For three whole days, Gu Yu’s mother cried endlessly. No matter what I said to her, it was as if she couldn’t hear me. The doctors warned that if this continued, her body wouldn’t be able to take it. I was deeply worried, but there was nothing I could do. The pain of losing someone so dear was too much to endure.
I couldn’t bring myself to see Gu Yu again. I couldn’t bear to look at him lying in the cold, sterile morgue—I was afraid it would break me completely. I told myself that as long as I didn’t go, Gu Yu wasn’t truly gone. He was just in some place I couldn’t reach, still breathing the same air as the rest of us.
This self-deception carried me through those days, until Li Zi saw me and, overwhelmed with frustration, nearly slapped me to wake me up. Her voice was filled with anguish as she said:
“Zhu Yun Hao, keep on ruining yourself like this if you want! If you don’t care about yourself, then I won’t either. But think about it—do you really think Gu Yu would want to see you like this? If he’s watching from heaven and sees the state you’re in, do you think he’d feel at peace?”
I didn’t know how Gu Yu would feel. All I knew was that I felt like I was living a fate worse than death. I had already endured the pain of being separated by life, and now I had to face the agony of being parted by death.
After a week of despair, Gu Yu’s mother finally came to terms with the reality. She called me over and entrusted me with the task of arranging his funeral.
“He’s endured so much hardship since he was a child,” she said. “At least now, he can finally rest.”
I didn’t respond—just stayed silent, overwhelmed with grief.
It was a clear, sunny day, and Gu Yu’s mother seemed unusually spirited.
For the first time in a long while, I saw Gu Yu’s body. He looked so peaceful. I told myself not to cry in front of him, afraid that he might worry.
Gu Yu’s mother placed his urn in the plot she had purchased. The land was said to have excellent feng shui, surrounded by lush greenery. The man who sold the plot assured us it was a place where the departed could find peace and where their souls would be blessed in heaven.
Gu Yu’s mother and I sat silently by his grave for a long time. Neither of us said a word.
I bowed my head, and memories of my time with Gu Yu flooded my mind. I remembered the day I confessed my feelings to him, the times he came looking for me because of Chen Qiao Luo, and countless other moments—so many that tears began streaming down my face.
When I finally emerged from my thoughts, dusk had fallen. A cold wind blew past, and I glanced at Gu Yu’s mother. She was still sitting in the same position as before.
The November evening wind had grown chilly, and her health was already fragile. Thinking of this, I called out to her, intending to leave.
I called her name several times, but she didn’t respond. A wave of fear swept over me.
I don’t remember how I managed to walk over to her, but when I saw her face, it had already turned a pale, ashen blue.
I shouted her name again and again, but the only answer I received was the hollow, lonely sound of the wind.
Despair surged over me like a rising tide, suffocating me. Just as I thought I might collapse under its weight, a pair of hands caught me as I fell.
In the instant before I lost consciousness, I saw Chen Qiao Luo’s worried face.
When I woke up, I was surrounded by white walls. Turning my head slightly, I saw Li Zi sitting nearby, crying quietly.
Noticing that I had woken up, she immediately rushed over to me, her tears falling as she sobbed:
“Yun Hao, do you have any idea how much you scared me? Wait here—I’m going to call the doctor!”
Seeing her about to leave, I grabbed her hand.
She stopped, confused, and looked back at me.
My throat felt as if it had been scorched by fire, the pain searing, but I ignored the sensation and hoarsely asked, “What about Gu Yu’s mom? How is she?”
Hearing me mention her, Li Zi’s face changed.
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