The funeral committee was still entirely controlled by Shi Zhongming, and Cheng Shilin, the old minister mentioned in his will, was not included. His life was vast and expansive, and even in his final moments, he was honored with great pomp and ceremony, which lasted three days, and high-ranking officials of the party and the state all came with peace of mind. Mr. Jin was buried in the ground; he could not go to the Huangpu River to pay homage to his deceased loved ones.
The best American embalming injections allowed Mr. Jin's body to lie peacefully for a month. After the New Year, when everything was settled, Shi Zhongming finally held a proper "funeral ceremony."
A tycoon died suddenly from an illness, and another tycoon rose to power in his place. He took in Miss Song to take care of her.
—Perhaps it was all for her sake.
"Who are you? Do I need to answer you?" Dandan looked down on him with such snobbish disdain.
A single spark can start a prairie fire; he vowed to possess her. While the rest of the world remained oblivious, he had already begun his elaborate scheme.
He instructed her to only inhale three to five puffs from the upper half of each pipe, followed immediately by the lower half, which she was forbidden to inhale because the upper half was purer and wouldn't leave a smoky residue on her face. After three pipes, when she was in ecstasy, he forced her to drink a liquid made from a Chinese herbal medicine called Jin Tie Shi Ban.
Then he wanted her.
Because of the allure of opium, her eyes were always filled with confusion, shrouded in mist and smoke, oblivious to the world around her.
Shi Zhongming suckled at her with infatuation, wishing he could devour her whole. This languid and decadent beauty. Later, some time later—…
As her corruption deepened, his heart softened. Having finally obtained her, he was no longer so arrogant.
Shi Zhongming took a fancy to the most popular male prostitute in the Changsantang brothel. He would do sixty or seventy elaborate decorations for her in one session. That male prostitute was very good at winning over the emerging forces and valued supporters.
Gradually, the peony withered and faded away.
The opium didn't bring blessings or longevity; for the sake of both white and black rice, it's hard to say what the woman actually did. She only brought with her a body full of syphilis.
This time, Dandan didn't return because she was desperate: she had a path to take, and she came back specifically to "say goodbye." She remembered their three-year promise; she watched Zhigao rise to prominence before leaving. Otherwise, she wouldn't be content... "If I can't find anything, at least I'll have some travel expenses to come back." She was ashamed to see him; she had completely betrayed him.
At the entrance, she peeked through the curtain at Song Zhigao. Song was a surname she had once borrowed. Looking down, she saw Zhigao's mother. She had gained a lot of weight and had a very kind face—a woman who had laid down her butcher's knife and become a Buddha—but there's always someone to take over. Honglian had become a faceless, respectable woman, constantly cracking strange-tasting melon seeds. Truly, the head of the household was a melon seed seller, while she herself was a melon seed cracker. Perhaps there was also a packet of roasted pine nuts, reserved for Zhigao, to be brought backstage after the performance, a dignified way to congratulate her son on his success.
Behind him was the girl nicknamed "Bubbly Eyes," obediently following Zhigao's orders, her mouth babbling like a goldfish that never stops: "Who brought the umbrella? Has anyone seen him? Oh, there's a note."
Just as I was about to open the slip of paper, I suddenly noticed a curtain-puller at the entrance. He was unfamiliar, with puffy eyes, and looked puzzled.
"Hey, who's this auntie looking for?"
Startled, Dandan hurriedly brushed past the busy people and ran away.
"Auntie"? — That shows how old she is.
It's not old age, it's not syphilis, it's completely hopeless, the tide has turned.
"Oops, I lost my hot water bottle—"
Dandan didn't look back. The cold made her walk even more resolutely.
She couldn't even stay in such an inconspicuous and remote corner. Neither the big temples would take her in, nor the small ones would keep her; Ziran was abandoned by everyone! She herself didn't understand where to go to wander.
She had no choice but to focus on finding something to do. Dandan left without looking back.
Zhigao then entered through the exit door and, upon seeing the sign, said: "Peace be with you. Don't worry. Take care. Huaiyu."
He leaped up like a centipede, flipped to the front of the stage, and, with a piercing gaze, pulled out the kid from the crowd after the performance.
Long-suppressed feelings, a long-lost friend. He shouted:
"Huaiyu! Huaiyu! Come out here!"
The loud voices were searching and chasing.
Like a bustling city after a snowfall, the houses are draped in a pale, unadorned white. The withered branches haven't yet transformed into bloated, silvery strands, and the walls and roof tiles resemble countless unformed white snakes lazily hibernating. Amidst the vast expanse of white, there are also hints of resentment.
As soon as the curtain fell, Huaiyu left, afraid of being separated from the crowd. She lingered, holding Huaiyu's hand, and asked, "Are you cold?"
"It's not cold when it snows. It's only cold when the snow melts, but we can get through that."
The footprints on the snow were perfectly straight.
Duan Bi Ting asked again:
"I'm going home the day after tomorrow. You have about a day, where would you like to go for a stroll?"
"And you?"
"Hmm, what's the best place in Beiping?"
"—There is a Lama temple—"
"A Lama temple? I've never heard you mention it."
"Yonghe Temple, haven't I mentioned it before? I even had my fortune told when I was a child."
Zhi Gao waited until late into the night, until school was over and everyone had left. He fiddled with the umbrella—a silk umbrella he wouldn't need all winter—full of confidence. His interest was piqued:
"You little brat, you've returned in glory, all dressed up and ready to pounce! I don't believe you won't show yourself. You dare hide? I'll beat you up every time! I'll wait for you to come out, even if it kills me! Damn it, are you coming out or not?"
The backstage was deserted except for his booming voice. Bubble-eyed boy sat there, pouting, waiting, unaware of what was happening or who he was waiting for. Everything was blank. His eyes rolled back.
The bustling noise of the overpass during the day seems to serve to build up the desolation of the night.
That brick bridge, utterly despondent, mirrored Dan Dan's heart—empty and barren, nothing more could be squeezed out. In the distance, there were always adults fleeing from the enemy, tightly embracing children, offering them warmth. They came from the enemy-occupied Northeast, homeless, humbly begging for spring, hoping for a small measure to survive and welcome the season. If they truly had no food, they would pass on warmth. At least there would be a tomorrow.
Perhaps it won't be until early tomorrow morning that one or two passersby will notice the body of a smiling girl, clinging desperately to a bridge pillar, as if waiting for something.
She knew she was going to die; not only did she know, but she was also gradually becoming aware of it. Suddenly, a strange lightness washed over her as she stepped closer to that unknown thing. Occasionally, her body would twitch and convulse, because her blood was about to flow out, but it was obstructed midway. However, the heavy cotton-padded coat greedily sucked up all the blood from the deep cut on her wrist, making the color darker and redder, obscuring its original appearance.
Gradually, I became extremely thirsty and cold. I stretched out my trembling, dark-haired hands and grabbed anything around me, holding it tightly, thinking that this would warm me up.