freenovelworld Chapter 1395 Funeral 2
Chapter 1395 Funeral 2
As Gu Chengyuan led his men to the cemetery atop the mountain, his and his family's steps finally came to a stop in the farthest corner of the cemetery.
There stood a monument there, which was half a head shorter than all the other monuments around it.
He was thin and small, like his younger brother.
Like that young man who followed him around since childhood, gentle and mild-mannered, who never raised his voice even when arguing, but who ultimately let out the loudest roar of his life in the rain of spores.
The monument is made of plain white granite, from the same vein as all the other tombstones in the garden, and was carved overnight by the same group of stonemasons. It is just a little smaller and the wear marks on the edges are not as deep.
It was clearly the roughest, last, and most hastily made piece of work in the entire Stele Forest...
The ink of the inscription had not yet fully penetrated the stone's texture. Rainwater seeped along the strokes, causing the edges of the characters to slightly blur, like a rubbing that had not yet dried completely.
In the center, a line of regular script:
Tomb of Martyr Gu Chengyun
The two lines of smaller text below:
Battle of Gucheng Lake
Reconnaissance Battalion Political Instructor
There is no biography, no list of achievements, only a name, only a date, and only four words: heroic martyrdom.
Gu Chengyuan stared at the words: Heroic martyrdom.
These four words were like four red-hot nails, driven into his eyes, into his throat, and into his heart, which had been broken countless times, yet he had picked up the pieces one by one, glued them back together with his own flesh and blood, and struggled to stuff them back into his chest cavity.
He knew that, according to the regulations for the burial of martyrs in the war zone, troops who died in battle and whose remains could not be identified should be buried together by company or battalion with a monument erected, and no individual graves should be set up.
This is the system; this is equal respect for every drop of blood that cannot return home.
However, he still granted this special exception... and carved out a small corner for his younger brother, exclusively for him, on this land closest to the sky.
This was his personal wish as an older brother, and also his way of fulfilling his duty to his family.
The father and mother can have a place to talk to their youngest son alone.
—Wanying, Xueli, and Miaomiao could have a physical stone tablet engraved with their husbands' names, where they could touch it, cuddle with it, and press their faces against it to shed tears.
—Especially for the unborn child, who will know where their father is in the future...
Gu Chengyuan didn't think any further.
He simply stood there, gazing at the monument that was half its original height, a hidden yet sharp sense of shame welling up within him.
"I'm sorry..." he said in his heart to the thousands of martyrs of Gucheng Lake who are buried in this cemetery.
"In the end, I failed to treat everyone equally..."
He opened his mouth, as if to call out "Cheng Yun" (a homophone for "Imperial Carriage").
Only a very faint, broken breath escaped from his throat; the sound was so faint.
So softly that even he himself could barely hear it.
He was as light as when he was five years old, when Cheng Yun first learned to ride a tricycle. He rode wobblingly from the alley entrance and called out, "Brother—look at me—" He was looking down at playing marbles and didn't even raise his head, only grunting "hmm".
He was as light as when he was seventeen. The night before the college entrance exam, Cheng Yun couldn't sleep. He walked barefoot to Cheng Yun's room and whispered, "Brother, I'm nervous." Cheng Yun was engrossed in playing games and didn't even turn his head. He said, "What's there to be nervous about? If you don't pass, you can retake the exam."
He was as light as when he graduated from military academy a while ago. Before boarding the transport plane to Nanjing, he looked back at him three times, and only on the third time did he raise his hand and wave.
Gu Chengyuan was extremely busy during that period.
Busy organizing troops across the country, busy making deployments, busy holding meetings, busy rebuilding order from the ruins.
I was so busy that I forgot to tell my younger brother—I'm proud of you.
-
At this moment, he stood in front of his brother's tombstone, raindrops falling on his brow bone, gathering into thin streams, and sliding into the corners of his eyes.
He finally spoke, his voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against rust:
"Consignment..."
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times.
"...I didn't tell you."
"Your brother is so proud of you..."
The sound of rain suddenly became very loud.
The impact was deafening, hitting the tombstone, the stone steps, and his black Zhongshan suit.
He stood there, letting the rain soak into his collar and into his eyes, mingling with the finally uncontrollable heat that streamed down his cheeks silently.
-
The mother gently loosened her grip on her hand, which she had been holding tightly the whole way.
She placed the pair of dark blue gloves with utmost care and neatness in front of the monument, facing the child who would never be able to wear them again.
Her lips trembled violently.
From the moment she heard the devastating news, from enduring that week that felt like an eternity, from being helped into the car by Gu Jianguo at four in the morning and driving up the mountain in the rain and fog—she never uttered a sound.
She was afraid that if she started crying, she wouldn't be able to stop, and she was afraid that if she cried, the family would really fall apart.
But at this moment, looking at this short, thin tombstone, at the name she could trace a thousand times with her eyes closed, at her eldest son standing in the rain, his shoulders slumping for the first time, like an old tree hollowed out by lightning, with only bark clinging to its branches—
She couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Consignment—"
That call did not come from the throat.
It came from the deepest part of my chest, from twenty years of feeding and embracing, from every sleepless night, from every window where I watched his departing figure—
It was torn apart alive.
"My son——"
She threw herself into Gu Jianguo's arms.
Gu Jianguo hugged her tightly, so tightly that it seemed he wanted to meld her frail body into his own bones.
His back remained straight, but his hands were trembling, his eyes were red-rimmed, and he was clenching his teeth so tightly that the muscles in his jaw were taut.
He pressed his wife tightly against his chest, using his still-beating heart to warm her heart that had been shattered into pieces.
The three women, including Du Wanying, were sobbing uncontrollably, huddled together for support, and wailed loudly.
Meanwhile, in front of each tombstone in the Martyrs' Cemetery, people stood paying their respects, including high-ranking officials from the war zone, military representatives, relatives of martyrs, and representatives from relevant departments, among others.
In contrast, Gu Chengyun's tombstone appeared rather desolate...
Soon, the incense was lit.
Smoke curled up from in front of the rows of steles, scattered by the drizzle, and then gathered again by the wind.
The entire Yangwangpo was shrouded in a misty haze that seemed both real and dreamlike.
That wasn't rain or fog.
That is the longing of humankind, condensed into tangible, slowly rising, lingering smoke.
The paper money is being burned.
The orange flames licked the yellow paper, curling the symbols that expressed grief into black butterflies.
When the wind rises, millions of black butterflies take flight, swirling, dancing, and ascending in the rain, flying higher and higher, farther and farther.
Mars filled the sky.
Like shattered stars, flowing backwards into the sky.
Cries echoed from every corner of the cemetery.
It wasn't a unified wail, but rather a series of sobs and cries, rising and falling, varying in pitch and tone, belonging to different genders, ages, and accents.
The old mother's cries were hoarse and broken, each one calling out her son's childhood name.
The young wife's sobs were suppressed and low, like a long, drawn-out wail from someone alone with an empty pillow in the dead of night.
The innocent cries of a toddler, held in the arms of an adult, do not yet understand loss, yet already know sorrow.
The men's cries were the lowest, muffled sounds squeezed from deep within their chests.
They endured it.
They are the pillars of their families, the backbone of the army, and the hope that survivors hold dear.
But at this moment, on this land closest to the sky, before those pure white tombstones forever frozen in the prime of youth—
They couldn't take it anymore.