Extinguish Before Forgetting

Xu Jianwan spent seven years quietly getting sick in his marriage, quietly despairing, and finally died quietly. When she left, her husband Lu Jiming was choosing a veil for his school girl's wedding dress. It was raining on the day of the funeral. He was answering work calls under a black umbrella and did not hear the subtle sound of the urn falling into the soil. Life moves on. He wore the shirt she had ironed, used the cutlery she had chosen, and walked across the floor she had wiped so well that the shadows of people could be seen. But the collar of his shirt would be loosened for no apparent reason, the spoon would always slip in his hand, and the floor would reflect too dazzling light every dusk. Until late that night, when he was drunk, he stumbled into the corner of the storage room and picked up a button that fell off an old shirt. The moment he turned it over, he saw the deep and shallow handwriting carved repeatedly with his nails: "Lu Jiming, I feel so much pain. Help me." Seven words, three punctuation marks. During the long period of time that no one saw, that docile and quiet wife used her last strength to carve a cry for help that no one could hear at the location closest to his heart. But at this moment, she had already been extinguished into ashes. The rain is still falling, as if it is going to the end of the world.