He looked toward the coffin and smiled gently, “Isn’t she here?”
She was stunned, then broke into tears again, wanting to throw away the Paper Money but afraid to disturb Lin Ting.
Zhilan watched, her heart aching and pained.
She too couldn’t hold back tears and took the stack of Paper Money from Duan Xinning’s hands.
“Miss, please don’t be like this.”
Duan Xinning turned and threw herself into Zhilan’s arms.
“Leyun promised to take me to every tavern in Jingcheng, but she broke that promise.”
Zhilan said nothing.
Duan Xinning’s eyes reddened as she choked out, “Just—yesterday she was fine. She said so many things to me, she was still climbing trees and tying Prayer Ribbons… how did she suddenly…”
Suddenly die.
Zhilan had been there yesterday and knew all that had happened.
Finding no words of comfort, she gently patted Duan Xinning’s back.
Duan Ling was unmoved by their cries.
After burning all the Paper Money, he stood and looked at Lin Ting.
He had been staring at her all day.
Others came and went from the Spirit Hall occasionally.
Even Duan Xinning had left once, her crying causing pain in her lower abdomen, so Zhilan took her away.
Only Duan Ling never left.
He lowered his head, eyes fixed on Lin Ting’s face, his hand pressing on her wrist.
After a long while, he still felt no pulse.
Lin Ting was truly dead.
The longer Duan Ling touched her, the more her corpse’s coldness spread through his fingertips, creeping deeper into his heart.
In the winter cold, Duan Ling shivered.
The chill spawned a creeping dread that wove around him like a dense, sticky net, trapping him.
Before this, he had never feared the cold.
Now he did, because the cold came from Lin Ting’s body—but because it came from her, he couldn’t let go of her hand.
Duan Ling curled his fingers, gripping her tightly.
Lin Ting used to love slipping her hand into his or into his arms like a hand warmer, to warm herself.
Now, no matter how he warmed her hand, she could not be warmed.
His gaze slithered over her, resting on her eyes.
He reached out, fingertips brushing her eyelids coated with a thin film.
He wanted her to open her eyes and look at him again.
But Lin Ting did not open her eyes.
After a long time, Duan Ling slowly withdrew his hand and returned to the Funeral Basin to burn more Paper Money.
Night fell.
Shadows flickered on the Spirit Hall floor.
Several servants stood on either side of the coffin, relighting candles that the wind had blown out.
Li Jingqiu entered against the wind, walked to Duan Ling, and said hoarsely, “Ziyu, you should rest in your room. I’ll keep watch tonight.”
Before the seventh night after Lin Ting’s death, someone needed to watch over the Spirit Hall every night.
She would agree to rest during the day for Madam Feng’s sake, but insisted on staying up tonight to keep vigil, fearing that if she fainted while watching, she would ruin the first night.
Duan Ling did not move.
“No need, mother.”
Seeing this, Li Jingqiu stopped pressing him and sat down to keep vigil with him.
After a full day and night, Li Jingqiu seemed to have partially come to terms with Lin Ting’s passing.
It wasn’t quite acceptance, but rather an effort to conceal her grief, worried that if Lin Ting could see her crying so bitterly, she would be upset.
A breeze blew into the Spirit Hall, stirring the Jade Hairpin in Duan Ling’s hair.
The small bell on it rang clearly and melodiously.
The Spirit Hall was quiet; Li Jingqiu could hear the bell’s chime.
“I remember Leyun gave you this Jade Hairpin on your birthday, right? Is this the one?”
Duan Ling felt the bell sway in his hair and paused mid-motion with the Paper Money in hand.
“Yes.”
Li Jingqiu laid several sheets of Paper Money into the basin and, unable to restrain herself, spoke of Lin Ting: “Money and silver were very important to Leyun. She rarely spent on others, much less spent so much on making a Jade Hairpin for someone.
“Though Lin Ting was generous with you, her mother, that was different. You were family. But when she gave this to you, Duan Ling hadn’t married her yet; to them, you were still an outsider.”
“I know.”
Li Jingqiu wiped away more tears and looked back at the coffin.
Honestly, she said for the first time she had ever seen Lin Ting so concerned about someone.
Gazing at the coffin as if afraid Lin Ting might see her, she whispered, “Leyun really liked you.”
Duan Ling clenched the Paper Money tightly.
Li Jingqiu looked up at the ceiling, forcing tears back: “I don’t know if she’s lonely on the Yellow Springs Road. Leyun was never afraid of anything—except loneliness.
“Back when she was in the mansion, if she wasn’t fiddling with strange, quirky things, she’d be chatting with someone. Without company, she’d be lonely.”
Li Jingqiu regretted not treating Lin Ting better and often scolded her.
The firelight from the Funeral Basin illuminated half of Duan Ling’s face, leaving the other half in shadow as if about to be swallowed by a ghost.
He turned his back to the basin, plunging his entire face into darkness.
Duan Ling’s gaze was indifferent, his tone always gentle: “She won’t be lonely.”
“That’s true. She could chat with anyone; she wouldn’t be lonely.”
Despite these words, Li Jingqiu brought over some paper effigies to burn for Lin Ting, hoping they might keep her company.
Duan Ling said no more.
While Li Jingqiu was burning the paper effigies, Madam Feng arrived, carrying a tray of food.
She had heard from the servants that Duan Ling had neither eaten nor drunk all day.
Madam Feng placed the tray on a stone table outside the Spirit Hall: “Ziyu, eat something.”
Li Jingqiu realized Duan Ling hadn’t eaten and chimed in, “Yes, you should eat. Your health is important.”
He did not refuse and ate.
Madam Feng watched Duan Ling finish the meal.
She had asked the servants to prepare Lin Ting’s favorite dishes.
Whether Duan Ling was truly hungry or simply ate because the dishes reminded him of her, she did not know.
Either way, it was good that he ate.
Madam Feng summoned a servant to bring a pot of hot tea and poured a cup for Duan Ling after he finished eating.
“Leyun loved this tea and once asked me where to buy it. She wanted to get some to keep and have you brew it for her when you had time.”
Recalling the past, her eyes filled with both sadness and a faint smile.
“Lingyun was there at the time and asked Leyun why she didn’t brew it herself. She said she didn’t want to bother, and would just leave it to you.”
Duan Ling accepted the cup and drank.
Madam Feng finally relaxed and asked if he wanted another cup.
“That’s enough.” Duan Ling put down the cup without changing expression and returned to the Spirit Hall.
Madam Feng did not disturb their vigil.
She left with the servants, planning to come back with Duan’s father to keep watch the next night.
Li Jingqiu watched Madam Feng leave, then looked up at the ceiling, holding back tears.
Despite her effort, a few tears still slid down her cheeks.
Duan Ling faced the coffin.
He touched the silk ribbons on his wrist again, tied so tightly they had left marks on his skin.
***
Early the next morning, visitors arrived one after another to pay respects.
The first to come was Ta Xuening.
Ta Xuening slowly entered the Spirit Hall and bowed three times before the coffin.
Then he approached Li Jingqiu and Duan Ling, scanning Li Jingqiu’s still-swollen eyes without offering condolences.
Grief for the dead is an ache that cannot be soothed.
Having experienced loss himself, Ta Xuening understood this.
Thus, he did not say “My condolences” but simply called out, “Madam Li.”
He knew Lin Ting and was aware of Li Jingqiu’s status.
“Thank you.”
Li Jingqiu recognized Ta Xuening.
Lin Ting had once told her that he and Duan Ling were close and that he had brought her a Hundred-Year Ginseng last time he visited.
Ta Xuening was puzzled: “Thank me?”
Li Jingqiu bowed: “Leyun told me that the Factory Supervisor came to give her a Hundred-Year Ginseng last time. Though she didn’t accept it and you have already left, we remember your kindness. Thank you.”
Ta Xuening refused her thanks and instinctively reached out to support her, but withdrew his hand before touching her.
“You are too kind.”
He didn’t stay long and left quickly.
From the moment he entered until his departure, Ta Xuening never glanced at the coffin, not wanting to see Lin Ting’s corpse but rather to remember her sharp tongue when she stood up for Duan Ling.
By noon, more and more people had come to pay respects.
Without exception, they offered Li Jingqiu and Duan Ling condolences.
Jin Anazai arrived near dusk.
He came late because he did not want to confront Lin Ting’s death directly, postponing as long as possible—until sunset.
The dying light painted the sky red and stretched Jin Anazai’s shadow long as he approached the coffin, bowed deeply, but said no words of condolence.
After paying respects, he did not leave immediately.
“Lord Duan, may I have a word with you?”
Duan Ling considered it briefly and followed him outside.
Beyond the Spirit Hall, the setting sun dyed the horizon crimson, the colors vivid and magnificent like a painting.
Duan Ling’s simple mourning robes clashed starkly against the scene.
Jin Anazai produced an item.
“Lin Leyun asked me to deliver this to you.”
It was the thing she had asked him to do the last time she came to the study.
Duan Ling’s gaze froze.