Chapter 6: The Funeral of Two Heavenly Beings.
"He did not speak that day. But that was when the world began to listen."
One Week Later
The Long estate stood in complete silence.
Not a drone hovered above. Not a paparazzi dared approach.
For the first time in decades, the entire world—trillions of hearts across every continent—fell quiet.
Because today… Long Zhaoran and Madam Long Lianhua would be laid to rest.
The Ceremony of a World
It was not just one ceremony.
It was a worldwide event.
In Beijing, twenty thousand monks chanted their names for three days without pause.
In Kyoto, imperial bell towers rang thirty-two times to honor their years of marriage.
In Paris, the Eiffel Tower dimmed for an hour at sunset.
In Africa, scholars placed candles around the bases of ancient baobabs.
In America, children released white lanterns across lakes and oceans.
At the heart of it all, the real ceremony took place in the Long ancestral grounds—an island garden surrounded by white lotuses, sky bridges, and weeping sakura trees flown in from Hokkaido.
The siblings walked together, dressed not in black—but in white, the Chinese color of mourning.
Pearl wore white silk.
Crystal, a white qipao with embroidered magnolias.
Jade, a flowing white veil that covered her hair.
Emerald, a simple white gown that carried no jewelry.
And Haochen…
…in full ceremonial robes, head bowed, hair trailing behind him, still braided with the silver strap.
The Eulogies
Each sister stood at the altar.
Pearl bowed, voice steady but full of heartbreak:
"They weren't just icons… They were our parents. They remembered every birthday, every bruise, every lullaby."
Crystal stepped up, unfolding a thin scroll she had written in the dead of night:
"Logic cannot describe the loss of light. Only silence can."
Jade stood with a shaking voice, barely able to speak:
"They called us gems… but we were only rare because of the hands that shaped us."
Emerald didn't speak long.
She simply held up Haochen's old scribbled music sheets, then placed them gently beside their mother's casket.
But Haochen…
He stood there.
Right in front of their portraits—framed in gold, crowned with orchids, each one smiling as if the world still had time left for them.
He held no paper. No speech. No flowers.
He simply stood.
Not even his sisters could tell what he was thinking.
No tears fell.
Not a word passed from his lips.
The world's most gifted soul…
…had gone utterly, terrifyingly silent.
That night, after everyone left, Haochen remained behind.
Alone.
He knelt before their grave markers, beneath the weeping trees, where even the wind was afraid to blow.
And for the first time, he spoke:
"You died because of me."
"You were coming to see me. To surprise me. I was four… and you smiled as you left."
"But you didn't come back."
His fingers clutched the soil.
He bowed his head.
And his voice—sharp, clear, and utterly broken—spilled into the night:
"I'll fix it. I'll become something no one can blame. Not even me."
"I'll master every discipline. All of them."
"I'll break the limits of knowledge, of power, of every human art."
"I'll become too perfect to be guilty."
"I'll will never be happy knowing I caused your deaths,I am unworthy of being your son ,I'm sorry ,Papa,Mama."
"And one day, when I'm the greatest man alive, maybe then…"
He touched the braid behind his neck.
"…you'll forgive me."
The next day, Haochen disappeared from the public eye.
His sisters shielded him from all cameras.
He stopped appearing in interviews.
He no longer smiled at journalists or bowed at ceremonies.
But behind the gates, he began his pursuit.
Every subject.
Every science.
Every sport.
Every art.
He devoured the world and remade it in his image.
By the age of seven, he had rewritten the global education framework.
By eight, he had invented his first aircraft.
By ten, he had become the youngest trillionaire in history.
But none of it stopped the voice inside.
The one that said:
"If you were just good enough… they'd still be here."