(1)
The chanting of sutras echoed softly within the mourning hall. The bright, warm lighting ensured that one wouldn’t feel tension or unease when looking at the coffin — as long as you didn’t look at Uncle’s face through the glass cover.
“Ah-choo, ah-choo!” An Jing pushed open the glass door and shook the short-handled umbrella in her hand. She didn’t know who had brought it, but the ribs had already pierced through the canopy, and one side had collapsed limply.
However, she was only going to the bathroom, so this broken umbrella would have to do.
It was actually still early, only around 8:00 PM, but in this desolate wilderness, the world outside was pitch black except for the area around the funeral home. Not a single glimmer of city light could be seen.
Holding the broken umbrella, An Jing stepped carefully over small puddles, moving slowly along the wet cement road.
The layout of each mourning hall was roughly the same, yet there were slight differences based on the beliefs of the deceased and local customs. For instance, the offerings varied; some displayed crosses, some featured Buddha statues, and others were adorned with Taoist talismans. But only An Jing and her family’s room displayed the statue of the “Anhai Great God.”
After all, the Anhai Great God wasn’t very famous outside of those few islands at sea. Let alone the entire country, it was a very minor faith even within the province.
Different mourning halls also played different music. Some played Buddhist chants, some played hymns; some featured the repetitive chanting of “Amituofo,” while others played a string of non-repeating Sanskrit. Even the hymns came in both Chinese and English versions.
What An Jing found most chilling was one mourning hall where two long-haired women were hunched over a coffin, sobbing in low voices. That weeping sounded almost exactly like a wronged female ghost from a television drama, making her skin crawl.
Every deceased person had their own story; they were the protagonists of their own lives. But now, their stories had concluded. They lay in their coffins, completely unaware, leaving only the living to feel sorrow for those finished tales.
Most of these stories likely came to a sudden halt. Only a few truly reached a proper end, and often, the people surrounding those who had finished the full course didn’t seem quite as sad.
An Jing even saw a white “Double Happiness” character pasted on the glass door of one mourning hall. Inside, a group of people was handing out cigarettes and red envelopes, their faces brimming with smiles that made it feel less like a wake and more like a celebration for a newborn baby.
This was An Jing’s first time experiencing someone’s passing from such a close distance.
It seemed that not every life’s end was painful. Some brought relief or joy. Furthermore, those who were consumed by agony, wailing over the coffin, were actually a tiny minority. Most people appeared composed and calm, as if they had practiced the departure of those around them in their minds countless times.
A person’s death didn’t seem to be a particularly violent or intense event.
Lost in thought, An Jing wandered into the men’s room. Looking at the slogan “Come in a hurry, leave with a flush,” she subconsciously started to pull down her pants. It wasn’t until the slightly cool air reached her body that she snapped out of it with a shiver.
‘I took the wrong way…’ she muttered as she backed out of the men’s room and walked into the women’s room next door.
The public restroom at the funeral home wasn’t very clean and had a foul odor, so An Jing relieved herself in a hurry. She quickly walked to the sink at the entrance to wash her hands, and it wasn’t until she was walking back under her umbrella that she finally felt safe enough to take a deep breath.
On a normal school day, she would be playing games in front of her computer at this time. A little later, she would be holding a carton of whole milk or yogurt, comfortably watching two episodes of anime before preparing for bed.
But now, the night had only just begun, and it was a long way until dawn. Consequently, An Jing, who usually wouldn’t be tired at this hour, couldn’t help but yawn several times.
‘I never feel sleepy when I’m thinking about how I must go to bed, but now that I can’t sleep, I feel exhausted. Really…’ She teased herself, yawning repeatedly as she pushed the door back into her uncle’s mourning hall.
The sound of sutra chanting played on a loop in the hall. If one listened closely, they would realize it was Uncle’s voice.
This wasn’t a ghost story, of course.
In fact, Uncle had been the person in charge of the Shrine—a role roughly equivalent to a priest in a church. It was just that because there wasn’t much work to do normally, he didn’t appear at the Shrine very often.
When someone in the village passed away, he would go to chant sutras for their transition. Later, to make it easier for people on other islands, he recorded an audio clip of himself.
However, the fact that this audio he recorded was now being used for himself made An Jing feel a bit strange.
‘Is this his own way of seeing himself off?’
(2)
The hour hand on the wall clock had already reached the 10. Many of the village women gathered there had begun to yawn, and their chatter had grown sparse. Sometimes they would spend 2 or 3 minutes silently folding paper gold ingots until someone suddenly spoke up to pick up the previous thread of conversation.
The inner room, however, remained lively. Someone was even slamming cards down and shouting things like “Bomb them!” Of course, the air quality in there had worsened, reaching a point where visibility had actually dropped. Looking through the wooden door’s glass pane, nothing could be seen clearly except for several figures moving around.
Yu Mingfei was lying with her head on Yu Minghui’s lap, playing a box-pushing game on her phone. Grandfather sat near the door, puffing on his pipe.
“Dad, are you going to sleep?” The second aunt, Yu Qingfeng, pushed open the back door and walked into the room with a gust of damp wind. She looked toward Grandfather sitting by the door.
“What?”
“Are — you — going — to — sleep?”
“No.”
“It’s still early.”
“I can’t sleep.” Grandfather took another puff of his pipe and exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke. “Qingfeng, go make me something to drink. I’m hungry.”
“Want some Egg Yellow Rice Wine?”
“I’ll have some.”
“Does anyone else want some? I’ll make it for everyone at once.”
“Aunt Qingfeng, I want some!” Yu Mingfei raised her hand high.
“Alright. Besides Feifei, do any of the other women want some?”
“I’ll take a cup too, thank you, Auntie,” Yu Minghui looked up and said softly.
“Okay. I’ll go inside and ask if those men want any.”
The moment Aunt Qingfeng pushed open the door to the inner room, she coughed for several seconds. She fanned the air as she walked in and asked loudly. Many people inside responded — on a rainy night like this, a warm cup of Egg Yellow Rice Wine was something many men were happy to have.
After counting the heads, Aunt Qingfeng went outside the back door to get busy.
There wasn’t a kitchen here, but there was an open space behind the back door. They had brought over a coal stove to boil water or cook noodles.
Using it to cook Egg Yellow Rice Wine was, naturally, not a problem.
Aunt Qingfeng made an extra large batch. Even those who hadn’t asked for any earlier were given a small cup.
After the warm rice wine hit their stomachs, the people in the room seemed to perk up again. The women began gossiping about their neighbors once more. At the start, most of the talk was still related to Uncle, but as they continued, the topics drifted further and further away.
In this dark night, every minute seemed exceptionally long.
An Jing thought she had been playing Snake for 2 or 3 hours, but when she looked up, she realized only 10 minutes had passed.
‘If only I had a game console…’ Her eyes began to lose focus, her upper and lower eyelids battling each other. Her head began to nod rhythmically, like a chicken pecking at grain.
“Jing, are you tired?” Yu Minghui asked softly, lowering her voice.
“A little…” An Jing shook her head vigorously. “But I also feel a bit hungry.”
“I told you to eat some noodles when we first got here,” Yu Mingfei teased with a smile. “Hungry now, aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t hungry when we first arrived…”
“There are some instant noodles in the trunk of the car. Ask Aunt Qingfeng for some hot water, brew a bowl, and eat. “
“Okay.” An Jing scratched her head. “Can I eat in the car? I’ll just lie down for a bit after I’m done.”
“That’s fine, but remember to crack the window for some ventilation while you eat, or the whole car will smell like instant noodles.”
“Got it.”
Hearing that An Jing was going to lie down for a while, Yu Mingfei couldn’t help but yawn. “Ha—hoo… I’m tired too.”
“Do you want to go sleep for a bit as well, Feifei?”
“No, I’ll stay with you. Otherwise, you’ll be bored all by yourself.”
“I’m actually fine.” Yu Minghui picked up that copy of *Story Session* and continued reading under the dim yellow light. “If you’re bored, Feifei, you can go to the car and grab a few more copies of *Story Session* to read.”
“Reading *Story Session* in a place like this? I’ll pass… It’s full of ghost stories. It’s creepy.”
“Those are just stories to pass the time.”
“The problem is, this is a funeral home…”
“That’s nothing. Stories are just stories in the end.” Yu Minghui smiled faintly and gently rubbed Yu Mingfei’s earlobe. “You’re not a child anymore, Feifei.”
“Hmph… I’d rather keep thinking of myself as a child…”
(3)
An Jing sat in the car and lowered the window slightly, holding a steaming bucket of instant noodles in her hands.
At this moment, it seemed exceptionally delicious and inviting. Even though it had only just started soaking, the aroma was already drifting through the air.
Normally, instant noodles were considered a humble meal, but right now, being able to eat a hot bucket of them felt like a luxury.
Not to mention, An Jing had added one marinated egg and two ham sausages — the thought of the sandy texture of a marinated egg yolk softened by the broth made her mouth water.
‘It’s only a little after 10:00 PM.’ An Jing rested her head against the window. A bit of rainwater was blown onto her face by the wind, providing a refreshing chill. ‘There are still 6 hours until 4:00 AM. It would be great if I could spend this time playing games… or even reading a novel. Oh right, I remember Sister Huihui keeps some magazines in the car. Let’s see if there’s anything good.’
Muttering to herself, An Jing held the noodle bucket with one hand and began rummaging through the space between the back seat and the rear windshield. ‘Why is it all *Story Session*? Aren’t there any comics…?’