Song Yanru smiled: “The house is not bought by my father-in-law. It’s bought by Jia Mu. We are a family, what credentials for folding, are all here with me. My ID card was opened only once, which was when Ah Bei helped me get a marriage certificate. At that time, my father-in-law was no longer around.”
“You already knew this early on. Last time you met Jia Mu, why didn’t you thank her?”
“No need. The most comfortable thing for someone who wants to harm is that someone has blocked him. This way, he’s more blessed. I didn’t need to tell her because I held my head high, so there was no need to tell her.”
Jia Mu had hoped to stand between Ah Sui and Ah Bei, but between the two coffins, digging another pit would make the coffin stand very unstable. Song Yanru thought for a long time, she wanted to put Xia Mou next to Ah Sui, but where would she herself be buried? Would it be according to Ah Naicha’s main intention, for them to arrange three together, with the woman’s family always standing behind, and you would be buried behind Little Gui?
Now the three coffins were side by side.
Ah Naicha opened the “Geographic Map”, pointing the land part towards the northeast direction. The intention of moving northeast was for the deceased’s spirit to return to the northeast ancestral land. Then the old lady began to chant the 8 volumes of the “Geographic Map Classic”.
The old lady’s eyes were aged, holding the book far away, reading the western scripture quickly. Song Yanru didn’t understand. She stood with both hands folded.
The Spring in the air was deep. The world was green. Pagodas, iron bars, green bricks, jade palms, black pine forests… Dense and light green covered the rising mountain range. A wind blew, the trees swayed like a group of mountains breathing deeply, creating a mysterious and distant feeling. From the high mountain stones, the flowing water seemed to have the breath of life, whistling, spinning, spitting white foam, wandering in the mountain valleys filled with chaotic rocks.
Two decades ago, the road was silent, and I heard the angry roar of the Yangtze River. At that time, Song Yige was also alone, occasionally glancing at the distant shadows: two young men were sitting in a racing car, with the third standing on the rear of a racing car, leading the way. Song Yige was afraid they would discover him, always whispering and cautious. The sky was blue as water, the clouds were scattered, and the young men rode on the high plains, defying the wind, riding faster and faster.
Song Yan seemed to hold back her tears, her lips trembling. She remembered when three young men were playing in the water under the Yangtze River. Coming to the river bank, looking back, in the boat floating on the river, she watched the three young men like water ghosts, their faces emerging from the stone pile, looking at themselves. Their delicate faces were like beautiful flowers. The blue mountains plunged into the water, making their bodies stained with water waves, transparent and clear, their eyes purer than the water waves. The young girl stared fixedly at his face. Her hand held his clothes; later, he would be her husband.
The river flowed east, splashing and surging, washing away the body, hair floating on the water’s surface. The young men had long disappeared. She took out the three-person photo from her memory, placed it on the water surface, like a performance on a screen, looking deeply down, then suddenly standing up, jumping away with the river water. The river water rolled and churned, flowing day and night, crossing high mountains, passing through thousands of miles. Sometimes the water surged high, shocking and thundering; sometimes it was calm and gentle, flat as a mirror. But no matter how the river changed, how its momentum shifted, it always moved towards the distant direction, towards the great sea.
