C6 His Parents' Funeral

Dazhu's slap came so unexpectedly that it took a while for everyone to snap out of their stupor.

Glaring fiercely at the doorway, they all sensed a shift in Dazhu's presence. It was no longer the frustrated concern of someone disappointed in a loved one; it had turned into a deep-seated hatred.

After a brief moment of hesitation, the next person to burst through the door was Da Lin, who had been speaking earlier. Da Lin was known to be amiable, but upon witnessing Dazhu's rash behavior, he quickly followed suit, stepping out with a look of confusion. Approaching Dazhu, he squeezed through and peered at the figure in front of him, asking, "Who is it, Dazhu? What's got you so worked up?"

Once Da Lin had spoken, he gently tugged at Dazhu's shoulder, finally getting a clear view of the young man Dazhu was holding onto.

The youth's eyes were dark and luminous, with strikingly thick eyebrows framing his face. His features were stern, not particularly remarkable, but not unpleasant either. It was clear that the misunderstandings piled up over the past few days had caused an emotional outburst.

With just one look, Da Lin exclaimed in shock, "Jing Chong, is that you? You're alive?"

His face, which had been lit up with joy, quickly darkened with anger. But before he could voice his feelings, a series of footsteps approached from behind.

"Cough, cough, cough, who's there? Is that Jing Chong returning? Let's talk this out calmly, please, no harm to the child!"

Uncle Li, supported by a few elders, made his way through the crowd and reached the door. "Child, come quickly to your Second Grandfather!"

As he finished speaking, a shadow darted forward and flung itself into Uncle Li's embrace with such force that it nearly knocked the old man over. He staggered, struggling to keep upright, then firmly encircled the slender figure with his arms. His voice, aged and trembling, filled the air, "Where have you been these last two days? You've had your Second Grandfather worried sick!"

The few words, though not plentiful, were filled with warmth and immediately soothed the heart that had endured so much. In that moment, Jing Chong felt a surge of emotion; his chest heaved with a tumultuous sensation, and an indescribable power welled up in his eyes. Then, with a twinge in his nose, tears began to stream uncontrollably down his face.

"Second... Second Grandpa!" Jing Chong's voice was a little knotted, having not spoken for several days. Overwhelmed with emotion, he struggled to find the words, managing only a hoarse, choked sound.

"Uncle Li, you really shouldn't coddle this animal. Now that his savage nature has receded, he suddenly remembers he's human. When he was at his most brutal, he didn't recognize his own kin, even killed his parents. Can you still call him human? He's nothing but a cold-blooded wolf!"

Despite Jing Chong's look of helpless agony, the hot-tempered Dazhu offered no comfort, instead adding insult to injury, seemingly eager to stir up trouble. Uncle Li was repulsed by such words but found no grounds to argue.

"No... it's not like that. I... I didn't kill my parents! It was... it was them!"

Jing Chong, still a child at heart, was naturally straightforward. Poor at articulating his feelings, he nevertheless mustered the courage to reveal the hidden truth amidst the accusatory stares.

"How dare you continue with these lies? Are you ready to confess?"

Before Jing Chong could finish, Dazhu delivered another harsh slap across his darkened face. Even in the dim light of night, the imprint of five fingers was unmistakably visible.

The slap ignited a fury in Jing Chong, his eyes flashing with icy resolve as he glared at Dazhu, biting back tears.

"You mongrel, I'm disciplining you on behalf of your parents, and you dare defy me? Where's that wolfish nature now? If you're so capable, why don't you try to kill me too?"

Dazhu was relentless, seizing every opportunity to chastise Jing Chong. Upon witnessing his reaction, Dazhu raised his hand for another blow.

"Enough! Will this ever end? We're in front of Old Jing's memorial. Have you no respect for him and his wife?"

Finally losing his patience with the ongoing disrespect, Uncle Li intervened, pushing Dazhu's burly arm aside. His stern rebuke instantly halted the other man's brutish behavior.

After Uncle Li finished speaking, he quickly guided Jing Chong towards the courtyard, with Dazhu's indignant voice trailing behind them.

"Man, Uncle Li's really lost it, always coddling that brute. At this rate, he'll be the ruin of our whole village one day!"

Dazhu's complaints, though not loud, were distinctly heard by all. Yet, out of respect for Uncle Li's esteemed reputation, no one dared to voice their agreement.

All that could be heard was Da Ling's relentless attempts to calm Dazhu, "Brother Dazhu, let it go. Uncle Li's just showing tough love. And Jing Chong, he's the apple of his eye. The old man's not getting any younger, and who knows how much time he has left? Let's just humor him for now."

Da Ling said this as he tugged at Dazhu's arm, leading him back into the courtyard.

It was only then that Dazhu's expression softened slightly, though he continued to mutter resentfully, "No tomorrow, no tomorrow. I doubt he'll even find a tomorrow!"

Following this brief interlude, the crowd dispersed to their respective places. Uncle Li then proceeded to lead Jing Chong, step by step, towards the coffin. When they were still several yards away, Jing Chong could no longer hold back and collapsed to his knees.

"Mother, Father...!"

His cries were heart-wrenching, and the mournful mood quickly enveloped everyone.

It's often said that the greatest tragedies in life are to lose one's father in youth, a spouse in middle age, and a child in old age.

Yet here was this frail young man, having lost both parents, becoming the loneliest soul on earth. Barely an adult, with no one to depend on, and suffering from malaria, his situation seemed even more pitiable. How would he manage to get by in the days to come?

In that brief moment, everyone present was deeply moved by the scene before them, shedding tears of empathy. But life goes on, and each person has their own journey. How far they'll go is known only to the heavens. Such is the hand of fate, and Jing Chong was a child dealt a particularly harsh one.

Thinking this, especially Uncle Li, felt a profound sense of sorrow.

As age advanced, his strength no longer lay in his muscles and bones. At his advanced years, what more could he do for the child? It seemed that all he could offer was to spend his remaining days by his side, providing companionship.

The more he pondered, the deeper his sorrow grew. Tears began to streak down Uncle Li's weathered face as he collapsed to the ground, weeping inconsolably without anything to lean on.

Everyone feared Uncle Li's grief might overwhelm his health, so they rushed to console him. It took a considerable time to quiet his sobs, but no amount of consolation seemed to alleviate Jing Chong's sorrow.

It was only at daybreak that the cries subsided. Jing Chong, with eyes puffy from weeping, finally stood with the support of others. After a sleepless night and such distress, even the sturdiest body would falter, let alone that of a child.

In that moment, Jing Chong felt dizzy and unwell all over. Yet, with the thought of his parents' funeral that day, he quickly rallied his spirits and mustered his energy.

He had listened intently to Uncle Li's words the night before. According to tradition, the more heart-wrenchingly the children and grandchildren wept, the less the deceased would suffer in the afterlife. Jing Chong, a devoted son, now bore the unfounded accusation of patricide and matricide. But the truth was undeniable, and he refused to let his parents endure undue anguish even in death.

With this in mind, he naively resolved to cry with all his might later on, determined to outdo even the professional mourners.

Of course, no one else was privy to Jing Chong's thoughts. They were all preoccupied with their tasks as the first light of dawn filled the Jing Family's courtyard, now bustling with people.

The turnout of villagers eager to lend a hand was impressive, with people of all ages crowding in. The elderly contributed by helping out, while the able-bodied prepared to dig graves and erect tombstones, stirring the village into a frenzy.

After some time, all preparations were complete, and the moment was ripe for the procession to begin.

In the once cramped courtyard, two lanes were swiftly cleared, providing ample room for the pallbearers to maneuver.

Upon observing the two coffins in the courtyard's center, it was clear they had been hoisted aloft by four massive wooden poles. Eight robust men, having limbered up, each shouldered a hemp rope threaded through a short, stout stick. Working in tandem, they hefted the sizable coffins off the ground with concerted effort.

Tradition dictated that as soon as the coffin was airborne, the brazier must be shattered, followed by the bereaved son kneeling to pay his final respects, then crying out thrice to alert the spirits.

Jing Chong meticulously executed these steps, forcefully breaking the stone brazier and promptly falling to his knees to weep before his parents' spirits.

This was no mere formality; Jing Chong's cries, heartfelt and profound, resonated with such sorrow that they could move even the most stoic observer to tears, regardless of the time of day. It was evident that he possessed a genuine aptitude for filial piety.

After fulfilling the ritual of three cries, Jing Chong was swiftly supported to his feet by those around him. With that, the funeral procession formally commenced, an impressive throng of villagers following in its wake.

Despite the absence of formal ceremony, the Jing family's funeral procession carried an air of dignity and reverence, thanks in no small part to the involvement of the compassionate villagers.

Before long, with collective effort, the coffin crossed the threshold of the home. Overcome with grief, Jing Chong's resolve faltered, and he collapsed to his knees before the coffin once more. Yet, he was promptly pulled to his feet. After enduring this ordeal three times, the procession finally made its way out of the village, advancing toward the gravesite that had been prepared in advance.