DLRAS Chapter 136 [Past]

Chapter 136: A kiss and a goodbye.

After eight o’clock in the evening, the crowds finally began to thin out.

Chen Wengang leaned numbly against the corridor wall; he had been standing for too long, and his legs no longer felt like his own. Aside from a meal in the morning, he had eaten and drunk almost nothing all day. He felt lightheaded, with waves of dizziness washing over him, but he could no longer feel them.

He didn’t care about anything anymore.

A nerve in his brain was stretched tight, like a bowstring drawn to its limit—getting thinner, more fragile, ready to snap completely with the slightest external force. At the same time, he felt a sense of absurdity, barely able to recall why he was even there.

Chen Wengang slapped himself—not too hard, not too soft. His consciousness cleared slightly.

Huo Niangsheng was gone—yes, as a member of the younger generation of the Huo family, it was only right and proper that the funeral be conducted in the family’s name. It was only right, heaven-ordained justice. But Chen Wengang was overbearing; he had forced Kang Ming to stand guard at the morgue, forbidding anyone else to touch him. Naturally, a dispute had broken out, and it became irreconcilable.

He didn’t even have time to grieve; he mechanically arranged everything. The funeral home didn’t have enough hearses, and the soonest they could come was tomorrow.

During that time, the Huo family members came in waves, using threats and bribes, trying to take Huo Niangsheng’s body away. They were one step away from turning the morgue into a circus of forced seizure. Even the police came several times, but they didn’t want to interfere, only trying to smooth things over. They advised Chen Wengang, saying this was a family matter, but seeing him stubborn and unreasonable, they turned to advise the Huo family, saying they couldn’t help them use force and that the relatives and friends should just talk it out among themselves.

Chen Wengang had lost track of how many people he had dealt with. Amanda and Lawyer Zhu had actually helped block most of the media; otherwise, things would have been even more chaotic. His consciousness was a blur. He only remembered that after Huo Jingsheng left in a huff, Fang Qin (Huo Zhenfei’s wife) had been pushed to come once. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were swollen like goldfish bulbs. She said a few symbolic words, burst into tears, and was led away by her son, Huo Yuxiang.

For her, the one saving grace in this tragedy was that her son was safe, and her immediate family wasn’t completely shattered.

Then came some unfamiliar faces, whispering and chattering, bothering him to no end.

When Amanda returned, it was just as Huo’s Second Uncle arrived. He had dyed his hair—pitch black, making him look young—combed sleekly with hair oil. But his eyelids were still loose, covering half his pupils, making him look perpetually lethargic. He wore a black suit with a white armband, claiming he had rushed back from Hawaii overnight. He put on the airs of an elder, appealing to his reason, urging Chen Wengang that this was a time of crisis for the Huo family, and they shouldn’t let outsiders mock them.

He suggested the Huo family handle the funeral—a grander, more prestigious scale—and invited Chen Wengang to help receive guests during the memorial service.

Amanda silently retreated to the side, making herself invisible, listening to his kind, incessant rambling.

Chen Wengang watched him quietly for a while and asked, “Why are you smiling?”

The Second Uncle’s eyes widened; the skin on his neck sagged. He said, “What? I don’t think I am.”

Chen Wengang stared at his face. “You are smiling.”

The Second Uncle’s facial muscles tightened.

Chen Wengang continued, “Because it’s not you who died? Are you happy?”

His face remained expressionless, but a flash of malice flickered in his eyes. The semi-corroded scar on his face looked more ferocious than ever. The harsh overhead lighting cast heavy shadows, accentuating every ugly detail, making him look like a ghost. Or rather, he looked more like a walking corpse that had slipped into the world of the living—half-rotted, using the remaining half that still resembled a human to speak to everyone.

Chen Wengang said, “When Second Uncle has his funeral, notify me to come pay my respects. I wish Second Uncle a legacy that lives on for ten thousand years, enlightening your descendants.”

Amanda raised her eyes and saw the Second Uncle clutching his chest, trembling as he leaned on his cane.

By the time the clock struck one in the morning, they had finally outlasted everyone, and only a few people remained in the morgue for the night watch. The end of the corridor was pitch black.

The temperature here was kept low year-round, and an unknown breeze blew in, like a chill from the underworld, crawling directly into the back of one’s neck. Chen Wengang couldn’t hold on anymore; he collapsed to the floor, back against the wall. The wall was freezing; he shuddered.

Kang Ming remained standing, glancing instinctively every time someone passed by. He said to Chen Wengang, “Go sleep in the car for a while.”

Chen Wengang replied, “You go; I need you to be ready to protect us tomorrow.”

Halley lay nearby, resting its big head on its master’s lap. Chen Wengang stroked its head slowly until it closed its eyes and slept. But its ears twitched occasionally, remaining alert, ready to jump at the slightest disturbance.

Only then did Chen Wengang feel a gut-wrenching pain. He felt colder and colder; only the spot where Halley lay was warm. Everything else was chilled to the bone. He tried to close his eyes, but his head throbbed with a splitting pain, something tearing at his chest.

Subconsciously, he pressed his hand against the fanny pack he had bought at a street stall outside the hospital. He felt for the zipper with his fingertips; the object inside was heavy—a second-hand dictionary, also bought on the spot.

Tucked inside was Huo Niangsheng’s last letter.

In a daze, his mind was filled with the contents of that letter. It had become his only anchor, his lifeline. Chen Wengang had read it through only once; he didn’t dare look at it again, but the black ink swirled before his eyes.

I never knew if you ever truly loved me once.

It’s a pity, maybe I’ll never have the chance to know in this lifetime.

I’ve left you enough to live on. Be stronger in the future, and live well.

Be stronger… live well…

Stronger…

Live…

Loved me…

Truly…

Love…

From the endless darkness, Chen Wengang jerked awake, his eyelids aching. He checked his phone; it was 4:30 AM.

When he moved, Halley woke up too. It is said that 4:00 AM is the time of the greatest yin energy, when a person is at their weakest and most exhausted. Chen Wengang gripped the wall and slowly stood up. He remembered that the funeral home’s hearse would arrive before six.

Hearse…

Chen Wengang leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the plaster, as if his gaze could pierce through to the other side. Behind the wall lay corpse after corpse without signs of life. His heart was filled with indescribable pain, but he felt no fear, because Huo Niangsheng was in there too. Yet, thinking of Huo Niangsheng caused a sharp pain in Chen Wengang’s chest; even breathing became difficult.

He felt as if he were bearing an unbearable weight, his thoracic spine crushed segment by segment, forcing his body to hunch over. The person who had been alive when they left was now an object, frozen in a drawer. Because there were no more vital signs—only life has dignity; the shell is meaningless.

He would never see that living person again.

He had lost him completely.

Chen Wengang pressed his forehead against the wall, despair drowning him like a tidal wave. He was trapped in an interminable nightmare, unable to wake.

At 5:30, Kang Ming returned from the parking lot, and Amanda called. They went to find the staff.

The body was placed in the casket. The hearse was jet black, decorated with white flowers; in the center was a single lily, bud wet with dew.

Huo Niangsheng’s memorial hall was set up at the funeral home for a three-day wake, for friends and family to pay their respects. The mourning hall was hung with dark curtains, a banner overhead with the name of the deceased in black on white paper.

The casket sat in the center of the room. Huo Niangsheng’s eyes were closed; the mortician had restored him, his expression peaceful as if he were just sleeping. He wore a decent, clean set of clothes that Amanda had brought from home, which Chen Wengang had dressed him in himself.

When he did this, Amanda feared he wouldn’t be able to hold up, but he just did it without a word.

According to folk custom, when dressing the deceased in burial clothes, one must not let tears fall on them, or the soul will linger on the road to the underworld, unable to reach rebirth. Chen Wengang’s eyes were dry; he was like a marionette, in a state of dissociation—his soul pulled out, his body still functioning. His spirit was being tortured, but his will was still completing what needed to be done.

On the altar sat his portrait, a color photo. His features were handsome, his brow ridge high, making his eye sockets look even deeper. Chen Wengang sat in the seat below, staring at the portrait. The two peach-blossom eyes seemed wanton and detached, a smile playing on his lips—both joyful and suggestive.

Huo Niangsheng’s gaze looked toward him, yet was not looking at him at all.

Chen Wengang lost all sense of time. In fact, they didn’t intend to stay for the full three days. To prevent the Huo family from creating more trouble and to avoid media harassment, Lawyer Zhu released a smoke screen, and Amanda quietly set a date with the crematorium; they would send him off after two days.

Wreaths were displayed on both sides of the altar. Chen Wengang stood up, slowly pacing over to read the names on the ribbons.

There weren’t many people paying their respects. While they had deliberately kept notice low, those who wanted to know would know. Looking at it, it was clear that of all Huo Niangsheng’s “fox friends and dog companions” from the past, very few were actually close.

Among the few wreaths, Chen Wengang saw Li Hongqiong’s name. He remembered she was the one with whom Huo Niangsheng had been rumored to marry most often. She wore sunglasses when she arrived, had someone set the wreath down, and said a single “my condolences” to Chen Wengang.

Then there was Huo Meijie. As an aunt, she didn’t show her face, only having a wreath sent over.

Zheng Baoqiu and Zheng Maoxun made a special trip. They were bundled up tightly, wearing sunglasses and hats, keeping a low profile. Zheng Maoxun kept his head down, rubbing his nose, standing in a corner of the hall, saying nothing. Chen Wengang’s eyes were bloodshot; he hadn’t rested in so long, appearing gaunt and frail. Seeing him, Zheng Baoqiu burst into tears. She hugged Chen Wengang, wailing in the mourning hall. Chen Wengang raised his hand and numbly patted her hair.

The day before the cremation, Chen Wengang had no idea how long it had been since he slept. Amanda and the others took turns urging him. Later, Yu Shanding came, also urging him, and throughout the process, he helped handle many matters. Yet even when he lay down, he couldn’t get a full sleep, tossing and turning, barely leaving the mourning hall.

He shouldn’t have been a stranger to the funeral home. Though his memory was blurred, at nine years old, he had kept vigil for his father here for a night. Back then, he had cried and sobbed as the adults brought him in and told him to stay, that his father’s soul would return to see him. But they didn’t have a unified opinion; someone had said angrily, “Why bring such a small child? Don’t let him see.” Someone else had hesitated, and another had sighed, saying, “Let him keep vigil for one night; he is the only son, let him see him one last time.”

Chen Wengang pushed three chairs together and lay on them, covering his face with his arm, wondering what he was thinking.

The sky was pitch black. The lights in the mourning hall were bright as day. The scent of burning incense floated in the air; the atmosphere was solemn and sorrowful. In the next hall, people were crying from dawn to dusk—some sorrowful, some wailing. He even heard someone singing in a thin, mournful, and winding voice: Beyond the pavilion, along the ancient road… He listened and listened; at this hour, all sounds finally died down.

Chen Wengang sat up, walked to the casket, and stared for a long time.

For two days, he had gazed at a cold and unfamiliar Huo Niangsheng. They were in the same room; sometimes, Chen Wengang felt that these two days might never end. They would loop infinitely for the rest of his life.

After a long time, he reached two fingers into Huo Niangsheng’s breast pocket and pulled out a red amulet. He had put it in when changing his clothes; he had originally wanted Huo Niangsheng to take it with him. But suddenly, he couldn’t bear to part with it. His heart felt like it was burning under a scorching sun; he clutched the amulet tightly, his fingers curling, then slowly relaxing. He stretched out his arm to touch that once-familiar face.

Chen Wengang murmured in a low, gentle voice, “I’ll bring it to you when we meet again, is that okay?”

Around two or three in the morning, he dozed off. Waking from some unknown dream, Chen Wengang suddenly heard a dog bark. He sat up immediately. A strange shadow was struggling on the floor, locked in combat with Halley.

Camera equipment was scattered everywhere; a reporter had snuck in, only to be discovered by Halley. A guard dog isn’t trained in vain—Halley had the upper hand, fiercely pinning the man to the ground, baring its sharp fangs just inches from the reporter’s throat. The reporter was scared to death, screaming, “Help! Help! The dog, control the dog!”

Chen Wengang walked over and called Halley off, but didn’t let it release him immediately. He looked down at the reporter coldly, then turned his gaze to the equipment on the floor.

Chen Wengang picked up the camera. It was a mini-model. He pressed a few buttons and pulled up the contents of the memory card. There were not only photos but also video. He pressed play, and the video footage began to move. He saw himself, back to the camera, leaning over the casket:

“If it weren’t for me, think about how carefree your life could have been. You wouldn’t have to run to the hospital all year round, giving me baths, changing my bandages, cooking for me, worrying about what I like to eat, observing whether my face was happy or sad—an endless cycle of worry and exhaustion…

“If I had the slightest trouble, you treated it like the end of the world. If I lost my temper, you ended up coaxing me with a smile. Where is the logic in that? And you had to live in fear, worried that one day I wouldn’t be able to let go… It wasn’t me who couldn’t let go; it was you. You should have turned that corner long ago. In reality, you had no responsibility toward me… The seven years you spent on me—I feel it wasn’t worth it for you…

“Can you look at me one more time…” Chen Wengang lowered his head, sobbing aloud, “Just look at me one more time…”

Chen Wengang looked behind him blankly. Judging by the angle, the camera had been hidden in a flower basket. He pried open the back, studied it, popped out the memory card, and raised his left hand high.

The reporter watched him in terror, raising his hands to cover his head. Chen Wengang didn’t smash it; he just let go. The camera hit the floor, shattering into pieces. He coldly lifted his foot, crushing the parts even further with his heel.

The reporter knew he was in the wrong, but tried to argue: “This is my personal property! I left my camera at the funeral home and wanted to come back to get it—is that wrong? You let your dog hurt someone and destroyed property—that’s against the law!”

Chen Wengang said, “Is that so? Mail me the court summons. Whether I’m dead or alive, I’ll compensate you.”

He looked down at him from above, Halley emitting a more chilling low growl. Its drool dripped onto the reporter’s neck, as if it could snap his windpipe at the next bite. The reporter couldn’t put on a front anymore, softening his tone, begging Chen Wengang to call off the dog. He said he just wanted to snag a story, that it was a professional necessity, that it was understandable, and that it would never happen again.

After a long while, Chen Wengang suddenly beckoned, and Halley finally released its claws. The reporter scrambled up, and it was only then one could see he was quite short and plain-looking. He scurried to the door, tripped over the threshold, fell flat on his face, immediately scrambled up again, and vanished.

Chen Wengang wanted to snap the memory card in two. He held the edge of the card, but suddenly stopped. He put the card in his own pocket.

Then Chen Wengang sat back down and waited quietly. He stared at the clock on the wall; the second hand ticked, the minute hand moved slowly. He watched the hour hand point toward five.

The funeral home was in the suburbs; in the distance, a rooster crowed.

Six o’clock. The sky began to brighten.

Seven o’clock. The staff arrived for work.

People in work uniforms began walking around outside.

Amanda arrived, Lawyer Zhu arrived, Kang Ming and Yu Shanding also arrived at the memorial hall, along with two of Huo Niangsheng’s trusted subordinates. Only they were there to secretly say their final goodbyes. The atmosphere was solemn as they bowed one by one.

The funeral home manager came in with his team. He was respectful; the staff efficiently sealed the casket, preparing to send it to the crematorium.

The lid slowly closed. Only then did Chen Wengang seem to wake from his stupor.

This time, it was really over.

His lover.

Amanda came over to support him. Chen Wengang swayed, but shook his head and pushed her hand away. Four sturdy young men lifted the casket onto the hearse. It didn’t need to go far; the crematorium was right next door.

Chen Wengang got into the car, and then got out after the casket. He followed behind, walking all the way with Halley until someone blocked him. That person pointed to the wall—according to regulations, family members were not allowed to observe the cremation.

Amanda sighed for the umpteenth time, stepping forward to grab Chen Wengang’s arm. Chen Wengang stared at her, his eyes clearly hollow and vacant. She explained for him, but he likely didn’t understand a word, only casting a pleading gaze toward her.

After some negotiation, Chen Wengang was allowed to stay until the moment the casket entered the incinerator. The worker had a round, honest face; he and his colleague worked in coordination, pushing the iron bed inside. The body was swallowed up. The opening of the furnace wasn’t very large, reminding Chen Wengang of the morgue cabinets.

He suddenly grabbed the worker’s arm, his grip so powerful it left bruised marks on the man’s skin. Lawyer Zhu and the others rushed forward to advise him. The worker had a good temper and wasn’t angry, only looking helpless, offering a few words of comfort, saying this was why family members weren’t permitted to watch—after all, not many could handle it emotionally.

Hearing this, Chen Wengang calmed down and slowly loosened his grip. His fingers were trembling violently. Lawyer Zhu immediately supported him from behind.

The iron door slammed shut, a rumbling sound echoing. They stayed in the waiting room, everyone silent.

Fifty minutes later, the iron door suddenly opened. Heat flooded the room, and an iron bed was pushed out. On the bed was a rectangular iron tray. The tray didn’t contain only ashes, but also many bone fragments—in fact, a body cannot be burned away completely; after cremation, large bones remain. In a place unseen, the workers had broken them down; gray-white bone fragments scattered in the ash.

Born and died, all that remains is this much.

Lawyer Zhu glanced at Chen Wengang. Neither of them moved.

After a long time, Chen Wengang raised his hand. He said nothing, simply picking up the metal tongs, and began placing the bone fragments into the urn.

Bones, then ashes. When he carried the urn out of the funeral home, he could still feel a warmth on his hands.

This is the last temperature Huo Niangsheng left for him.

After returning, Chen Wengang finally slept—forced. Amanda called a family doctor, who administered a sedative.

It was an extremely long sleep; he slept for nearly a day and a night. His body desperately needed rest, but the quality of his sleep was poor. He saw many bizarre and outlandish things in his dreams, but he did not see Huo Niangsheng.

Chen Wengang also knew he couldn’t collapse now—there was still a funeral to hold, various relationships to manage, and a messy pile of troubles from the Huo family to face. Huo Niangsheng was gone; he could no longer hide behind anyone.

In fact, according to Amanda’s arrangements, the entire funeral process was conducted according to Western etiquette—simple and quiet. She had already contacted the church. However, Yu Shanding was more down-to-earth, adding that incense and candles should be set up, and offerings should be made; the two weren’t in conflict, so they could just do it at home. It’s better to believe it exists than to believe it doesn’t—what if?

What if?

According to folk beliefs, on the “First Seventh” (the seventh day after death), the soul of the deceased returns home. Family members should prepare an offering meal with their own hands before the soul returns, and then hide, not revealing themselves. Even if they really couldn’t sleep, it was best to hide under the covers to avoid the deceased seeing their attachment, which would trap the soul and prevent it from leaving.

Chen Wengang rose very early. He spent the entire day in the kitchen. From the morning, he began scraping scales, cleaning fish, and removing the innards bit by bit. He kept his phone by his side, researching while preparing ingredients. His efficiency in cutting meat and cleaning vegetables was depressingly low, but his expression was focused and extremely careful, as if this were the most important thing in the world.

Everything was prepared, but the time was still early, so he switched to boiling something for Halley, feeding it early. Afterward, he sat blankly on the sofa, having no appetite at all, wanting to eat nothing. When evening came, he started working again.

The fish was thrown into the boiling oil; a sizzling sound erupted, white smoke billowing everywhere. Chen Wengang stepped back half a step, hot oil splashing onto his wrist. He shook his hand, then turned to the soy-sauce chicken, braised-juice duck, salt-and-pepper mantis shrimp, stuffed peppers and tofu…

Chen Wengang was busy and bustling. Approaching midnight, he spread the dishes out to fill the table, along with white rice, pastries, fruit, and wine, placing each item in its proper position. Then he hid in the bedroom and closed the door, only then realizing he was still wearing his apron.

He untied the strings, took it off, and threw it on the floor. Suddenly, he let out a long breath, his body slumping until he pressed against the wall.

Chen Wengang covered his face.

Twelve o’clock came, second by second. Chen Wengang leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead against the door panel, hearing not a single sound from outside.

He turned his face and slowly walked to the bedside. Chen Wengang sat down and looked at the photo frame on the nightstand. It was a photo of him and Huo Niangsheng—in the first few years after his face was ruined, Chen Wengang actually hadn’t taken photos. But these last two years, he seemed to have slowly let go. Anyway, Huo Niangsheng didn’t care, so he’d let him take photos if he wanted; Chen Wengang would always cooperate.

In the frame, Chen Wengang sat on the sofa, Huo Niangsheng’s elbow resting on the back, looking at the lens with a smile.

Chen Wengang stroked his face with his fingers.

Suddenly, he stood up and opened the bedroom door without a second thought. A pop sounded—the living room window hadn’t been closed, and with the airflow, the wind from outside rushed in, blowing something over. Halley, who had been asleep, immediately ran to check.

Chen Wengang stood in the center of the living room, all alone. He looked around; there was nothing there, only the night wind blowing upon him.

He stood motionless for a long time, as if waking from a dream, raising his head. Somehow, it was already nearly two o’clock.

Chen Wengang pulled out a chair and sat down. The table in front of him was laden with delicacies. The glass was already filled with wine; he picked it up and poured it on the floor, then poured another, tilting his head and drinking it in one go.

Chen Wengang picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a mantis shrimp, and put it in his mouth. The food had gone cold; there wasn’t a hint of warmth left. The salt and pepper were a bit salty, the fish was fried slightly too much, the chicken was a little cold and fishy, but all in all, if one didn’t aim for perfection, it was edible.

Chen Wengang held his bowl, putting one chopstick of food after another into his mouth. He ate gracefully and with great restraint, but he ate for a long time without stopping. In the end, he ate the entire table of dishes.

Halley sniffed his legs under the table. Chen Wengang patted it: “The seasoning is too heavy; you can’t eat this. Go to sleep.”

He left the empty plates and bowls on the table, stood up, washed up, and returned to the bedroom. Chen Wengang walked to the bedside, picked up the frame—Huo Niangsheng was still gazing at him tenderly.

He lowered his head gently, kissed Huo Niangsheng’s face, and gave him a farewell kiss.

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