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墨書 Inktalez
The cremation arrangements for Li An were set for three days later.
A light rain fell from the overcast sky, making the weather feel cold and dreary.
Accompanying Unknown Truth to see Li An off was only Officer Jiang, who had been responsible for his reception.
Unknown Truth appeared somewhat dazed, relying on Officer Jiang to help manage the situation.
In the final moments, however, Unknown Truth unexpectedly took out a comb and gently began to smooth Li An's disheveled hair, tears silently falling onto the cold, lifeless body.
As the comb glided over the nape of Li An's neck, Unknown Truth could no longer suppress his shivering.
Seeing him lose control, Officer Jiang worried he might faint again and quickly offered comfort. "Please accept my condolences; the dead cannot be brought back to life."
What Officer Jiang did not realize was that it was not just overwhelming sadness that caused Unknown Truth to tremble.
Li An's body was finally placed into the cremation furnace.
Standing in the lobby of the funeral home, Unknown Truth felt an inexplicable fear rising within him. He noticed that on the back of Li An's neck, there was also a blue-green number—16.
He was unsure whether he should tell Officer Jiang about this. After all, on that day when the mysterious Sender had delivered the newspaper, there was also a body with a number—12.
Could there be some mysterious connection between these numbers? Unknown Truth pondered this, aware that the Sender acted with such caution and secrecy, clearly not wanting more people to know.
That night, Unknown Truth lay in bed, unable to sleep, his mind a chaotic jumble of thoughts.
As he tossed and turned, the phone suddenly rang, the red indicator light flickering in the darkness.
Unknown Truth picked up the receiver, and a hoarse male voice came through, sounding as if he were already drunk: “Hello, are you okay?”
The intimacy in the tone startled Unknown Truth. But the man continued speaking: “I want to see you again. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Who are you?” Unknown Truth could no longer contain his agitation and pressed urgently, “How do you know Xiao Qin?”
There was an immediate silence on the line before it was abruptly hung up.
Holding the phone, Unknown Truth listened to the busy signal echoing in the darkness. Li An’s urn sat on the cabinet in the living room, and Unknown Truth wondered what other secrets might be sealed inside it.
Who was this man? Could he be the mysterious person who delivered the letter that day? Why did he speak to Li An in such an intimate manner? All these questions swirled in Unknown Truth’s mind.
That night, he couldn’t find a moment’s rest; he lay wide awake, his eyes open, haunted by visions of Li An, especially her terrifying appearance at the time of her death.
It wasn’t until dawn that he finally drifted off into a hazy sleep. In his dream, he saw Li An, bustling about as she used to do at home, cooking for him and making porridge.
Unknown Truth lay there drowsily until noon, reluctant to wake up. With his eyes closed, he savored the dream from last night, as if he could still smell the fragrant porridge lingering in the air.
Starving, he crawled out of bed barefoot and headed to the fridge for something to eat. However, as he crossed through the living room, he suddenly froze. Because right there on the dining table was indeed a bowl of century egg and lean meat porridge.
He took a shallow sip and was filled with astonishment. This flavor was all too familiar to him; only Li An would add minced ginger and chicken to the porridge.
How could this be possible! His hands trembled uncontrollably, as if he had returned to the dream from yesterday, unable to distinguish between reality and illusion.
“Li An, is that you?” He scanned the entire room, as if expecting Li An to be right there, but upon closer inspection, there was no one.
He called out softly, almost believing he could hear Li An's laughter. Yet the room was eerily silent, with no response.
In a frenzy, he yanked open every closed door—inside the empty house, there were only his own shadow and echoes.
With hardly any sleep to begin with, he was on the brink of collapse, sitting in the vacant house, staring up at the ceiling in silence.
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