Epilogue

On the banquet table, we met again, wiping away tears with rouge and singing to the golden threads. In my heart, I had once promised—together we would blow on the petals and let them scatter. I always loved the fragrance of lotus blossoms, and the sight of willow trees shading the bridge path. A place where one could stay, amidst light mist and drizzle—a perfect haven for two.

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The sky finally brightened after hours of heavy rain, the sound of droplets fading into silence. Beyond the window, the horizon shifted from ashen gray to a pale white, softening into peacock blue before bleeding into streaks of crimson. Without a sound, half the sky erupted in a dazzling display of clouds—brilliant hues of flowing colors, like splashes of gold brocade. The morning sun was a faint golden glow, and the trees outside formed a canopy of shade, their shadows pooling like water. A single ray of sunlight filtered through the sparse leaves, timidly stretching into the room like a shy hand. On the tall table beneath the window sat a pot of orchids, their delicate fragrance subtly permeating the air, lingering faintly yet endlessly.

I clung tightly to Mother’s arm, asking, “What happened next?”

“Next?” She fell into deep thought again. The backlight cast her profile like an ink painting of a graceful lady, her exquisite contours breathtaking. I hugged her arm even tighter, afraid this beautiful moment was an illusion that would vanish if I let go. Zhuo Zheng sat on the other side of the sofa, his expression tense. Like me, he was experiencing this rare closeness with Mother for the first time. Both our hearts were clenched with anticipation.

She said, “Later, I fell into a coma. The doctors believed I would never wake up, and your father… he finally gave up.”

I exploded in anger, “He just abandoned you like that?!”

Mother smiled, her eyes glistening like crystal, warm and radiant. She was so beautiful when she smiled—it took my breath away. Softly, she said, “I woke up over a month later. When I did, I asked for a divorce, and your father agreed. It was Lady Murong who made the decision. They announced my death and arranged for me to leave the country under a new identity.”

I gazed up at her, just as any child looks up at their mother. Her face bore only calm serenity, and my heart swelled with joy. I said, “Mother, you were right. Father can never be forgiven.” Then I added, “Mother, you’re not very good at lying. How could there be cousins with the same surname? I got suspicious the moment you said it.”

Mother lowered her head with a faint smile, still accustomed to bowing her head humbly. Zhuo Zheng, recalling the inscription in Nine Pieces of Brocade , asked, “Mother, what about that Fang Mulan?” Mother replied indifferently, “I don’t know. After I left the country, I cut off contact with all my friends.”

Suddenly, another thought struck me. “Mother, Father sent someone to bring you back this time—he must have ulterior motives. No matter how sweet his words are, you shouldn’t listen to him. You’re free now. He’s done too many unforgivable things, and besides, he has a ‘wife.’”

Mother said, “This time, your father found your brother, which is why he sent for me.” I stuck out my tongue at Zhuo Zheng, finding it amusing that he was really my brother. After being alone for so long, suddenly having a brother felt strange and wonderful. Mother, however, looked deeply comforted as she held his hand. “Your father finding you is the happiest thing that could happen to me. Back then…” She sighed softly. “Back then, I couldn’t bear to part with you… Later, I heard…” Her voice trembled with suppressed sobs. “Thank heavens—I still can’t believe it. Your father said it was probably a mistake at the orphanage all those years ago. It felt like a dream.”

Her warm tears fell onto my hair, and she gently stroked my long locks. The tenderness brought tears to my eyes. “Nannan, look how much you’ve grown… The last time I saw you was earlier this year when your father took you abroad. I only caught a glimpse of you from afar in the hotel lobby. Do you blame me?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blurted out, “It’s all Father’s fault for making you leave me.”

Tears shimmered in Mother’s eyes too. Softly, she said, “I never imagined we’d have this day—the three of us talking all night. Aren’t you tired?” I shook my head. “No, I’m not tired. Mom, you must be exhausted. Rest for a while, and we’ll talk more when you wake up.” Zhuo Zheng echoed, “Mom, please rest.” She held Zhuo Zheng’s hand with her left hand and mine with her right, gazing at us for a long time. “Then both of you should go to sleep too.”

How could I possibly sleep? I tossed and turned in bed for what felt like hours before finally tiptoeing to Zhuo Zheng’s door and knocking. As expected, he hadn’t slept either. Looking pitiful, I asked, “Can I come in and talk to you?” He affectionately ruffled my hair. “Of course.” I climbed onto the couch, sitting cross-legged—a posture Father always disapproved of. Suddenly weary of the rigid discipline I’d endured for years, I deliberately sat this way out of defiance. Zhuo Zheng, however, remained upright, his posture straight like a soldier’s—just like Father’s. I hugged a cushion, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness that made me want to cry again. “Big Brother, what should we do about Mom…?” It was the first time I called him “Big Brother,” and he visibly jolted. Pulling me into a hug, he reassured me, “We’ll find a way. Now that Mother is back, we’ll surely see her often.” He spoke many comforting words, gradually calming me down. Gently, he asked, “Are you hungry?” It had been over ten hours since I’d eaten, and my stomach felt empty. I nodded. He said, “Let me get you some snacks. Once you’ve eaten, you’ll feel better.”

His way of comforting was unique, but effective. He brewed a pot of excellent tea and brought out a tin of cookies. Gradually, my mood improved. The cookie tin was stubbornly tight, and though Zhuo Zheng offered to help, I insisted on doing it myself. Grabbing his Swiss Army knife, I pried at the lid. With a soft “pop,” it opened—but the knife slipped, slicing through the chain around my neck. The small golden pendant clattered to the floor. Annoyed, I bent down to pick it up. Zhuo Zheng asked, “As intricate as mine—is it something you’ve worn since childhood?” I nodded. “Grandfather left it to me. On his deathbed, he couldn’t speak anymore, but he clutched this tightly and called me ‘Jing.’ Grandma then placed it around my neck. Unlike yours, though, this one is sealed shut—it can’t be opened.”

Zhuo Zheng suddenly exclaimed, “Huh!” I noticed it too: the fall had cracked the pendant, revealing a tiny gap inside. Peering closer, it seemed there was something within. After a moment, I looked at Zhuo Zheng. Understanding my thoughts, he hesitated. “Should we really tamper with a keepsake from Grandfather?” I reasoned, “It’s already broken. We’ll need to send it to a jeweler for repair anyway—why not see what’s inside?”

Using the tip of the knife, we carefully pried it open. Both of us froze. Inside the pendant lay a small photograph. The woman in the picture smiled quietly, her image faded with time but still radiant. Her eyes, clear as autumn waters, seemed to pierce straight into one’s soul. Unbidden, I murmured, “She’s beautiful.” We had countless photos of Grandma at home, always regal and elegant. But this woman in the old photograph exuded a brilliance that took my breath away—like the blazing sun of June, vibrant and intense. She was entirely different from Grandma, belonging to another world altogether. Silently, we gazed at this relic of the past. Zhuo Zheng gently placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “We shouldn’t disturb it anymore.” I never imagined that Grandfather’s life harbored such a secret—a story buried in the sands of time, waiting to be told.

After finishing our snacks, exhaustion from staying up all night finally caught up with me. My mind was a chaotic mess, overwhelmed by the stories of my parents and the fragments of the past that had surfaced. I retreated to my room for a nap and woke up in the afternoon.

Mother was still resting, so I went downstairs. The living room was quiet. As I turned a corner, I saw Father. He sat deep in the sofa, a cigarette reduced to ash in the tray. I had never seen such an expression on his face. He stared at the cigarette, lost in thought, his eyes filled with sorrow and despair—as if the burning ember was consuming his very life. He sat motionless, as though prepared to remain there for eternity.

I watched as Director Shi entered and softly called, “Sir.”

Father finally raised his head. Director Shi said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Father grunted in acknowledgment. Catching sight of me, he asked, “Is your mother asleep?” I nodded. He looked at me with an unfamiliar gentleness. “When she wakes up, you and Zhuo Zheng should spend time with her.”

Thinking of all the hardships Mother had endured, I couldn’t help but say, “I know everything.” Normally, such a defiant tone would have angered him, but this time, he merely sighed. Zhuo Zheng came downstairs then, and Father turned to him. Though he didn’t say much, he urged Zhuo Zheng to take care of Mother. Just then, Zhuo Zheng suddenly exclaimed, “Sir!” He still wasn’t used to addressing him differently. Father frowned slightly, reaching up to wipe his face, only to find blood on his hand. Director Shi quickly tilted his head back, and a servant rushed over with tissues. Father pressed the tissue to his nose, saying, “It’s nothing. The heat must have caused it.”

Blood spots stained his shirt, and Director Shi grew visibly uneasy. “Should we call Dr. Cheng?” Father dismissed the concern. “You’re always overreacting. Is a nosebleed really worth all this fuss?” Removing the tissue, he declared, “See? It’s already stopped.”

Director Liang, seeing the bleeding had ceased, relaxed slightly. A servant brought fresh clothes for Father to change into. Unable to resist, Director Shi suggested, “Sir, perhaps today’s schedule should be canceled. The weather is so hot…” Father replied firmly, “With everyone waiting for me, how can I cancel?” Turning to me, he said, “I’ll return tonight. You and your brother keep your mother company.”

I agreed. Not long after Father left, Mother came downstairs. She hadn’t rested well either, but seeing Zhuo Zheng and me, she smiled warmly and joined us for afternoon tea. I clung to her like a vine, chattering nonstop. Mother listened patiently, always smiling.

The familiar voice of my father rang out from the television, with the familiar buildings behind him. My mother watched his figure on the screen from afar, and Zhuo Zheng also turned to look. I made a playful remark: “In this sweltering weather, Mr. Murong has to stand under the scorching sun to give a speech…” Before I could finish, I saw my father’s body sway on the screen, then suddenly lurch forward. His arm knocked over several microphones, producing a sharp screeching sound. The crowd erupted in startled cries—I was too stunned to even scream, watching as the scene on the television descended into chaos. Attendants rushed forward, blocking the camera with their backs. Amidst the cacophony, nothing could be heard clearly. The broadcast signal was abruptly cut off, replaced by static snowflakes, followed by an eerie, consuming darkness that struck fear into the heart.

After my father’s collapse, my mother nearly fainted, and I was at a complete loss. Fortunately, Zhuo Zheng remained calm—far calmer than I—and his resolute expression in that moment gave both my mother and me a sense of reassurance. He decisively called the attendant’s office and insisted we go to the hospital.

When we saw my father, he appeared to be fine, reclining calmly on the hospital bed. The private ward was spacious and bright, resembling a luxurious apartment rather than a hospital room. If not for the faint medicinal scent lingering in the air, it would have been hard to believe we were in a medical facility. My mother stood beside me, exuding a subtle, pleasant fragrance—not perfume or floral, neither orchid nor musk, yet lingering delicately, masking the smell of antiseptics. As she approached, I noticed my father’s face visibly brighten, like a long-overcast sky suddenly clearing.

My father turned to me and asked, “Why are you here?” His tone carried a hint of reproach. “You must have frightened your mother.”

The doctor said he needed immediate surgery.

I was deeply worried—it wasn’t without risks, judging by the tense expressions of those around us. My father had some words to say to them, so Zhuo Zheng and I accompanied our mother to the waiting room. After a long while, someone came to fetch us.

I assumed he wanted to speak to us privately, but when we entered, Minister Lei and Mr. Huo were also there. We stood quietly by my father’s bedside. He pointed at us and said, “Nannan has always been mischievous, but fortunately, you’ve always treated her as your own daughter. I’m very reassured.” After a pause, he added, “I entrust Zhuo Zheng to you.”

They were both visibly shocked, immediately rising to their feet. Mr. Huo exclaimed, “Sir!”

My father continued, “He grew up apart from me and lacked proper discipline. I only hope you’ll treat him as your own son and guide him well on my behalf.”

Minister Lei protested, “Sir, you’re worrying unnecessarily—how could we possibly deserve such responsibility?”

My father sighed softly. “All I want is for him to live like an ordinary person, free to pursue what he desires, and to lead a peaceful, happy life.” He turned to look at us, his gaze tender and indulgent, as if we were still small children. In that moment, I finally understood—he was so, so weary.

Once everyone had left, he closed his eyes to rest, exhausted. Then my mother entered. Her steps were incredibly light, but my father opened his eyes instantly, as if sensing her presence. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Her smile was like a luminous pearl, illuminating the entire room. My father softly said, “I’m sorry.” Tears welled up in my mother’s eyes, shimmering with unshed emotion. She replied, “I understand.”

They had only spoken three words each, yet it felt as though they had exchanged thousands. Their gazes met, filled with a profound sense of peace and contentment. My father’s smile gradually warmed, glowing like radiant sunlight. He reached out his hand, and my mother gently placed hers in his palm.

There they sat, holding hands and gazing at each other, as if time itself might stretch on forever.

I turned to look at Zhuo Zheng, who was also watching me. He quietly walked over and nudged me. “Let’s go,” he whispered. Before I could protest, he half-pulled, half-shoved me out of the room and closed the door behind us. I glared at him, rolling my eyes. He playfully flicked my nose. “Don’t you think we were just getting in the way?”

He led me down the corridor toward the exit. The heat of the day lingered, and the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on us. Outside, we could see two children playing joyfully on swings in the distant grass. Even in the hospital, children could find happiness. Above them, the sky was an impossibly vivid blue, clear as if it might drip water, painted with streaks of magnificent sunset clouds—first crimson, then orange, then purple, fading into rippling hues of vermilion, gold, and gray…