Chapter 045: The Living Arrange a Funeral

HA County lies to the west of Nanjiang Province, encircled on three sides by mountains; only to the north-northwest is it unblocked by the towering peaks, but there, too, the surging river rushes eastward. Since ancient times, the lands south of the river have been famed for their grace and allure, yet HA County, cut off by both river and stone, presents a wholly different scene.

The roads are rough and pitted, and the squat houses with their coarse facades speak plainly of the people’s lack of wealth. Taian Town’s single street runs south to north through the very heart of the town—though to call it a “center” is to flatter it; in truth, it is little more than a market.

And even then, the market is a languid one, with only the occasional gathering of villagers idly playing mahjong or cards. When a string of black cars rolled in from the direction of the county, some of the more gossipy townsfolk couldn’t help but start speculating.

There is always gossip to be had over tea and meals, yet nothing had stirred the town’s tongues lately as much as the affair of the Li family from Shili Village.

The Li family has been well-known in Taian for years, their reputation tracing back to the late Li Guangbo, once a humble butcher in the town. Honest and unassuming, he had stood out in the poverty of the eighties and nineties, where there were few butchers to be found. Pity he died young, never living to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Still, the Li patriarch left behind five sons, each one as capable as his father. The eldest was Li Fu, the second Li Jiang, the third Li Lin, and the fourth, Li Xuebao, was adopted.

This time, the trouble had found the third son, Li Lin.

“Going abroad? What’s so great about going abroad? Look at Li Lin—if he hadn’t left, would any of this have happened? People shouldn’t forget their roots. If life abroad is so wonderful, would we still be here?”

“Oh, stop it. He went to Libya—how’s that the same as America or Britain?”

“Libya or America, it’s all the same—just overseas.”

No one truly knew what sort of place Libya was.

“But to be fair, Li Lin’s luck these past years has been terrible. First his father passed away, and now this. Surely the government ought to provide some support?”

“You wish! He went abroad as a laborer—why would the government compensate him? Besides, he isn’t dead.”

“If you ask me, his son should just come home. Now, the old must bury the young—it’s heartbreaking.”

“Aye, it really is.”

Shili Village lies at the far western edge of Taian Town. It used to be two villages—Shiwucun and Liwucun—but around the year 2000, as part of the rural reforms, they were merged into one: Shili Village.

The rutted, sandy track stretches from the town to the village entrance. As soon as the car stopped and the door opened, Liu Bo heard a mournful melody drifting on the air.

He, too, had come from the countryside, so the sound was hardly unfamiliar, yet as it reached his ears, a deep unease crept into his heart. He said nothing, but when his gaze met Xu Xiaofeng’s, who had just stepped out of the car, both nodded, their faces tense and unnatural.

The worst they had feared had come to pass.

“Mengyao, maybe you should wait in the car?”

The girl’s slim frame was swaddled in a plain white down jacket, her face drawn and weary. She had not slept well in days, plagued by nightmares and the upheaval of being forced to move from the school dormitory to live with Liu Bo and Xu Xiaofeng. Only recently had she begun to recover.

Yet this journey south, she insisted on joining them. Liu Bo and Xu Xiaofeng could neither refuse nor replace her; some things, after all, could only be faced by Mengyao herself.

The door of the second car opened.

Emerging were several colleagues who had also returned from Libya. It was no exaggeration to say that they owed their lives to Li Changjiang, so they, too, had come.

“Brother Liu, something doesn’t feel right here.”

“Let’s just keep quiet and take a look.”

Just then, a middle-aged woman carrying two buckets of water approached. Seeing two cars stopped at the village entrance, she seemed uneasy.

“Excuse me, madam, is this Shili Village?”

“Yes, this is Shili Village. Who are you people?” she replied in the local dialect, which Liu Bo could just about understand.

“Are Li Lin and Li Changjiang from here?”

“The third son? You’re here for him?”

At the mention of Li Lin and Li Changjiang, the woman’s face changed, and she set her burden down, clearly agitated.

Who could blame her? The Li family had been under a cloud these days. Both father and son were missing; their company only said they’d disappeared—meaning they couldn’t be found. The news spoke of war in that place, Libya or whatever it was called, and missing in a war zone rarely bodes well. Just a few days ago, the police had called to say they’d found the father, but the son, Changjiang, was gone. It was a tragedy.

“Yes, we’ve come to see their family. We’re from the north.”

“All right, I’ll take you there. But tell me—will they ever find Changjiang? His mother has been half out of her mind from grief. It’s a curse, it is.”

Liu Bo said nothing.

He truly did not know what to say. They couldn’t declare Changjiang dead, for there was no news—not even from the Foreign Ministry. But to say he was alive felt like a cruel hope. His silence spoke volumes, and Wang Meixiang, at their side, also fell silent.

After winding through a few alleys behind Wang Meixiang, Liu Bo spotted a low house, crowded with people and the sound of funeral music pouring out. The trappings of mourning were everywhere—white clothes, makeshift awnings, the sharp scent of incense and firecrackers.

“What is going on here?” Liu Bo wondered aloud.

“A few days ago, the company called to say they’d lost Changjiang. How could a grown man just vanish? And with the war outside, who knows how many have died? His mother had the uncles and cousins organize a funeral—just in case. Poor woman.”

At this, the group exchanged uneasy glances. This seemed hasty—was it right to hold a funeral when the man was still missing?

Meanwhile, as Liu Bo and the others reached the Li home, two dark green military jeeps turned off the highway from Guangping toward HA County and made for Taian. Inside, along with Yang Jianyong and his soldiers, was a gloomy, middle-aged man—Li Lin himself.

“Brother Li, Changjiang is lucky—he’ll be all right,” someone said from the passenger seat.

Li Changjiang, in truth, took after his mother, Liu Fen, more than his father, except for his height.

After Li Lin was repatriated from Egypt, he had been quietly sent to Guangping Naval Base and then escorted home by Yang Jianyong and his men, all because of the delicate circumstances surrounding Changjiang.

“If only I hadn’t taken him with me. If something happens to him, how will I ever—” Li Lin’s voice faltered, his spirits low since his return, worsened by news of his son’s disappearance.

The car sped into the village, and as they spotted the northern-plated vehicles at the entrance, Yang Jianyong seemed to guess what awaited them.

Upon entering the Li house and finding Liu Bo, Mengyao, and the others, there was a rush of relief—survivors reunited, emotions running high.

On the other side, with Li Lin’s return, the house filled to bursting with relatives, the doorway jammed with people.

Soon, from within, came a chorus of wailing and grief—a storm of mourning and lamentation.

(And so the story turns; let there be both passion and humanity!)