Chapter 92
Dongfu Garden, built halfway up a mountain, isn't particularly famous, but it boasts a quiet atmosphere. November, not the month for memorial services, makes it seem deserted. Entering through the narrow gate, I saw few people. Just a few, squatting quietly before the tombstones.
Pei Xiangyao's tombstone was a short walk to the shady side, not quite in a corner. He noticed a handful of candy scattered in front of the tombstone, thinking it looked like a prank, so he asked the cemetery keeper to inquire about the situation.
"Someone's been here before," the young man said. "He was very tall and didn't look like he was from here. He must be a foreigner. His Chinese was pretty good, and he said he was just here to take a look and leave."
"Oh yes, you are here to visit the graves, right? He also said he had something he wanted me to bring to you."
Xiang Mingqi couldn't wait to hear what ivory someone could spit out from his dog's mouth: "What did he say?"
"'I missed you so much.'"
Pei Huai passed them by without saying anything.
He swept the candy aside and half-crouched before the tombstone, looking at the vertical line of official script.
"I'm leaving." His hand brushed across the words. "I might not be back for a long time."
He's said this before.
It was a long time ago. That day, he cried bitterly, curled up in a pile of dry grass in front of the tombstone and sobbed. He was leaving, going far away, because he had no reason to stay in Coal Valley, because he was going to a place he had never heard of, never seen, and was so strange that it frightened him.
He was helpless.
But apart from his mother, no one in the world is willing to listen to him calmly. Even if he is in an imaginary hug, even if the warmth he gets is false.
He wanted to be held tight, too.
That day, Pei Huai stayed up late, thinking he might as well sleep there and leave tomorrow. But then a flashlight shone on him, and someone hurried over to pick him up. It was a grandfather, wearing dirty work clothes, apparently a hired cemetery mower. Seeing his nose red from crying, the grandfather blew on it, wiped away the tears with his hand, and asked him what was wrong.
The boy bit his lip while hiccuping, his diaphragm spasming and unable to speak. The old man held him on his lap and coaxed him for a long time. Finally, exhausted, he leaned against the old man's chest and closed his eyes.
"I miss my mother," he said. "I want to see her again."
They bent down and left a bouquet of flowers.
It was like the farewell fourteen years ago. The same flowers, the same people, in the same desolate autumn and winter.
"Until now, I've been wanting to see you again." The shadows of their hands overlapped, and they interlocked their fingers one by one, blocking each other's fingers. "There's someone I want you to see."
Today's sunshine was bright and clear, the sky azure. Grass waves swayed at the river's edge, wave after wave, gilded with the sun's warmth. He suddenly glanced across the river. Birds, having finished their forage, flapped their wings and soared high, stirring up whitewater waves along the way.
He began to walk, hearing the sound of pursuit behind him. Before he could slow down, he felt a hand catch up, clasping his fingers tightly. He held tight, slowing down and waiting. This person, this person leaning against him, would cross the river's edge with him, walking hand in hand through the longest autumn and winter.
It is warm, beautiful, and complete, and it also represents the thousands of autumns and winters to come.
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