Chapter 3 Funeral
Before Xie Shiyan could even utter the word "death," all color vanished from his vision, leaving only swirling, distorted black and white specks. All strength drained from his body in an instant, and he collapsed straight forward.
Behind Shi Yan came the terrified shouts of his parents and the sound of footsteps rushing towards him.
Before he completely succumbed to darkness, the last thing he heard was his mother's heart-wrenching, piercing wail that could have shattered the hospital ceiling: "My Ningning... my daughter—"
Three days later.
At Mushan Cemetery, the sky hung low and grey, without a breath of wind, the air thick and suffocating. Before a brand-new black marble tombstone, layers upon layers of pure white chrysanthemums and lilies were laid out.
A small porcelain portrait is embedded in the center of the tombstone. The girl in the photo, Jiang Yining, is wearing a clean white shirt, with her hair tied in a neat ponytail, and smiling at the camera.
The crowd stood silently around the tombstone, a dark mass of people. Low, suppressed sobs rose and fell. Xiao Xiao bit her lower lip so hard it almost bled, large tears rolling down her cheeks and landing on the grass at her feet.
She struggled to support the swaying Jiang's mother beside her. In just three days, this once gentle and composed Jiang's mother seemed to have aged twenty years. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes were swollen to the point of being just two thin slits, and her gaze was as empty as two dry wells.
She slumped against Xiao Xiao and Jiang's father, letting out incoherent, animalistic sobs, her body convulsing uncontrollably. Jiang's father held his wife's shoulders tightly; this usually resolute man was now hunched over, his face etched with deep pain, struggling to hold back his tears.
Shen Nian'an and Zhou Yanzhe stood a little behind. Shen Nian'an's face was as pale as paper, and tears streamed down her face. She gripped Zhou Yanzhe's arm tightly, her nails digging deep into his skin.
Zhou Yanzhe silently supported her, his face expressionless, only his eyes churning with an unfathomable heaviness. Lu Jingshen lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly.
On the outskirts of the crowd, Xie Shiyan stood alone in a solemn black suit. He was extremely thin, and the oversized suit looked loose on him.
In just three days, his once handsome face quickly became sunken, his cheekbones protruded, and his complexion was sickly pale, without a trace of blood.
His lips were cracked and peeling, covered with tiny cuts. Those eyes, which once brimmed with sunshine and gentle smiles, were now just two bottomless holes, devoid of tears, light, and any emotion.
The funeral procession proceeded amidst somber funeral music and the master of ceremonies' mournful voice. People stepped forward one by one, gently placing white chrysanthemums before the tombstone, bowing to the eternally frozen smiling face, whispering, and sighing.
Someone tried to approach Xie Shiyan, pat him on the shoulder, and whisper a few words of comfort. But he didn't react at all; his gaze passed through the gaps in the crowd, fixed intently, greedily, and desperately on the smiling face of the girl in the tombstone photo.
The crowd finally began to disperse slowly, the whispers and sobs fading into the distance, leaving only a scene of sorrow and trampled grass. Xiao Xiao, her eyes red, helped her nearly exhausted mother Jiang away, turning back every few steps.
Shen Nian'an looked at Xie Shiyan with worry for a long time, but in the end, Zhou Yanzhe gently put his arm around her shoulder and led her away. In the empty cemetery, only the howling wind could be heard, swirling up a few fallen leaves, adding to the desolation.
The last human voice disappeared.
After Xie Shiyan and the others left, he moved his feet very slowly and stiffly, passing through the scattered white chrysanthemums, and finally stood in front of the cold tombstone.
The photo is placed in the center. Jiang Yining is smiling. Her ponytail is neat, the collar of her white shirt is crisp, revealing her slender neck, carefree and untouched by the world.
Xie Shiyan's bloodshot, hollow eyes, like dried-up wells, were fixed on that smile. His cold fingertips, trembling almost self-destructively, gently caressed the girl's cheek in the photograph. The hard, ceramic touch instantly shattered the last shred of strength he was holding on to.
"Ningning..." The voice was hoarse, like the grinding of sand, each syllable cracked and bleeding.
The floodgates of memory were suddenly flung open by that cold touch and that eternal smile.
It was a spring afternoon at the kindergarten gate. Sunlight filtered through the tender green leaves, casting shimmering spots of light on the concrete. Little Xie Shiyan, carrying a small blue backpack almost half his height, was trying to shake off the persistent "little tail" following him around, his little face tense.
"Brother Shiyan, wait for Ningning!" came the childish voice, tinged with anxious panting.
Wearing a pink tutu and with two crooked pigtails, little Jiang Yining chased after him with all her might, her short legs moving quickly. She ran so fast that she stumbled, and her little hand instinctively reached forward and grabbed the back of Xie Shiyan's coat tightly.
The faint sound of fabric being tugged. Xie Shiyan had to stop, turning around with a slight frown.
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