Li Jingqiu also stood by the coffin these past two days, feeling as if Lin Ting were still beside her.
“Heaven let her have a strange illness, then allowed her body not to decay after death. Sometimes, I don’t know whether to hate heaven or thank it.”
She walked over and held Lin Ting’s hand.
Except for being excessively cold and immobile, the touch felt as soft as before.
Li Jingqiu looked at Lin Ting for a moment and murmured, “No. Even if heaven lets her body remain unspoiled, I still hate heaven.”
She hated how heaven masked its cruelty with a little affection.
Duan Ling just listened, silent.
After hanging the incense sachet, he took out a golden hairpin and placed it in her hair.
Lin Ting loved gold and silver jewelry.
The coffin was filled with gold and silver ornaments; even the embroidery on her red dress was stitched with gold and silver threads.
Duan Ling took her other hand.
Li Jingqiu quietly left the Spirit Hall, letting them be alone for a while.
Outside, Li Jingqiu walked until she reached the big tree covered with red Prayer Ribbons.
It was originally Lin Ting’s hope for survival but had witnessed her death two days ago.
Thinking of this, Li Jingqiu felt a sharp pain in her chest.
She slowly squatted down to catch her breath.
A servant approached holding a Prayer Ribbon.
“Madam Li, we found this on the ground. Would you like to hang it back?”
Li Jingqiu steadied herself against the tree, took it, and, on impulse, read aloud the words on the ribbon: “May Lin Ting be free from illness and disaster, and may her mother be safe and well.”
The blessing was for Lin Ting, so why did someone write her mother’s name too?
Li Jingqiu felt puzzled and flipped the ribbon over, discovering the writer had not signed it.
Normally, the back of a Prayer Ribbon would have the name of the person who wrote it.
Why was this one unsigned?
Had they forgotten or purposely left it blank?
The more Li Jingqiu thought, the stranger it seemed.
Who would call Lin Ting “this girl” like that?
Such a term would only be used by elderly elders.
Neither Madam Feng nor Duan Father would say that, nor would Third Master Lin.
On the day of the blessing, Third Master Lin hadn’t even come, much less write such words.
Li Jingqiu snapped out of her daze.
The servant, noticing her long silence, called out, “Madam Li?”
Li Jingqiu came back to herself. “Bring a ladder. I’ll hang it back up.”
No matter what, someone had specially written this Prayer Ribbon for Lin Ting.
Even if it was useless, it deserved to be rehung.
“Yes.” The servant went to get the ladder.
Li Jingqiu climbed the ladder and personally hung the unsigned Prayer Ribbon back.
Jin Anazi did not break his promise.
Despite the wind and rain, he came on time the next day to deliver the painting to Duan Ling.
Lin Ting’s second painting no longer showed people but Lianxin Lake in full bloom with lotus flowers.
Duan Ling remembered Lianxin Lake.
They had once gone boating there during the Lotus Viewing Festival; Lin Ting and Duan Xinning had released lotus lanterns from the deck.
He looked over the painting again and again.
On the right side were words: “I hug you because I like you, of course. Now, guess why I painted this lake for you. The answer is still in the next painting.”
Perhaps Lin Ting had been influenced by Duan Ling’s frequent use of the word “like.”
Saying or writing “I like you” no longer felt hesitant.
Duan Ling gently touched the words “I like you,” silently repeating them in his heart.
Jin Anazi, just like yesterday, left immediately after delivering the painting.
He only talked more when exchanging barbs with Lin Ting; otherwise, he was taciturn and spoke little without necessity.
Duan Ling didn’t notice when Jin Anazi left.
He stared at the painting for an hour, as if truly trying to guess why Lin Ting wanted to paint the lake for him.
Night was approaching the watch time.
Duan Ling rolled up the painting like last time, not looking at it anymore.
Before keeping watch, Duan Ling went back to bathe.
During his bath, he lit an agarwood incense burner in the room, scenting his shroud.
Lin Ting loved this smell; just tying incense sachets on her wasn’t enough—he had to carry the scent on himself too.
The room was filled with fragrant smoke, permeating every corner.
The agarwood scent was strong.
Duan Ling sat in the bath, eyes closed.
Soon, he heard Lin Ting’s voice calling his name: “Duan Ziyu.”
He opened his eyes.
No one was there.
His eyes reddened slightly from the steam, his exquisite face showing a trace of resentment mixed with sorrow.
His hand clenched, uncontrollably tearing the cloth he used for bathing.
He got out of the bath, his long hair dripping wet, strands stuck to his pale collarbones.
Duan Ling put on the scarlet clothes Lin Ting had bought for him, then wore the shroud over them.
The clash of red and white colors.
He paced to the dressing table and looked at the jewelry Lin Ting had worn.
The gold and silver pieces in the coffin were newly bought; the ones she had actually used were still in the room, untouched.
Duan Ling’s expression was indifferent.
He picked up a sharp golden hairpin and lightly sliced his wrist.
A small wound appeared.
He didn’t use much force; only a little blood flowed.
Even so, the small wound covered the earlier wound not long ago.
If one wound could cover another, could pain also cover pain?
Since Lin Ting’s death, waves of ache had been rising in Duan Ling’s chest without pause.
Just as he wanted to gain new pain by cutting his wrist to cover the pain in his heart, the hairpin slipped from his palm, hitting the carpet with a dull, unpleasant sound.
Duan Ling was momentarily distracted.
After a moment, he bent down to pick up the hairpin, held it for a long time, then put it back in the jewelry box and took a hemp cloth to dry his long hair.
The mirror on the dressing table reflected Duan Ling—delicate features, red lips, white teeth, long black hair like ink.
Like a seductive ghost or a painted demon, wearing a perfect facade to beguile others.
Beneath the shroud, the scarlet clothes seemed to flicker faintly.
Before going out to the Spirit Hall for the watch, Duan Ling adjusted the collar of his shroud, hiding the scarlet clothes.
Tonight, he was the only one keeping watch.
Li Jingqiu was too old to endure consecutive watches; Duan Xinning was pregnant and couldn’t do it.
Madam Feng and Duan Father wanted to come, but Duan Ling refused.
The night was dark and quiet.
Duan Ling sat in the Spirit Hall, burning a thick stack of joss paper.
The wind blew in, stirring the ashes and extinguishing some candles.
Duan Ling pushed the burning basin aside, used another candle to relight the extinguished ones.
Once all the candles were lit, he went to the coffin again, reached in to push aside the gold and silver jewelry, then climbed in and lay down beside Lin Ting, letting her head rest on his arm.
The next morning, the servants who came to clean the Spirit Hall saw Duan Ling come out of the coffin and exchanged glances, speechless for a long while.
Their Second Young Master had actually slept with a corpse all night!
Lin Ting was indeed the young madam, but she was dead.
Regardless of her status, a corpse was a corpse.
Having lived for so many years, they had never seen anyone hug a corpse to sleep.
They looked at Duan Ling and finally stammered a greeting, “Second Young Master.”
Duan Ling nodded in response, seemingly unaware that his behavior was inappropriate.
He put the gold and silver jewelry back where it belonged and calmly went to fetch water to wash.
This incident quickly spread.
Madam Feng came to the Spirit Hall without even eating breakfast, worriedly asking, “Ziyu, were you too tired during the watch last night?”
Duan Ling replied, “I’m fine.”
She looked at the coffin.
“I heard from the servants that you slept inside the coffin last night. If you’re tired, go rest; I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m not tired.”
Madam Feng urged, “If not tired, then why did you go into the coffin?”
Duan Ling sat back down by the burning basin, now cleared of ashes by the servants.
“Because I wanted to feel the place Lin Ting has lain for the past two days. What’s wrong with that?”
“Ziyu, the dead cannot come back to life.” Madam Feng had said the same to Li Jingqiu.
He smiled softly, “I know.”
In the blink of an eye, the day of Lin Ting’s Shouqi arrived.
Jin Anazi came early to deliver the painting.
After giving it, Jin Anazi left Duan Ling’s courtyard but stayed in the Duan residence because Lin Ting was to be buried today, and he had to attend the Funeral Procession.
This time, Duan Ling didn’t open the painting immediately.
He sat on the bench beneath the big tree in the courtyard, listening to the rustling of the Prayer Ribbons in the wind.
After about fifteen minutes, Duan Ling finally looked at the painting.
Several days later, Lin Ting’s figure appeared again on the painting.
She was reaching out to him, her skirt and long hair mixed with silk ribbons fluttering.
Duan Ling raised his hand, as if trying to grasp Lin Ting’s hand reaching toward him through the painting.
But all he touched was a cold, lifeless sheet of paper.
This painting had no words.
He lowered his hand.
A servant hurried up to Duan Ling, hesitating before asking, “Second Young Master, Madam asked me to ask when the Funeral Procession will start?”
The Funeral Procession meant Lin Ting would no longer appear in the Duan family, leaving behind only a cold ancestral tablet.
Duan Ling stood up holding the painting, a faint smile on his face, approachable.
“Once I change my clothes, we’ll start the Funeral Procession.”
With that, he returned to his room to change.
When he came out, he still wore black boots, the white shroud on the outside, scarlet clothes inside, but now with a sharp dagger at his waist.
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