Chapter 865: Chapter 865
The Qingming Festival season, with fine rain like a gentle touch.
The rain enveloping East City adds a touch of Jiangnan water town’s grace and melancholy to this bustling city.
West Mountain Cemetery, the largest graveyard in the city, is now steeped in this misty drizzle.
The wet, slippery stone steps, flanked by pine trees, seem even more verdant and solemn.
The air is filled with the earthy scent mingled with the fresh aroma of vegetation and the burnt smell of incense candles and paper offerings.
People holding various umbrellas gather in twos and threes, walking up the winding mountain path.
Their steps are light, conversations hushed, as if afraid to disturb the souls resting here.
Fang Cheng holds a large black umbrella, walking between his mother Li Biyun and his grandfather Li Zhenhua.
Intentionally slowing his pace, he tilts the umbrella slightly towards his mother, enclosing her completely.
His other hand supports his grandfather’s arm to prevent the elderly man from accidentally slipping on the wet steps.
Li Biyun is dressed in a simple, elegant black dress today, her hair simply knotted at the back of her head, her expression somewhat somber.
For her, today is an unutterable ordeal every year.
Grandfather Li Zhenhua carries a bamboo basket filled with offerings and incense.
The elderly man, usually talkative, falls silent and follows his grandson Fang Cheng.
Wrinkles on his face appear deeper under the overcast sky.
The steps leading to the grave area are long, and people come and go unceasingly, most of them like the family, solemn, holding umbrellas, walking silently.
Raindrops diagonally hit the umbrella surface, making a soft rustling sound, conspicuous in this silence.
Finally, the three walk among rows of tombstones for a while, stopping in a relatively secluded corner.
The tombstones here are much simpler than elsewhere, just plain stone slabs.
After years of wind and rain, some moss has grown on the corners.
In the center of the tombstone’s face, a somewhat faded black-and-white photo is embedded.
The man in the photo is handsome, with deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and a faintly discernible smile at the corners of his mouth.
His gaze is bright and clean, exuding gentle determination.
Looking closely, one can see his facial contours bear a seventy percent resemblance to Fang Cheng, only his demeanor is more refined and reserved.
The tombstone has a few lines of fiercely carved words.
The grave of the late Fang Shijie.
Faithful son Fang Cheng, wife Li Biyun, respectfully inscribed.
No birth and death dates, no life experiences, only the simplest identity and name.
The fire seventeen years ago seemed to turn everything to ashes.
"Shijie, we’ve come to see you."
Li Biyun gazes at the familiar name on the tombstone, her eyes suddenly turning red.
She takes the basket from her grandfather, carefully placing offerings, fruits, snacks, and a small bottle of liquor before the tombstone.
Fang Cheng puts down the umbrella, takes out a clean cloth from the bottom of the basket, crouches down, thoroughly wiping every corner of the tombstone.
The movements are gentle, concentrated, as if he is not cleaning a cold stone but brushing away the dust for his father.
Li Zhenhua lights three sticks of incense, handing them to his daughter and grandson.
Spirals of smoke rise, drawing straight lines in the moist air before slowly dispersing.
The three stand solemnly in line, bowing deeply three times to the tombstone.
"Shijie, are you doing well over there?"
Li Biyun then crouches down, burning paper offerings while murmuring to her husband.
"Everyone is good at home, don’t worry, Chengcheng is grown up now, very sensible and filial..."
"Also, Ding Jian arranged a new house for my dad, just in Wanghu Town, very close to here, I can often come to see you so you won’t be too lonely..."
She speaks only a few words before involuntary sobs interrupt her, tears welling in her eyes.
"You always said, once the company is stable, you would take me to a scenic place to live, open a small restaurant where you cook, I handle accounts, and Chengcheng helps out when he’s free, living peacefully as a family."
"But now... Chengcheng has grown so much, yet you are not here..."
Li Biyun sniffles, her voice suddenly trembling.
"They all say you are a murderer, but I know, you can’t see strangers unable to afford treatment without feeling soft-hearted, even giving money to help, how could you possibly kill?"
"Shijie, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe a word..."
With these words, she can’t hold back anymore, tears bursting forth like a flood.
Beads dropping off a string roll down her cheeks, falling into the flaring flames with a slight "hiss."
Fang Cheng is about to stoop to comfort his mother’s arm.
Li Zhenhua raises a hand to stop him, gently shaking his head, softly saying:
"Let your mother cry for a bit, crying will make her feel better. All these years, she’s bottled up too much grievance."
The firelight reflects the tear stains on Li Biyun’s face, flickering.
Her fragile shoulders tremble slightly, the entire figure immersed in endless sadness.
Seeing his daughter overwhelmed with crying, the old man can’t help but sigh.
He raises a hand to wipe his eyes, looking toward the photo on the tombstone, his gaze turning distant, as if seeing back to years past through the cold stone.
"I still remember, the first time I met your dad."
"Back then, he just started dating your mom, came to our house for dinner, so nervous he didn’t know what to do with his hands, nearly spilled water holding a teacup."