The scene had been seen countless times on TV— a white sheet covering the body, then being lifted to reveal a familiar, silent face, and then family, friends, and lovers crying out in uncontrollable grief. Lin Wan had never imagined that one day, this scene would unfold before her. Even though she knew that death and separation were inevitable parts of life, she never expected it to come so soon, so abruptly.
A chord in her heart snapped, and she felt as though she were a puppet with its strings cut, mechanically moving forward. With trembling hands, she lifted the white cloth. What she saw was an unfamiliar face, because the familiar face that had always been warm and comforting, with a gentle smile and a shallow dimple she lovingly referred to as his "happy whirlpool," was no longer there.
The eyes she had known, dark and deep like two pools, had always held so much emotion. Even without words, she could read his thoughts. His thick brows were animated, rising in anger, furrowing in concentration. Her favorite thing had always been to smooth his brow with her fingers, teasing him, saying, "If you turn into an old man, I won't want you anymore." And he would reply, "If I'm an old man, then you're an old woman, and neither of us will mind the other."
They had always thought they would grow old together, just like the lyrics of a song: "The most romantic thing I can think of is growing old with you… Until we're too old to go anywhere, and you still treat me like a treasure in the palm of your hand."
She had imagined that scene countless times—warm sunlight, a tranquil garden, two wicker rocking chairs side by side, a small wooden table between them with two cups of steaming tea, their hands intertwined, aged and weathered, with the starry marks of old age. That would be the most beautiful scene in the world, the epitome of human happiness. She had even romanticized it, imagining that by the time they grew old, their faces would be full of wrinkles like the rings on a tree, each line etched with memories, binding them together for eternity. When they turned to dust, they would smile contentedly.
But now, Lin Wan stared at the unfamiliar face in front of her, pale as paper, lifeless. She wished she could tell herself that this wasn't him, that it wasn't her fiancé. But despite the unfamiliarity of the face, the lifeless features cruelly and ironically told her that this was, in fact, him.
When she realized this truth, it felt as though her senses had left her. It was like being submerged in a vacuum, where even breathing ceased. There was no weight, no presence; it felt as though she had become a speck of dust. How much time passed, she wasn't sure, but gradually, her senses returned from all directions. Yet her mind remained blank, like a fresh sheet of paper. The person who had promised to spend a lifetime with her was gone, and her life had lost its color, her world had collapsed…
After a long silence, as though she had suddenly found her voice, she let out a heart-wrenching scream, throwing herself on the body, crying uncontrollably.
At four in the morning, Chen Jin leaned against the window ledge, fiddling with his phone as he casually browsed through contacts. His mind, however, was racing, making sure nothing had been overlooked. The hospital room had poor soundproofing, and occasionally, the woman's cries reached him, fluctuating in intensity. He hadn't slept a wink since last night, busy managing the situation to minimize the impact and protect his brother. He admitted he was cold-hearted. His unusual family background and years of business experience had forged his steely resolve. Death could not be undone; even if he had to punish Chen Zui, it was nothing compared to the practical need to make compensations.
Another sharp cry pierced the silence, and Chen Jin felt his temples throb. It had been over two hours, yet that woman, Lin Wan, could still cry like this. If the Great Wall were here, it would likely collapse too. He wasn't unfamiliar with crying, but his mother's cries always gave him a headache. This woman's cries, though, were like some special frequency—like a beginner playing the violin near his heart, the strings cutting into his soul. The sensation was unbearably unpleasant. What surprised him more was why he hadn't left yet. Was it for the so-called humanitarian spirit, or was it guilt? He shook his head, trying to shake off the strange thoughts. It must have been the intensity of the work that had overwhelmed him, but now that things were set in motion, his senses were returning.
At that moment, two hospital staff members walked past. They had come to transfer the deceased's body. Frankly, there was a place for the dead, but this was the operating room, meant for those still with a chance at survival. The two men reached the door, but upon hearing the crying inside, one hesitated and addressed Chen Jin.
"Mr. Chen, about this..."
"Let her cry it out. We'll deal with it when the family arrives," Chen Jin answered impatiently.
The staff left, and his secretary, who had been busy all night, rushed over, panting. "Mr. Chen, the documents you requested are here." She handed him an envelope.
Chen Jin took it, opened it, and skimmed through the A4 pages. A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Please go rest. I'll handle things here. If the family arrives and causes a scene, I'll need you to step in." The secretary handed him a room card. "It's just across from the hospital, the environment is good."
Chen Jin took the file and handed it back to her, slipping the room card into his suit pocket. "Do you have water?" he asked.
The secretary quickly nodded, taking out a bottle of unopened Evian. Chen Jin took it and asked, "Cigarettes?"
Again, she nodded, pulling out a pack of his usual Panda cigarettes. He took them from her, then instructed, "You take care of this here." With a final glance at the closed door, he turned and left.
Chen Jin didn't go to the hotel the secretary had booked for him. He had been awake for too long to feel tired. What he needed most was a moment of peace. He walked to a small garden behind the outpatient building, found a bench, and sat down. He drank a few gulps of water, then lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The nicotine filled his lungs, and as he exhaled, his restlessness began to fade, and his body relaxed.
He wasn't much of a drinker. He only drank to entertain at social events and controlled it carefully. Unlike his brother, who was a heavy drinker despite his poor tolerance, Chen Jin had mastered self-discipline. Sometimes, he went a day or two without a cigarette, but he always kept a couple of packs on hand, ready for moments like this—when he was exhausted or troubled. The relief he felt as he smoked was immense, as if all the invisible worries and pressures simply vanished with the smoke. He felt his body and mind realign, back to his usual confident, capable self.
The summer was long, and this was the best time of the day—no scorching sun, no noise, just the fresh, natural air cleansed by the surrounding trees, with a hint of morning dampness. A few birds chirped from the trees, their calls clear but not disturbing.
After finishing his last cigarette, he took another sip of water, stretched lazily, and checked his watch. It was 7:30 am. He had been sitting here for quite a while without realizing how much time had passed. His body was telling him he was indeed exhausted, but he didn't feel the need to rest. Instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
"How's it going?" he asked.
The secretary responded, her tone respectful, "The parents of the deceased arrived around 5 am. They've been crying for a while…"
"Why didn't you call me when they arrived?" Chen Jin interrupted, frowning.
"I thought you'd be resting after a long night, and we were ready. The family was very cooperative," she explained quickly.
"Alright, continue," he said.
"They're waiting in the lounge. I took Mr. Wang asked aside and showed him the documents. He was shocked, but he's smart—he understood what needed to be done. He's insisting on not accepting the check. The body has already been sent to the morgue. The traffic police have delivered the responsible identification and other materials, and there are no issues."
Chen Jin looked around at the greenery, his expression softening. "Okay," he murmured.
"But, Ms. Lin… she's persistent. She argued with the police and insisted on meeting with you," the secretary hesitated before mentioning.
Chen Jin scoffed, "If her parents don't object, what can she stir up?"
"Should I get rid of her?" the secretary asked, relieved.
"No, I'll see her myself." Chen Jin hung up and walked briskly out of the garden. The woman, who was the "fiancée" of the deceased, seemed to pose little threat. But since she wanted to meet, he would oblige—he was confident he could resolve things peacefully.
By this point, this incident seemed to be winding down far more smoothly than expected. Maybe the heavens weren't as omniscient as people thought, and occasionally, they favored the bad guys. Chen Jin didn't deny that his actions were low, but in terms of handling things efficiently, he couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction. Of course, he wasn't so heartless as to take joy in the situation—it was still a tragedy. On the other hand, this was undoubtedly a catastrophe. He thought back to the crying woman. Now, she wanted to meet him, and he would grant her wish because he, too, wanted to "see" her again.