Parallel Space-Time No. 106337.
The Solar System, third planet—Blue Star.
March 19, 2017.
The highway was crowded with traffic. The bus driver watched the signs on both sides of the road intently, his expression cautious.
Outside the windows, a fine drizzle fell.
Early spring, warm one moment and cold the next, always seemed to bring with it a fickle mood.
The passengers on board seemed to be mourning the passing of spring, at least on the surface. They wore matching black suits and black armbands, and carried white chrysanthemums.
In the oppressive silence, the driver spotted a sign up ahead. It clearly read, "Huashi, 10 kilometers."
In a seat near the front, a young man with a bloodless face and bloodshot eyes stared out the window. His gaze was empty and dazed, and he clutched two small urns tightly in his arms.
Dark clouds hung on the horizon, as if they held an ancient, unrelenting despair and oppression. Cold rain tapped against the glass, so pale and powerless.
Before long, the driver gently turned the wheel. The bus's turn signal flashed as it exited the highway.
Once they reached the township road, the potholes and scattered stones made the bus jolt slightly.
They didn't enter Huashi Town, but instead turned onto a township road heading southwest.
Clouds and mist swirled among the hills.
The light rain came and went, and the road was still bumpy. The sudden jolts were enough to make the passengers uncomfortable.
But the young man leaning against the window felt nothing. His heart was like a pool of stagnant water.
Neither the storm outside nor the suffocating silence in the bus could compare to even a fraction of his grief.
"Qingye, we're here."
A warm, refined voice spoke in his ear. Its owner wore an expression of sorrow and concern.
Li Qingye came back to himself from the depths of his grief. He looked at the elderly man before him, whose hair had turned gray at the temples, and replied with trembling lips, "I know, Uncle Wu."
The old man turned and instructed them sternly, "Jianxin, Xiaohong, help Qingye."
"Sure." Du Jianxin, a short, round-faced young man, nodded.
Su Hong, a tall young man with glasses and a square face, also stood up and hurried to support Li Qingye, making sure nothing happened to the urns.
With the two of them supporting and escorting him, the group finally got off the bus.
Du Jianxin and the old man shared a black umbrella.
A fine drizzle still fell from the sky.
A dozen villagers from Gaoshan Temple Village, Qingshanqiao Town, had been waiting at the village entrance under black umbrellas, led by two clan elders.
The refined old man hurried forward to greet them. "I'm Wu Hewang, Zhonghua's friend. I'm sorry for the trouble, but I'll have to ask you all to help with the funeral."
"Manager Wu, you're too polite. I'm Zhonghua's Seventh Uncle-Grandpa. Fate can be cruel! Sigh..." The old man with the cane glanced at Li Qingye's pale face and sighed.
Seventh Uncle-Grandpa offered Li Qingye a few words of comfort, then led the group to the village square.
A funeral hall had been set up inside a shed in the square, complete with memorial tablets and wreaths. In silence, Li Qingye placed his parents' urns on the table before the memorial tablet, then knelt on a cushion to one side.
The suona wailed, like a cuckoo crying blood.
The gongs and drums thundered, like stars falling from the sky.
"First bow... Second bow... Third bow!"
"Family, return the bows!"
Li Qingye's gaze was vacant as he mechanically returned the bows.
Soon, the guests who had arrived by bus began leaving in groups of three or five. One Mercedes-Benz and BMW after another sped away into the rain.
At the village entrance.
Two Mercedes-Benz cars slowly pulled away from the mountain village, escorted by four large pickup trucks.
Inside one of the cars.
A man with sharp brows and bright eyes coldly tore off his black armband, then tossed the white chrysanthemum pinned to his chest and the armband out the window.
In the storm, the chrysanthemum fell into the weeds beside the road. A car roared past, splashing a sheet of water that swept the flower into a nearby river.
The chrysanthemum drifted with the current, farther and farther toward an unknown destination.
The sun sank in the west.
The mountain village grew even gloomier.
The funeral music had grown weak and listless. Nearly all the relatives, friends, and guests had come to pay their respects, and Li Qingye's face looked paler still in the funeral hall's flickering candlelight.
"Old Li, you should go home and rest. Old Su and I can take care of things here," Wu Hewang said with concern as he walked Seventh Uncle-Grandpa away.
Seventh Uncle-Grandpa sighed and replied wearily, "I'm old now. I'll have to leave this to you. Zhonghua was fortunate to have friends like you. Manager Wu, Manager Su, you should get some rest too."
"I'll stay with Qingye a little longer," Wu Hewang said with a sigh.
"Then I'll see Uncle Li off." The other square-faced old man, Su Ruoyu, opened an umbrella and helped Seventh Uncle-Grandpa away.
"All right. Sorry for the trouble, Old Su." Watching Su Ruoyu and Seventh Uncle-Grandpa's retreating figures, Wu Hewang remained calm as he took out a cigarette and lit it.
Smoke curled around his face.
Su Ruoyu suddenly looked back. Beneath the dim streetlight, the drizzle and smoke blurred the face before him.
Their gazes seemed to pierce through the rain and smoke. Everything was understood without a word.
Su Ruoyu continued supporting Seventh Uncle-Grandpa as they disappeared into the distance.
Wu Hewang stubbed out his cigarette and turned back toward the funeral hall.
The two men walked in opposite directions. No one knew what was going through their minds.
The next day.
The fine rain continued.
With Seventh Uncle-Grandpa, Wu Hewang, Su Ruoyu, and the others accompanying him, Li Qingye placed his parents' urns in the old house.
It was a small villa his father had bought when he returned to his hometown years ago, at the foot of Changshan Mountain.
Dejected and dazed, Li Qingye knelt before the memorial tablet. His parents' sudden deaths had dealt him a devastating blow, and he couldn't accept the reality of it.
After the funeral ended, the villa grew cold and empty.
Only Li Qingye remained, along with Wu Hewang, gray at the temples, and Ruoyu, his face stricken with grief.
"Qingye, I'm sorry for your loss." Wu Hewang patted his shoulder, then continued, "Zhonghua wouldn't want you to sink into despair, even from beyond the grave."
Li Qingye continued staring blankly at the memorial tablet, kneeling in silence.
Su Ruoyu wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and choked out, "Qingye, I'm sorry to you and Zhonghua. If only I hadn't—"
"All right, Old Su. Who could have predicted an accident like this? It's fate!" Wu Hewang sighed.
Tears welled in Li Qingye's eyes like the Yellow River bursting its banks. They slid down his cheeks one by one and fell soundlessly onto the floor.
Suddenly, a faint vibration came from Wu Hewang's pocket.
He hurried out of the funeral hall and took out his phone to answer the call.
A moment later.
Wu Hewang looked apologetic. "Qingye, there's an urgent matter at the company. Old Su and I have to return to Pengcheng. I've already spoken to Old Li here. Someone will bring you food every day. Make sure you take care of yourself. You have to pull yourself together."
Su Ruoyu's expression shifted slightly.
Wu Hewang went on, "Qingye, I'll make sure your parents' shares are kept for you. You have to pull yourself together. I don't have any children either, so one day my share will be yours too."
Li Qingye's eyes filled with gratitude. He hurriedly knelt and kowtowed to Wu Hewang.
"Uncle Wu, I can never repay your kindness."
"Qingye, it's only right." Wu Hewang wiped away his tears and took a document from his assistant. "This is my notarized will. If anything happens to me, take this will and inherit my share."
"But... I can't accept this..." Li Qingye hesitated.
Wu Hewang patted his shoulder. "Qingye, I have no children. Just offer three incense sticks for me during Qingming each year."
With that, he pressed the will into Li Qingye's hands.
Su Ruoyu remained expressionless and said nothing.
As Li Qingye watched helplessly, Wu Hewang and Su Ruoyu hurried out of the villa, got into their cars, and drove off through the steady rain.
On the third floor of the villa.
Li Qingye stood by the window, watching the cars disappear at the foot of the mountain. His eyes held doubt and thoughtfulness, but more than anything, his thoughts were tangled beyond unraveling.
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