Homo Sapiens

Parallel Universe No. 106337.

The Solar System, Third Planet—Blue Star.

March 19, 2017 AD.

Traffic flowed endlessly on the highway. The bus driver, his expression cautious and meticulous, focused intently on the signs on either side of the road.

Outside the window, a misty drizzle was falling.

The early spring, warm one moment and cold the next, was always possessed of a fickle mood.

The passengers inside seemed to be lamenting the spring, or at least, they appeared to be. They were a uniform sea of black suits, black mourning armbands, and white chrysanthemums.

Amidst the somber atmosphere, the bus driver saw a sign up ahead. It starkly read: Huashi 10 km.

In a front seat, a pale-faced young man with bloodshot eyes stared out the window. His gaze was vacant and lost, and he clutched two small urns tightly in his arms.

The dark clouds on the horizon seemed to hold an ancient, unyielding despair. The cold, icy rain that beat against the glass was feeble and pale.

A short while later, the driver gently turned the steering wheel. With its turn signal flashing, the bus exited the highway.

As soon as it entered the township road, the bus began to jolt slightly from the potholes and small rocks littering the pavement.

It didn’t enter Huashi Town, instead turning onto a different township road heading southwest.

Clouds and mist coiled around the rolling hills and mountains.

The light rain came and went, but the road remained pockmarked with potholes. The sudden jolts were enough to make anyone feel a bit uncomfortable.

The young man leaning against the window, however, felt nothing. His heart was like a pool of stagnant water.

The wind and rain outside, the oppressive silence within—none of it could compare to a fraction of his grief.

”Qingye, we’re here.”

A gentle and magnetic voice sounded beside his ear. The speaker’s face was etched with sorrow and concern.

Li Qingye awoke from his all-consuming grief and looked at the older man before him, whose temples were already streaked with white. His lips trembled slightly as he replied, ”I know, Uncle Wu.”

The older man turned his head and gave a serious order, ”Jianxin, Xiao Hong, give Qingye a hand.”

”Right.” The short, round-faced young man, Du Jianxin, nodded.

The other young man—tall, with glasses and a square jaw—Su Hong, also stood up and quickly helped support Li Qingye, lest anything happen to the urns.

Supported and escorted by the two, the group finally disembarked from the bus.

Du Jianxin and the older man held up black umbrellas.

A light drizzle was still falling from the sky.

A dozen or so villagers from Gao Shansi Village of Qingshan Bridge Town, led by two clan elders, had been waiting for a long time at the village entrance, holding black umbrellas.

The elegant older man hurried forward to greet them. ”I am Wu Heguang, a good friend of Zhong Hua’s. We’ll have to trouble you all for the funeral arrangements.”

”President Wu, you’re too kind. This old man is Zhong Hua’s Seventh Uncle. Fate is so cruel! Ah...” The old man with the cane glanced at the pale Li Qingye and sighed softly.

Seventh Uncle offered a few more words of comfort to Li Qingye, then led the group to the small village square.

In the square, under a canopy that had been set up earlier, a mourning hall had been arranged with memorial tablets and wreaths. Li Qingye silently placed his parents’ urns on the table before the tablets, then knelt on a cattail hassock to the side.

The suona wailed, like a cuckoo crying blood.

Gongs and drums thundered, like a cascade of falling stars.

”First bow... second bow... third bow!”

”The family expresses their gratitude!”

Li Qingye’s gaze was empty as he mechanically returned the bows.

Soon, the guests who had arrived on the bus began to leave in small groups. One after another, Mercedes and BMWs sped away into the rain.

At the village entrance, two Mercedes, escorted by four large Ford Raptors, also slowly departed from the small mountain village.

In one of the cars, a man with sharp, sword-like brows and star-bright eyes coldly tore off his black mourning armband. He tossed it out the window along with the white chrysanthemum pinned to his chest.

In the wind and rain, the white chrysanthemum fell into the wild grass by the roadside. A speeding car splashed up a sheet of water, washing the flower into a nearby river.

Carried away by the current, the white chrysanthemum drifted farther and farther toward an unknown destination.

...

The golden crow sank in the west.

The small mountain village grew even gloomier.

The funeral dirge became faint and listless. Nearly all the friends, relatives, and guests who came to pay their respects had arrived. In the flickering candlelight of the mourning hall, Li Qingye’s face looked even paler.

”Elder Li, you should go back and rest! Old Su and I can handle things here,” Wu Heguang said with concern, taking Seventh Uncle by the arm as they walked.

Seventh Uncle sighed and replied wearily, ”I’m getting old. I’ll have to trouble you both. Zhong Hua was lucky to have friends like you. President Wu, President Su, you two should also get some rest soon.”

”I’ll stay with Qingye a while longer,” Wu Heguang said with a sigh.

”Then I’ll walk Uncle Li back,” the other older man, the square-faced Su Ruoyu, said, opening an umbrella and helping Seventh Uncle walk away.

”Alright. Thanks, Old Su.” Watching the backs of Su Ruoyu and Seventh Uncle, Wu Heguang’s gaze was calm as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Smoke coiled around his face.

Su Ruoyu suddenly glanced back. Under the dim streetlight, through the misty rain and smoke, Wu Heguang’s face was a blur.

Their gazes seemed to pierce the veil of rain and smoke, a silent understanding passing between them.

Su Ruoyu continued helping Seventh Uncle, their figures receding into the distance.

Wu Heguang stubbed out his cigarette and turned back into the mourning hall.

As the two men walked away from each other, no one knew what they were thinking.

「The next day.」

A misty drizzle was still falling.

Accompanied by Seventh Uncle, Wu Heguang, Su Ruoyu, and the others, Li Qingye placed his parents’ ashes inside the old family house.

This was a small villa his father had bought when he returned to his hometown years ago, located at the foot of Changshan Mountain.

Despondent and lost, Li Qingye knelt before the memorial tablets. His parents’ sudden death had dealt him a massive blow, and for a time, he simply couldn’t accept this new reality.

As the funeral proceedings concluded, the small villa grew cold and empty.

Only Li Qingye remained, along with the graying Wu Heguang and a grief-stricken Su Ruoyu.

”Qingye, my condolences.” Wu Heguang patted his shoulder and continued, ”Zhong Hua’s spirit in heaven wouldn’t want to see you wallowing in despair.”

Li Qingye just stared blankly at the memorial tablets, kneeling in silence.

Su Ruoyu wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and said, choking up, ”Qingye, it’s Uncle Su who has failed you and Zhong Hua. If it weren’t for...”

”That’s enough, Old Su. Who could have predicted such an accident? It was fate!” Wu Heguang sighed.

Tears welled in Li Qingye’s eyes like the Yellow River bursting its banks, silently trickling down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

Suddenly, a faint vibration came from Wu Heguang’s pocket.

He quickly stepped out of the mourning hall, took out his phone, and answered the call.

「A moment later.」

Wu Heguang returned with an apologetic look on his face. ”Qingye, there’s an emergency at the company. Old Su and I have to rush back to Peng City. I’ve already spoken with Elder Li; someone will come to bring you meals every day. You have to take care of yourself. You must pull yourself together.”

At his side, Su Ruoyu’s expression flickered slightly.

Wu Heguang continued, ”Qingye, I will definitely make sure you get your parents’ shares. You have to get back on your feet. Your Uncle Wu has no children. In the future, my share will be yours too.”

A look of profound gratitude filled Li Qingye’s eyes. He hurriedly knelt and kowtowed to Wu Heguang.

”Uncle Wu, Qingye can never repay your immense kindness.”

”Qingye, it’s what an uncle should do.” Wu Heguang wiped his eyes and took a document from an assistant’s hand. ”This is my notarized will. If anything should happen to me, you can take this will and inherit my shares.”

”This... I can’t accept this...” Li Qingye looked hesitant.

Wu Heguang patted his shoulder. ”Qingye, I have no children. In the future, just burn three sticks of incense for me on Qingming Festival. That’s all I ask.”

With that, he pressed the will into Li Qingye’s hands.

Beside them, Su Ruoyu remained expressionless, saying nothing.

As Li Qingye watched, at a complete loss, Wu Heguang and Su Ruoyu hurriedly left the small villa, got into their convoy of cars, and receded into the endless rain.

On the third floor of the villa, Li Qingye stood by the window, watching the convoy disappear at the foot of the mountain village. His eyes held a mixture of doubt, contemplation, and above all, a tangled mess of thoughts that he couldn’t begin to sort out.