Red Rose Breaks White Offering
The smell of disinfectant still lingered in the corridor, but the death notice handed to her by the nurses' station was already as cold as ice. Song Shi's fingertips trembled uncontrollably the moment they touched the paper, and she didn't stop until she saw the figure covered by a white sheet being wheeled out of the emergency room. Only then did she rush over and grip the edge of the trolley tightly.
"Let me see...just one look..." Her voice was choked with sobs, and her trembling hand lifted a corner of the white sheet. When she touched Xu Yanchi's cold cheek, all her strength seemed to drain away. Her daughter, who had been excitedly announcing her college entrance exam scores yesterday, her eyes still brimming with anticipation for university, was now utterly devoid of warmth. Tears fell onto Xu Yanchi's face, leaving a small wet patch. Song Shi finally broke down, squatting on the ground like a lost child, sobbing. Her cries gradually escalated from suppressed whimpers to heart-wrenching wails, echoing repeatedly in the empty hospital corridor, each sound tugging at the heartstrings.
When Xiao Fuzhou arrived, he saw a nurse comforting Song Shi. "Yan Chi...she's gone," Song Shi said, raising her bloodshot eyes. But Xiao Fuzhou's face remained expressionless—no shock, no sadness, just a calm nod, as if he'd heard nothing of importance. "Okay, I'll attend her funeral." His voice was flat and even. He turned and left, his back appearing distant in the shadows of the corridor, his steps unwavering.
Three days later, Xu Yanchi's funeral was held at a funeral home on the outskirts of the city. Song Shi emptied his remaining savings, hoping to give his daughter a dignified final resting place. Xu Yanchi's homeroom teacher arrived with several classmates. Her former playmates, dressed in black, stood at the entrance of the mourning hall, their eyes red with tears. As soon as Xue Su entered, she rushed to the altar. Looking at the smiling girl in the photo, she could no longer hold back her sobs and wailed, reciting in broken sentences the concert they had promised to go to together, the guesthouse they would rent for their graduation trip together, every word filled with unbearable longing.
The rain outside was pouring down, the earthy, rain-soaked smell wafting into the mourning hall, mingling with the scent of incense and candles. In the center of the altar, Xu Yanchi's black-and-white portrait was surrounded by white bouquets. In the photo, she wore a high ponytail, her smile radiant with sunshine, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the hall. Most of those present had red eyes, and the occasional sobs immersed the entire space in a heavy sorrow.
Just then, a slight commotion arose at the entrance of the mourning hall. Everyone turned to look and saw Xiao Fuzhou standing in the rain, holding a black umbrella. His black trench coat accentuated his cold and stern features, making him appear completely different from the gentle young man he usually was. He closed the umbrella and entered the mourning hall, the raindrops on it dripping onto the ground with a crisp sound, clashing with the surrounding sobs.
What was even more shocking was that he held a bright red rose in his hands—against the backdrop of white bouquets, that red was glaringly conspicuous, like a wound. Ignoring the astonished gazes of the crowd, Xiao Fuzhou walked straight to the altar, gently placing the red rose beside Xu Yanchi's portrait, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips. He didn't bow, didn't shed a tear, but simply stood silently for a few seconds, as if performing a meaningless ritual.
Then he turned and left, the hem of his black trench coat sweeping across the threshold, leaving a chill in the air. Only when the sound of the black Maybach's engine gradually faded into the rain did the people in the mourning hall come back to their senses, their gazes returning to the red rose. The sorrow in the air seemed to be shattered by that splash of red, leaving only endless doubt and coldness.
The moment Xiao Fuzhou's Maybach disappeared into the rain, the stagnant air in the mourning hall suddenly exploded, and suppressed discussions surged up like a tide.
"Are you crazy? Sending pink roses to the deceased... This isn't respect, it's just adding insult to injury!" The middle-aged man standing in the corner lowered his voice, but couldn't hide his dissatisfaction. His gaze was fixed on the glaring red on the altar, as if it were a desecration of the dead. The woman next to him quickly tugged at his sleeve, but couldn't help nodding in agreement: "Who sends flowers like this? White chrysanthemums and lilies are the proper choice. Isn't he deliberately disrespecting Yanchi?"
The murmurs grew louder, with some pointing the finger at the relationship between the two. "I knew something was off. He didn't even shed a tear when he came in, he just sneered!" A girl in a black dress clutched her handkerchief, her voice trembling with tears. "Maybe they'd already had a falling out, and he came here just to mock them!" Her words were like a pebble thrown into water, immediately drawing agreement—"No wonder he was so cold, they weren't on good terms!" "That's too much! Even if they had a conflict, he's already gone and he's still making things worse..."
Xue Su trembled all over as she listened, and suddenly raised her tear-reddened eyes to retort, "No! Yan Chi mentioned him before, clearly..." Before she could finish speaking, she was drowned out by the even louder murmur of the discussion. She looked at the red rose on the altar, and recalled the evasive look in Xu Yan Chi's eyes when he mentioned Xiao Fu Zhou before his death. Her heart ached and was in turmoil, and tears involuntarily fell onto the hem of her black skirt.
Song Shi stood beside the altar, her face as pale as a sheet. She didn't participate in the discussion, but stared intently at the rose, her fingers clenched until they turned white—she didn't understand why Xiao Fuzhou did this, but she clearly felt that at her daughter's funeral, this untimely splash of red was like an unhealable wound, shattering everyone's grief.
Pushing open the entryway door, Xiao Fuzhou was instantly engulfed by complete darkness. Without turning on the lights, he walked straight to the sofa in the living room, sat down heavily, and the rainwater on his leather shoes left dark stains on the floor, mingling with the chill in the air.
He turned on his phone screen, and Xu Yanchi's photo immediately filled the entire frame—last summer at the amusement park, she holding a cotton candy, her eyes crinkling with laughter, sunlight falling on her hair, even the breeze seemed warm. His fingertips traced her outline on the screen again and again, his eyes gradually reddening and swelling, his hoarse voice echoing in the empty room: "Yanchi, they all say you're dead… but I don't believe it." His Adam's apple bobbed violently, and he repeated almost stubbornly, "You're not dead at all, are you?"
Memories suddenly burst forth. It was also a quiet night like this. Xu Yanchi was sitting on the bay window of his house, holding a warm milk in his hands. He suddenly turned to him and joked, "Xiao Fuzhou, if I really leave one day, don't make everyone do those tedious memorial services, and don't let them cry nonstop at my funeral—it would be so embarrassing to have so many people crying around me."
He even tapped her forehead, telling her she was always thinking about nonsense. But Xu Yanchi's smile faded, and she looked at him seriously: "Also, don't buy me white flowers, they're too depressing. I like pink roses, if I could receive those, I'd be happy every day."
The speaker meant no harm, but the listener took it to heart. He didn't reply at the time, but quietly etched those words into his heart, never imagining that this "remembering" would come in handy at such an unexpected moment. The instant he heard the news of her death in the hospital, he felt as if his heart had been gripped tightly, and tears almost welled up, but he forcefully held them back—he had to uphold her wishes, he had to let her depart "happily." The pink rose at the funeral was the only thing he could do for her; as for the gossip and accusations of others, he didn't care at all.
The phone screen gradually dimmed, reflecting his reddened eyes. Xiao Fuzhou buried his face in his hands, and the suppressed sobs finally escaped, mingling with the sound of rain outside the window, shattering into a broken mess. "Yanchi," his voice trembled, full of tenderness that no one could hear, "Look, I brought you your favorite flowers, you... try to be happier, okay?" These words seemed to be spoken to Xu Yanchi, yet also to himself.
On the windowsill, raindrops clinging to the pink rose slowly rolled down, landing precisely on the strawberry hair tie Xu Yanchi had left behind. The little pom-pom on the hair tie swayed, like the soft touch of her hair against the back of his hand when she used to secretly tug at his sleeve and act coquettishly. Xiao Fuzhou touched the hair tie with his fingertips, and suddenly heard the wind swirling the raindrops, carrying a sweet, gentle laugh as it swept past the windowsill, softly hovering near Xiao Fuzhou's ear. It also carried a slight chill, softly whispering, "Xiao Fuzhou, the flower is beautiful, but I'll never see you again."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
