It had been a year and a half since Ciao Ren was laid to rest.
Time moved forward for the world, indifferent and relentless, but for Lian Yu, it had stopped the moment the earth sealed over her coffin. Days still passed, nights still came and went, yet every morning began the same way—as if ritual were the only thing keeping him upright.
At dawn, before the city fully woke, he would stand before her photograph.
The frame was polished daily, never allowing even a thin layer of dust to settle, as though neglect might offend her spirit. The image captured her mid-smile, eyes curved softly, warm and alive in a way that cut deeper with each passing day. He would light incense carefully, bowing his head as the thin smoke curled upward, drifting like prayers that had nowhere to land.
A plate of fruit always sat beneath the photo.
Fresh oranges.
Ripe mangoes.
Her favorites.
He replaced them every single day, even when the previous ones remained untouched. To him, it did not matter. What mattered was that she was never without.
That even in death, she would be cared for in the ways he had failed while she lived.
Only after that ritual—after the incense burned down to ash—would he begin his day.
And every week, without fail, he went to her grave.
Rain or shine. Cold or heat.
He paid his respects in silence, kneeling before the stone as though it were an altar. He hired cleaners regularly, instructing them to scrub every corner carefully, to wipe the tombstone until it gleamed, to ensure not a single leaf lingered longer than it should. He treated her resting place the way one would tend to a home meant for someone beloved.
People noticed.
Among the rows of graves weathered by time and neglect, Ciao Ren's stood out—pristine, immaculate, untouched by decay. If anyone asked, they would say her tombstone was the neatest in the cemetery.
Even her mother noticed.
She couldn't deny it.
Each time she visited, she found the flowers fresh, the ground clean, the stone polished to a quiet shine. For a fleeting moment, something twisted painfully in her chest—something dangerously close to acknowledgment.
But forgiveness never followed.
She could not forget.
She had severed all ties with him long ago, cutting him out of her life as decisively as one amputates a limb to survive. Yet every morning, when she opened her door, there were packages waiting at her doorstep.
Groceries.
Medicine.
Warm clothes when the weather turned cold.
Fresh food during holidays.
Always anonymous.
Always precise.
She never accepted them.
She never returned them either.
She simply stood there, staring down at the quiet proof of a remorse that came far too late.
Why couldn't she forgive?
Because Ciao Ren was her only daughter.
After her husband ran away with a mistress, life had collapsed around her like a house built on sand. Shame, abandonment, and financial hardship swallowed her whole.
There were days she could barely rise from bed, days she wondered whether continuing was worth the pain.
It was Ciao Ren who pulled her out.
Ciao Ren who worked quietly, who smiled gently, who told her mother not to worry, that they would be fine. It was her daughter who became her strength, her anchor, her reason to keep breathing.
And then she was gone.
Gone because the man who should have protected her chose someone else.
Gone because while her daughter lay in a hospital bed—weak, frightened, fighting for every breath—her fiancé was somewhere else. Laughing. Celebrating. Turning off his phone.
Gone because the consent form remained unsigned.
Gone because hope waited… and waited… and waited—until it finally gave up.
How could a mother forgive that?
How could she accept that the same man who now prayed so faithfully, who cleaned graves and burned incense, had once failed her daughter at the moment it mattered most?
No amount of devotion after death could rewrite that truth.
So she hardened her heart.
Because forgiving him would feel like betraying the child who had saved her life—only to lose her own.
And somewhere between guilt and grief, Lian Yu continued his silent penance, loving a woman who could no longer return that love, while her mother clutched her pain just as tightly, refusing to let go.
Because some wounds do not heal with time.
They only deepen.
___
Lian Yu sat on the cold floor, cross-legged, unmoving, facing Ciao Ren's photograph.
The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, sunlight filtered weakly through the fabric as if it, too, hesitated to intrude. The air smelled faintly of incense—sweet, lingering, comforting in the cruelest way. Ash had gathered in the burner, a silent witness to countless prayers spoken into emptiness.
He stared at her picture.
Not really seeing it.
Thinking.
Replaying.
Wondering where everything had gone wrong.
It all started with something so small it felt ridiculous now.
A bump of the shoulder.
That was all.
A careless collision. A fleeting moment. A stranger's soft voice, apologetic and fragile.
From that single bump, everything spiraled downward—like fate itself had been waiting for an excuse to collapse.
Just one bump.
And it got his beloved killed.
The bitterness rose sharply in his chest.
He had wanted to kill her—the woman everyone called harmless, innocent, gentle. Green tea, sweet on the surface, poisonous underneath. The thought alone made his hands tremble with restrained violence. But he knew better.
Ciao Ren would never forgive him.
She had always hated cruelty. Always believed that hatred only bred more suffering. Even in death, she would turn away from him if he stained his hands with blood in her name.
He had wanted to follow her into death too.
Many times.
But every time the thought came, it died just as quickly.
Because he hadn't suffered enough.
How could he face her in the netherworld when he had escaped punishment so easily? When his pain was still breathing, still living, still incomplete?
No.
Suffering suited him.
So he stayed.
One day, as he sat there staring at nothing, eyes unfocused, his gaze drifted slowly around the room.
Everything felt haunted.
The couch where she once napped while waiting for him.
The table where cold meals sat untouched until dawn.
The doorway she stared at night after night.
Fragments of memories surfaced—sharp, vivid, merciless.
Now he understood.
He finally understood how it felt when Ciao Ren stayed up all night waiting for him.
Waiting until her eyes ached and her body begged for rest. Sometimes he didn't come home until the next day. Sometimes he stayed away for a full month.
But he always returned.
He always came back.
And she always waited.
Now he understood what it felt like to return and find her sitting quietly—sometimes reading, sometimes doing nothing at all, sometimes just staring at the door as if willing it to open through sheer hope.
Now he understood why she used to bring up dates.
Why she suggested days off together.
Why she asked for something so simple—time.
He understood it fully now.
Because now, he was the one waiting.
They say a person never truly understands until they are placed in the same situation.
Only now did the truth sink in like a blade pressed slowly into his chest.
Ciao Ren had been suffocating.
And he had been the reason.
She had every right to leave him. Every right to walk away after enduring so much neglect, so many absences, so many nights alone. And yet, she didn't.
She stayed.
She hoped.
She waited for him to return to the man he used to be—before everything went haywire, before ambition and distraction replaced devotion.
And he severed that last thread of hope with his own hands.
What an annoying man he was.
What a foolish one.
He knew he didn't deserve a second chance.
Yet just like Ciao Ren once hoped he could change, he too hoped—for something just as impossible.
A second chance.
To mend things.
To change the ending.
To rewrite the reality they were trapped in now.
The sharp ding dong of the doorbell cut through the silence.
He flinched.
His brows knit together in irritation as he let out a low groan. He wanted nothing to do with the outside world. Nothing to do with the living.
All he wanted was to remain here—rotting gently with the fragmented memories of his wife.
The doorbell rang again.
And again.
Persistent.
Relentless.
Annoying.
He didn't move.
Eventually, the sound of a key turning echoed softly.
The door opened.
"So," he muttered bitterly, not lifting his head, "that bastard knows how to open a door now?"
A nuisance.
A disturbance.
He didn't even bother to look up to see who it was.
Whoever it was, he hoped—genuinely, desperately—that they had come to end him.
Because if someone was finally here to kill him…
He wouldn't resist.
___
"You are really miserable."
The voice came softly, without ridicule or sharpness. It wasn't mockery—it was pity, honest and unguarded.
Lian Yu didn't lift his head. His eyes remained fixed on Ciao Ren's photograph, as if looking away might break whatever fragile connection still tethered him to her.
"Luo," he said hoarsely, his voice rough from disuse. "What are you doing here? Haven't I already cut you out of my life? You're a bad influence."
Luo closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing through the hollow apartment.
The place smelled of incense and loneliness. It felt less like a home and more like a shrine.
Others would have drowned themselves in alcohol. Some would have smoked until their lungs burned, or lost themselves in noise and recklessness. But Lian Yu didn't.
Just looking at her picture soothed the misery clawing at his chest.
He was glad he had been alone all this time.
He could have drunk.
He could have smoked.
He could have destroyed himself slowly.
But he hadn't.
Because he promised Ciao Ren.
He promised her he would never drink again.
And even now—even when everything else had failed—this was one promise he would fulfill, no matter what.
"Do you really think you can get rid of me?" Luo scoffed lightly, stepping closer. "We're practically brothers. What the hell happened to you? Just before the accident, you were happily attending a baby shower, galavanting around some woman like you didn't have a care in the world. And now you regret it?" He shook his head. "Stop being pathetic."
The words landed hard.
"If you're here to mock me," Lian Yu said quietly, "then congratulations. You've succeeded."
Luo fell silent for a moment.
"Just because she died," he said more gently, "doesn't mean everything is over."
Lian Yu finally looked up.
His eyes were red, hollow, rimmed with exhaustion that sleep could never cure.
"But without her… it is over," he whispered. "It's really over."
There was nothing Luo could say to argue with that.
So instead, he stepped forward and pulled Lian Yu into a hug.
Tighter than he had in years.
Tighter than even when they were young and invincible.
Lian Yu stiffened for a moment—then slowly, his body gave in. His shoulders trembled as he leaned into it, breath hitching like something inside him had cracked open.
"Su He is dead," Luo said quietly, his voice low and steady. "She was assaulted in an alley. Beaten to death."
Lian Yu's eyes darkened.
That's worth it.
The thought rose cold and sharp, uninvited but undeniable. Though it had once been his intent, hearing it confirmed brought a twisted sense of satisfaction.
At least that bitch was dead.
"Just be happy," Luo continued, patting his back. "It's okay. Be happy. Ciao Ren would want that."
Would she?
The question echoed painfully in Lian Yu's mind.
Would she really want that?
Was she at peace now?
Was she happier wherever she was?
If so…
I wish I could see it again.
Her happiness.
"Oh," he thought bitterly, his arms tightening slightly as he remained in the embrace, "I would die a thousand times just to see that smile again."
The hug lingered.
And in that moment—brief, fragile, almost unreal—he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Comfort.
Maybe Ciao Ren had sent someone to him.
Maybe this was her way of telling him he wasn't completely alone yet.
Or maybe it was nothing more than wishful thinking, born from grief and longing.
Either way, he didn't push Luo away.
For once, he allowed himself to be held.
To be cared for.
To remember what it felt like to be loved—if only for a moment.
And as the incense smoke curled silently upward beside them, Lian Yu wondered if somewhere beyond this world, Ciao Ren was watching.
Still smiling.
Still gentle.
Still cruel enough to leave him behind.