With a rumble, a torrential downpour suddenly unleashed outside, drenching the red Prayer Ribbons tied to the large tree.
Originally fluttering in the wind, they now drooped lifelessly, instantly turning dull and lifeless.
The pattering of the rain pierced through the doors and windows, but Duan Ling did not hear it.
He gently set Lin Ting down, then picked up two Paper Kites from the table.
The bamboo sticks of the Paper Kites were rather stiff; holding them made Duan Ling’s hand ache sharply, painfully.
One of the Paper Kites was crookedly drawn with numerous patterns and covered in writing.
Duan Ling’s gaze first landed on a feather on the left side of the kite, then on a large bell on the right.
He raised his hand, fingertips barely moving as he brushed over the exaggeratedly large bell she had deliberately drawn.
Beneath the bell was written: Lin Leyun.
Beneath the feather was written: Duan Ziyu.
Elsewhere on the Paper Kite were the names Li Jingqiu, Duan Xinning, Tao Zhu, Jin Anazai, and others.
Because this Paper Kite was filled with drawings and writings, it looked unpleasant from afar, even downright ugly.
But up close, it emanated a unique kind of beauty—an extreme, almost grotesque beauty.
The Paper Kite Lin Ting made was very similar to the handkerchief she embroidered.
Duan Ling touched the Paper Kite and thought, ‘They won’t be able to fly Paper Kites together outside the city tomorrow.’
He put the Paper Kites away and returned to Lin Ting’s side.
Leaning down, he took her cold hand in his, intertwining their fingers, then pressed his face against hers once more.
After a moment, a single warm drop of water slowly trickled down from Duan Ling’s face onto Lin Ting’s.
Lin Ting could not feel it.
Half an hour later, Duan Ling called a servant to bring cool water to bathe Lin Ting, undress her, and carry her back to the bed piled high with thick blankets.
He bathed her with her own water, just as usual.
After bathing, Duan Ling lay down on the bed as well.
He pulled back the covers and held Lin Ting’s corpse close to him, spreading her hands and placing them around his waist, making it look as if she was returning his embrace.
Duan Ling held Lin Ting’s body until midnight.
When he awoke, the moment his eyes opened, they were immediately clouded by the darkness of the night.
She didn’t move a muscle.
He wasn’t used to it.
Duan Ling got out of bed without putting on his outer garment and pushed the door open.
The rain had stopped, leaving the bluestone path in the courtyard slick with moisture.
He walked barefoot across it.
The rainwater still clung to the ground, soaking Duan Ling’s feet as he approached the large tree.
He looked up at the Prayer Ribbons still damp from the rain, gazing at them for a long while before a sudden urge rose to tear them all down.
He raised his hand and grasped one of the ribbons directly above him, but hesitated and didn’t pull it off.
Duan Ling recalled the image of Lin Ting climbing the tree to tie the Prayer Ribbons, and involuntarily loosened his grip, searching instead for the one she had tied.
But no matter how well he remembered where Lin Ting had tied it, he could not find it.
As he searched, the stones beneath the tree scratched his feet, and the branches above scratched his hands, drawing blood.
The drops of blood mixed with the rainwater on the ground, the color fading.
Still, he couldn’t find it.
***
The first day after Lin Ting’s death was for announcing the mourning, so that others could come to the Duan family to pay their respects.
The Spirit Hall was set up inside the Ancestral Hall.
Surrounding paper effigies and white banners fluttered in the wind, rustling loudly.
The coffin, its lid not yet closed, stood in the center, with a table piled high with offerings in front.
Madam Feng and Li Jingqiu stood before the coffin, their eyes reflecting the still form of Lin Ting inside.
Even though dawn had arrived, the candles in the Spirit Hall burned continuously, alongside the Long-Burning Lamp.
The light seemed soft and warm, but it could not warm Lin Ting.
Li Jingqiu still could not accept that her daughter was dead.
She leaned over the coffin, resting her upper body beside Lin Ting’s arranged corpse, calling her name again and again in a hoarse voice.
Madam Feng turned her face away and wept.
Though Madam Feng had initially approached Lin Ting because she thought Duan Ling liked her and didn’t want her son to grow old alone, she had come to genuinely care for the girl after spending some time with her.
Now, witnessing her death firsthand, how could she not be heartbroken?
If anyone was to blame, it was fate itself.
Madam Feng wiped the tears from her eyes and looked toward Duan Ling.
He sat beside the coffin expressionless, without shedding a tear, as if neither sad nor happy.
Dressed in mourning clothes, he held Paper Money in his hands, in front of a Funeral Basin where the paper money was burning.
One by one, the Paper Money was devoured by flames in the basin, turning to ash in the blink of an eye.
Duan Ling raised his head and looked outside.
Yesterday’s downpour had cleared to a bright, cloudless sky.
The Prayer Ribbons hanging in the courtyard once again fluttered in the breeze, but no longer with yesterday’s brilliance—only a hint of desolation and coldness.
Duan Ling continued placing Paper Money into the basin.
When he lifted his hand, the sleeve of his mourning robe slipped down, revealing colorful silk ribbons tied tightly around his wrist—exactly the ones Lin Ting had bound in her hair yesterday.
The silk ribbons pressed close against the scar on his wrist.
Duan Xinning sat opposite Duan Ling, with her own Funeral Basin before her.
She gripped a stack of Paper Money but did not place them into the fire, instead crying incessantly.
Zhilan wiped her tears faster than she could shed them.
Zhilan feared that too much crying would harm Duan Xinning and her unborn child but could not bring herself to tell her to stop, for Lin Ting had been Duan Xinning’s childhood handkerchief companion.
As Zhilan wiped her tears, she couldn’t help but glance at Tao Zhu, who had stopped crying but looked lost, staring blankly at the coffin.
Beside the coffin, Li Jingqiu had called to Lin Ting’s body for a long time, suddenly grabbing Madam Feng’s hand: “Look at Leyun’s face, she’s still alive. The doctor must have made a mistake. My daughter isn’t dead…”
Madam Feng knew Li Jingqiu could not bear the pain of losing her daughter: “Once a person dies, they cannot come back.”
“No. My daughter isn’t dead, just look at her face.” Li Jingqiu’s eyes never left Lin Ting.
She shook her head wildly, fighting back tears.
Though Lin Ting had been dead overnight, her face was still pale with a rosy tint, lacking the pallor of death or livor mortis.
It was winter, and cold temperatures could slow decomposition, but how could a dead person’s face still be flushed?
Li Jingqiu refused to accept Lin Ting’s death, whispering, “Leyun is still alive.”
Madam Feng helped Li Jingqiu to her feet, wiped her tears, and gently persuaded her: “If Leyun is watching from Heaven, she would be heartbroken to see you like this.”
It wasn’t that Madam Feng didn’t believe Li Jingqiu, but Lin Ting had been breathless all night, her heart no longer beating, her body cold to the touch.
If not dead, then what?
More importantly, every doctor who examined Lin Ting confirmed her death.
Why her face remained flushed after death was a mystery.
Strange things happened in this world that defied explanation, much like the Strange Disease she had contracted.
Madam Feng hoped Lin Ting was still alive, but her death was undeniable.
Li Jingqiu covered her face and sobbed, choking out, “If Heaven must take someone, it should take me. I’ve lived most of my life and had enough. Why take Leyun?”
Though she said Lin Ting wasn’t dead, deep down Li Jingqiu knew the truth.
Madam Feng understood her feelings.
Years ago, she too had sent off a loved one prematurely, burying her eldest son Duan Lisheng with her own hands.
That pain was one she never wanted to revisit.
She sighed and urged Li Jingqiu, “You haven’t rested all night. Your body won’t hold up. You should try to rest.”
They had barely slept the night before, and Madam Feng had stayed by Li Jingqiu’s side.
This was because after Lin Ting fell ill, she asked Madam Feng to stay with Li Jingqiu after her death, so she wouldn’t be alone.
Seeing Li Jingqiu remain silent, Madam Feng pressed on, “If you collapse, then who will be there to see Leyun off? You wouldn’t want your daughter’s funeral without her mother.”
Only then did Li Jingqiu respond slightly.
Yes, she still had to bury Lin Ting.
She couldn’t afford to collapse now.
She steadied herself.
Madam Feng knew her words had touched Li Jingqiu and quickly led her away from the Spirit Hall to eat something and rest.
Duan Ling continued burning Paper Money.
The smoke from burning paper and incense filled the Spirit Hall, as if invisibly stealing the air, suffocating those inside.
Duan Xinning nearly gasped for breath, sobbing, “Second brother.”
Duan Ling didn’t lift his head: “Say it.”
Duan Xinning stood and approached him urgently: “Second brother, please tell me—I’m dreaming, right? Leyun hasn’t left us?”
She still spoke as she always did—denying unpleasant truths by calling them dreams.
Duan Ling’s hand paused over the Paper Money.
Slowly, he raised his eyes: “She really hasn’t left us.”