“……There are quite a few things to take care of moving forward.” Huo Ranyin closed the report.
Ji Xun watched him.
He felt that at this moment, Huo Ranyin should be shocked, suspicious, angry, or broken—any emotion would suffice, he should at least feel something. But Huo Ranyin showed no emotion at all.
He simply stated, with abnormal calmness:
“The cause of Wen Chenghu’s death and the identity of the killer have both been clarified. However, according to our country’s laws, if the perpetrator is already deceased, the case is not prosecuted. In other words, we need to go to the police station shortly to recount this entire process, and then the case can be archived.”
So, faced with the truth that had directly caused all the misfortune of his entire childhood, Huo Ranyin was completely unmoved?
That was likely not the case.
It is just that some people, in the process of growing up, learn to express themselves actively; others, in the process of growing up, are forced to hide their emotions. Thus, no matter how rapid or turbulent the suffering, it all becomes a silent flow of water beneath ice—quiet, invisible, and hidden from the light of day.
Ji Xun stepped forward and hugged Huo Ranyin.
If verbal comfort was too thin at such a time, at least the warmth of a human body could melt a little of the rigid ice, allowing Huo Ranyin, submerged in the dark, bottomless current, to lift his head and breathe.
Huo Ranyin’s shoulders stiffened, but he continued to speak, his voice slightly faster: “After this case is concluded, we should handle the port explosion case, and then we can prepare to return to Ning City.”
“Yes. Cases are never-ending, but in your hands, they are always solved.”
“A journey far longer than expected.”
“Rather than a journey, it’s more like an official assignment in another city. Though it had many twists and turns, we didn’t waste our time.”
Huo Ranyin said a sentence, and Ji Xun answered one.
He felt the rigid body in his embrace slowly soften. He also noticed people in the hospital looking at them. He even noticed the female nurse at the service desk secretly watching them, gesturing to him—asking, it seemed: Would you like a cup of hot water?
He smiled at the nurse, grateful for this small but precious act of kindness, and hugged Huo Ranyin even tighter.
Finally, Huo Ranyin stopped talking about work or the case.
Buried against Ji Xun’s shoulder, he spoke, his voice slightly hoarse:
“Today is March 20th, the Spring Equinox. It’s the perfect day to sweep the graves and pay respects to the ancestors. Come with me to visit my parents’ graves. I have never been there since they died.”
The Huo family had a plot of land on a mountain in Qin City, purchased long ago by Huo Ranyin’s grandfather, Huo Shanyuan, as the family’s private cemetery. It wasn’t just the Huo family; the entire mountain—top to bottom, left to right—was filled with private cemeteries cordoned off by wealthy families in Qin City, just like the Huo family.
Once people become wealthy, they become fastidious. You hire a Taoist priest to “point the spot,” I invite three masters to light the lamps; there is always a sense of comparison, a desire not to be left behind.
The Huo family’s private cemetery was no exception. They had also hired experts to do professional planning, no doubt harboring a secret hope for the family to branch out and flourish.
But man proposes, and Heaven disposes. Things do not always go as wished; that is simply how it is.
They had arrived by car, but the vehicle stopped at the foot of the mountain. Neither of them minded—the weather was perfect, the sky high and clear, neither cold nor hot—so they followed the mountain path, walking slowly upward.
Farther away, the music of horns and suona floated over; it was unclear whose funeral was being held.
“Knowing the truth, looking back, everything isn’t that hard to guess,” Huo Ranyin said to Ji Xun. He was thinking of the name “Huo Dongwang.” This was his uncle, a man who should have inherited the Huo shipyard but passed away from illness in his prime.
“My uncle married early in his youth, but divorced quickly, and thus remained childless. His sudden passing left the thriving shipyard in the awkward position of having no successor. The only young person left in the family was my mother… I think that was when he hatched this poisonous scheme.”
Huo Ranyin was speaking of Xu Chengzhang. He spoke with the detachment of an outsider, with the stance of a police officer, breaking his habit of concluding things based strictly on evidence, as he performed a simple logical reconstruction for Ji Xun.
“Xu Chengzhang was born in Xiazhu, to a very ordinary, even impoverished family. Because of his excellent academic performance, he had the chance to be a classmate of my mother’s. But apart from being ‘classmates,’ under normal circumstances, they could never have had any other intersection. Against the backdrop of all her other outstanding suitors, his feelings for her could only be described as ‘a toad lusting after a swan’s flesh.’ In order to obtain her family’s assets, and also to obtain her, I think Xu Chengzhang created a simple yet effective plan:”
“He chose the time and place—next to the hotel’s poetry gala. Hotels have complex crowds, and the gala was filled with my mother’s classmates. Once an incident occurred, the police wouldn’t be able to filter out the criminal in the first instance, but those classmates who knew my mother would immediately spread the news that she had been raped. Thus, a woman who had been untouchable and pure as ice was trampled into the mud. The outstanding suitors who had been pursuing her relentlessly scattered like birds and beasts, and the rare few with firm wills left awkwardly after discovering she was pregnant. Only Xu Chengzhang remained.”
“He obtained everything just like that, as a matter of course.”
This was about Huo Qiyu.
And there was more about Huo Ranyin.
Because Xu Chengzhang was one of the rapists that year, the inconsistent, fluctuating attitudes he showed during Huo Ranyin’s upbringing finally had the best possible explanation.
Love is a vine, and hate is a vine. When love and hate entangle, the vines twist into a whip covered in barbs, lashing out at everyone living under that roof.
“Perhaps,” Huo Ranyin said, “the only good thing Xu Chengzhang did in the aftermath was that he was still sincerely loving his wife.”
Huo Ranyin fell silent again.
His steps became unconsciously slower. The closer he got to the cemetery, the farther away he felt; the longer he looked, the more like a stranger it seemed.
As he watched, the lush green shade ahead, the rows of pines and cypresses—the Huo family cemetery he had never visited before—seemed to melt like wax, merging into the bottom of his heart, melting into a house made of wax.
The house where the gas had leaked.
This was the thing he had been evading and yet desperately wanted to understand; because of the evasion, he had never dared to set foot here.
His early childhood life, the family members from his youth—they were all locked inside this square box. He stood outside, looking in; the lights were on inside, and from time to time, it seemed as if laughter and conversation drifted out.
But all the transparent glass was fogged over. Everything he wanted to say, everything he should have said, remained in that fog, lost, without an exit.
While they walked, the suona music behind them grew louder. When they turned back, they saw a thick, black cloud rising from the ground, rolling up along the mountain path.
The two looked closer and realized the “black cloud” was composed of a crowd of black umbrellas. Beneath the black cloud, where the suona and horns were blaring, was a funeral procession densely packed with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of black umbrellas!
Ji Xun was momentarily astonished.
He had never seen the custom of carrying black umbrellas to block the sun on a clear day like this.
There was only one mountain path. When the funeral procession drew near, they stood to the side to let them pass.
As the two parties drew closer, within four or five steps—when they could read the characters on the funeral banner—a flash of surprise crossed Huo Ranyin’s face: “It’s an acquaintance.”
“One of your acquaintances passed away?” Ji Xun asked instinctively.
“…I don’t think so,” Huo Ranyin said hesitantly, then called out, “Yu Cisheng?”
Suddenly, there was a sound from the funeral coffin. A pale hand gripped the edge, and then, a person with white hair and white skin sat up from inside.
Ji Xun finally understood why there were so many black umbrellas in the procession.
The sun rises every day, casting its infinite heat, selflessly nurturing life on earth.
Except for those with albinism.
For them alone, the sun is not selfless, but extremely cruel.
