BAD ENDING Cont : The Deceased is Gone

By December, Kyoto had plunged into the depths of winter, a blanket of snow covering everything in white.

The cemetery on the outskirts was deserted, the caretaker retreating indoors after clearing leaves from key areas.

He sipped from his thermos, feeling warmth return to his body.

Suddenly, two women in coats outside caught his attention.

“Huh? Visitors in this cold?”

The snow had obscured the names on the headstones, so they’d need his help to find their way.

He set down his thermos and headed out.

“Hey! Who are you here to visit? I can help you find them!”

The two women turned, each more beautiful than the last, like heroines from a drama.

“We’re looking for Fang Zhou’s grave, please.”

One woman, radiant and graceful, bowed politely, her demeanor as gentle as the yellow chrysanthemums she held.

“Fang Zhou… Oh, right! This way!”

The caretaker smacked his forehead, remembering.

He led them down another path, muttering, “I remember that young man, passed just last month, only in his twenties. Such a waste of youth!”

“When I was his age, I was just starting a family. How could I leave it all behind…”

His words were unintentional, but they struck the women deeply.

Their expressions grew tense, one even began to tear up.

They soon reached their destination.

The caretaker pointed to a small gravestone. “Here it is! Most around here are older folks, so he stood out.”

He noticed the stone was covered in snow, obscuring the photo and name, so he quickly brushed it off.

As he did, a black-and-white photo came into view.

The man’s handsome face was etched there, his expression lifelike.

“Fang Zhou.”

The woman in the black down coat murmured, staring at the photo, lost in thought.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

His task complete, the caretaker retreated to his shelter from the cold.

Before leaving, he glimpsed the woman placing white chrysanthemums at the grave.

Her once-beautiful right hand was marred with red scars, like burns.

Such a shame for someone as young as his daughter.

The caretaker left the two women to their grief.

“Sorry it took so long to visit.”

Qin Yun stepped forward, placing yellow chrysanthemums at the grave, gently touching Fang Zhou’s photo.

Her fingers brushed the cold surface, the chill biting.

Yet she lingered, gazing at the photo as if it were him.

Nearly a month had passed since the fire.

They’d been rescued unconscious, all suffering burns.

Carbon monoxide poisoning kept them hospitalized for a week, followed by hyperbaric oxygen therapy.

But the saddest part was Fang Zhou couldn’t be saved.

When they reached the funeral home, only his ashes remained.

Li Siming, hair turned white overnight, eyes swollen, clutched the black box, telling them to leave.

“The police did a DNA test. This is Fang Zhou.”

“I’ve hired detectives and lawyers to uncover what happened from the island to the fire.”

“Whether intentional or not, you’ll face justice!”

Qiao Sisi, in a fragile state, couldn’t process Li Siming’s words, only wanting the black box.

But Li Siming vehemently refused, even slapping her.

“What right do you have to touch him?”

“If not for your meddling, he’d have lived well! He wouldn’t have vanished on the island!”

“None of you ex-girlfriends have clean hands! You killed Fang Zhou!”

“You’re all murderers!”

Li Siming’s rage was palpable, wishing them to join Fang Zhou in death.

“Sorry, he’s grieving.”

“But I think it’s best you don’t touch Fang Zhou’s ashes now.”

Zhang Zhiyin’s eyes were red from crying, like two walnuts.

In that moment, she felt more sorrow than any character she’d written.

They watched the two leave the funeral home.

No one dared follow or confront them.

Because Li Siming was right, they were all guilty.

He despised them, refusing to disclose Fang Zhou’s burial site.

He even sent Fang Wenjing abroad for treatment, keeping her location secret.

Guilt and remorse haunted them, turning into nightly nightmares.

Every night, Fang Zhou’s lonely figure in the flames haunted them.

He said, “I’d rather die.”

Though they’d once considered dying with him, they never acted.

Yet faced with reality, it was hard to accept.

Their hearts no longer ached, numbed by the pain.

“Brother Fang Zhou, are you well down there?”

Chu Xinran knelt, leaving marks in the snow, uncaring.

Tears fell, disappearing into the snow.

“Han Xi and Qiao Sisi face charges, their freedom restricted, unable to come.”

“They asked me to apologize on their behalf, promising to do so in person.”

Chu Xinran had thought of joining Fang Zhou in death.

But Qin Yun stopped her.

With gentle words, she delivered the harshest truth.

“He wants us to feel guilty forever. What right do you have to die?”

So Chu Xinran lost the will to act.

The women stood at the grave, speaking for a long time.

Snowflakes fell, resting on their shoulders, as if the deceased gently comforted them.

“All the commotion will fade into dust.”