When he came out, his face was dry, and his eyes were no longer red.

He changed his clothes and headed out.

I thought he was going to the funeral home, but he went to a shopping mall.

I floated behind him, watching as he walked into a custom suit shop, took his measurements, and chose a dark blue fabric.

"When can I pick it up?" he asked.

"Half a month."

He nodded and paid the deposit.

In the days that followed, he began to go out frequently.

Sometimes alone, sometimes with Shen Shuyi.

They went to hotels, looked at banquet halls, and flipped through menus.

Shen Shuyi helped him look at things, but her expression always carried an indescribable hesitation.

Once, when they came out of a hotel, Shen Shuyi pulled on his sleeve.

"Caleb." Shen Shuyi’s voice lowered. "Is this... worth it?"

His expression was very faint, unchanged, carrying only a stubbornness.

"Whether it’s worth it or not is for me to decide."

Shen Shuyi sighed, let go of his arm, and followed him.

I floated above their heads, completely unable to understand what they were talking about.

A few days later, when Shen Shuyi came to find Caleb, she didn't look well.

She placed a booklet on the table, didn't open it, and stood across from him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Caleb, I can help you with the wedding, but I have to tell you something."

Caleb looked up at her.

Shen Shuyi bit her lip: "Auntie is older; she can't take too much shock. Don't do anything foolish."

Caleb’s fingers paused, and he replied without even raising his head.

"Don't worry, I don't intend to do anything foolish."

He stood up, took the booklet, and opened it. "Will the lighting in this hall be too dark?"

Shen Shuyi looked at him, her eyes reddening.

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately swallowed it back.

She looked down and pointed a finger at a spot on the booklet.

"This hall has better lighting," she said, her voice muffled.

I floated nearby, my heart twisting.

A wedding? He was going to hold a wedding? With whom?

The day the suit was brought back, he tried it on in front of the mirror.

Dark blue, tailored to fit, he had lost a lot of weight.

He pulled the red string from his pocket, tied it around his left wrist, and bit the knot tight with his teeth.

Then he took a small box from the cabinet and opened it; inside were two rings.

Simple silver bands with words engraved on the inside. I leaned in to look.

"Mina" and "Caleb."

I froze.

He took out the women's ring, looked at it against the light for a long time, then put it back, closed the lid, and put it in his pocket.

I floated in front of him, watching him.

"Caleb, what on earth are you trying to do?"

He couldn't hear me.

In the days that followed, Shen Shuyi still came to help, but every time she came, she had that same hesitant expression.

She would stop abruptly while flipping through the booklet, staring at Caleb in a daze.

On the morning of the last day of the month, Caleb put on that dark blue suit and combed his hair.

Shen Shuyi came to pick him up, wearing a champagne-colored dress and light makeup.

But she was clutching a handkerchief, her knuckles turning white.

She took one look at the red string on Caleb’s wrist and turned her head away.

"Let's go," she said.

I followed them into the car. The car drove for an hour.

I floated out through the car window and looked up to see the gates of the funeral home.

The farewell hall had been decorated.

White sheer curtains draped down from the ceiling; flowers were everywhere.

Lilies, white roses, chamomile, and that pot of jasmine—it had bloomed with a few small white flowers.

Two rows of chairs were set up, with a few people sitting there.

Old Zhou, a few colleagues from the funeral home—Auntie Chen did not come.

Shen Shuyi walked over and sat in the guest seating.

She lowered her head and pressed her handkerchief to the corner of her eyes.

Caleb stood at the very front. In front of him was not an officiant, but a photograph.

It was my photograph.

Chapter 11

"Today is the day we get married."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady, as if he had recited this sentence a thousand times in his heart.

I drifted in mid-air, frozen solid.

He was wearing that dark blue suit, the faded red string tied around his wrist, standing before my photograph.

Caleb took a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

The edges of the paper were frayed, and the creases were worn white.

He began to read.

"Mina, I, Caleb, voluntarily take you as my wife today."

There was no trembling, no pause.

Every word sounded as if it had been practiced countless times.

"Whether in poverty or wealth, sickness or health, I am willing to love you, respect you, and protect you, until death do us part."

When he reached the final sentence, he paused for a moment.

Then he took that small box from his pocket and opened it; two silver bands lay side by side.

He took out the women's ring and pinched it between his fingertips.

"Mina, will you marry me?"

No one answered.

He smiled slightly and slid that ring onto the stem of a chamomile flower next to the photograph.

The silver band caught on the tender green stem—it fit perfectly. He must have tried it beforehand.

Then he picked up the men's ring and slid it onto his own ring finger.

He looked down for a moment, then turned the ring.

My tears crashed into the air.

Caleb, what is the point of all this?

He stood there, then took a notebook from his pocket and opened it.

"March 17th, the third day the flower shop was open. You came to the teahouse to deliver flowers and saw me with Shen Shuyi. Your expression was terrible, but you just turned and left."

I was stunned.

"March 20th, light rain, Grandmother's grave was moved. You asked me if the blind date was a success, and I said it had nothing to do with you."

He read page after page.

His voice was neither hurried nor slow, like reading a work report.

He wasn't reading it for me to hear; he was reading it for himself.

He must have read these to an empty room on countless nights, until he could no longer cry.

When he reached the last page, he closed the notebook.

"The ceremony is complete."

He bent down, picked up the pot of jasmine from the ground, and turned to walk out.

I floated out after him.

He didn't go home, but instead went to the storage facility, took my urn out from its compartment, held it in his arms, and walked out of the funeral home.

He passed through Ruoshui Street and walked by the flower shop. The rolling door was still down.

He reached the cemetery and found my tombstone.

The bouquet of jasmine before the tomb had already withered.

He placed the urn beside the tombstone and sat down, leaning against the grave.

Then he pulled a set of keys from his pocket.

The keys to the flower shop, still hanging from my little flower-shaped keychain.

He clutched the keys in his palm, holding them for a long time.

"You arranged everything, yet you didn't leave a single word for me. You wrote my name in the emergency contact column, but you didn't let them call me."

His voice cracked.

"Mina, do you think I don't feel pain?"

The wind blew from the cemetery area, blowing a few petals off the jasmine bouquet and onto his dark blue suit.

He just leaned against my tombstone like that, hugging my urn, motionless.

His forehead rested against the cold tombstone, his shoulders heaving slightly, without a sound.

I crouched in front of him, less than an arm's length away.

I watched his hair get messed up by the wind, watched the faded red string on his wrist, and watched that brand-new ring on his ring finger.

My chest felt like it was being gripped tightly by something.

I opened my mouth, my voice so light it would scatter with a breath of wind.

"Caleb, aren't you a fool? I’m already dead; what is the use of doing all this?"

Chapter 12

A gust of wind blew by, and Caleb seemed to sense something.

He jerked his head up, scanning his surroundings, his voice urgent: "Mina, are you here?"

My heart jumped, and I stiffened in mid-air.

The wind passed through the plane tree leaves, rustling, lifting the hem of his coat and brushing against his thin face.

There was nothing.