Qiao Ziqian stood at the door, his gaze blank as he looked inside. His feet felt as if they were cast in lead, unable to lift.
He stood there, hand on the doorframe, looking into the ward, his eyes reddening, tears streaming down his face.
Even Meng Jingwei felt a pang of sadness seeing this scene.
In life, one experiences many partings of life and death.
Though she had experienced more partings of life and death than ordinary people, she still couldn't adapt to the grief of losing a loved one.
Qiao Ziqian's hands clenched the doorframe tightly, pain spreading through his body, even veins bulging on his forehead.
Stiffening, he walked step by step into the ward, stood by the hospital bed, reached out to hold the hand of the woman who had stopped breathing, slowly raised her hand, pressed her fingers against his face, and closed his eyes. He said nothing, but the tears did not stop.
Meng Jingwei stood outside, looking through the glass. She could clearly see Qiao Ziqian's slightly trembling body, see him bring the woman's hand to his face, and then lean down to lightly kiss the back of her hand.
That kiss was as deep as the sea.
Ultimately, unable to bear watching the scene of parting between life and death, Meng Jingwei chose to walk to a nearby bench and sit down.
She leaned against the bench, frowning and contemplating life.
Life is but a few decades short; who knows whether tomorrow or an accident will come first?
The most important thing is to cherish the present, isn't it.
That evening, she sent a message to Director Li late at night to ask for leave, and also made a phone call to Li Shang, asking for leave for Qiao Ziqian.
The deceased are paramount; Li Shang expressed deep understanding.
In the evening, Qiao Ziqian contacted a car from the crematorium to take Nan Shuang's body to the crematorium for cremation arrangements.
After selecting a tombstone and an urn, the Nan family sat in the lounge to rest.
Qiao Ziqian was completely immersed in grief, unable to extricate himself.
He walked out of the lounge, looking lost, and sat alone on the steps of the plaza outside, smoking in the biting cold wind.
Meng Jingwei walked over and sat beside him, silently keeping him company without a word.
Qiao Ziqian looked up at the night sky and sighed deeply, "She's gone, she left me alone."
"Meng Meng, have you ever experienced parting of life and death with the person you love most?" he said, raising his hand to pound his chest. "Only now do I truly understand that feeling. Here, here..." He pointed to his chest, "It hurts, it really hurts, even breathing hurts."
His voice was choked and trembling.
Seeing such despair and sadness from a man of stature, Meng Jingwei felt a touch of sympathy.
"Yes, I have."
Meng Jingwei recalled that on her wedding day with Qing Muye, Qing Muye had disappeared. When she learned that Qing Muye had driven into the sea, she had also been heartbroken. "However, I was luckier than you. The person I love most once left me, but he miraculously survived. Perhaps it was a miracle from heaven."
"I envy you."
Qiao Ziqian glanced at Meng Jingwei beside him. He saw her left elbow resting on her knee, her chin propped in her hand as she gazed into the distance, lost in thought, as if recalling something.
In that moment, Qiao Ziqian's heart was filled with condemnation, guilt, self-blame, and a sense of debt.
Having known Meng Jingwei for only two to three months, she treated him as a true friend and was willing to send him from Yancheng back to Lancheng late at night after such an event.
Qiao Ziqian averted his gaze and silently apologized in his heart: Meng Meng, I'm sorry, I had no choice.
They sat and talked for a long time that night. It wasn't until noon that Meng Jingwei finally left.