On the dilapidated bluestone steps of the Green Flower Church, a coffin was quietly placed in the most conspicuous position. The setting sun just reflected in the window, illuminating the coffin with its soft, dim golden light.
The seven-faced statue of the Holy Spirit watched everything in front of it indifferently, as if it had long been accustomed to the joys, sorrows and joys of the world. Perhaps He has never used emotions to understand the mortal world, just like people cannot understand the changes in things from His perspective.
"His flowers have withered, but this is a good beginning, and now the sunset will take him to paradise."
Dylan put his thumb on the paint mixed with lapis lazuli powder in the stone bowl, and solemnly painted the sacred form of a seven-pointed star on the coffin lid——
"The place you are going to is written by "love", me and "us". Because although there is a lot of bright red blood to be shed, and many pale names to be mourned, salvation will eventually be found under the ultramarine stars. "
His thumb smoothed every edge of the seven-pointed star straight, as accurately as if drawn with a ruler.
Then, he slowly and gently sprinkled a pinch of fine salt representing snow and a handful of loess representing sand in the middle:
"Today, all his pain has melted away like winter snow, and all sorrow has been buried in the yellow sand. When the last kiss falls at dusk, he rests in love."
After all the funeral services were completed, Father Dylan stood in front of the coffin and chanted in front of everyone:
"May the Lord have mercy on Mr. Steve Royce, and may his soul rest in the arms of the Holy Spirit forever."
"May his soul rest forever in the embrace of the Holy Spirit." Everyone said.
…
"Here lies an old and faithful friend."
The brand new epitaph reads. There is no year of birth or death, no name, and not much rhetoric or condolences. This is also the wish of the owner of this tombstone.
Ed knelt down half-kneeling, placed a large bouquet of flowers in his hand in front of the tombstone, and let it gradually wither.
He bought it from the little flower girl on the street. The whole bouquet was carefully cut and shaped. In this season, their price was so low that it was even regrettable.
He casually pulled out an unknown weed beside the tomb, put the milky-white stem into his mouth, and stared at the tombstone in silence.
[What's the matter, my dear good sir? You seem to have a lot on your mind. 】
Sylvie wrote inappropriately.
Sylvie, I'm thinking, don't you think this dream is a bit... too real? Everyone's behavior, the characters that shouldn't appear in the memory, and the strange corridor, it's not like something that would normally appear in a dream.
[About this, you first need to understand one thing: reality may not be more real than dreams. Don't just treat it as a subconscious mind - or unconscious thinking activity, as this will make you never truly understand the nature of its existence. 】
Reality may not be more real than dreams?
Ed chewed on the meaning of this sentence over and over again, like chewing on the tasteless fibers from the stems and leaves of weeds.
"Ed, everyone has dispersed long ago, why are you still here?" A familiar voice came from behind.
"Oh, I was checking the inscription on it for spelling errors. It looks fine."
He stood up and looked back.
The sea monster stood there in a suit and ties, carrying two pairs of thick and heavy suitcases in his hands, and a pair of blackout goggles that were a little too fashionable for his age covered his bulging eyeballs.
"How does it feel to be at your own funeral?" Ed asked with a smile.
According to regulations, after an investigator dies, he must be cremated in accordance with the procedures and then buried. But the sea monster wanted a traditional funeral more, so after everyone discussed it, they decided to have a traditional funeral for him while he was still alive.
"It feels a little weird, but I don't hate it. What do you think of my outfit? I thought I couldn't wear this old outfit anymore, but I didn't expect that I lost a little weight."
Ed looked up and down. Although the sea monster tried its best to hide the strangeness, the blue scaly skin and the hard-to-conceal smell could not be concealed:
"It looks okay, but it smells a bit bad. Spray more cologne. As long as you tip enough, the waiter won't complain too much."
"Don't worry, I brought enough pension for my vacation this time." The sea monster patted the wallet on his waist and said with a smile.
"Remember to keep your money separately, so even if you lose part of it, you will at least still have money to buy the ticket."
Ed reminded. The Scarlet Islands are not a place with simple folk customs and a place where people don’t pick up lost things on the road.
"Come on, kid, I've lived more than forty years longer than you. I don't need you to remind me of this little thing. I already kept the reserve fund... where did it come from?"
The sea monster rummaged through his clothes and trouser pockets for a while, but found nothing.
"...Forget it, I will find it sooner or later. At worst, I can still swim back alone, but don't forget what I do."
"Of course, I won't forget it. I wish you a safe journey." Ed gave the old colleague a warm farewell hug, and the two parted ways.
"I will send you a postcard when I get there, Edward Locke." After taking a few steps, the sea monster turned around and shouted.
"Edgar Waikolo..." Ed corrected in a low voice, "Forget it, whatever."
He knew that what he did did not make the sea monster recover, but he did not want to ruin the sea monster's good mood at this time.
Just when Ed was about to go to Rowan to ask for details, the old doctor had already walked over before him. The two stood in front of the tombstone for a while in unison, and Ed was the first to break the silence:
"I think Mr. Kraken's head is still not very clear... How long does he have left?"
"Before leaving, I prepared some medicine for him. If he takes the medicine on time, he can live with dignity for a year, and in the most optimistic case, two years. After that, he will be like Mr. Kuntu, even if No amount of laudanum can mask that pain," Rowan replied matter-of-factly.
One or two years? He lowered his head, at least this wasn't the worst outcome.
"It's a miracle that he can wake up." Rowan put his mechanically hard and steady palm on Ed's shoulder. "No matter what you did that night, I sincerely thank you, Ed."
"I wish I could do more..." Ed sighed.
If I were stronger, would everything be different?
"No, you have done enough." Rowan gently placed his other palm on the tombstone, "No one can stop the autumn leaves from withering, the golden leaves turning brown, and they will never return to it. Where it sprouts. All you can do is shed a tear for it. That’s it.”
"...But when the harsh winter passes, next year's trees will be stronger and their branches will be more dense, until new buds sprout green and flowers bloom. And every drop of passing tears will eventually melt and become nutrients for it to reach the sky."
