Tang Zhi Chu stood in the corridor outside the Oncology Department ward.
Ten minutes later, the doctor pushed open the door. Seeing the patient's family, he first shook his head, then patted Tang Zhi Chu on the shoulder and glanced at the people behind him. "My condolences. You've done all you could."
The doctor was subdued too. He turned and left after speaking, while the nurse behind him began explaining what would happen next.
It was late-stage pancreatic cancer. His organs had already failed; even the gods could do nothing to save him.
Tang Xiuju seemed as if someone had pulled the plug on her strength. She leaned weakly against the wall, while Tao Bo covered his face with a hand.
Wang Jun came over to Tang Zhi Chu and put an arm around him.
Tang Zhi Chu broke free. "I'll go get the death certificate. Keep watch here for a while."
"I'll go," Wang Jun said.
"No, I'll go."
Getting the death certificate was like erasing a person's traces from the world bit by bit, while also imprinting them more deeply in Tang Zhi Chu's heart.
Tang Zhi Chu thought that people were like books. It was only when faced with parting or death that you would read them carefully.
When Tang Zhi Chu stood atop that vast flood of memories from Tang Mao De's perspective,
the conflict between father and son gradually faded.
As memories dredged up the past, light gleamed through the fragments of everyday life buried beneath it.
Tang Zhi Chu felt that this wasn't time reshaping things, nor was it his arrival that had made him look at everything anew. They had simply never looked directly at the things they had taken for granted.
After getting the death certificate, Tang Zhi Chu stood there for