The funeral hall was simple, just as Lin Qing Yun had asked.
White chrysanthemums lined the altar, filling the air with a clean fragrance. Soft guqin music flowed from hidden speakers, rising and falling like breath. On the altar, a photo of Si Yao smiled gently, eyes bright, school uniform crisp. It was the smile of a girl who had so much still ahead of her.
Gu Ze Yan had wanted something larger, something grand that would shout the world's recognition of Si Yao's brilliance. But Qing Yun shook her head when he suggested it.
"She didn't need grandeur," she said softly. "She just needed love."
So it was love, not extravagance, that filled the room.
---
When the morticians finished their careful work, Qing Yun was invited inside.
Si Yao's eyes were now closed, her face touched with soft powder, her lips painted with a faint pink. Her hair was brushed smooth, the way Qing Yun had done countless times when her sister was younger and needed comfort.
Qing Yun brought her offerings: a soft plushie, the blanket Si Yao curled under when she studied late, and the storybook Qing Yun had read to her whenever the world felt too cruel. She placed them gently in the coffin.
She whispered:
"This will keep you company… so you won't be afraid."
Last, she set down the rabbit-shaped tangyuan she had promised to make for Dongzhi. Its shape was imperfect, the ears a little uneven, but it was made with love. Qing Yun placed it carefully on the altar, her fingers lingering on the small porcelain plate.
---
The mourners began to arrive.
Neighbors came first, some sobbing openly. Aunties pressed Qing Yun's hands, telling her to eat, to rest, to be strong. She, in turn, wiped their tears, thanking them for caring for her and her sister all these years. It felt almost backwards—she was the one who had lost her sister, and yet she stood there steady, holding others upright.
Si Yao's teachers came, carrying boxes of medals and certificates. They placed them in Qing Yun's hands.
"She worked so hard," one teacher said, eyes rimmed red. "Perhaps… these should go with her, or you may keep them as mementos."
Qing Yun bowed her head, clutching the cool metal tightly.
A group of students followed. Most of them were crying, some holding each other. Qing Yun's gaze caught on one boy. His face was handsome, but his eyes were swollen, red from tears. He didn't speak, only kept staring at Si Yao's photo, lips trembling. Qing Yun's heart gave a quiet ache—this must be the boy her sister had once blushed over.
---
The Luminar staff were there too, guiding guests, pouring tea, bowing deeply.
Shen Qiao and Chen Rui stood in the corner, dressed in black. Even Chen Rui's usual teasing smile was gone, replaced by solemn dignity. Ze Yan kept urging Qing Yun to sit, to rest her legs, but she shook her head each time, greeting every mourner with composure.
---
It was then that Xu Wei Ran appeared.
He came in disguise—hat pulled low, mask covering most of his face—but even so, his presence turned a few heads. He bowed deeply in front of Si Yao's photo, then quickly left, unwilling to cause disturbance.
Qing Yun followed him outside.
In the quiet air beyond the hall, she spoke first.
"Thank you for coming, even though you must be so busy."
Wei Ran's eyes softened. "Si Yao was like my sister too. How could I not come?"
For a moment, they stood in silence. Then he asked gently,
"Does this… finally let you rest? Can you live properly now, Qing Yun?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She only looked at him with calm eyes that revealed nothing.
Wei Ran's manager called, urging him to return to work. Before leaving, he hugged her lightly, his voice low.
"Be happy, Qing Yun. That's all I wish."
She nodded faintly, offering him a smile that was kind but unreadable.
---
Later, Mei Lian and Xin Yue arrived, dressed in black silk. Mei Lian's eyes glistened as she held Qing Yun's hands, murmuring comfort. Xin Yue hugged her tightly, whispering that she would always be her sister, no matter what.
They explained that Zhao Ming Liang couldn't come, as he was away on business. Qing Yun simply nodded and thanked them for their presence.
---
The day passed in waves of incense and murmured condolences.
Through it all, Qing Yun remained steady, her face calm, her smile faint but warm. She carried herself like the pillar everyone leaned on—when in truth, she was the one who had lost the most.
Ze Yan stood nearby, watching her with eyes full of worry, his fists clenched at his sides. Every time she bowed, every time she smiled through someone else's tears, his heart broke a little more.
Yet when their gazes met, she only smiled at him gently, as if to say, don't worry about me. I'll be fine.
---
The hall dimmed into evening light, chrysanthemums glowing pale in the shadows.
The altar held Si Yao's photo, the medals, the plushie, the blanket, the book, and the small rabbit-shaped tangyuan.
It was a farewell built not on grandeur, but on love.
And Lin Qing Yun stood in the center of it all, smiling softly, like sunlight breaking through grief.