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墨書 Inktalez
A week later, Lin Hai's body was cremated at the Huai Cheng Funeral Home.
Among the crowd gathered to bid farewell to Lin Hai were his daughter, Lin Yuejiang, his student, Du Yusheng, and Yusheng's brother, Du Shaochong, along with leaders, faculty, and students from the art academy, as well as many prominent figures from the art community.
Everyone wore solemn expressions. During the memorial service, Yuejiang gazed sorrowfully at her father's peaceful face, momentarily imagining she could see a faint smile there, as if it contained hope or some kind of hint.
With a heavy heart, she tightly held the hand of Li Xiran, her college friend who specialized in design.
"I heard Lin Hai left behind thirteen final masterpieces!" one person whispered.
"Absolutely! If those were auctioned off, it would be quite a fortune. His daughter will be set for life now," another replied.
"But speaking of it, thirteen is really an unlucky number!" someone else chimed in.
"Isn't that right? It’s uncanny that he passed away just after finishing his thirteenth piece. There must be some hidden meaning behind this; I bet there's a story to tell..."
Yuejiang caught snippets of their whispers and felt both anger and helplessness rising within her.
Xiran gently comforted her, saying, "Yuejiang, don’t take it to heart. Uncle Lin lived a life free from fame and fortune; just consider this an unfortunate accident. Don’t let yourself fall into despair."
Yuejiang watched as the staff slowly pushed her father's body into the cremation chamber—a winding S-shaped passage that twisted and turned. As she saw her father about to disappear from this world forever, she suddenly broke free from Xiran's grasp and hurried after them.
The staff quickly stopped her and waved their hands. "Miss, please go back. Don’t watch this; everyone ends up here eventually."
Yuejiang froze for a moment. After a while, Yusheng rushed over and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was then that she could no longer contain the overwhelming sorrow and grief inside her and collapsed into Yusheng's shoulder, weeping uncontrollably.
In the end, Yuejiang left the funeral home, cradling a ceramic urn containing her father's still-warm ashes. She had taken it upon herself to place the harmonica that Father had clutched tightly in his hand at the moment of his death into the urn as well. She thought to herself that since he had refused to let go until his last moment, he might as well take it with him.
That harmonica might have belonged to her mother, for on one side of its stainless steel casing was engraved a somewhat rough capital letter "M."
Afterward, Xiran returned to school for classes, while the brothers Shao Chong and Yusheng accompanied Yuejiang to the bank. Following the instructions left in Father's letter, they easily located the safe.
Shao Chong, a cheerful man, couldn't contain his excitement and said, "The old man's entire fortune might just be hidden in this safe."
Behind the iron door were two separate safes, both of which were registered under Lin Hai's name.
Yuejiang inserted the key into the lock, her mind racing with thoughts of what treasures Father might have left behind.
Inside the safe lay an old photo, another harmonica (engraved with "J"), and a handkerchief that wrapped two strands of hair tied together with red thread. It seemed to be the hair of both Yuejiang and her mother.
Yuejiang rested her hand on the iron cabinet and sighed deeply. It turned out that what Father had cherished throughout his lonely life was not wealth but rather profound emotions.
However, a painting and a small medicine bottle inside the safe caught their attention. Yusheng looked at the old photo with a puzzled expression and asked, "Hey, this photo has been cropped."
Yuejiang reached out to take a closer look. The yellowed photograph depicted a young Father and Mother; she was beautiful and elegant in a floral shirt, smiling radiantly in the sunlight. Father appeared refined and gentle in a Zhongshan suit. They stood side by side politely, with the left and middle parts of the photo intact, but the right side was missing—clearly cut away by someone, leaving only two-thirds of it behind.
"Could there have been another person in this photo originally?"
Yusheng murmured, "Was it a man or a woman? Yuejiang, do you remember anything?"
Shao Chong glanced at the photo and asserted, "It's a man. This should be a picture from Uncle and Aunt's university days. The other person, whose whereabouts are unknown, is also a man. Look, although the right side has been cut off, there's still a bit of fabric left; that's the cuff of a Zhongshan Suit."
"Indeed, you really are observant, as expected from someone who studied at the police academy," Yusheng praised.
He then picked up the medicine bottle and gently shook it. Inside the brown glass bottle, there were still more than half a bottle of white tablets. Shao Chong took it and opened it to take a look, saying, "These are Anxi Tablets. However, judging by the label, they expired a long time ago; the production date is from '73, which means it's been 34 years."
Yuejiang had no idea what these items represented or the twisted stories behind them.
She reached for the painting at the very bottom of the cabinet and slowly uncovered it from its cloth wrapping. In an instant, she stood frozen in shock.
The painting was strikingly similar to Lin Hai's last work—an oppressive and dark environment that resembled a stage after the curtain had fallen, with only a faint beam of light illuminating it. There were no figures in the scene, just a vague silhouette radiating an inexplicable sense of desolation and solitude.
In the lower right corner of the artwork was inscribed: "Soul Expecting Return After the Curtain Falls," by Mu Lian, April 1982.
"Yusheng, look! The style and ink used in this painting are exactly the same as that one we saw in Dad's studio!"
"Yes," Yusheng replied, equally astonished. "This imitation style is indeed very similar to our teacher's last work. How could this be?"
"Exactly!" Yuejiang clutched the painting tightly to her chest, her voice trembling with excitement. "The extra piece wasn't painted by Dad; it was painted by Mom! She must have always been alive; she has returned! Otherwise, how could such an incongruous piece be included in 'Finding Water Lily'?"
Gently caressing the painting in her arms, Yuejiang felt a deep sorrow as she silently thought to herself: "Dad, when you called out Mom's name at the end, was it because you saw her too?"
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