Chapter Seventy: The Old Man Passes Away

In the corridor outside the oncology ward, Tang Zhichu stood silently, just outside the room. Ten minutes later, the doctor opened the door. Upon seeing the family, he first shook his head, then patted Tang Zhichu on the shoulder, glanced at the few people standing behind him, and said, “My condolences. You’ve done everything you could.” The doctor’s mood was low as well. He turned and left, leaving the nurse to explain the next steps.

It was late-stage pancreatic cancer. The organs had already failed; not even a miracle could save him.

Tang Xiuju seemed as if a vital string had been pulled from her; she slumped weakly against the wall. Beside her, Tao Bo covered his face with his hand. Wang Jun, on the other hand, approached Tang Zhichu and pulled him into an embrace.

Tang Zhichu pulled free. “I’ll go get the death certificate. Please keep watch for a while.”

“I’ll go,” Wang Jun offered.

“No, I’ll go.”

Getting a death certificate was like slowly erasing every trace of someone’s existence in this world, and yet every step etched itself into Tang Zhichu’s memory.

He felt that a person was like a book; only when faced with parting or death did one truly leaf through its pages.

Standing atop that vast flood of memory, from Tang Maode’s perspective, the conflict between father and son gradually faded. Under the dredging of memory, fragments buried in daily minutiae caught the light.

Tang Zhichu realized it wasn’t the years that had smoothed things over, nor his own arrival prompting a new perspective. It was simply that neither of them had ever truly looked at those things taken for granted.

After obtaining the death certificate, Tang Zhichu stood for a long while before calling the funeral home, and then finally went upstairs.

At the stairwell, Tang Zhichu suddenly murmured, “May there be another world that welcomes you as kindly as I was welcomed here.”

There were two more people outside the ward. Tang Zhichu met their eyes for a moment, then quietly entered the room.

Seeing Tang Zhichu like this, Jiang Lan knew things were not good. His parents were divorced—clearly, he harbored resentment toward his mother, and she herself had come with his mother. A mistake.

Xu Yu didn’t care about any of this. She entered the ward.

The nurse had already wheeled away all the equipment and medication. The person on the bed was covered with a white sheet.

“Zhichu,” Xu Yu called softly.

“Since you’re here, say your farewell,” Tang Zhichu replied.

Xu Yu froze. Even though she’d prepared herself, she was still taken aback by Tang Zhichu’s coldness.

For Xu Yu, Tang Zhichu felt he had no right to forgive. Xu Yu had chosen the life she wanted—there was nothing wrong with that. In his memory, her life with his father had indeed been difficult.

In the early days, Yuzhou was a city with a wild, roguish spirit. Why? Statistics showed that one out of every thirty people in Yuzhou worked in industries related to hotpot. In those days, the city revolved around food—night markets, drinking, cards—such things were unavoidable.

This was the foundation upon which Tang Maode and the family survived. Of course, Tang Zhichu had no right to judge Xu Yu; it was perfectly understandable—what woman would want to live like that?

And yet, from a results-oriented perspective, if Tang Zhichu had never come to this world, how would things have ended between father and son?

Xu Yu didn’t say anything. From her attire and bearing, it was clear she’d made the right choice.

She walked to the bedside, her hand trembling as she slowly lifted the sheet. She gazed for a moment, then lowered it again.

“Have you notified the relatives and friends?” she asked.

“I have.”

“Has the ceremony been set?”

“I’ve spoken with the funeral home. The day after tomorrow.”

Xu Yu asked several questions, and Tang Zhichu answered them all.

She regretted not seeing him one last time, but her son was grown now.

“I’ll come again the day after tomorrow. If you need anything...call me.”

Tang Zhichu accompanied Xu Yu to the elevator. Jiang Lan excused herself to the restroom and didn’t leave with Xu Yu.

On his way back, Tang Zhichu happened to run into Jiang Lan in the corridor. She was carrying a bag.

She’d never experienced a scene like this before and didn’t know what to say. Tang Zhichu seemed more mature than she’d imagined—everything was already taken care of.

“You came here without eating much earlier. I brought you something,” Jiang Lan said, handing him the bag.

Tang Zhichu accepted it. “I’m fine, Lan. You should go home.”

Jiang Lan checked her watch. “How about this? I’ll stay with you until midnight.”

This time, Tang Zhichu didn’t refuse.

In fact, they didn’t stay at the hospital until midnight. Less than half an hour later, the funeral home staff arrived. By ten-thirty, the body had been transferred.

People began to gather at the funeral home.

His eldest aunt’s family arrived. His uncle was away on business, but his aunt came. His younger aunt called—she’d be on a flight early the next morning.

And there was Tang Maode’s group of old friends—almost all of them came.

Most were genuinely concerned, worried that Tang Zhichu wouldn’t be able to handle things. But as soon as they arrived, they found everything in perfect order.

Every procedure was being confirmed and followed up on.

Tang Zhichu kept in constant communication with the funeral staff. He spared no expense and didn’t rest until the body was placed in the coffin.

In the hall, Tang Zhichu looked at everyone, bowed deeply, and said in a steady voice, “Thank you, elders, dear family and friends, for coming. It’s late, and the ceremony will be held the day after tomorrow. I sincerely invite all of you to attend my father, Mr. Tang Maode’s, farewell ceremony. Thank you all for your trouble.”

Someone waved a hand, finding that there was little suitable to say. They offered a few words of consolation and quietly left the funeral home.

His eldest aunt and Wang Jun went to see the guests off.

Jiang Lan stayed. She felt the others giving her strange looks. When those burly men arrived, she’d been startled and had stepped back behind Tang Zhichu.

She’d nearly wondered if Tang Zhichu’s father had been some kind of underworld figure, but after introductions, they exchanged greetings.

Jiang Lan realized there might be misunderstandings, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave now.

Tang Zhichu appeared very calm, even reading through every clause in the funeral service contract with care. His father was gone, and his mother was absent due to special circumstances.

Jiang Lan tried to put herself in his shoes. It was too hard—she found she couldn’t walk away.

As everyone departed, Tang Zhichu turned and saw Jiang Lan, leaning dazedly against the wall.

He took two bottles of water from a nearby table and walked over to her.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you home,” he said, handing her a bottle.

Truthfully, Tang Zhichu was thirsty himself. It was well past midnight, and he hadn’t had a sip of water all night.

Jiang Lan accepted the water, nodding at first, then shaking her head. “I can go back on my own—it’s fine.”

Tang Zhichu tilted his head back, drained half the bottle, then set it down on another table.

“Come on, it’s already nearly half past one. I’m done here too.”

Outside, the funeral home was in a remote area; a stretch of road ahead was particularly dark. Jiang Lan relaxed, grateful she hadn’t insisted on going alone.

She wasn’t afraid of people, but she was afraid of the dark—and of ghosts.

It turned out Jiang Lan wasn’t a local; she only rented a place in Yuzhou. She didn’t want to return to her rented room at such a late hour, but instead to her company.

There was a lounge at her office where she could rest and get up to work the next day.

So, Tang Zhichu took Jiang Lan back to her company.