Chapter 93: The rest of my life is filled with grief and regret
As autumn deepened, the osmanthus tree beside the former site of the Marquis of Loyalty and Bravery's mansion shed its fallen leaves, leaving the yard covered in golden fragments. Xiao Jin had built a thatched hut beside the tree. It was pitifully simple, its roof covered in sparse thatch leaking through drafts and rain. A few patched-up old cotton quilts lay piled in the corners. The only decent item was the low table in the center of the room—on it sat a plain wooden box, covered in Yun Zhi's plain clothes, wrapped around the weathered, withered remains.
Xiao Jin woke up at dawn. He wasn't waking up from sleep, but from the cold. It had rained last night, and the raindrops leaking through the thatched roof soaked his clothes, leaving him cold. But his first reaction wasn't to gather the quilt tightly. Instead, he crawled over and carefully wiped the water droplets off the plain wooden box, his voice so soft as if he wasn't afraid to wake anyone: "Zhi'er, did you get wet? It's all my fault. I didn't fix the roof properly, and you got cold..."
His hands were as rough as old bark, his knuckles swollen and covered in cracks, yet he polished the box with a gentleness that felt like touching fragile porcelain. After wiping the box, he pulled a cloth bag from his bosom. Inside were a few pieces of dry, hard osmanthus cake—he'd begged for them yesterday in town, and the shopkeeper, taking pity on him, had given him these nearly moldy cakes. He broke off a small piece and gently placed it next to the box. "You used to love this the most. I saved it for you. Try it! It's still warm..."
In fact, the osmanthus cake had already cooled completely and still had a mildew smell, but he acted as if he hadn't smelled it. He kept talking to the box, saying how the children in the town laughed at him and called him crazy yesterday, how many leaves the osmanthus tree had dropped, and how he dreamed of the scene when they first met.
"Do you still remember? That day you were wearing plain clothes, standing under the osmanthus tree reading a book. I walked over and you looked up at me, your eyes shining like stars. I thought at the time, how could there be such a beautiful girl..." He smiled, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes squeezed together like a dry riverbed. But as he smiled, tears fell and hit the box. "It's all my fault. I extinguished your stars and forced you into a dead end... I'm such a bastard, an executioner..."
His voice grew lower and lower, finally choking with sobs. He pressed his face against the box, curled up like a child, his shoulders trembling slightly. The osmanthus trees outside the thatched cottage rustled in the wind, as if responding to him, or perhaps sighing.
The days passed like this. Xiao Jin rarely went out. When he occasionally went to town to beg, it was to put a piece of cake next to the box, or to buy a piece of rough paper. He would come back and "write a letter" to the box. He didn't write many words, just a crooked handwriting of "Zhi'er", "I'm sorry", "I was wrong", and then burn it in the box, saying that she would receive it.
Everyone in town knew him, the madman guarding the wooden box. Children would throw stones at him, calling him "crazy old man," and adults would avoid him, fearing he might go berserk and hurt someone. Only the shopkeepers selling osmanthus cakes would occasionally give him a few extra pieces, sighing and saying, "Poor man, with someone in his heart he can't forget."
But Xiao Jin didn't care what others thought. In his world, all that remained was this plain wooden box, filled with memories and regrets about Yun Zhi. He would cry to the box, lamenting his own blindness and heartlessness; he would laugh at the box, laughing at the beauty of their first meeting; he would suddenly go berserk, smashing the only broken bowl in the thatched cottage, cursing himself as Yun Zhi's murderer, then kneeling down and kowtowing to the box in apology, even though his forehead bled.
He aged rapidly. In just six months, his hair had turned completely white, like a blanket of snow, and was falling out in clumps. The wrinkles on his face were so deep they could trap grass scraps, and his skin was so loose it hung. His back was hunched, requiring him to hold onto a wall when walking. He coughed constantly from morning till night, sometimes even vomiting blood when the coughing got too intense. But he never cared about his own health, only about whether the bones in the box were "freezing" or "starving."
Once, a wandering doctor came to town. Seeing that he was coughing badly, he wanted to take his pulse, but he was pushed away. He hugged the plain wooden box in his arms and backed away as if protecting a treasure, his eyes as fierce as a wolf cornered: "Don't touch me! Don't touch her! You will all hurt her! I won't let you hurt her again!"
The doctor was frightened by him and could only shake his head and leave. Xiao Jin squatted on the ground holding the box and started crying again: "Zhi'er, don't be afraid, I will protect you, no one can hurt you again... Never again..."
Winter arrived quickly, and the cottage grew even colder. Xiao Jin found some dry firewood and built a small fire in the corner. The fire was small, barely enough to warm his hands. He placed the wooden box next to the fire and curled up beside it, watching the dancing flames. He began to talk nonsense again: "Zhi'er, let's warm ourselves by the fire... When spring comes, I'll take you to Jiangnan to see the peach blossoms. Isn't that what you've always wanted to go? We'll never be apart again..."
As he spoke, his voice grew lower and his eyelids grew heavier. The fire gradually dwindled, until only a pile of ashes remained. He shuddered, but he had no energy to add more wood. He could only move closer to the box, pressing himself against it, as if that would keep him warm.
"Zhi'er, I can't hold on any longer..." He murmured, his breathing getting weaker and weaker. "I want to see you, but I'm afraid you don't want to see me... I owe you too much, even if I go to hell, I can't redeem it..."
His voice gradually faded, only his chest still rising and falling slightly. Snow began to fall outside the hut, landing one flake at a time on the thatched roof. Soon, a thin layer of snow accumulated, like a white veil covering the simple hut.
Inside the house, Xiao Jin leaned against the plain wooden box, his eyes closed, tears still etched on his face, yet he felt a rare sense of calm. Perhaps in his hallucinations, he saw the plain-clothed girl standing under the osmanthus tree again, smiling as she reached out her hand to him, saying, "Xiao Jin, let's go home."
But in reality, he was just a madman trapped in regret, guarding a dead body, slowly aging in the cold wind, slowly approaching the end of his life. For the rest of his life, there was no redemption, no liberation, only endless memories and regrets, accompanying him until his last breath.
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