Although her adoptive parents treated her very well, doting on her as if she were their own daughter, misfortune did not spare the poor girl, and cancer afflicted her.
Seeing that her life was drawing to a close, she found her birth parents with the help of her adoptive parents. She learned the truth and passed away a few days later.
When Jiang Ling went to the mourning hall to pay her respects, she saw her birth parents, who had abandoned her, weeping uncontrollably and wailing as if in unbearable pain. In contrast, her adoptive parents, who had raised her, were as silent as two hollowed-out statues, not uttering a word throughout the proceedings.
At that moment, Jiang Ling truly understood.
The truest sorrow is often silent.
It is so painful that it makes one unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to accept, leaving them in a state of stunned confusion, unable to shed a single tear.
Conversely, those who have done wrong often resort to loud voices and tears to demonstrate their regard for the deceased and their grief over the loss of their so-called loved ones.
The thought of it was almost laughable.
A close friend of Jiang Ling's also told her that she couldn't cry when her own mother passed away.
As she bid her mother a final farewell, her eyes were devoid of tears.
Looking at her mother's body, she felt as if her mother were still beside her, and she was still the beloved child.
It wasn't until the funeral was over, as she looked at every blade of grass and tree in the house, recalled the past, and felt the nuances of life, that she realized the person who loved her most in this world was truly gone. Only then did she break down and sob uncontrollably.
Great sorrow is silent; this kind of extreme, profound grief cannot emit much sound, yet it is suffocatingly painful.
Jiang Ling observed this and incorporated it into her performance.
From then on, when she acted scenes of grief over losing a loved one, she no longer resorted to hysterical outbursts or mournful wails like others.
Instead, she exercised the utmost restraint, conveying sorrow through silence and using her eyes to communicate the depth of her pain to the audience.
They say subtle displays are the most deadly.
Similarly, this silent sorrow possesses the greatest evocative power.
The scene sent shivers down the spines of everyone present.
They could no longer find words to describe the excellence of Jiang Ling's acting, only mentally exclaiming, "Holy cow, holy cow, holy cow!"
After a long period of silence, Jiang Ling took out two scrolls from her pocket, pretending they were martial arts manuals left by Qiao Beiming, and said softly, "Shengnan, these are yours. Take them back!"
Her voice, unhurried, was terribly dry, like a long-rusted machine suddenly put into motion, emitting a silent, rasping sound.
An indescribable sadness spread from her, like a fish gasping for its last breath in a dried-up pond. The taste of losing one's beloved was truly worse than death.
After burning these two calamitous manuals, Jiang Ling slowly stood up, remaining still like a statue.
The sunlight stretched her shadow long, so long that when it reached the tombstone, it suddenly transformed into the graceful silhouette of Li Shengnan.
This silhouette merged with her own shadow, ensuring she could never escape it in this life.
Just as Elder Liang wrote in his book: "This love, though memorable, was yet lost in confusion at the time."
After this scene concluded, the entire venue fell into a profound silence.
The next second, thunderous applause erupted.
"My god, this is true tragic acting, so moving, it makes me want to cry."
"With acting this divine, even seasoned veterans in the industry can't reach this level. How did she achieve it?"