Chapter 11: What Does His Death Have to Do with Me?

After the cremation was complete, the staff carefully packed the ashes and brought them out. Jiang Yue instinctively reached out to take them but was intercepted halfway by Liu Qing.

Jiang Yue glared at Liu Qing with displeasure and said coldly, “Liu Qing, what do you mean by this?”

Liu Qing’s tone grew firmer as she retorted, “What do you mean?”

Jiang Yue glanced at the urn with a distant expression and stated, “He was my husband. I am the one to handle his affairs.”

“Hah! Husband? Do you really consider him your husband?” Liu Qing sneered.

Jiang Yue repeated firmly, “I’ll say it again—the urn belongs to me. He was my husband, and I am to take care of his funeral.”

Liu Qing did not back down. Meeting Jiang Yue’s gaze, she said bitterly, “I’ll answer you again: you are not needed!”

“But just now, you yourself said I should handle his affairs. Why the sudden change?”

“I thought about it. At least to outsiders, it should seem like I’m still his wife. If I don’t organize the funeral, it wouldn’t make sense.”

Liu Qing let out a cold laugh and said no more, turning to walk away.

Jiang Yue chased after her and grabbed her arm. “I’ll say it one last time! Give me Chu Jianghe’s ashes!”

Liu Qing whipped around, glaring fiercely. “Jiang! Are you ever going to stop? Can you just leave Chu Jianghe alone?”

“I know exactly how your marriage with Chu Jianghe was these past few years. I know what kind of man Chu Jianghe was. He was sensible since childhood, but precisely because he loved you, he endured everything.”

“And you? How did you treat him?”

“Do you even know how much weight he lost these years? Before he met you, he never weighed less than 130 pounds. Now he’s down to only 100!”

“Why are you so cruel? Even if you didn’t want to be with him, you could have divorced him! Why did you have to kill him?”

Liu Qing’s words grew more impassioned, her lips trembling. The wind tousled her disheveled hair, lending her a pitiful, desolate air.

But Jiang Yue stared coldly at Liu Qing, feeling no guilt. Instead, she sneered, “His death has nothing to do with me.”

“Smack!”

A sharp slap echoed through the air.

I never expected Liu Qing to slap Jiang Yue.

Jiang Yue was stunned.

This heiress, this young lady of privilege—who had ever dared to lay a hand on her?

She stood frozen in shock.

---

I can only say, well deserved. She had it coming.

Though I wasn’t directly killed by her, she was undeniably involved.

And for years, my marriage with her had been a hollow shell.

Seeing this, Cheng Jun hurried over and shielded Jiang Yue behind him, pointing a finger at Liu Qing.

“How can you just hit someone? He died in a car accident. What does this have to do with Jiang Yue?”

“Do you want me to call the police right now?”

Though Liu Qing didn’t know Cheng Jun, she wasn’t foolish. Naturally, she understood the situation.

She raised her hand, pointing at Jiang Yue, who was protected behind Cheng Jun. Her mouth opened as if she had a thousand things to say but no words came out.

Finally, she gave a cold laugh and said, “If you want to call the police, do it quickly.”

With that, she turned and left the funeral home.

She clutched the urn tightly to her chest, as if it were her last lifeline. Her eyes were hollow and vacant, tears silently streaming down her cheeks, leaving clear tracks.

Her body trembled slightly; each shiver seemed to speak of endless grief and sorrow.

Seeing her like this, my heart ached fiercely. I called out to her desperately, but she couldn’t hear me.

My heart was breaking!

Yet there is no remedy for regret in this world. I cannot go back to the past, and life cannot be lived again.

Watching Liu Qing’s retreating figure, my heart felt as if cut by a thousand knives.

I wanted to follow her, but my soul was trapped, powerless, forced to watch her leave.

Inside the funeral home, Cheng Jun half-embraced Jiang Yue, softly comforting her.

“Are you alright? Yueyue, does your face hurt?”

Jiang Yue seemed disinterested, shaking her head.

Cheng Jun looked toward where Liu Qing had gone and cursed, “Who is that woman? She didn’t kill Chu Jianghe. Is she crazy?”

Jiang Yue shot Cheng Jun a fierce glare, saying coldly, “None of this concerns you. Don’t go around insulting people.”

After quietly saying “sorry,” Cheng Jun wrapped his arm around Jiang Yue’s shoulder again.

“Shall I take you home?”

But Jiang Yue shook his hand off abruptly, cold and distant. “You go on. I want some quiet.”

With that, she walked out alone.

I didn’t know what Jiang Yue was thinking at that moment. Had she begun to feel some regret?

My spirit, not yet fully dissipated, followed her back to her home.

Once inside, she locked herself in her bedroom. She alternated between lying down, sitting, and wandering about in a daze...

Suddenly, as if remembering something, she hurried to a storage room downstairs.

She rummaged inside and found the shattered ornament.

It was a gift I had given her last year for our wedding anniversary—a decorative frame mounted with an iron horse on top and a river motif below.

I had crafted it all by hand, including the design.

When I gave it to her, she had looked at it with scorn, calling it ugly and too masculine.

Yet she never knew how much care I had poured into it, nor the meaning behind the gift.

“Lying awake at night, listening to wind and rain, the iron horse and frozen river enter my dreams.”

The iron horse was her; the frozen river was also her.

But now, looking at this once carefully made gift, all I felt was that it had become a cruel joke.

She stared at the broken ornament, dazed for a long time. Suddenly, her eyes grew moist.

Was she crying? Could this icy woman shed tears for me?

Alas, it was too late.

She sat still in the room all day.

At dusk, the maid called her for dinner, but she didn’t come, continuing to sit motionless.

Still clutching the broken ornament, her face drawn and her heart weary.

Perhaps only then did she truly realize that the one who cherished her above all had gone forever.

That night, she held the ornament close, sleeping on the bedroom carpet through the night.

When she awoke in the morning, pressing her heavy head, she seemed confused about why she was on the floor.

Seeing the ornament beside her, her expression turned grave once more.

She drifted out of the room. The maid had prepared breakfast and called out, “Miss Jiang, you didn’t eat anything last night. Are you feeling unwell?”

Jiang Yue looked dazed, shaking her head blankly.

“Aunt Liu, I want tomato and egg noodles.”

“All right, I’ll get it ready right away.”

After washing up, Jiang Yue found the noodles waiting for her.

She took a few bites but something felt off—it wasn’t the usual taste she was used to, since I had always made her tomato and egg noodles before.

What she didn’t realize was that that familiar flavor had, without her noticing, already taken over every taste bud she had.

At that moment, she seemed to understand something.

Her gaze returned to the broken ornament, and she whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”