Chapter Eighty-Nine: A Rather Dignified Funeral

When Li Shixin came to Chengdu, he had only brought a few sets of autumn clothes. A few days earlier, seeing the weather turn cold while he was still wearing the military overcoat from the set, Zhang Ying had found the time to go out and buy him several outfits.

From the wardrobe he took out the black suit and wool overcoat Zhang Ying had specially bought for him, worth more than two thousand yuan and meant, she had said, for formal occasions. He slipped out of his pajamas.

White shirt. Silver-gray tie.

He dressed himself in the slightly fitted suit and wool overcoat, not especially comfortable, but strikingly sharp.

After fastening his watch, he took out the pair of suit shoes from their box, already polished and sealed away, and put them on. Then he stood before the mirror and combed every silver strand of hair back from his forehead.

Just before leaving, he returned to the bedroom and pulled a storage box from the wardrobe.

From inside, he chose a bright red scarf and draped it around his neck.

Soft, light cashmere yarn, woven tightly in a fine Albanian stitch. The vivid red did not quite suit the black suit that lent Li Shixin such a mature, steady air.

Still, when he saw the scarf resting lightly over the shoulder of his overcoat, he nodded in satisfaction.

He picked up his phone, keys, and loose change, then went downstairs.

At the flower shop near the bus stop, he bought a white rose, then boarded the bus.

...

By the time he reached the Chengdu funeral home, it was already nine-thirty.

A good many cars were parked haphazardly outside the remote crematorium. At the entrance, after giving the name of Sister Zhou, that is, the elderly Zhou Chuanfang, Li Shixin was shown the way.

As soon as he entered, he saw the two sons of Zhou Chuanfang, dressed in mourning hemp and filial white, standing guard at the door, each holding a heavy white gift box and receiving the condolences of friends and relatives: sorrow on the face, joy in the brow.

Li Shixin did not offer a white envelope either. He simply said a few words of condolence to the two middle-aged men, then walked serenely into the mourning hall under their somewhat displeased gazes, where he found a crowd of old fans.

Almost all of the first batch of fans from the support group, the elderly square-dance troupe, more than eighty people in all, had arrived. Even Old Master Liu Feng was there, wearing a black down jacket and sitting quietly on a bench with his grandson’s support.

When they saw Li Shixin, the old fans who had been wiping away tears before the coffin and the portrait all stood up.

“Shixin, why did you come?”

Li Shixin raised a hand, signaling for everyone to quiet down, then walked up to Zhou Chuanfang’s body. He gently laid the white rose beside her, where she lay in her cheap burial clothes, her mouth slightly open, her face tinged with blue, and bowed deeply.

Only then did he turn back and help the trembling Old Master Liu Feng sit down.

Seeing the red scarf around his neck, utterly unlike the style of his elegant black suit, several of the old people who had just managed to stop sobbing burst into tears again.

Wu Ming wiped his nose with a handkerchief, his eyes and nose both red, and gently touched the red scarf. “On the day we wrapped filming, Sister Zhou said we’d get together again once the weather warmed up. Who could have imagined that once the weather did warm, the person would be gone...”

Li Shixin let out a long sigh. “How did she go?”

“Somehow yesterday afternoon she had a heart attack at home. According to her daughter-in-law, when she got home after picking up the child, the body was already cold. She was old too, seventy-three. I’m guessing when she went, she didn’t even realize it herself.”

Li Shixin shook his head regretfully. “Then why was she cremated today when she died yesterday? Wasn’t there any kind of viewing?”

“Look at those two sons. Wrapped in mourning cloth and white hemp, their mother’s lying right here and they couldn’t care less, but with gift boxes in their hands they’re collecting money so smoothly. Do you think they’d be willing to spend money to keep their mother at the funeral home for seven days?”

Sigh.

Looking at the two middle-aged men, bowing constantly to arriving guests and accepting white envelopes, then at the women gathered near the coffin in mourning cloth and headbands, chatting idly among themselves with not a trace of grief on their faces, Li Shixin shook his head.

“The first cremation slot is done. Family of Zhou Chuanfang, it’s your turn!”

At that moment, one of the funeral home staff came over and called out.

When the two sons heard him, they first handed their gift boxes reverently to their wives, then tightened the slack mourning cloth around themselves and stepped up to the coffin.

“No,” the staff member frowned at their calm faces and stopped in the middle of lifting the body. “Your elder is about to be cremated!”

“Ah. Do you need help, sir?” One son blinked, then quickly moved forward to lend a hand.

The young man in charge of carrying the body frowned again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, in a few minutes your mother will be burned to ashes.”

“Ah...” Only then did the two sons remember that their own mother was dead, and that they ought to show some grief.

“Mother... why were you so cruel, just leaving us brothers like this all of a sudden!”

“My poor mother, now that you’re gone, I won’t have a home anymore!”

With two thuds, both sons dropped to their knees and began wailing.

As the crowd rose together and bowed their farewells, the young man carrying the body gave a slight shake of his head and, with a forceful heave of his arm, set the old woman down with a clatter onto the rolling gurney.

“Old lady, did it hurt? If it hurt, then that’s right.”

As if muttering to himself, the young man murmured to the body, then pushed it toward the cremation chamber amid the heart-rending but tearless howls of a roomful of dutiful sons and grandsons.

...

By Chengdu custom, the family was supposed to arrange a funeral meal after the service.

In the hotel, Li Shixin and the old fans occupied four tables.

Looking at the thin, watery spread on the table, no one picked up their chopsticks.

No one had come for this meal. After sending Zhou Chuanfang off, they had simply wanted to stay together a little longer, so they had followed the buses that brought the mourners back to the hotel.

The funeral had probably been considered grand enough, but the old fans who had usually played and joked with Zhou Chuanfang all looked deeply sorrowful.

“There wasn’t even a host to tell the guests about Old Zhou’s life. She was just cremated without anyone making a proper account of it,” muttered Old Madam Zhang, who had always been inseparable from Zhou Chuanfang.

“Yes. That portrait wasn’t even the one Sister Zhou had prepared herself. I saw the one she used when she took her photo last year, and she looked far more spirited than the picture they used at the funeral,” another of Zhou Chuanfang’s old girlfriends added indignantly at once.

“Enough, all of you. The person is gone. Let it be over and done with. No need to quibble over this and that.” Wu Ming waved a hand, stopping the old ladies’ complaints.

Beside him, Old Master Liu Feng, the oldest fan in the support group, rubbed the bald top of his head and said, “Come now, don’t be like that, everyone. It was sudden, yes, but it was also good in its way. She probably didn’t suffer much. See? That’s a blessing, isn’t it? Now the body’s turned to ash and gone into the earth, and a lifetime of right and wrong is sealed in the coffin. There’s a ledger in the hands of King Yama and the Judge, after all! Let’s not talk about her affairs in life anymore. Today, thanks to Old Zhou, we’re all gathered here together. Let’s talk about something happy!”

“What’s there to be happy about?”

At the question, no one knew who had asked it, but Liu Feng bared his false teeth and laughed. “Shixin, your movie’s finished. When’s it going to air?”

Li Shixin, seated among them, looked up and smiled. “They say the Spring Festival season.”

“So far away...” Liu Feng’s expression grew a little complicated. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “What about your next project? A movie has to wait, but when will we get to see you filming on set again?”

At the old man’s question, Li Shixin smiled.

“I’m afraid the next one won’t be able to start for another two or three months.”

“Damn it—”

With that burst of colorful language from Liu Feng, his false teeth flew out with a pop and landed in the soup bowl before him.

“So what you’re saying is, before I turn eighty-four, I still won’t get to see you act?”

Looking at the old fans around him, their spirits sinking once more, Li Shixin narrowed his eyes.

“That may not be certain.”