Chapter 162: Returning to Westgate City (3)

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Qian Yin immediately took two hundred yuan from her bag and placed it in the old man’s hand. From among the flowers, she chose the most beautiful and vivid red rose. Cradling it in her arms, she glanced once more at the gravestone before her. After a moment’s thought, she smiled faintly, then bent down and gently laid the rose before the stone.

A golden glint flashed through the old man’s eyes, as though he were delighted. He quickly tucked the money into his clothes, then turned to Mo Lan and An Feng with a beaming smile. His eyes seemed to ask, Young lady, young master, would you like to buy some flowers?

An Feng and Mo Lan first glanced around at the surrounding gravestones, checking whether anyone else was nearby. Why had neither of them sensed the old man’s presence before?

At his words, the corners of Mo Lan and An Feng’s mouths twitched violently. Had this old man gone mad for money? He had actually come to a cemetery to sell things. Was he not afraid that someone would come looking for him?

But they did need flowers. An Feng immediately took out four hundred yuan and handed it to the old man. He took two bouquets and placed them before the gravestone, then quietly stood beside Qian Yin as she gazed at it. The old man, however, had no intention of leaving. He simply kept watching them.

From time to time, Mo Lan and An Feng glanced back at the strange old man. He said nothing else, yet they could not help wondering why he had not left. Had they not paid him enough, or did he want to see what they were planning to do?

Qian Yin had devoted herself entirely to the gravestone marked with Leng Xue’s name. Only after staring at it for a long while did she turn back toward Mo Lan and An Feng—and notice the strange old man.

“Grandfather, why haven’t you left yet? Are you staying here because you want to hear what we’re saying, or because you think we didn’t pay you enough?” Qian Yin was straightforward by nature. She was displeased to see him lingering there and had nearly asked An Feng and Mo Lan to leave. What was this outsider still doing here?

“Don’t misunderstand. I only wanted to ask whether you still need some ghost money—the kind used for the dead. You don’t seem to have much experience. And what about incense sticks? Do you need those too?” The old man showed not the slightest restraint. He ran toward the back, then returned carrying a basket of incense sticks and a stack of white paper.

This time, not only did Mo Lan and An Feng’s mouths twitch—even Qian Yin could not stop herself from rolling her eyes. How could this old man be such a shrewd merchant? He had actually brought his business all the way into a cemetery.

“Give me one of everything.”

Qian Yin took out several hundred yuan once more. Whatever was needed below, she would prepare it for Leng Xue as well. From now on, whenever there was a festival or special occasion, she would learn what to do and make the proper offerings to An Feng.

“Of course. And what about the young master and young lady?”

The old man grinned as he handed the items to Qian Yin, then fixed his eyes directly on Mo Lan and An Feng.

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Mo Lan and An Feng had no choice but to take out their money, purchase the offerings, and, like Qian Yin, “send” them over to Leng Xue. After they had finished bowing and paying their respects, Qian Yin gave the old man an unfriendly look.

The old man laughed sheepishly as he walked away, looking thoroughly satisfied. Once his back was turned, an unreadable expression appeared on his face, and he left at astonishing speed. In the blink of an eye, he had vanished.

Only after the old man was gone did the three of them finally relax. They looked around. A cold wind swept past, and all three shivered at once before turning their eyes back to Leng Xue’s gravestone.

Qian Yin lowered her head and stared at the stone. The emotions in her heart could no longer be restrained. She raised her head quickly and swallowed the sob that had risen into her throat. After struggling with herself for a long while, she finally choked out, “You two go back first. I want to stay here alone for a while.”

Mo Lan wanted to say something, but An Feng caught her and quickly said, “We won’t go far. We’ll wait outside for you. Say whatever you need to say, but don’t stay here too long—it’s cold. We’ll be in Ximen City for several days, so we can come here every day.”

With that, An Feng immediately dragged Mo Lan outside, leaving her no opportunity to protest. It was time to give Qian Yin some space and let her slowly come to terms with what had happened. Holding her too tightly would only leave a rebellious resentment buried in her heart.

Qian Yin silently let herself slide down until she was sitting on the ground. She gazed quietly at the photograph before her, then reached out to touch the handsome face in it. A faint smile appeared at the corners of her lips, but tears slowly welled in her eyes.

“Do you know how much I miss you?”

“I really miss you. I miss you so much.”

“When will you come back to see me?”

Qian Yin spoke as though she were talking to herself. The longer she went on, the more her voice broke. A gentle breeze passed by, yet she did not feel cold in the slightest. Her heart had long since frozen through. She had been forcing herself to smile, but in truth, she was not happy at all. The person who had loved her most was gone. What did she have left to be happy about?

Her sobs grew louder. Qian Yin pressed her lips tightly together, telling herself again and again that she could not cry. He would hear her. He would grieve for her. He would not want her to be sad.

Beside another gravestone stood a man wearing sunglasses. A scar crossed his face, and his clenched fists creaked with tension.

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A look of heartache flashed in his eyes, mingled with a strange fury.

He had been watching Qian Yin the entire time. Every tear that fell caused a sharp pain to seize his heart. He had not followed her there. By chance, he had discovered that what was supposedly his corpse had been buried in this place, so he had come to see it for himself. He had never expected Qian Yin to be there as well.

When Leng Xue saw Qian Yin collapse onto the ground and cry over his supposed remains, the pain in his heart became unbearable. In the end, however, he let go. His fists loosened, and he merely watched in silence. There was nothing he could do.

That woman was crying for him, yet he could not step forward to embrace her. He could not tell her that he was still alive, that he still loved her, that he still wanted to protect her.

They were destined to remain a regret.

Qian Yin stayed there alone for a long time, speaking blankly to the gravestone. At times she laughed aloud; at times she wept bitterly; at times she covered her face with both hands, releasing every emotion she had held inside for so long.

At last, she had laughed enough and cried enough. She rose slowly and looked once more at the person in the photograph on the gravestone.

Then she said gently, “I’m leaving now. I’ll come see you again tomorrow.”

After saying this, Qian Yin broke into a light run and hurried out of the cemetery without looking back at the gravestone even once, afraid that if she did, she would never be able to leave. Only she—and Heaven—knew how reluctant she was to part with Leng Xue, and how desperately she wanted to remain by his side.

Mo Lan and An Feng had been waiting outside the cemetery for some time before they saw Qian Yin emerge at a run. Mo Lan noticed that her eyes were red. She stepped forward, patted Qian Yin on the shoulder, then clasped her hand tightly and pulled her into the car.

An Feng turned back for one last look at the cemetery. It was so quiet. The sky above it was a murky gray-black, as though this place had never known a day of light. It was the resting place of the dead—their home in the human world.

An Feng let out a deep sigh and climbed into the car. He did not notice Leng Xue, who had followed them all the way to the cemetery gates. He pressed down on the accelerator and drove swiftly toward Boss Jin’s residence.

Leng Xue watched and waited until the car finally disappeared around the bend. Lowering his head, he let out a sigh. Then he turned and destroyed the gravestone bearing his own name. He overturned everything that had been placed before it, yet carried away the three bouquets of roses.

As he left, a faint, cold smile touched his lips. Leng Xue mocked himself for being unworthy of their remembrance.