, an internationally renowned artist, a composed and wise scholar, and a performer still active on stage... They were all leading figures in their respective fields.
Their expressions were solemn, their postures respectful, like loyal knights, as they escorted their queen on her final journey through this mortal world.
These eight pallbearers, spanning decades, connected the unrestrained, free-spirited, and undefined life of Shen Zhiwei. Only then did people realize that behind that name lay such a rich and fascinating story. She never established any grand achievements, but she lived life to the fullest, true to herself, loving and hating as she pleased, living a different kind of magnificent life outside the traditional framework.
Jingnan is no longer with us. At her funeral, her daughter read the following eulogy: "She once said that the most beautiful thing about a rose is not its vibrant bloom, but its serene withering. Knowing it will bloom again next year, it is not afraid of decay. In her life, she loved, suffered, was lost, and regained her senses, but she never betrayed her true self."
"The roses may have faded, but their fragrance will endure."
After the funeral, in accordance with her last wishes, people scattered her ashes on the cliff where Song Tianming fell. There was no tombstone, no epitaph, only the cycle of seasons and the blooming and withering of flowers.
Some say that on a full moon night, one can almost hear laughter echoing from the elegant garden, as if the woman who stunned the era has never truly left.
Even roses eventually wither.
This time, the Rose Queen, who lived a carefree and leisurely life, has truly taken her final bow. The wind rustles through the roses, leaving behind a lingering fragrance.
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