Sniper Butterfly

Cen Xiang found it impossible to accurately evaluate or define her parents.

She considered them both the most selfless and the most selfish parents in the world.

Especially her father, who had followed her mother in silence just one month after she died in bed of old age.

After receiving the package her father had sent, Cen Xiang rushed to their home, only to find him lying peacefully on the bed as if in a dream, his eyes serenely closed, the faded wedding ring still on his ring finger.

He was dressed neatly, his snow-white hair meticulously combed, as if preparing for a date with his beloved.

During the previous period, Cen Xiang had done her best to stay by her father's side. She knew how deeply he loved her mother and feared he might not be able to cope.

But her father showed no overwhelming grief. He appeared neither sorrowful nor resentful, only methodically arranging her mother's funeral affairs.

Afterward, he would often sit in front of their house, gazing into the distance, at the sky, the woods, and the stream.

He would sit there all day, his eyes distant and contemplative.

This was their retirement home. After her mother's seventieth birthday, both had quit their jobs, left the city's hustle and bustle, bought a two-story house in the quiet suburbs, renovated it to their liking, and settled there to enjoy their remaining years.

Standing by the bed, Cen Xiang knew calling an ambulance would be futile. After a while, she began to cry.

The scene before her was not unexpected, yet it was enough to break her heart.

Before her mother passed away, she had whispered four words to her: "Don't stop him."

Cen Xiang asked, "Stop him from what?"

Her mother smiled without answering, gently pushed her aside, and called her father over to talk.

Now she understood.

Her father was going after her again, to accompany her.

Both her parents' funerals were quiet and low-key.

Just like their wedding had been.

When Cen Xiang got married, the venue was filled with guests, decorated like a sea of flowers, with everyone toasting and celebrating in the ocean breeze.

Curious, she asked her mother if theirs had been the same. Her mother shook her head, saying they had only gone on a trip.

But she didn't elaborate.

Cen Xiang stayed at the cemetery for half a day, watching the engraver carefully carve her father's name onto the tombstone. Her husband stayed with her the entire time, worried she might break down emotionally.

Just over a month ago, her father had been doing the same thing, but he had knelt before the tombstone, unwilling to stand above it.

Beside her mother's name, a space had been left empty, reserved specifically for himself.

Cen Xiang had known, but she hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Her father, already eighty-two years old, still acted like an impulsive young man when it came to her mother—impatient and determined to keep his promise.

Her father had achieved remarkable academic success during his lifetime, mentoring countless students. Most of their income had been devoted to charitable causes.

Many colleagues, students, and beneficiaries contacted her, wishing to pay their respects, but Cen Xiang declined them all. It was her parents' decision, and she had to honor it.

Only after her father's first weekly memorial did Cen Xiang dare to carefully examine what he had left for her. After all, the moment she received the package, she had sensed it contained his farewell.

To his daughter, and to this world that no longer held her mother.

Inside was a handwritten letter from her father and a photo album. The letter was plain and straightforward, aside from an apology to her at the beginning, it detailed the story behind each photo in the album.

Finally, Cen Xiang learned the details of their wedding, and finally, she learned the details of their love.During their lifetime, they rarely spoke in detail about their love story, only saying that Father pursued Mother, and that Mother was Father's benefactor. Their love was both inexplicable and natural, as if destined from the start.

In middle school, the teacher once assigned an essay titled "The Best Love in the World as You See It."

Many classmates wrote about their parents' love for them, but Cen Xiang did not. She wrote about the love between her parents. Later, because of its unique perspective and genuine emotion, the essay was selected as a model and posted on the back wall of the classroom.

Flipping through the photo album, tears streamed down her face as she thought, if she had known all this earlier, she could have written that essay even better.

But no matter how well she wrote, it could never surpass her father's suicide note.

No, calling it a suicide note wasn't quite right—it was more like a tender film, a beautiful poem.

It turned out that Father had once been a impoverished student supported by Mother. Someone as dignified and elegant as pine and bamboo had once been frail and helpless, trapped in the mire.

It turned out that their wedding had only involved the two of them. They spent nearly half a month on a small, sparsely populated island, where the sand was like a golden carpet and the sea resembled sapphire. At night, they would kiss under the dense starry sky, embrace each other, and tumble into the rolling waves, laughing and playing. Their self-taken wedding photos were casual—they brought their own white veil and formal attire, making funny expressions in the wind, carefree and without a worry. It was the first time Cen Xiang had seen such spontaneous yet beautiful wedding photos.

It turned out that her birth had been Mother's idea. Father initially had reservations, worried it would affect her health. Later, after Mother discussed it with him gently and agreed to let the child take her surname, Father relented and agreed.

Throughout the pregnancy, Mother was uncomfortable—suffering severe morning sickness in the early stages and threatened with premature birth later on. While Father took meticulous care of her, he often secretly wiped away tears of regret, furious at his initial decision.

Fortunately, the delivery went relatively smoothly. Only after watching her grow bit by bit did Father gradually reconcile with himself and accept her—the third person in their relationship.

It turned out that she was named Cen Xiang because her inherently romantic Mother had long decided on the child's name: Li Xiang. But circumstances changed, and she took her mother's surname. So, Mother got creative with the nickname, choosing "Li" (carp), which shared the same pronunciation as Father's surname.

...

Throughout their lives, they always thought of each other, yet both felt they hadn't done enough.

At the end of the letter, Father's handwriting was neat, but his tone was unusually light:

"Guess what your mother said to me before she left? She asked if I still remembered the playful words we exchanged the year before we got our marriage certificate.

I said: How could I not remember?

She pouted like a little girl: I wanted to leave gracefully, but the thought of leaving you, going alone, and living by myself in another place for who knows how many years—I just couldn't bear it. So, I'll be selfish and ask you to come with me. Little boy, are you willing?

How could I not be willing? How could I let her travel far alone? How could it ever have been just playful words?

Even if she hadn't said any of this, I would have rushed to her side like the wind.

Li Li, this is our promise, and I must keep it.

Your mother is still waiting for me. I must go back to being her little boy now.

Forgive me for being selfish too. Goodbye, my daughter. Mom and I will always love you."

His signature was not "Father."

It was "Li Wu."

Himself.How could there be such selfish parents.

Cen Xiang closed the photo album and folded the envelope. Though she might never fully comprehend it in this lifetime, she was certain that being their descendant, having witnessed the best love this world could offer—even merely as an observer—was the greatest fortune of her life.