After Breaking Up, I Married the Dying Tycoon in a Flash-Chapter 355: Wishing Through Fleeting Years (Part 16)

Shen Jinci said, "Xiaoxiao is my son, he doesn’t need a greenhouse; he can face anything."

Bian Xiao really did as Tong Bian Yue said, and came that very night.

The little guy ran to Wen Yongwei with his backpack bouncing along, "Grandpa! Grandpa, I’ve come to see you!"

Wen Yongwei was very happy.

He smiled as he got up, took the initiative to hug the little one running towards him, and said with a smile, "Xiaoxiao, how come you’re here!"

"I missed grandpa, so here I am!" Bian Xiao said seriously: "Mom and Dad said Xiaoxiao can stay as long as he wants this time."

Wen Yongwei nodded repeatedly, saying lots of ’goods’.

Bian Xiao took out many small toys from his backpack, saying these were his favorite and he wanted to give them all to grandpa.

Wen Yongwei was delighted, the old and the young chatted lively in the hall.

Wen Jiao and Shen Zhaoli stood at the entrance, watching the two interact.

Shen Zhaoli, smiling, pinched Wen Jiao’s face, "Don’t cry, look how happy dad is."

"I know...." Wen Jiao’s eyes reddened, she forced a smile and choked up, "I feel happy too... Zhaoli, please thank your brother for me."

Shen Zhaoli raised an eyebrow and laughed, "He doesn’t need that kind of courtesy; you might as well be nicer to his brother, me."

Wen Jiao looked up with tearful eyes at Shen Zhaoli, "Am I not good to you...?"

Shen Zhaoli’s smile faded, his expression sobering, and with the most serious tone, "You don’t need to do anything, you’re already the best."

In the following days, Wen Yongwei’s spirit improved day by day.

His condition improved so much that Wen Jiao even had the illusion that a medical miracle could happen on Wen Yongwei, that... he might be cured soon.

But soon, her hopes were shattered.

That night, a usual evening, Wen Jiao walked into Wen Yongwei’s room, calling him to wake up.

The old man was lying on the bed, a peaceful smile hanging on his lips, as if he was having a sweet dream. The light shined on his face, softening his gaunt cheeks and making them appear more kindly and gentle.

Wen Jiao seemed to see, at a certain moment, the young Wen Yongwei.

The Wen Yongwei who taught her to walk, who urged her to study.

In her memory, her father was always so vibrant; it would have been so wonderful if he could stay that way forever.

But people age and life abruptly stops.

Initially, Wen Jiao didn’t notice anything unusual; as usual, she bent down to call him, softly saying, "Dad, wake up, it’s time for dinner."

Wen Yongwei didn’t respond.

It felt like something suddenly blocked Wen Jiao’s throat; she could not utter a sound, staring dully and numbly at Wen Yongwei.

After a long time, almost with all her strength, Wen Jiao barely let out a weak cry, "Dad...."

Wen Yongwei still had no response.

Wen Jiao understood that death still arrived as expected; there was no miracle.

She sat on the floor dumbfounded, all strength drained from her in an instant, even her brain lost the ability to think.

It felt like icy water was poured over her head on a snowy night, the cold spreading to her limbs, leaving no chance of escape.

Wen Jiao closed her eyes, only feeling the warmth around her eyes that could not dispel the cold; her whole body was trembling uncontrollably, collapsing...

She lost her father.

Forever lost.

How many losses can one endure in a lifetime?

Wen Jiao thought, each one would be an unbearable weight.

Shen Zhaoli was standing at the door, unnoticed.

He did not enter, quietly watching Wen Jiao, who was lost in thought.

Watching her silently cry, then weeping loudly, and finally, as if waking from a dream, she tightly embraced the body of Wen Yongwei.

Watching her cry until her heart was shattered.

In this moment of agony, even Shen Zhaoli wished to share her burden, but there was no way.

She had to overcome this hurdle herself.

The rainy season in Xiangjiang, the funeral of Wen Yongwei.

Wen Jiao stood in front of the tomb, flanked by rows of bodyguards.

She wore a white mourning dress, and at her temples were the sad little white flowers.

She stared at the tombstone, at the photo of Wen Yongwei’s tender smile, her tears dried up, leaving only searing pain.

Shen Zhaoli and Bian Yue were in the hall, receiving the mourning guests.

Wen Jiao did not allow for a large ceremony; she said Wen Yongwei hated having strangers in his house, so even the mourning hall was set up in the front hall of the Wen Family’s home.

Normally, as a daughter, Wen Jiao should have been welcoming the guests, but she refused to appear and meet anyone.

Shen Zhaoli was meticulous in his hospitality, exchanging a few words personally with each mourner.

Most people simply exchanged customary phrases of condolence.

Shen Zhaoli responded affably to them.

But there were a few who were inconsiderate, asking: "Where is Wen Jiao? We, as her uncles, wanted to speak with her."

They were Wen Jiao’s elders.

Shen Zhaoli smiled and said, "My wife is too heartbroken, she doesn’t want to see anyone."

Among those uncles, some showed disapproval, "Now that Yongwei is gone, why is Jiaojiao still so willful? She now represents her father’s dignity. It’s okay for us family, but others will surely criticize her lack of manners."

Shen Zhaoli’s smile turned icy, his handsome brows sharp under the light, "So, you mean to say that I should call my wife here to exchange pleasantries with you?"

"According to tradition, Wen Jiao should at least exchange a few words with us," one of the uncles pointed to an old man with white beard beside him, "This is Wen Jiao’s Great Uncle, the senior-most member of the Wen Family."

Shen Zhaoli gave a slight smile, the emotion in his eyes growing thinner, "When my father was alive, my wife didn’t need to adhere to these formalities, and now as her husband, I will not make her unhappy. What’s wrong with my wife being a bit willful?"

The uncles exchanged looks, and for a moment, none spoke again.

They had thought Shen Zhaoli, the young master of the Shen Family, was easy to deal with and wanted to use the occasion of Wen Yongwei’s death to take Wen Jiao down a notch.

Indeed, Wen Yongwei had spoiled Wen Jiao to the heavens over the years, and it wasn’t an exaggeration to say it was excessive.

But it now appeared that her husband might spoil her even more.

"Zhaoli, don’t mind them. Wen Jiao is upset today, we all understand, and naturally, she doesn’t need to appear," the elderly man with white hair said with a smile, "They are just not speaking appropriately. Don’t take it to heart."

Of course, Shen Zhaoli didn’t take it to heart.

He smiled faintly, "Then, please feel free."

Wen Jiao didn’t know how long she had been standing in front of Wen Yongwei’s grave; only that the sky had darkened somewhat, and her legs had numbed.

Bian Yue had come over unnoticed, looking at her with a pained expression, squatted down, holding Wen Jiao’s arm, and whispered softly, "Jiaojiao, Zhaoli is wrapping things up, let’s go back, it’s getting late."