The Mad Ҡìղց

Lan Wanji's life. 13

A man stood at the window, his face etched with concern, staring out at the city's skyline bathed in the fading light of the afternoon sun. He was the type of man who never showed his emotions, his cold exterior a perfect mask for the inner storm. But today, something was gnawing at him, something urgent. The room around him was sparse, functional—no personal touches, just a desk with some files, a chair, and the faint hum of an air conditioner. A knock sounded on the door, followed by the entrance of another man, dressed casually but with a seriousness in his expression that mirrored the tension in the room.

"Where and where does he go?" The first man asked, not turning around, his face still gazing out of the window.

The other man hesitated for a second, unsure whether to sit or stand. In the end, he remained standing, He scratched his chin and looked up at the ceiling briefly before answering.

"Work, mostly.  he exercises and takes long walks with Cheng. He spends time with his family, too, and occasionally with Cheng and Zewu Jun. He also visits his mother's grave."

The first man finally turned, his stern expression meeting the eyes of the other.

"Keep watching him," he said flatly, his voice like ice. Without waiting for a response, he walked out of the room, leaving the other man standing alone, the tension thick in the silence.

Back at the Lan estate, a very different atmosphere permeated the household. The warm aroma of food drifted through the air as Wanji's grandmother moved slowly but purposefully around the kitchen. The clattering of pots and pans and the smell of traditional dishes mixed with sautéed vegetables and slow-cooked broth filled the space. It was a solemn day, a day of remembrance. Wanji's mother had passed several years ago, but the pain of her absence remained fresh, especially today. Everyone wore a gloomy face, reflecting the weight of the occasion.

Wanji, his heart heavy, helped where he could, though his thoughts often wandered to memories of his mother. She had been the center of their world, a woman of quiet strength, and though years had passed, her loss still hung over the family like a cloud.

By mid-afternoon, the family gathered their things and made the journey to the cemetery. Wanji, along with his father and grandmother, led the small procession. Their steps were slow and deliberate, their heads slightly bowed. The weather matched the mood: overcast, with a light breeze that seemed to carry whispers of the past. They stood in silence before the grave, offering their prayers, each of them lost in their own thoughts and memories.

Wanji's grandmother, though usually a strong and pragmatic woman, had a look of weariness. She had been the backbone of the family for so long, but today, her eyes seemed distant, lost in memories of the past.

When they returned to the house, there was still a lingering somberness, but the tasks of hospitality waited. They had sent out invites for the remembrance, hoping that many would join them to pay respects. Of the hundred invites, only twenty people had shown up. Wanji's father, Lan Qiren, was both disappointed and relieved. The smaller crowd made the event feel more intimate, but he couldn't help but think about those who didn't come.

The family and guests dined together, reminiscing about Wanji's mother, sharing both laughter and tears. The day drifted into the evening, and one by one, the guests began to leave. As the house grew quieter, Wanji and Cheng found themselves surrounded by leftovers. They had prepared food for over a hundred guests, but with only twenty attending, there was an abundance of uneaten dishes.

"We can't let all this go to waste," Wanji said, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

Cheng nodded, already grabbing containers and reheating some of the food. The two of them loaded the food into the back of the car and drove into the city. They parked near a street where they knew people in need often gathered, and it wasn't long before the containers were emptied by grateful hands. There was something about giving away the food that felt like a small tribute to Wanji's mother, a woman who had always believed in helping others.