Farewell, My Father

Duanmu Rong obediently untied the front of her father's robe, and the scene that came into her eyes made her gasp involuntarily, her heart filled with surprise and doubt.On the inner garment her father wore close to his body, there were densely packed strange patterns, crisscrossing lines, and tiny, almost microscopic characters. At first glance, it resembled a complex and incoherent spider web, or perhaps some mysterious treasure map, filled with an air of enigma.

She couldn't help but smile wryly, saying with a mix of helplessness and curiosity, "Father, this...this is clearly a celestial script!"

A cunning and mysterious smile flickered in Duanmu Jing's cloudy eyes. In a low voice, audible only to the two of them, he said, "This isn't some celestial script, but a map of the distribution of the properties I secretly manage in various states. Look closely, it not only details the specific location of each property, but also records the names and contact information of the people in charge."

After saying this, he seemed to have exhausted all his strength, yet miraculously, his spirit rallied. He propped himself up weakly, sat up, took off the long robe covered with strange patterns, and solemnly handed it to his daughter.

"Xue'er," he instructed with utmost seriousness, "Remember, the state of Wei may not be your permanent home. This garment, you must keep it safe, preferably wear it close to your body, and never, ever show it to anyone lightly, let alone let anyone know the secrets it holds. I...my wish is fulfilled, I have...no regrets in this life..." Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly laughed loudly, several times, his laughter filled with both relief and anticipation, as well as blessings for his daughter's future. Then, with a serene expression, he closed his eyes and passed away peacefully. The final echo of his laughter lingered in the empty room for a long time, as if still telling of a father's boundless love and hope for his daughter.

Only twelve years old, Duanmu Rong, facing her father's sudden death, showed not a trace of panic or grief, but an astonishing calmness. She even unexpectedly chose a striking, bright red auspicious garment, and handled her father's funeral as if it were a joyous occasion. This action immediately shocked the entire city of Anyi, causing a great uproar. The city's residents discussed it endlessly, with all sorts of opinions. Some said that Miss Duanmu was overwhelmed with grief, mentally deranged, and had gone mad; others said that the young lady had deeper intentions, wanting to commemorate her father in this special way.

Although Duanmu Jing had only served as the Prime Minister of Wei for a short eight years, he came from a renowned and respected merchant family of Wei, and was always highly regarded and prestigious. Therefore, those who came to offer condolences and attend the funeral were endless, from high-ranking officials to ordinary citizens, almost crowding every road leading to the cemetery. The scene was even more crowded than Anyi's annual, most bustling temple fair.

However, when people actually entered the Duanmu residence and witnessed the various details of the funeral, they were surprised to discover that the Duanmu clan was not as extravagant and flashy as rumored, nor was it overflowing with wealth. Instead, it revealed the simplicity and practicality unique to a scholar-official family. Even the funeral arrangements were so simple, without any extravagance or waste, hardly resembling what one would expect from a once immensely wealthy and powerful clan. The guests who came to offer condolences all whispered to each other, discussing it endlessly. They were astonished by the Duanmu family's low profile, and even more admired Duanmu Jing's noble character. Everyone sighed with regret that heaven was jealous of his talent, and he did not enjoy his full lifespan, passing away so impoverished, leaving so little, so very little, for his young daughter. It was truly regrettable, and caused them to sigh and lament.

As time passed, the various discussions and speculations about the Duanmu clan gradually faded from people's memory. And the twelve-year-old Duanmu Rong, grew quietly amidst a rare tranquility. She lived in seclusion, rarely appearing in public. Only occasionally, at sunset, would people see a young girl wearing a striking red dress, standing alone quietly on a high pavilion, leaning against the railing, gazing into the distance, lost in thought. That solitary figure, bathed in the setting sun, appeared particularly thin and lonely, very much like her father, Duanmu Jing, and also like a faded ink wash painting, filled with a faint sadness and poetic sentiment.