I finally waited for this day, and I had mixed feelings, happy and sad at the same time.

Because she's gone.

I hugged her body, feeling the temperature that gradually cooled down, the skin and flesh that gradually stiffened, and I didn't feel cold.

It seems that because she heard good news, she said: We will have an afterlife.

Despite the bitter winter, her body will decompose when the first snow melts.

I will not allow any living creature but me to touch her.

So, I dug a hole in front of our yard, buried her in it, and planted pink tulips on it.

Every year for my birthday, I spend a day here and make myself a bowl of longevity noodles.

The taste was not as good as what she did.

In order to live, I continued to live for fifty years, and ate a full fifty bowls.

Two years after she left, I buried the research with my own hands, erased all traces of it, and set up a chain of charities, all the money I earned was spent on philanthropy.

The world says I'm a really good person.

But who knows, before that, the purpose of my philanthropy was just to find suitable living beings to devote themselves to research.

And after that, all it is to fulfill the promise, do all the good deeds, and wait for the next life to meet her.

The purpose of charity is never to redeem, let alone to have a compassionate heart.

In the winter of seventy-four, I sat in the courtyard, calmly waiting for death to come, and when I closed my eyes, I saw that pale pink tulips were blooming.

It's her favorite pink.

——

Jessamine's own story.

She had been following someone all her life, longing to get that person's curtain and look back at her.

The outcome is doomed.

She had followed him for more than fifty years, and she thought, this is the end of her life.

But why didn't he look at her more before leaving?

Yes, his gaze was only given to one person in his memory.

It was a tenderness she had never had.

The tenderness that has been longing for.

Forget it, it's a relief to be able to watch him breathe.

But why is it blurry?

When people get old, their eyes are dazzled.

Only she knew best, what it was.

The man didn't let her go in the end.

Fifty years later, the man he loved the most was reduced to a pile of dry bones.

She complied with his wish and buried them together.

The soil was turned over and the pale pink tulips were planted.

I heard that it was her favorite color.

After doing everything, she closed the hollow wrought iron door of the courtyard, and the paint had fallen off a little over the years.

Old things are something to be missed, isn't it?

The gate was locked.

A black business van parked outside the door, seemingly to pick her up.

An old man got out of the car, and the figure was quite familiar, so who was it? Some can't remember.

"Sister, I'm here to pick you up."

Oh, it's her troublesome brother.

No, this impression was forty years ago, and now he is no longer what he used to be, he has the responsibility of being a man, a wife and daughter, and a home that needs to be protected.

And what about her? It seems that there is nothing left in this life.

That's not going to work.

So, a few years before her death, she traveled to many countries, took many photos, and sent them to her only relatives in the world in postcards.

When writing the recipient's zip code, she suddenly looked up at the blue sky and white clouds, and thought: So even if you leave traces in this world, right?