Soul Returns to Hometown

Parallel Universe No. 106337.

Solar System, the third planet—Blue Star.

March 19, 2017.

The highway was bustling with traffic. The bus driver kept his eyes glued to the road signs on either side, his expression cautious and meticulous.

Outside the windows, a fine, misty rain fell.

The early spring, caught between warmth and lingering cold, always carried a sense of volatility.

The passengers inside the bus seemed to share this melancholy, or at least they appeared to; they were dressed in uniform black suits, wearing black armbands and white chrysanthemums.

Amidst the stifling atmosphere, the bus driver spotted a sign ahead, clearly marked with the words "Huashi 10km."

In the front row, a pale-faced young man stared out the window, his eyes bloodshot, hollow, and vacant. His hands were locked tightly around two small urns.

The dark clouds on the horizon seemed to hold an eternal, unshakable despair and oppression. The cold, icy rain tapping against the glass felt so pale and powerless.

A moment later, the driver gently turned the steering wheel, and the bus, with its turn signal blinking, exited the highway.

As soon as they entered the rural road, the potholes and loose stones caused the bus to jolt slightly.

They did not enter Huashi Town, but instead turned onto a country road heading southwest.

Clouds and mist swirled among the rolling hills.

The drizzle came and went, and the road remained riddled with potholes. The sudden, jarring bumps were somewhat uncomfortable.

Yet, the young man leaning against the window felt no ripples in his heart; it was as still as a stagnant pool.

The wind and rain outside, the silence and oppression inside—none of it could compare to even a fraction of his grief.

"Qingye, we're here."

A gentle, magnetic voice sounded beside his ear. The man speaking looked at him with sadness and concern.

Li Qingye snapped out of his all-consuming grief and looked at the old man, whose temples were already gray. His lips trembled slightly as he replied, "I know, Uncle Wu."

The old man turned his head and gave a stern instruction: "Jianxin, Xiao Hong, help Qingye."

"Understood." Du Jianxin, a short young man with a round face, nodded.

Another tall, bespectacled young man with a square face, Su Hong, also stood up and quickly helped Li Qingye up, ensuring the urns remained steady.

Supported and escorted by the two, the group finally stepped off the bus.

Du Jianxin and the old man held up black umbrellas.

The sky was still drizzling.

Over a dozen villagers from Gaoshan Temple Village in Qingshanqiao Town, led by two clan elders, had been waiting at the village entrance for a long time, holding black umbrellas.

The refined old man stepped forward quickly to greet them: "I am Wu Hewang, a friend of Zhonghua. I must trouble you all with the funeral arrangements."

"Manager Wu is too polite. I am Zhonghua's Seventh Uncle-Grandpa. Fate is a cruel thing! Sigh..." The old man leaning on a cane glanced at the pale-faced Li Qingye and let out a soft sigh.

Seventh Uncle-Grandpa offered a few words of comfort to Li Qingye before leading the group to the small square in the village.

In the small square, a tent had already been erected, furnished with a mourning hall, spirit tablets, and wreaths. Li Qingye silently placed his parents' urns on the table before the spirit tablets, then knelt on a cushion to the side.

The suona wailed, sounding like a cuckoo crying blood.

The gongs and drums clamored, as if the stars were falling from the sky.

"First bow... Second bow... Third bow!"

"Family, return the gesture!"

Li Qingye's gaze was hollow as he mechanically repeated the bows.

Soon, the guests who had arrived by bus began to leave in small groups, and a line of Mercedes-Benz and BMW cars sped away into the rain.

At the village entrance.

Two Mercedes-Benz, escorted by four large Raptors, also slowly departed from the small mountain village.

Inside one of the cars.

A man with sword-like brows and star-bright eyes coldly tore off his black armband and tossed the white chrysanthemum pinned to his chest out the window.

In the wind and rain, the white chrysanthemum fell into the wild grass by the roadside. A passing car splashed a large puddle, washing the flower into a nearby river.

The white chrysanthemum drifted with the current, floating further and further toward an unknown destination.

The golden sun sank in the west.

The small mountain village looked even more gloomy.

The funeral music grew listless. Most of the friends and guests who had come to pay their respects had already left. In the flickering candlelight of the mourning hall, Li Qingye's face looked even paler.

"Old Li, go back and get some rest! Leave this to me and Old Su," Wu Hewang said, pulling Seventh Uncle-Grandpa aside with concern.

Seventh Uncle-Grandpa sighed and replied wearily, "I am old, so I must trouble you all. It is fortunate that Zhonghua had friends like you. Manager Wu and Manager Su, you should rest early as well!"

"I will stay with Qingye a while longer," Wu Hewang said, his voice filled with emotion.

"Then I shall see Uncle Li off!" Su Ruoyu, another elderly man with a square face, opened an umbrella and supported Seventh Uncle-Grandpa as they walked into the distance.

"That is fine, I trouble you, Old Su." Watching the backs of Su Ruoyu and Seventh Uncle-Grandpa, Wu Hewang's gaze remained calm as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Smoke swirled around his face.

Su Ruoyu suddenly turned back to look; under the dim streetlights, the drizzling rain and mist made the faces appear blurred and indistinct.

The gazes of the two men seemed to pierce through the curtain of rain and smoke, everything understood without a word.

Su Ruoyu continued to support Seventh Uncle-Grandpa as they drifted further away.

Wu Hewang stubbed out his cigarette and turned to walk into the mourning hall.

As the two walked in opposite directions, no one knew what was in their hearts.

The next day.

The weather remained drizzly and overcast.

Accompanied by Seventh Uncle-Grandpa, Wu Hewang, Su Ruoyu, and others, Li Qingye placed his parents' ashes inside the old house.

This was a small villa Li Qingye's father had purchased upon returning to his hometown, located right at the foot of Changshan Mountain.

Decadent and dazed, Li Qingye knelt before the spirit tablets; the sudden passing of his parents had dealt him a massive blow, and for a time, he could not accept this reality.

As the funeral concluded, the small villa became cold and desolate.

Only Li Qingye remained, along with the gray-templed Wu Hewang and a sorrowful-looking Su Ruoyu.

"Qingye, please accept my condolences." Wu Hewang patted his shoulder and continued, "Zhonghua's spirit in heaven would not want to see you fall into such despair."

Li Qingye continued to stare blankly at the spirit tablets, kneeling without saying a word.

Su Ruoyu wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and sobbed, "Qingye, it is Uncle Su who has failed you and Zhonghua; if it weren't for..."

"Enough, Old Su, who could have foreseen such an accident? This is all fate!" Wu Hewang sighed heavily.

Tears welled up in Li Qingye's eyes like a bursting dam, falling silently onto the floor, drop by drop, down his cheeks.

Suddenly, a series of faint vibrations came from Wu Hewang's pocket.

He hurried out of the mourning hall, took out his phone, and answered the call.

A moment later.

Wu Hewang said with an apologetic look, "Qingye, there is an urgent matter at the company, and Old Su and I must rush back to Pengcheng. I have already spoken to Old Li here; someone will come to deliver meals every day. You must take care of your health and pull yourself together."

Su Ruoyu, standing to the side, had a slight shift in his expression.

Wu Hewang continued, "Qingye, I will certainly ensure your parents' shares are kept for you. You must pull yourself together. I have no children of my own, so in the future, my portion will be yours as well."

Li Qingye's eyes were filled with emotion, and he hurriedly knelt and kowtowed to Wu Hewang:

"Uncle Wu, your great kindness is something I can never repay."

"Qingye, this is only what an uncle should do." Wu Hewang wiped away his tears and took a document from his assistant: "This is a notarized will. If anything should happen to me, take this document and inherit my share of the stocks!"

"This... I cannot accept this..." Li Qingye looked hesitant.

Wu Hewang patted his shoulder: "Qingye, I have no children; just burn three sticks of incense for me during the Qingming Festival in the future, and that will be enough."

With that, he shoved the will into Li Qingye's hands.

Su Ruoyu stood to the side, expressionless, saying nothing.

Under Li Qingye's bewildered gaze.

Wu Hewang and Su Ruoyu left the small villa in a hurry, boarded their motorcade, and gradually disappeared into the drizzling rain.

On the third floor of the villa.

Li Qingye stood by the window, watching the motorcade disappear at the foot of the small mountain village. In his eyes, there was confusion, contemplation, and, more than anything, a tangle of thoughts that could not be easily unraveled.

New book setting sail, investments welcome.