Chapter 375
In her previous life, there was a second-hand goods stall on the way back from school. The vendor would pick out magazines, notebooks and other things from the waste paper and put them in front for sale, but no one ever bought them. Those things just lay there in front, exposed to the wind and sun, and made rustling sounds in the wind.
One day, as she passed by, she noticed a sketchbook lying in front. A breeze blew, revealing the watercolors inside. She squatted on the floor and flipped through the pages. They were all drawings of flowers, landscapes, and still lifes. They were excellent, each one dated, and some even included reflections and insights.
The album was well-preserved, and its owner must have treasured it. Perhaps the owner is dead, or perhaps it was stolen and sold as scrap, just like her father and brother secretly sold her things.
The album never sold, and gradually its pages blew away, the sun scorching the paper. Rain and street sewage dripped and splashed on it, the watercolors smudged, and the watermarks were all over it. It was like that for about a month. When she passed by again, the album was gone, probably collected with the other waste paper.
Wang Jiazhi thought again of her notebooks, her favorite paintings, and her favorite postcards, all of which were sold as waste paper, and she had no idea how much they were worth.
"See, what you treasure is just a piece of waste paper in the eyes of others," she thought to herself, feeling infinitely sad.
The daughter who was cherished by her mother was like a piece of waste paper in the eyes of others, to be discarded and humiliated at will. She herself did not even resist.
At that time, she had a premonition that if one of them died, it would be her.
She kept thinking about what she could leave him. But what did she have? All her clothes and the few pieces of worthless jewelry she had were bought with money from that place; they didn't really belong to her. The only thing that truly belonged to her was a box of old clothes and a few used books she'd bought from a used bookstore. If she sold them all at the junk collector's, she wouldn't know if it would be enough to cover two days' worth of food. She couldn't just leave him that box of junk. And it was all at Old Wu's, so they'd probably thrown it away long ago.
When she was a child, she watched a movie. The male protagonist gave a gold necklace to the second female lead, whom he didn't love, on her birthday. The male protagonist, whom he loved, put himself in a big box and said he was giving himself to the female lead. The female lead was so moved that she cried.
Even though she was young at the time, she thought it was outrageous. Whenever Mom went back to Grandma's, she would always bring back tons of stuff for Dad. And whenever Dad went on a long trip, he would bring back local groceries. So, why didn't he bring anything for his girlfriend on a long trip? He just gave himself to her, and she was so moved she cried.
Later, the two had a quarrel, and he even talked about how stupid he was to pack himself up for her.
In the story, the male protagonist treats the second female lead very well, celebrating her birthday, giving her gifts, and being very gentle with her. The two of them are always flirting. He claims to love the female lead, but he never gives her a gift and constantly annoys her. Later, when the female lead nearly dies, he finally celebrates her birthday, but he only decorates the house and doesn't give her any gifts.
Wang Jiazhi thought to herself with self-mockery. She couldn't be as shameless as the male protagonist and offer herself to him. Her body had already been abused and was worthless. How could such a body be worthy of being a gift? And what about sincerity? What was sincerity worth? The least valuable thing was her sincerity. She had been sincere to those bastards, and they took advantage of her and abused her sincerity.
At that time, she thought about it over and over again. She was so cheap that she couldn't give him a single decent thing. Her body and her heart were worthless. She could have as much as she wanted. She felt that the only precious thing she could leave him was the child in her belly, but she couldn't keep it.
When I was in middle school, my Chinese teacher once told me a story from an ancient novel. I can't remember where it came from, but I remember it being about a young, beautiful woman who died for her husband. The husband remarried, had children, and lived happily ever after. The story ended with the man visiting her grave every Qingming Festival and Cold Food Festival.
The teacher said that there weren't so many poetic and unforgettable partings in this world. It was already wonderful that she was dead and her husband could visit her grave every year.
Back then, she still harbored romantic dreams about love. She felt that woman was truly unworthy. She died for her husband. Even if he didn't commit suicide for love or remain single for life, he should at least have been deeply heartbroken, often visiting her grave out of grief and longing. It was like in novels and movies, where the hero would constantly visit the heroine's grave, shedding tears, giving her flowers, peeling apples for her, and chatting with her. But this wasn't like this, a routine visit only on Qingming Festival and Cold Food Festival, the days when graves were visited.
Even after she witnessed what her father did when her mother was about to die, she still felt that the person she would meet would not be like that, and that the person she loved must be the same as her. He would cherish her and love her. If she died early, he would be heartbroken and think about her all his life.
But after witnessing Kuang Yumin's despicable behavior and remembering what her father had done, she desperately struggled and tormented herself to catch something from him, but in the end, she still couldn't catch anything.
Recalling that story in Hong Kong, she finally understood. There weren't so many unforgettable, entangled loves and hates in this world. Her feelings towards him were simply her own, and he had no obligation to do anything for her. She thought, all she could hope for was for him to visit her grave during Qingming Festival and Cold Food Festival. But since she didn't have a grave, it would be nice if he could think of her occasionally.
Thinking of my mother's grave, no one has visited it for many years. Even the routine visit during Qingming Festival and Cold Food Festival seems such a rare luxury.
At the time, she was surprised because the teacher who said that was a woman. She also wondered how women's romantic instincts could fade so easily. Later, she realized it wasn't surprising whether men or women said that. Men understand men best; they know what's unrealistic for them and what's already rare for them. And women, having experienced relationships, naturally know the limits of what they can expect from men.
In her final days, she gained a completely different perspective on life. The reason people live is to preserve hope. If it's just a hopeless existence worse than death, why bother living in such a miserable state? She repudiated her previous convictions. She had believed that suicide was a surrender to fate, a sign of weakness. Now, it seemed that her struggles, only to maintain a hopeless existence worse than death, made her a ridiculous fool in the eyes of fate. Perhaps fate simply wanted to watch her foolishness and continue to provide her with amusing jokes. She might as well end her own life, find freedom, and no longer be a clown trying to please fate.
When I was a child, I read "A Study in Scarlet". Such a beautiful and outstanding girl, who was cherished by her father and lover, was snatched away from her father. She watched her father being killed and became one of the many concubines of a disgusting bully.
And those who defiled her did not cherish or love her at all. In their mouths, she was just one of many "cows".
Before his death, the father struggled desperately, but he could only watch helplessly as his daughter was taken away by the devil. The man came back and found that his lover had been taken away and the old man had been killed and buried under a pile of earth. What a heartbreaking despair that must have been.
She was very young at that time, but she also felt the despair. She wished the man could go back earlier and rescue the girl.
The girl was abducted and raped, and died of depression a month later.
The man's hair turned white overnight. After twenty years of traversing the continent from America to Europe, he finally found his enemy and avenged himself, enduring untold hardships. However, the years of physical and mental suffering consumed him. He died in prison the day after his revenge, smiling. Finally, he had no regrets in his life, he said.
Before killing his enemy, the man said to him: When you took her away from her father, when you made her witness her father being brutally murdered, when you raped and defiled her in the dirty bridal chamber, did you ever have a trace of mercy for her?
After reading the story, she felt deeply saddened. Even if she had gotten revenge, what good would it have done? Two people had their lives ruined by such a villain. The man endured twenty years of torture before finally getting his revenge. He ultimately died in a European prison, while the girl was buried alone in a cemetery in America. They never lived together.
They endured such torture, while the two villains died so easily. At that time, she blamed the man, wondering how he could be so kind, letting the two of them die like that instead of torturing them properly. She lamented that Westerners were stubborn after all. If it were us Easterners, we would have many ways to torture the scumbags to death.
Countless times, she really hoped that someone would come to save her on that terrible night.
Wang Jiazhi felt very sorry that she didn't leave him anything decent as a souvenir.
In the story of Jin Ping Mei, after Li Ping'er's death, she left a large amount of money and valuables to Ximen Qing. Ximen Qing kept all her valuable clothes and jewelry. The main wife and Pan Jinlian fought over these valuables.
Once, Pan Jinlian served Ximen Qing very attentively, and then asked Ximen Qing for Li Ping'er's fur coat which was worth eighty taels of silver.
When she read that the next day Ximen Qing opened the box with the key, took out Li Ping'er's fur coat and asked someone to send it to Pan Jinlian, she felt a mixture of indignation and relief.
She died, and he talked about how he loved her, but gave her clothes to the enemy who killed her and her child.
But she left all her money and things to him, asking him to keep them, and he was the only one who had the right to deal with them. She was dead, but her things were still there, and when he saw them, he would always think of her.
After Ximen Qing died, all the money and valuables were taken away by the greedy wife, and her portrait was burned. It was really infuriating. Why did all the money go to the person I hate?
There is one thing we have to admire about Pan Jinlian. She killed a mother and her child, but she still dared to use all means to get the other person's things. After getting them, she was so proud that she wore the dead person's clothes to show off. She was not afraid of retribution from the underworld at all. She was not afraid that the clothes were possessed by the dead person's ghost.
I think Kuang Yumin and Lai Xiujing are the same. They really just want to use her flesh and blood to exchange for wealth and glory, and they are not afraid at all that she will turn into a ghost and take revenge on them after her death.
Wang Jiazhi thought that if she and her child could not survive, she would rather die at his hands than be killed by those people and let them get away with it for nothing.
She really wanted to leave him some decent relics, but she had nothing. The only ring she had was not hers, but was bought by him.
Later, she thought, even the heartbreaking story of the husband melting down his wife's gold jewelry and giving it to the newlyweds after her death was somewhat comforting. After all, something had been left behind.
After her death, he obtained her handwriting from Old Wu. He sent someone to the newspaper office to retrieve her manuscripts, and also went to the school to retrieve her student ID, her letter of invitation, and the books that her classmates had borrowed from her. He also searched through her notes to find her books and two notebooks among over a thousand old books.
Old Wu didn't want to save anything for her. He threw away all her old clothes, and those old books and notes she took while reading were thrown into a pile of old books in the second-hand bookstore downstairs.
Her two notebooks were filled with neatly written phrases she'd written while reading, phrases she'd found useful in her writing. The funny thing was, Kuang Yumin, who'd been in the same class with her and had even performed and researched plays together, couldn't even recognize her handwriting. He thought the two notebooks were scrap paper, thick and used to pad table legs. They were curled and rubbed with dust and water, leaving the edges black. Several other books were also warped and had their corners gnawed away by mice. No one knew where Old Wu had put the notebook he'd used to record his feelings in; the cover was covered in dust, old and black.
Even if Kuang Yumin recognized her, the outcome would still be the same. He was a practical man, and what was the point in keeping something without practical use? It was just a notebook filled with words, of no use to him. Wang Jiazhi would never use it again. It was just a pile of waste paper, what else could it be used for if not to prop up the legs of a table? It was as if Old Wu had burned Wang Jiazhi's letter. Wang Jiazhi would either die or continue to be controlled as a bitch. There was no point in sending the letter, so why not burn it? It was as if he had been searching for Wang Jiazhi, because she was his only hope for success and improvement in his difficult situation. If she no longer had that value, why would he bother looking for her? It was as if he had only found Wang Jiazhi to encourage her to continue joining the movement. He didn't even ask about her experiences in recent years, or the reasons for her haggardness she described. What was the point of asking? What was the point of knowing? She wouldn't have a good ending anyway, and her past life, whether good or bad, was meaningless.
Kuang Yumin would not repeatedly ask visitors how Wang Jiazhi was doing, like Wang Jiazhi did, because it was meaningless. Whether good or bad, he could not change her at all. It was futile.
Lao Yi cleaned the dust and water stains on the books and ironed the curled pages one by one.
As he packed up these things, he thought about how she must have cherished them, and how they had ruined them like this. Other people's invaluable things were being wantonly trampled upon and ruined by them.
How could he live with it?
The people there were astonished. Old Wu had been subjected to such inhumane torture, yet the minister had somehow managed to keep him from dying or going insane, allowing him to live in that excruciating state for so long. They couldn't help but sigh in admiration. It wasn't just that he was such a high-ranking official, managing them, but that his professional expertise was beyond their reach.
After Wang Jiazhi died, he took care of her belongings. He went back to her hometown for her, paid respects at her mother's grave on her behalf, and watched the kapok flowers for her last time. He also took over her correspondence with her father. In other words, he was part of her belongings.
He didn't leave much behind. They had no family, not even a child. Mrs. Yi took a portion of the family fortune, and the rest was used to support those around her.
They all had the same idea: when a person died, they should be buried quietly in a remote place. After a few decades, they would turn into dust. This was the best ending.
Building such a big tomb and burying so many valuable things, aren't you just waiting for people to dig it up like a fool?
The tomb was extremely plain and simple, without even a tombstone. An uninformed person would never imagine what kind of earth-shattering story the person inside this shabby, desolate tomb without even a tombstone had experienced. Inside the coffin was a blanket they had slept on, her clothes and jewelry packed into a box, and his gown, which had been soaked by her tears, was tucked under his pillow. Then, her own belongings and the photos she had asked for, along with a vase of kapok flowers he had picked up in her hometown and a few flowers he had picked from her mother's grave, were packed into a small box and put back in. His belongings were even simpler: a few seasonal clothes and the shirt she had sewn buttons on, as well as a few books he often liked to read and a few paintings and calligraphy he was proud of. The only valuable thing inside was the ring on her hand.
When Wang Jiazhi was very young, she was reading a history book and came across the line: "Sharing the same bed in life and the same school in death." She felt incredibly happy.
In the eyes of a child, death is terrifying. But this sentence made her feel that death could also be a very happy thing. Because two people are very good, sleeping under the same blanket when alive, and being buried together after death, that is the true happiness.
Two people who are so good to each other, of course they want eternity. But human life span is limited, and death seems to be equivalent to eternity. This was not only her childhood thought, but also the obsession that lingered in her life. Although she knew that there was no real meaning, and that after death, all that was left was a body without a soul. But she just felt that it would be a great pity if two people who loved each other could not be buried together. From childhood to adulthood, until her death, she always thought so. Whenever I read the stories of historical figures, I would hear how good the two people were when they were alive, but because they had no sons, or the son who inherited the family business was not their own, they could not be buried together after death. One stayed alone, and the other was buried with someone who was not the most beloved, forever. And when I read in novels, the two people were still separated after death and could never be together. I always felt infinite melancholy.
On the way to death, she thought about so much, more than she had ever thought about in her entire life. She also thought about something she cared about deeply: being buried next to her wife after death. After all, they had lived well in life, and even better in death. Although they didn't seem to care much about each other, they didn't seem to dislike each other, and neither had ever considered leaving the other. Ultimately, fate is the key. Love or not, it doesn't matter. Being together for life, together for life, growing old together, is the greatest fate.
Unlike her mother, although she was his first wife, she died early and was buried there alone, without even anyone to pay her respects.
As for herself, after her child reincarnated, both her soul and her bones would remain alone.
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