I blinked my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing things. It was indeed a Posthumous Photo, not a black-and-white artistic photo.
Posthumous Photos all follow certain templates. The background is black and white, and white flowers are added as decoration to indicate that it's a Posthumous Photo.
This is really spooky!
I've heard of girls taking wedding photos just for the sake of looking good and keeping them as a memento. That's because they're looking forward to a beautiful marriage or think the wedding photos look nice.
But who has ever heard of someone taking their own Posthumous Photo and keeping it?
I was filled with curiosity and couldn't help picking up Huang Po's Posthumous Photo. When I picked it up, I found that there was not just one. There were three more behind it.
One was of his father, one was of his mother, and the last was a family portrait Posthumous Photo of the three of them.
When I saw the family portrait Posthumous Photo, I felt a chill run down my spine.
In the photo, all three of them were smiling, but that smile looked so eerie that it reminded me of the creepy smile on the female corpse.
After taking out the four Posthumous Photos, I saw three urns in the cabinet, with the names of Huang Po's parents and Huang Po written on them respectively.
Seeing this, I roughly understood what was going on, but I felt even more puzzled.
It was probably during the winter vacation of his sophomore year in high school that Huang Po and his parents had a car accident. His parents died, and he stored their ashes and Posthumous Photos in this small cabinet.
But why was there also an urn with his name on it?
I couldn't help but open the urn with Huang Po's name on it. It was empty, and I finally felt relieved.
That's right! He was still alive and well. How could there be any ashes?
This urn could only be empty.
But this guy Huang Po actually got himself a Posthumous Photo and an urn. This is really not right. Does he think he isn't going to die soon enough?
This is so inauspicious.
Besides these, there was also an incense burner and a small copper basin for burning paper money in the small wooden cabinet. Judging from the incense ash and paper ash inside, I could tell that someone had burned incense and paper money not long ago.
Looking at these things in the cabinet, I can't really put into words how I felt.
On a daily basis, Huang Po was always joking around with me, and I never noticed that he was unhappy. But now it seems that when he was alone, he must have been extremely miserable.
It makes sense. He was just a teenager in his sophomore year of high school, not yet fully in society. To suddenly go through such a major family tragedy and still manage to hold on without collapsing was already quite an achievement.
I was lost in thought looking at the four Posthumous Photos when suddenly Huang Po came out of the bathroom after taking a shower. Seeing what I was doing, he stood there, stunned.
I was also stunned and didn't know what to say for a moment.
If it were some other secret that I had discovered, I could still joke around with Huang Po and brush it off.
But the secret in this cabinet was the most painful thing deep in Huang Po's heart, something he least wanted others to know.
Even if Huang Po got angry with me and broke off our friendship right now, I would think it was quite normal and completely understandable.
Of course, I didn't want to see such a result. I was just being nosy out of stupid curiosity. Before I opened the cabinet, I really had no idea what was inside. If I had known, I wouldn't have opened it even if I were beaten to death.
For a moment, the atmosphere in the room was extremely oppressive. I didn't know what to say. Huang Po seemed to be stunned, standing there motionless, staring at the Posthumous Photo and the urn like a wooden dummy.
I don't know how much time had passed before Huang Po finally spoke with difficulty, "Put them back. I usually keep them away and don't look at them. It's too painful to see them."
I secretly sighed with relief. Since Huang Po didn't blow up, it meant we could still be friends.
I quickly and carefully put the things back into the cabinet one by one, while babbling an explanation, "I really didn't mean to. I just casually opened it and took a look... Damn it, I just can't keep my hands to myself..."
"It's okay. It's all in the past," Huang Po replied in a somewhat low voice.
"Um..." I couldn't help voicing my doubt, "Why do you have a Posthumous Photo and an urn for yourself? Isn't it inauspicious?"
Huang Po pursed his lips, his eyes flickering. After a moment, he said, "What's the difference between how I am now and being dead? I died on the day of the car accident."
I wanted to comfort Huang Po with some encouraging words, but in the end, I swallowed the words back.
During the two years I've worked at the funeral parlor, I've witnessed so many partings between the living and the dead. I've deeply understood one thing: Comfort is the most feeble language in the world.
Pain can't be soothed by words. It can only fade away with time.
Huang Po silently watched me put the things away and close the cabinet door. Then he said, "Let's go downstairs and have something to eat first. Come back and take a nap. After a whole night of tossing around, I almost fell asleep in the shower just now."
"Okay."
This lunch was the most awkward and dull one I've ever had with Huang Po. Both of us were absent - minded and couldn't find a topic to chat about.
After the meal, Huang Po said he was sleepy and went back to his room for a nap. I went into the guest room helplessly and lay on the bed, regretting my impulsive behavior earlier.
Lying in bed, my mind was filled with a jumble of thoughts. Sometimes it was Huang Po's Posthumous Photo from his sophomore year in high school, sometimes it was the eerie smiles of the family of three, and then it was the empty urn.
Amidst my wild thoughts, I dozed off without knowing when.
I don't know how much time had passed when I woke up and found myself sitting at a desk doing exercises.
The math exercise book from sophomore year in high school? I was stunned when I glanced at the cover. Hadn't I graduated from college? Why was I doing sophomore - year high - school math again?
I looked up and around. It was a familiar classroom with familiar desks and chairs. However, there was no one else in the classroom except me and my deskmate, who was also burying his head in writing exercises.
Outside the window, it was pitch - black. I couldn't even see the leaves of the plane trees behind the teaching building. This gave me a strange illusion that the classroom was like a bright island floating in the dark night.
I came to my senses, feeling a bit spooked. I turned to Huang Po beside me and asked, "Pizi (Note: Pizi is a nickname), where are the other classmates? What's the date today? Why can't I remember anything?"
"It's the 20th day of the twelfth lunar month. The others have all gone home for the holiday. Didn't you say you wanted to study one more night before going home tomorrow?" Huang Po replied without looking up.
I couldn't help but be a bit stunned. Was I really that into studying? It's already the 20th of the twelfth lunar month, and everyone else had gone home on holiday, yet here I was, still in the classroom with my classmates for evening self - study.
"Do you have any plans for this winter vacation?" I didn't feel like doing exercises anymore, so I just casually chatted with Huang Po.
Huang Po didn't even lift his head. "I don't have any special plans. I'm going back tomorrow and going up the mountain to burn incense with my parents. The rest of the time, I'll just stay home and watch TV or play around."
"Got it." I replied, then looked down at the exercise book in my hand and found I couldn't solve any of these problems.
Huang Po was actually going up the mountain to burn incense during the winter vacation. What era was this? There were still people believing in this kind of thing.
I found it amusing. But suddenly, a thought flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning. I seemed to remember this. Huang Po's parents died in a car accident when they went up the mountain to burn incense.
I recalled those memorial photos hidden in the wooden cabinet, the photos of Huang Po's parents and Huang Po himself.
In an instant, all my nerves tensed up. Something was wrong! The person beside me wasn't Huang Po. Huang Po and I worked at the funeral parlor together. Sophomore year in high school was many years ago.
Just as I was about to get up and run away, a pair of cold hands grabbed my neck. The feeling of suffocation made it impossible for me to catch my breath.