Chapter 70: Chapter 70 - 70 Visiting Graves on the 07th

Chapter 70: Visiting Graves on the 07th Chapter 70: Visiting Graves on the 07th Qiping Mountain Cemetery.

This is the best cemetery in City A, bar none.

It boasts excellent Feng Shui. Many have even called in favors to secure a plot here.

In front of Qiping Mountain Cemetery flows a river, meandering through City A, an important source of drinking water, once the city’s protective moat in ancient times.

Though expansive, the cemetery is not overdeveloped due to its popularity. Instead, it features exceptionally well-maintained greenery.

On the river-facing side are neatly arranged terraced tombstones, while evergreens encircle the remaining four sides, each as thick as a man’s waist and as tall as a three-story building.

Some have even claimed it could have become one of City A’s tourist attractions had it not been a cemetery.

But there’s one drawback: it’s too far from the city center. A taxi ride takes half an hour, and a bus at least an hour—only with good luck does one catch it.

Buses from the city center run every two minutes, while here they run hourly. Only during the Tomb Sweeping Festival do they come every twenty minutes.

Though the cemetery is a Feng Shui treasure, ordinary people dare not live nearby. The place feels eerily sinister.

A bus approaches in the distance, with only a young girl aboard besides the driver.

The driver looks at her in the rearview mirror several times. She’s dressed in a simple white sweater, a black woolen coat, her fair face untouched by makeup, the bloodless lips making her look less like a real person and more like a porcelain doll.

In the deep autumn of Qiping Mountain, even during the day, an oppressive aura looms, perhaps from the clouds hanging ever lower, as a forlorn ambiance bursts forth.

The bus stops precisely next to the Qiping Mountain bus sign. Seeing the girl still staring out the window, lost in thought, the driver can’t help but remind her, “Lady, we’re here. You can get off now.”

Fu Han snaps back to reality, and with surprise, her cheeks flush with a hint of color, adding a bit more life to her pallid face, invoking a sense of compassion.

The driver watches her disembark and speaks up, “The last bus is at four in the afternoon. Keep an eye on the time and don’t stay too long.”

After saying this, he steps on the accelerator and the bus departs.

Through his rearview mirror, he can see the girl still standing in the same spot, seemingly lost in thought.

The driver shakes his head, “Looks like another poor soul. Who knows who lies buried here for her.”

Fu Han looks across the street at the gate, three wooden beams forming its frame, with a sign hanging in the center: “Qiping Mountain Cemetery.”

The characters, as if written by a student new to writing, are skewed and uneven but earnest in every stroke.

Every time Fu Han sees this sign, she feels an inexplicable calm.

These five slightly ugly characters seem to possess a magical power, peeling away layers to unearth the most significant things hidden deep within when you look up to them.

Fu Han crosses beneath the sign, ascending the gentle steps. On both sides lie orderly graves—some adorned with fresh flowers, others withered; some with burnt-out candles; others with unmarked tombstones.

Her parents’ graves are here, plots purchased by Elder He, who also secured his own beside them, reasoning that they could be neighbors in the afterlife.

The higher she climbs, the stronger the wind becomes, animating the hem of Fu Han’s woolen coat like fluttering butterflies, her hair growing increasingly disheveled.

The tombstones lining the path stare silently at the unexpected visitor.

Feeling a chill, Fu Han draws her coat tighter and quickens her pace.

The graves at the top are the most expensive, and her parents’ plots command a peerless view from the summit of Qiping Mountain.

Fu Han stands before her parents’ graves, which are surrounded by well-kept lawns and clean tombstones, clearly tended to regularly, probably arranged by Elder He.

She gazes at the photos on the tombstones: “Dad, Mom, I’m sorry for not visiting you for so long.”

During the Tomb Sweeping Festival each of the last three years, she’s been consumed with guilt, regretting that she, their daughter, couldn’t perform the ritual sweeping of their graves—a grave sin indeed.

Resting against her mother’s tombstone, Fu Han sits on the ground, murmuring softly, “Dad, Mom, I know you’re most worried about me. But you don’t have to worry anymore. Even if I leave the He Family, I can take care of myself.”

Her eyes are obstructed by her wind-tossed hair. Maybe it’s just the hair, but her eyes feel irritated. She forces herself not to blink too hard, unwilling to let tears well up.

The wind grows fiercer, howling strangely amid the rows of tombstones like the dying roar of a trapped beast, as if something is yearning to break free from its cage.

The words leave Fu Han’s mouth but are quickly lost in the wind.

Leaning against the tombstone feels like being cradled in her mother’s arms, except this grave marker is too cold, almost numbing half her body.

But Fu Han seems not to feel it, continuing to whisper to her parents about the past three years.

She lightly touches the tombstone with her forehead, whispering, “Mom, do you remember the time I fought with He Xing when I was little? You said we should be grateful to the He Family for giving us a place to live, that I should be kind and yield to him because he was the young master.”

Only the chilling wind answers her.

Fu Han smiles and says, “Mom, I’ve always done as you said, gave him the best I could. But I realized it’s no use. Someone else’s mother is his lifesaver. He Xing and someone else are the ones everyone considers childhood sweethearts.”

Raindrops begin to fall, touching Fu Han’s face with coolness that is not painful yet distinctly cold.

With a smile, she wipes her face, “Dad, Mom, if you were still here, would you think my wish to marry He Xing is pure fantasy?”

“You surely would’ve thought so. When I was little, you scolded me just for eating one of He Xing’s imported chocolates, let alone now.”

Fu Han shifts, her body stiffening on one side. She supports herself with her hands, struggling to rise.

“Dad, Mom, I no longer harbor any foolish dreams. Even if I was deluded three years ago, today I see clearly with no lingering attachment.”