Before the word “death” could fully leave the doctor’s lips, the world in front of Xie Shiyan lost all color. Everything collapsed into a distorted swirl of black and white, like static tearing through his vision. Strength drained from his body in an instant, and he fell forward, stiff and unyielding.
“Shiyan!”
The panicked voices of his parents and the sound of hurried footsteps echoed behind him.
But before darkness claimed him completely, one sound tore through everything, sharp enough to split his soul apart.
“My Ningning… my daughter!”
Jiang Yining’s mother’s wail pierced the air, raw and devastating, as if it could shatter the ceiling itself.
…
Three days later.
At Mushan Cemetery, the sky hung low and gray, heavy and suffocating. The air felt still, pressing down on every breath.
In front of a newly erected black marble tombstone, layers of white chrysanthemums and lilies were arranged in solemn silence. Their pale petals lay scattered across the ground like fallen snow.
At the center of the headstone was a small porcelain photograph.
Jiang Yining smiled from within it, dressed in a clean white shirt, her hair tied neatly into a ponytail. Her expression was bright and full of life, forever frozen in that single moment.
The people gathered around the grave stood in quiet mourning, dressed in a sea of black. Soft sobs drifted through the air, low and restrained.
Xiao Xiao bit down on her lower lip so hard it nearly broke the skin. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the grass beneath her feet.
She clung tightly to Jiang Yining’s mother, who seemed on the verge of collapsing at any moment. In just three days, the once graceful and composed woman had aged beyond recognition. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen and hollow, as if all life had been drained from them.
She leaned heavily against Xiao Xiao and her husband, her body trembling as broken, wordless sobs escaped her.
Mr. Jiang wrapped an arm firmly around his wife’s shoulders. This man, who had always been steady and composed, now stood hunched, his face lined with deep grief as he struggled to hold himself together.
Behind them, Shen Nianan stood with Zhou Yanze. Her face was pale as paper, tears falling endlessly. She gripped his arm so tightly her nails pressed into his skin.
Zhou Yanze supported her without a word. His expression remained still, yet something heavy and immeasurable stirred deep within his eyes.
Beside them, Lu Jingshen kept his head lowered, his shoulders trembling faintly.
At the edge of the crowd, Xie Shiyan stood alone.
He wore a black suit, but it hung loosely on his frame. In just three days, he had grown frighteningly thin.
The sharp lines of his face had hollowed out, his cheekbones stark against skin drained of all color. His lips were dry and cracked, small streaks of blood marking the splits. His eyes, once warm and alive, had become empty, bottomless, stripped of all light and emotion.
The funeral continued under the slow rhythm of mournful music and the solemn voice of the officiant. One by one, people stepped forward, placing white chrysanthemums before the grave, bowing their heads, whispering final words to the smiling girl in the photograph.
A few approached Xie Shiyan, reaching out as if to comfort him, to offer a word or a touch.
He did not respond.
His gaze remained fixed, unwavering, cutting through the crowd as if nothing else existed. He stared only at Jiang Yining’s face in the photograph, his eyes filled with a desperate intensity that bordered on madness.
Gradually, the crowd began to disperse.
The quiet sobs faded, footsteps grew distant, leaving behind only trampled grass and the lingering weight of grief.
Xiao Xiao turned back again and again, her eyes red, as she helped the nearly unconscious Mrs. Jiang away.
Shen Nianan lingered for a long moment, her gaze fixed on Xie Shiyan with worry, until Zhou Yanze gently placed a hand on her shoulder and led her away.
Soon, the cemetery fell silent.
Only the wind remained, sweeping across the ground, lifting fallen leaves into the air and carrying with it a hollow, desolate sound.
The last trace of human presence disappeared.
Only then did Xie Shiyan move.
His steps were slow and rigid as he walked forward, past the scattered white flowers, until he stood before the cold marble tombstone.
Jiang Yining’s photograph faced him.
She was smiling, her ponytail neat, her white collar crisp, her slender neck visible, untouched by the weight of the world.
His hollow, bloodshot eyes locked onto that smile.
With a trembling hand, he reached out. His pale fingers brushed against her cheek in the photograph. The cold, hard surface beneath his touch shattered whatever fragile control he had left.
“Ningning…”
His voice came out hoarse and broken, each syllable scraping painfully from his throat.
Memories surged forward without warning, unstoppable, overwhelming.
…
A kindergarten entrance, bathed in the soft light of a spring afternoon.
Sunlight filtered through fresh green leaves, scattering gentle shadows across the ground.
A young Xie Shiyan stood there, a blue backpack nearly as big as he was slung over his shoulders. His small face was set in a serious expression as he tried to shake off the little figure trailing behind him.
“Brother Shiyan, wait for Ningning!”
The soft, childish voice called out, breathless and urgent.
A tiny Jiang Yining ran after him, dressed in a pink puffed dress, her hair tied into two uneven pigtails. Her short legs moved as fast as they could, but she was too eager, too hurried.
She stumbled.
Instinctively, she reached forward, her small hand grabbing the back of Xie Shiyan’s jacket.
The fabric tightened with a soft tug.
Xie Shiyan was forced to stop. He frowned slightly and turned back to look at her.