The doctors finally approached to take Lin Ting’s pulse.
During the process, everyone held their breath in unison.
Although they knew Lin Ting was dead, seeing Duan Ling so determined to have her pulse taken involuntarily gave them a flicker of hope.
Time passed slowly.
The doctors took the pulse for less than a quarter of an hour, but it felt like an hour to the onlookers.
Li Jingqiu’s heart raced; she wanted to urge the doctors to hurry, but was afraid to disturb them.
When the doctors finished, their expressions were unanimous, and so was the result—Lin Ting was indeed dead.
Li Jingqiu felt utterly desolate.
Jin Anazi, hearing this, looked disappointed, lowering his head to the paper-covered ground, then at the coffin, the scent of incense burning for the funeral filling his nose.
Duan Ling’s grip on Lin Ting’s hand was slightly stiff, but his face showed nothing.
He casually called the servants to give the doctors some silver coins and said softly, “You may leave now.”
The doctors, feeling as if freed, accepted the silver, bowed respectfully to Lin Ting, then immediately left with the servants.
The Spirit Hall fell into a brief silence.
Finally, Madam Feng broke the quiet.
“Ziyu, it’s time to begin the funeral.”
There were auspicious and inauspicious times for funerals; they had to finish before the auspicious hour ended.
Duan Ling rubbed his palm.
“Mm.”
“It’s also time to seal the coffin.”
Madam Feng separated Duan Ling’s hand from Lin Ting’s and gestured for the servants to bring long nails to seal the coffin.
Just as the servants approached with the nails, Duan Ling suddenly said, “Wait.”
Madam Feng recalled the rumors that Duan Ling had lain in the coffin with Lin Ting and worried he might refuse to let her be buried, wanting to keep the body with him—something that would cause trouble.
“What is it?”
Duan Ling pulled the heavy coffin lid closed by himself, preventing them from nailing it shut.
“We can seal it after the burial place. There’s no rush.”
Madam Feng turned her Buddhist prayer beads calmly.
“Ziyu, that’s not proper.”
Duan Ling closed the coffin lid; Lin Ting’s face instantly disappeared from sight.
His fingertips twitched with the urge to touch her again but he held back.
“Rules are dead things; people are alive.”
Madam Feng said nothing for now, looking to Li Jingqiu, clearly seeking her opinion.
Li Jingqiu looked at the closed coffin and spoke at the right moment.
“It doesn’t matter. I want to see Leyun a few more times before she is buried.”
To look at Lin Ting a little longer, she was willing to bend the rules.
Madam Feng said no more.
In truth, she wasn’t really opposed to Duan Ling’s actions but worried Li Jingqiu might mind.
After all, he had recently been doing many things that broke tradition regarding Lin Ting.
Since Li Jingqiu did not object, Madam Feng saw no reason to interfere.
The funeral began with the sound of suona horns.
Sixteen men carefully carried the coffin out of the Duan family gate.
Duan Ling held the memorial tablet engraved with Lin Ting’s name and led the funeral procession.
The guide walked further ahead, scattering Paper Money as he went.
From a distance, the ground looked like a vast white sea.
The funeral procession passed through several streets before reaching the city gate to leave Jingcheng for the burial.
It was customary for commoners to clear the way when seeing a funeral procession, standing silently along both sides of the street.
People noticed the tall, handsome man holding the memorial tablet, dressed in white mourning cloth over his head and tied with hemp rope at his waist.
Someone recognized him and exclaimed, “Isn’t that the second young master of the Duan family?”
Lin Ting was not an empress, so her death was not publicly announced.
Thus, some Jingcheng citizens knew through gossip that she had recently passed, while others remained unaware.
A butcher who followed Jingcheng gossip replied, “Yes, it’s the second young master Duan.”
“Who died?”
Only someone close to Duan Ling would have the honor of having him carry their memorial tablet.
The butcher sighed, “The seventh young miss of the Lin family, who is also the second young master Duan’s wife. She fell ill with a strange disease and passed away recently.”
Mentioning the seventh young miss of the Lin family jogged memories.
Lin Ting’s public proposal to Duan Ling on his birthday had caused a great stir; almost everyone in Jingcheng knew the story.
An onlooker scholar said, “If I recall correctly, they had been married less than a year.”
A woman covered her child’s eyes to prevent her from seeing the funeral procession and lamented, “Yes, fate is cruel. They had been married less than a year before being separated by life and death. I even picked up their wedding money outside the Duan family gate.”
Another person agreed, “I picked up plenty of their wedding money too. Such a pity, seeing such a talented couple.”
As the funeral procession drew nearer, the crowd hushed until it passed.
The suona horns played continuously.
Duan Ling kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, stroking the memorial tablet, always resting his fingers on Lin Ting’s name.
Li Jingqiu and Duan Xinning walked beside the coffin, crying freely—after all, the day of the funeral was one for letting grief run wild.
Jin Anazi followed behind them, supporting them when their crying left them weak.
Once outside Jingcheng, the Paper Money had been scattered along the entire way.
Duan Ling glanced back at the coffin, motionless, and his fingers tightened.
Just before crushing the memorial tablet, he restrained himself, and it remained intact.
He looked up at the sky.
Countless pieces of Paper Money swirled in the air, blown high by the wind, some caught in the trees outside the city.
The cold wind fluttered the Paper Money and seeped into his sleeves, stirring the silk ribbons on his wrist.
Suddenly, the sound of the suona stopped.
The sixteen pallbearers halted, standing neatly at the edge of the graveyard, waiting for Duan Ling’s order.
There were customs governing when to place the coffin in the grave, and they dared not act without permission.
But two quarters of an hour passed without Duan Ling’s command.
They looked anxiously toward Madam Feng and Duan Father, who regarded the sky.
Madam Feng thought to wait another half quarter hour.
If he still gave no order, she would intervene.
Half a quarter hour passed quickly.
Madam Feng and Duan Father exchanged a glance and approached Duan Ling.
Just then, Duan Ling spoke.
“Place the coffin.”
The pallbearers lifted and gently lowered the coffin into the large pit already dug in the graveyard.
The coffin was still unsealed.
Madam Feng instructed the pallbearers, “Open the coffin first, then seal it.”
This was so they could see Lin Ting one last time before burial.
She had not forgotten that Li Jingqiu agreed to postpone sealing the coffin until here because—
“Yes, Madam.”
The pallbearers pushed open the coffin lid, revealing Lin Ting inside.
At this moment, all eyes focused on the coffin.
The pallbearers moved steadily.
Lin Ting’s bright red dress showed no sign of disturbance; her hands were still naturally folded over her front.
Li Jingqiu gazed greedily at Lin Ting, wanting to memorize her face.
After all, every glance was one less.
Although Li Jingqiu possessed portraits of Lin Ting, looking at a painting never felt the same as seeing the real person.
Meanwhile, Duan Ling stepped down into the burial pit.
Madam Feng’s eyes reddened slightly but did not stop him.
This truly was their final farewell, and it was only natural he wanted to look carefully at Lin Ting one last time.
Duan Ling bent down to gaze at Lin Ting, but spoke to the others: “You all go rest in the forest ahead. I want to speak with her.”
“A quarter of an hour later, we will seal the coffin and bury her.”
Though there was no precedent for this, Madam Feng did not oppose it, replying, “Very well. We’ll return in fifteen minutes to seal the coffin and complete the burial.”
Li Jingqiu glanced back repeatedly.
Duan Xinning did the same, unwilling to leave Lin Ting, but also not wanting to disturb Duan Ling.
Only he remained near the coffin.
Duan Ling held the silk ribbon woven into Lin Ting’s hair and bent down to press a light kiss on her forehead, like a dragonfly’s touch, lingering long before pulling away.
“You promised to fly kites with me outside the city… but you broke your word…”
He didn’t say more.
The Paper Money on the ground was stirred by the wind, and one piece drifted into the grave pit, falling inside the coffin.
Duan Ling picked it up and threw it back out.
The Paper Money lay quietly on the earth.
Duan Ling straightened, lifted the white mourning cloth from his head, then tore off the hemp rope at his waist.
The outer shroud fell to the ground, revealing the blood-red robe underneath.
He entered the coffin again.
The red robe and Lin Ting’s red dress slowly overlapped, as if they had returned to their wedding day.
Duan Ling wrapped one arm around Lin Ting and with the other pulled out a dagger, placing it against his own neck.
Under the sun, the dagger gleamed coldly.
Just as Duan Ling was about to make the cut, a cold, icy hand grasped his wrist.
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