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墨書 Inktalez
The burial dates for Wang Chao and Zhao Wenjing were personally determined by Old Shao, based on the best day calculated by the Yin Yang Master. Although Old Shao was not superstitious and did not believe that the dead could still perceive this world, at that moment, he preferred to embrace these unfounded beliefs, hoping to ensure that Wang Chao and Zhao Wenjing would have a smooth journey in the afterlife.
Old Shao understood that funerals were never for the deceased but rather for the relatives and friends still living. The moment a person dies, they know nothing; however, those who remain must have some form of solace.
On the day of the burial, the cemetery was filled with people.
Among them were police officers and forensic experts, but most were ordinary individuals—neither relatives nor friends of Wang Chao. They were people whom Wang Chao had once helped. As Old Shao looked at the crowd, he finally understood why Wang Chao had never felt lost during his twenty years as a police officer, from his twenties into his forties.
He might have saved children from human traffickers; he might have simply stopped a thief from stealing a passenger's wallet; he might have returned a lost child home. These acts seemed far simpler and less thrilling than solving a horrific serial murder case.
Yet those whom Wang Chao had helped would always remember him.
Wang Chao and Zhao Wenjing's portraits were placed before their gravestones, surrounded by countless flowers.
Some leaders hoped Old Shao would say a few words about how Wang Chao became a good detective—not only to commemorate him but also to inspire the remaining detectives.
However, Old Shao shook his head, declining the suggestion. He looked at the mourners in the cemetery and said calmly, "There's no need; they already know Wang Chao was a good detective."
The leaders found it uninteresting and left after greeting Old Shao. As evening approached, the attendees gradually departed, leaving the cemetery spacious and quiet.
Yuan Jun sat in front of Wang Chao's gravestone, holding a bottle of liquor. He occasionally took large swigs for himself and poured some onto Wang Chao's grave. "Brother," he said, "I regret not drinking with you while you were alive. Today I’ve come to drink with you. It’s my fault; I couldn't even protect your family. I’ll punish myself..."
Next to Yuan Jun were five or six bottles of liquor; it seemed he intended to drink away his entire life’s supply right there.
Xu Yiman watched Yuan Jun with a heavy heart, feeling both pity and sorrow. She turned to Old Shao beside her and said, "Wang Chao's death has hit him hard."
Old Shao looked at Xu Yiman. "And what about you?"
Xu Yiman said calmly, "But I can no longer cry. I once truly believed that the deepest sorrow could only be expressed through tears, but recently I have come to understand that true sadness is the feeling of helplessness after crying. You clearly know that nothing can go back to how it was, and that everything is in vain."
Old Shao looked at Yuan Jun, who was sitting in front of the tombstone, and said, "Yuan Jun is a soldier. No matter how sad he is right now, I know that as long as I call him back to duty, he will return. What I worry about is you. Do you still have the strength to move forward?"
Xu Yiman gazed at Yuan Jun, who was sitting cross-legged there, and replied earnestly, "During our time in Desolate Village, Wang Chao already taught me what a true detective should do. I have no issues; I can return at any time. Because I still need to catch the Criminal Consultant and avenge Wang Chao."
"What about Jiang He?" Xu Yiman suddenly asked softly. "Even Guan Deng is here; isn't Jiang He coming?"
Old Shao turned his head to look at Guan Deng, who was standing at a distance.
Due to severe Social Anxiety Disorder, Guan Deng did not dare to approach Wang Chao's tombstone. Many friends and family had come to pay their respects to Wang Chao. He could only keep his distance from the crowd, standing far away and gazing at Wang Chao's tombstone from dawn until sunset.
This was the limit of what he could do; this was his way of mourning Wang Chao.
However, from the beginning to the end of Wang Chao's burial ceremony, they did not see Jiang He's figure; he did not appear.
Old Shao shook his head and looked at the darkening sky. "Jiang He probably won't come."
"Heartless." Yuan Jun had been able to hear their conversation all along. He set the empty bottle aside and said, "I heard that it was Wang Chao who strongly recommended Jiang He to join the task force. Without Wang Chao's support, he wouldn't even know where he would be right now. Wang Chao was his mentor, yet Jiang He can't even bear to take one last look at him."
Shao the Elder replied, "Jiang He has also saved all our lives. If it weren't for his quick thinking, we would have been blown up by a bomb."
Yuan Jun shook his head and said, "That was because he calculated that he wouldn't get hurt."
Old Shao shook his head again. "I know you're speaking out of anger. I also understand that Jiang He is suffering more than you all realize. Go back and take care of yourselves; wait for my notice."
Yuan Jun's lips moved as if he wanted to say something more but ultimately closed his mouth.
Yuan Jun knew he shouldn't blame Jiang He. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what could possibly keep Jiang He from even coming to see Wang Chao one last time. What was Jiang He doing?
The sky gradually darkened, with clouds gathering ominously, hinting that rain would soon fall.
Everyone looked up to watch.
Jiang He turned his gaze toward the sky, feeling a slight chill followed by the relentless patter of rain. He sat at the edge of the rooftop, neither leaving nor showing any expression. Beside him lay a lighter and a pack of cigarettes, three or four still remaining.
These cigarettes were the same ones Jiang He had discovered at Wang Chao's house. Today, he had specifically gone to Wang Chao's home to bring back this pack.
He slowly took out a cigarette, holding it to his nose and inhaling its strong tobacco scent, which made him furrow his brow. Jiang He had never smoked; he was sensitive to smells, and smoking would ruin that sensitivity and harm his brain.
To him, smoking was an act that brought nothing but harm. He couldn't understand why so many people chose to smoke.
He held the cigarette up, examining it for a full ten minutes.
The rain soaked his clothes, his hair, and the cigarette.
Finally, Jiang He placed the cigarette in his mouth and picked up the lighter. Due to the wind and rain, it took several attempts before the lighter sparked to life. He remained calm and persistent, trying again and again until finally, a flame flickered in the wind.
Jiang He quickly shielded the flame with his hand and directed it toward the tip of the cigarette. Mimicking Wang Chao's smoking style, he took a few deep puffs. The tip glowed faintly in the twilight as he inhaled deeply. A strong taste of tobacco filled his lungs, causing him to cough uncontrollably.
He hastily pulled the cigarette from his mouth, covering it as he coughed. But moments later, he placed it back between his lips. Remembering how Wang Chao smoked, he inhaled slowly, feeling the smoke swirl into his lungs before exhaling it out again. With each puff, he coughed for quite some time; once he regained composure, he would repeat the cycle.
A figure appeared behind Jiang He; she sat down beside him and said, "Aren't you someone who never smokes? Why are you suddenly sitting here smoking?"
Jiang He turned to look at Shui Xinlan beside him and replied, "I suddenly wanted to learn."
Shui Xinlan looked at Jiang He and playfully said, "Uncle, you usually deduce what others have gone through. Now let me deduce the reason why you're smoking, okay?"
Jiang He coughed out a puff of smoke and replied, "Sure."
Shui Xinlan gazed at Jiang He and slowly continued, "You've been at home for a week now. Since you returned, you haven't spoken a word to me. You haven't done any of those puzzling studies, and you haven't smiled at all. You've locked yourself in your room, like a walking corpse, only eating and sleeping."
Wiping the rain off her face, Shui Xinlan added, "Yet here you are, sitting on stage smoking. But I remember you telling me that smoking is harmful with no benefits; it not only damages your health but also harms those who inhale secondhand smoke. Yet now, you're learning to smoke."
"Why are you so sad?" Shui Xinlan asked as she looked at Jiang He.
Jiang He tossed the finished cigarette butt out the window without looking at Shui Xinlan. "Is this called sadness?"
"Of course it is," Shui Xinlan replied. "You're doing something you don't even like. Isn't that sadness?"
"But I have no tears," Jiang He said as he looked at her.
"The mark of sadness isn't just shedding tears," Shui Xinlan said as she took out another cigarette and tried to light it. "I know you think you have no emotions, but that's just what you believe. Your feelings are buried deep within your heart; others may not understand you, but I do."
Jiang He lit the cigarette again and took a drag. By this time, he had slowly gotten used to the taste of tobacco and no longer coughed like he did at first.
"I just feel like there's something inside me that's scattered," Jiang He said while smoking. "And it feels like a piece of my heart is missing—empty, devoid of anything. I don't feel that way all the time; I just feel like I want to smoke right now."
"What happened?" Shui Xinlan asked with concern.
"Do you remember that Fat Detective who used to come to our house?" Jiang He said. "He died; today is his burial."
Jiang He spoke these few words in a flat tone, devoid of any sadness.
Shui Xinlan knew that for Jiang He to pick up a cigarette was enough to show the important place this person held in his heart. Since her university days, she had rented a room on the first floor from Jiang He. Over the three years, she had gone from not understanding him at all to gradually realizing what kind of person Jiang He really was.
Without emotions, one would not hurt oneself, nor would they drag others down. Jiang He was actually suited to living alone, unable to engage in deep interactions with others. But how lonely that must be; it was as if he had isolated himself from the world with a glass box—no one could enter, and he could not escape.
Shui Xinlan hugged Jiang He from the side and said softly, "Even if no one else understands you, I can understand you."
With that, Shui Xinlan took the cigarette from Jiang He's hand, broke it in two, and tossed it aside.
"You've already smoked one; that fat uncle can see you," Shui Xinlan remarked.
Jiang He looked up, and behind the clouds, a star shone particularly brightly.
He remembered the story Old Shao had told him—that after a person dies, they become a star, and the more people miss them, the brighter that star shines.
Was that star Wang Chao?
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