A layer of white frost had formed on the window.
Zheng Jin took out his ID and handed it to the clerk. The young woman behind the desk quickly verified the information and pushed it back to him.
“Back row.”
He nodded, clutching a bouquet as he entered the columbarium.
The last time he had visited was during Qingming, the tomb-sweeping festival. The place had been crowded, and he had stood silently among the throng, looking at the picture of Jin Ning’s face. He hadn’t said anything; he couldn’t.
Today, it was empty.
He had come early. The columbarium was silent, and Jin Ning’s photo, with her gentle and serene smile, seemed to watch over him.
“Su Nian,” he began, his voice rough, “Su Nian is getting married.”
It was as if Jin Ning nodded in agreement.
He smiled. “I knew you would approve. You liked Xiao Xue so much. The wedding is set for next spring. The two of them are busy these days, taking their wedding photos.”
“One of the outfits looks especially beautiful. Xiao Xue is wearing that qipao you gave her. Just seeing it… makes me think of you.”
His voice hitched, but he quickly regained control.
“No crying. No, I can’t cry. This is good news. I’m here to make you happy, so I shouldn’t cry.”
He half-sat on the cold tile floor, reaching out to gently touch Jin Ning’s face in the photograph.
“These are your favorite lilies. You used to say I never understood these things and never gave you flowers. So, before I came, I went to the florist and asked them to pick out the five best ones for me. The freshest and the most fragrant. Can you smell them?”
“Do you smell it?”
“Look at us, we’ve grown old. Soon we’ll be someone’s in-laws, and after that, grandparents. What do you think we should be called? And if you’ve got a name for the grandchild, just let me know in a dream.”
After saying all this, he stood up, brushed the dust from his pants, and took an old music box from his coat pocket. He wound it up and placed it in front of Jin Ning’s urn.
Then, without any formal goodbye, he left.
The music box stuttered for a moment, the tiny figure on its base trembling before it began to spin smoothly. The base, engraved with foreign words polished to a shine, glimmered in the dim light of the remembrance hall.
“Eternità.”
The setting sun illuminated the glazed tiles, casting a soft glow that reflected the splendor of a thousand years. A young woman with dark hair and clothes stood with a red cherry hairpin clipped behind her ear.
She said, almost carelessly, “Eternità. Italian. It means eternity.”
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