This was a painting rolled up.
Duan Ling took the painting from Jin Anazi’s hands, untied the red cord binding it, and spread it out to look.
Jin Anazi had never peeked at the painting Lin Ting had entrusted to him.
Now, seeing that Duan Ling didn’t care whether he looked or not, he couldn’t help but glance over.
There were two people in the painting—one was Lin Ting, the other was Duan Ling.
It depicted her spreading her arms to embrace Duan Ling, the red silk ribbon entwined around his shoulder, their skirt hems and coat edges pressed closely together.
When Jin Anazi saw Duan Ling in the painting, he instinctively turned his head to look at him.
But Duan Ling seemed unaware of Jin Anazi’s gaze, his full attention fixed on the painting.
Lin Ting’s drawing skills were as rough as ever; the clothes were sketched hastily with a few strokes, outlining only the general shape.
Only their faces were relatively clear.
He lightly touched Lin Ting’s side profile, then looked at the right side of the painting, where a small line of text was written: “This is the first painting. Guess why I’m hugging you. The answer is in the next painting.”
Jin Anazi also saw the words and thought to himself how childish Lin Ting had become just before she died, leaving paintings for others to guess.
Duan Ling rolled up the painting, raised his eyes to Jin Anazi, and asked, “Where is the next painting?”
Jin Anazi glanced toward the Spirit Hall, the white funeral banners ominously fluttering in his peripheral vision, making his eyes sting.
“Lin Leyun told me to give it to you tomorrow, so I didn’t bring it today.”
He lowered his gaze to the red cord between his fingers and methodically tied it back around the painting roll, tying the knot just like Lin Ting did, the two ends dangling down: “Why wait until tomorrow to give it to me?”
Jin Anazi pressed his lips together.
“I don’t know. She didn’t say, just told me to do it this way.”
Lin Ting had said that if anything happened to her, these paintings should be given to Duan Ling one by one.
Jin Anazi had thought it was strange at the time, but now it seemed that Lin Ting must have known she was suffering from a strange illness and that her time was limited.
Duan Ling pondered, his long lashes shadowing the emotions in his eyes.
“How many paintings are there in total?”
Jin Anazi didn’t hide it.
“Six.”
Starting from the day after Lin Ting’s death, one painting every day, continuing until her Shouqi.
Lin Ting hadn’t left things only for Duan Ling; she had also prepared items for others.
After delivering the paintings to Duan Ling, Jin Anazi still had to deliver things to her mother Li Jingqiu, Duan Xinning, and Tao Zhu.
Jin Anazi suspected he owed Lin Ting in a past life; even after her death, she was still causing him trouble.
The key was Lin Ting had left only one letter for him, with only a few words inside: “Trouble for you. I believe in you. Also, don’t be sad—show the spirit you used to have when we argued.”
Sad?
Of course, he wouldn’t be sad over someone so heartless.
At this point, she still treated them differently.
Jin Anazi nearly tore the letter after reading it yesterday.
If she had written a few more words… but she was truly gone.
In the end, he didn’t tear it.
Though Lin Ting had written to him before, this was the last letter; there would be no more.
Jin Anazi realized this and felt a complicated, indescribable emotion.
Suddenly, Duan Ling said, “What if I want to see all the paintings today?”
Jin Anazi looked him straight in the eye and said, “I think Lin Ting, wherever she is, wouldn’t be happy. Lord Duan shouldn’t want to make her unhappy either.”
Lin Ting had taught Jin Anazi to say this.
It had to be admitted she knew Duan Ling very well, almost as if she could guess what he would say or do and prepare accordingly.
It was uncertain whether Duan Ling would actually change his mind because of this.
Jin Anazi felt uneasy; Lin Ting definitely didn’t want to see them have conflicts.
The sunset gradually faded, the dusk creeping in, merging people’s shadows into the gloom.
Duan Ling looked at the shadow on the ground and smiled faintly, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Then for the next few days, I’ll trouble Young Master Jin to bring me the paintings.”
Jin Anazi hadn’t expected Duan Ling to smile.
Though the smile looked normal, it felt strange.
After all, Lin Ting had only just died, everyone was still grieving and shedding tears, yet he could still smile.
Could it be that Duan Ling wasn’t sad at all?
Jin Anazi forced himself to ignore the strange feeling in his heart and said nothing.
“Don’t worry. Since I promised her, I will definitely do it. I’ll bring the paintings every morning for the next few days.”
Even though Jin Anazi didn’t understand why Lin Ting wanted to give the paintings separately, he would follow through.
Duan Ling nodded.
Jin Anazi glanced once more at the Spirit Hall but didn’t enter to look at Lin Ting.
Not looking was uncomfortable, but looking was even more so.
He decided not to look.
“I have things to do, I’ll leave first.”
Duan Ling stroked the painting, called over the nearby servants, and asked them to escort Jin Anazi out.
He spoke in his usual tone, “Young Master Jin, take care. I need to stay and keep watch, so I won’t see you off.”
Jin Anazi left.
Duan Ling stood there a moment, his smile fading somewhat.
The courtyard was empty and cold winds blew from all directions, swirling around his thin white shroud and the painting in his hands.
He first went back to his room to put away this painting, then returned to the Spirit Hall to watch over the coffin with Li Jingqiu.
Though it was late now, a few people still came occasionally to pay respects.
The Lin family arrived late.
They were Lin Ting’s so-called “birth family,” yet came so late to mourn.
Li Jingqiu pretended not to see them, but Third Master Lin insisted on approaching her.
“Leyun really had no luck. She finally married Ziyu, yet at such a young age…”
“Get lost.” She knew Third Master Lin wasn’t grieving Lin Ting’s death, but rather for his own inability to use the Duan family to advance.
After all, few men who lost their wives didn’t remarry, and when they did, they usually no longer cared about their deceased wife’s family.
Third Master Lin was displeased.
“What do you mean by that? No matter what, I am Leyun’s father.”
Li Jingqiu grabbed something and threw it at Third Master Lin, questioning, “You still have the face to call yourself Leyun’s father? Where were you when we were praying for Leyun? Where were you when she passed away?”
Third Master Lin couldn’t dodge in time and got hit, his face bruised.
“You’re disgraceful!”
Duan Ling found the commotion a bit much.
Li Jingqiu forcibly suppressed her raging anger, not wanting Third Master Lin to spoil the mourning atmosphere.
“If you don’t leave now, don’t blame me for being rude.”
He thought she was unreasonable.
He knew Lin Ting never regarded him as her father.
Li Jingqiu knew this too—she neither taught Lin Ting nor corrected her but indulged her.
For a father like him, just coming to mourn was already going above and beyond.
Yet Li Jingqiu still wanted to drive him away?
But Lin Ting was dead.
The IOU for 3,000 taels he owed her was probably null and void now.
Third Master Lin secretly began plotting.
Li Jingqiu didn’t know what was on his mind, only wanting to get him to leave quickly.
“Still not leaving?”
Lin Shu wiped her tears with a handkerchief, pulled Third Master Lin back from advancing, and quietly said, “Father, let’s go. Seventh Sister wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
Though the two sisters weren’t close, Lin Shu remembered the kindness Lin Ting had shown her.
When she heard Lin Ting was ill, she wanted to visit the Duan family but was stopped by Shen Concubine.
Shen Concubine was superstitious, thinking Lin Ting was ominous and afraid she’d pass illness to Lin Shu.
It wasn’t until after Lin Ting died that Shen Concubine allowed Lin Shu to come pay respects.
Lin Shu regretted not coming to see her one last time.
Third Master Lin glared back at Lin Shu and blurted out, “You’re just like your Seventh Sister, always selfish.”
Lin Shu shuddered.
Duan Ling heard the words, looked up, and for once gave Third Master Lin a direct gaze.
Though Li Jingqiu disliked Shen Concubine and her daughter Lin Shu, seeing Third Master Lin only able to bully at home disgusted her.
“Are you leaving or not?”
Before Third Master Lin could answer, Duan Ling ordered a servant to “escort” him out.
Lin Shu quickly bowed toward the coffin and left.
No one knew that on the way back to the mansion, Third Master Lin had an accident and had his arm crushed by a carriage.
When the news reached the Spirit Hall, Li Jingqiu was indifferent.
As long as he lived and could use his other hand to sign the divorce papers, it was fine.
Whether Third Master Lin lived or died, she no longer wanted to carry the title of his wife.
After everyone left, Duan Ling stood by the coffin looking at Lin Ting.
Her body still looked lifelike, with no sign of rigor mortis.
He took off the incense sachet filled with agarwood from his waist and hung it on Lin Ting’s skirt.
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