August 13, 2018. A day auspicious for burials, but ill-suited for weddings.
The funeral procession made its grand and solemn way up the mountain, heading toward a newly built cemetery established in recent years.
Wang Shouchuan, Wang Wanhe, along with Wang Xueyan's younger brother and one of her elder sisters, shouldered the bier bearing Wang Xueyan's funerary urn.
Wang Qianjiang followed closely behind the sedan chair, terrified of losing sight of it for even a second.
A large gathering of close friends and acquaintances followed behind, each wearing a white paper flower pinned to their chest.
Zhang Xinlan and her daughter were also among the procession, offering a sincere expression of repentance on behalf of the husband.
The funeral band played mournful music without a moment's rest all the way up the mountain.
Only after they reached the cemetery and Wang Shouchuan handed over an additional gratuity would the band's task be considered complete.
Inside the cemetery, Wang Xueyan's urn had already been placed in its niche, and all the customary rituals had been performed, as had the departure of the guests.
Wang Shouchuan sat directly on the ground, paying no heed to his appearance, facing Wang Xueyan's radiant yet black-and-white smiling face on the headstone.
His eyes were vacant, and he mechanically repeated the motion of scattering paper money—Hell Bank notes—into a brazier.
No one knew what was going on in his mind; they only knew that Wang Shouchuan must be in agonizing pain at that moment.
The paper currency dissolved rapidly in the flames, partly turning into fire-fringed black ash that drifted slowly into the upper air, wandering aimlessly.
The smell of burning paper was far from pleasant, but Wang Shouchuan seemed completely unaware of it, continually tossing in bills, purposely picking the ones with the largest denominations.
Wang Wanhe lit a stick of incense, bowed respectfully three times, and wiped his reddened eyes—perhaps from the sting of the black smoke.
"Mom, Qianjiang is going to spend big money on you! Qianjiang wants you to live a good life!"
Wang Qianjiang stared stubbornly, refusing to let the tears welling in his eyes fall, as he threw handful after handful of paper money into the brazier.
"Throw a little less at a time! Look, the fire's getting smaller. Keep going like this, and it'll go out in no time."
Wang Shouchuan spoke as much to Wang Qianjiang as he did to himself.
Hearing that the fire might go out, Wang Qianjiang immediately panicked. He pulled back a portion of the bills he was about to toss in, carefully reached the edge of the tongues of flame, and gently fed them into the brazier.
After finishing his incense, Wang Wanhe walked straight over to the brazier and joined the paper-burning task.
The three of them burned paper for nearly half an hour—a relatively long time for such a ritual.
During this time, Wang Xueyan's three sisters and younger brother also joined in, leaving almost no room to stand around the brazier.
Suddenly, a gust of wind swept by, seeming to carry murmurs from afar, dampening the brightly burning flames.
A moment later, the wind died down, precisely as all the paper money in the brazier finished burning.
A gentle breeze stirred the unburnt black ash in the brazier, wafting it softly toward the people gathered there. Only the heads of Wang Shouchuan and his two sons caught the falling ash.
As the paper ash landed, the remaining red embers faded, leaving a faint warmth.
Wang Shouchuan brushed the ash from his head, his dull eyes stirring with profound ripples as he remained silent for a long time.
Was this Wang Xueyan's farewell? In her identity from the past life, or this one?
Perhaps it was both.
"Let's go, it's time to head back."
His voice was slightly hoarse, carrying a faint tremor and a hint of unwillingness.
The dead were gone, but the living inevitably trapped themselves in the cage of the past.
Before everyone left, Wang Xueyan's tombstone was wiped spotless.
Wang Shouchuan left a large bouquet of jasmine flowers right in front of Wang Xueyan's monument.
In his memory, these were his mother's favorite flowers during her lifetime—something he remembered his father mentioning on several occasions.
Due to the cemetery regulations, the brazier was taken back, and the paper ash was emptied into the public disposal furnace.
Before leaving, Wang Wanhe and Wang Qianjiang cast lingering, affectionate glances back at the grave, each secretly making a vow in their hearts.
"Mom, I'll come to see you often."
The midsummer wind, which should have carried an unbearable, stifling heat, felt strangely cool at that moment.
Willow leaves rustled and swayed endlessly in the breeze, casting mottled patches of light and shadow over the normally shaded ground.
Was it a farewell? Perhaps.
Everyone got into the cars and drove away, disappearing behind a bend in the road.
Wang Shouchuan and his family's original home was located in an alley in Jinao called Jin'er Road.
Jin'er Road connected directly to Chengzhong Road, making it a prime residential location in the past.
However, their house was currently undergoing reconstruction, a project that had been underway for about a year and a half.
Consequently, the Wang family had been living at the very end of the alley, right against the foot of the small hill behind it.
This was the location of Wang Shouchuan's company factory, where they had converted three rooms on the upper floor of the office building.
Jin Xiulian had one room, Wang Shouchuan and his wife shared another, and the brothers Wang Wanhe and Wang Qianjiang shared the third.
White mourning cloth was draped high across the factory, and a mourning hall had been set up in the open courtyard downstairs, with Wang Xueyan's black-and-white portrait placed at the center.
Some of the guests who had attended the funeral had not yet left, waiting here for the family's return.
After steadying their grief, the family resumed receiving guests.
Truth be told, Wang Shouchuan had no desire to deal with such social scenes, but having lived through another life, he knew this concerned the family's dignity and standing.
Fortunately, everyone knew he was still recovering from an illness, so they spared him any troublesome complications.
Only a few of Wang Shouchuan's close friends came upstairs to comfort him, offering words of condolence, though their intentions did not stop there.
"The business is done, let's go get a foot massage together!"
"Yeah, yeah! The bathhouse just opened a buffet. We can stay there all day now."
"Or if you don't feel like a foot massage, we can go out for some barbecue and play a few rounds of mahjong. No problem at all."
Friends chimed in with their various suggestions. Anyone else witnessing this might have accused them of being utterly heartless.
The man was right in the middle of mourning, yet they were making jokes like this—it was going much too far.
In reality, Wang Shouchuan felt these people were heartwarming.
They were truly terrible at expressing sentimental words, so they could only show their support in unorthodox ways, hoping at least to lighten Wang Shouchuan's mood.
"Alright, alright. Once everything is settled, the few of us will go to the bathhouse and enjoy ourselves!"
These were the friends of the former "Wang Shouchuan," not the current one, yet Wang Shouchuan could genuinely feel their sincere camaraderie.
He wanted to preserve and continue these pure interpersonal connections.
"By the way, old Wang, remember to look after the boys' feelings. Losing a mother at their age must be terribly painful."
The speaker was Xu Qicheng, who had also lost his mother at around the same age as Wang Wanhe.
Because of that experience, he knew deeply how much the heart ached and how profound the lasting impact would be without proper guidance.
He didn't offer any empty talk about "empathizing" because such a thing didn't truly exist. Everyone's situation was different; claiming to feel exactly what another felt was utter nonsense.
Listening to Xu Qicheng's earnest advice, Wang Shouchuan gave a solemn promise, even though he knew nothing of Xu Qicheng's personal past.
This was Wang Shouchuan's own lived experience from his previous life; no one understood those feelings better than he did.
Empathy only truly existed in the realm of fantasy.
At noon, a banquet was held to host the guests.
The Wang family had numerous relatives, a moderately complex social network, and naturally a large circle of friends.
Held at a decent local hotel, the main hall accommodated a full thirty tables. The atmosphere was lively, yet maintained a baseline of respectful solemnity.
Zhang Xinlan felt she had no face left to confront the family, and thus did not appear at the banquet.
Many of Wang Shouchuan's business partners had come to the reception.
Most of them had joined the morning funeral procession, though they had not yet visited Wang Shouchuan at the hospital.
"Director Wang, my apologies. I didn't manage to visit you in the hospital earlier. How is your recovery coming along?"
"Accidents always strike without warning, Director Wang. Please accept my condolences."
All of them offered similar sentiments.
Wang Shouchuan responded to each one in turn, then guided them to their seats.
Originally, Wang Shouchuan had considered bringing Wang Wanhe along his side to better prepare him for handling such social situations in the future.
However, considering his mood and wishes, he simply let the boys sit together with the others. Besides, in his past life, he hadn't bothered to entertain this tide of guests either.
During the toast-giving segment, both Wang Wanhe and Wang Qianjiang had to participate.
With thirty tables filling the entire hall, if Wang Shouchuan had gone from table to table, even taking just a tiny sip at each, the total volume of alcohol would have been staggering.
Fortunately, Wang Shouchuan was still officially a patient, and using the excuse that he had not yet been discharged and his body remained unrecovered, he managed to dodge the alcohol.
In truth, the doctor had indeed instructed him to abstain from drinking for the near future.
Therefore, throughout the toasting rounds, his glass was filled with sweet Wangwang Milk—his favorite beverage.
Alongside him, both Wang Wanhe and Wang Qianjiang also had their cups filled with Wangwang Milk.
Yet the Wangwang Milk at this banquet tasted far less sweet than it used to.