Golden sunlight spilled over the terraced fields. Li Ming knelt, his fingers deftly plucking weeds from around young rice shoots. A warm breeze carried the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Beside him, his five-year-old son, Li Feng, giggled, chasing a butterfly through the tall grass. "Papa, look!" Li Feng's voice, bright as a bell, cut through the morning quiet. Li Ming smiled, a genuine, easy curve of his lips. He watched his son, a small blur of energy. His heart swelled, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest. This was his life. Simple. Full. Perfect. --- A strong arm wrapped around his waist. Li Peng, his boyfriend, leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Li Ming’s temple. "Working hard, my love?" Li Ming leaned back into the embrace. "Always. These fields won't tend themselves." "True. But you deserve a break." Li Peng’s voice was a low rumble, comforting and familiar. He carried a basket, already packed for the market. Fresh vegetables, a few bundles of herbs, and some of Li Ming’s special pickled radishes. Li Feng ran over, colliding with Li Peng's legs. "Baba, take me!" Li Peng laughed, scooping the boy up. "Not today, little sprout. Too much hustle and bustle. You stay and help Papa." --- Li Ming watched them, his chest tight with affection. Li Peng, tall and broad-shouldered, carried their son effortlessly. They were a family. Not by blood, not by traditional laws, but by a bond forged in shared dreams and quiet understanding. "Be careful," Li Ming called out, a soft plea carried on the wind. Li Peng waved, a wide smile on his face. "Always!" He set Li Feng down, gave him a quick hug, and then headed towards the dusty path leading out of their village. The old, battered pickup truck started with a familiar cough and rattle. --- Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, baking the earth. Li Ming worked steadily, his rhythm unbroken. Li Feng played nearby, making mud pies and chasing chickens. Lunch was simple: rice, stir-fried greens, and leftover pork. "Baba will be back soon, right?" Li Feng asked, his small face smeared with dirt. "Soon, little one. He always comes back." Li Ming ruffled his son's hair. Late afternoon shadows began to lengthen. The air grew cooler. A faint anxiety, a whisper of unease, began to prickle at Li Ming's skin. Li Peng should have returned by now. The market wasn't that far. --- He dismissed it. Traffic, perhaps. Or Li Peng lingered, chatting with old friends. The village road was quiet. Too quiet. Even the crickets seemed to hold their breath. Li Ming stood, wiping sweat from his brow. His gaze fixed on the winding path. Nothing. No familiar rumble of the truck, no dust cloud in the distance. --- A sudden, sharp scream ripped through the evening air. It wasn't Li Feng. It was a woman's voice, from the direction of the village entrance. Panic, cold and swift, seized Li Ming. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Stay here, Feng!" he barked, his voice rough with urgency. He ran. Legs pumping, lungs burning. The path blurred beneath his feet. Fear, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. He pushed past villagers already gathering, their faces pale, their whispers like buzzing insects. --- A mangled mess of metal. That was the first thing he saw. The familiar, faded blue of Li Peng's truck, crushed and twisted beyond recognition. A large delivery truck, jackknifed, blocked the road. People crowded around, their expressions a mixture of horror and grim sympathy. He heard his name. "Li Ming! Don't look!" But he couldn't stop. His eyes, wide and unblinking, scanned the scene. --- A figure lay sprawled on the dusty ground, partially covered by a coarse blanket. Too still. Too quiet. A sickening dread coiled in Li Ming's stomach. His knees threatened to buckle. "No," he whispered, a strangled sound that barely escaped his lips. He pushed forward, ignoring the hands that tried to hold him back. His vision tunneled. All he saw was the blanket. His hands trembled as he reached for it. --- The world shattered. Li Peng. His beautiful, kind Li Peng. Eyes open, staring blankly at the darkening sky. A crimson stain bloomed on the front of his simple shirt. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle. A broken doll. A guttural cry tore from Li Ming's chest. It was a sound of pure agony, of a soul ripped asunder. He dropped to his knees, clutching Li Peng's lifeless hand. Cold. So utterly cold. --- "Li Peng! No! Wake up! Please!" Tears streamed down his face, blurring the horror. He shook Li Peng's hand, as if he could jolt life back into the still form. The scent of blood, of gasoline, filled his nostrils, forever etching itself into his memory. Villagers murmured, some openly weeping. No one moved to stop him, to pull him away from the devastating tableau. They understood. They knew what Li Peng meant to Li Ming, to Li Feng. --- Strong hands gently pulled him back. His father, his face etched with sorrow, his mother, her eyes red-rimmed. "Son, come away. There's nothing more..." His father's voice cracked. Li Ming resisted, a raw animal protest. "He can't be gone! He promised! He promised he'd come back!" He felt a child's small hand tugging at his shirt. Li Feng. His son, his precious son, stood there, confusion and fear clouding his innocent eyes. "Papa? Baba? What's wrong?" --- Li Ming stared at Li Feng, then back at Li Peng. The stark reality crashed over him, wave after agonizing wave. Li Peng was gone. And he had to tell their son. The funeral was a blur of faces, of hushed condolences, of the heavy scent of incense. Li Ming moved through it all like a ghost, his body present, his mind numb with grief. His parents hovered, their own sorrow palpable, yet always offering a steady hand, a comforting word. --- Wuhan, Li Ming's best friend from the farm, sat with him for hours. He didn't speak much, just offered silent companionship, sometimes refilling Li Ming's tea, sometimes placing a hand on his shoulder. Wuhan's presence was a quiet anchor in a storm of despair. "He was a good man, Ming," Wuhan said one evening, his voice rough. "The best." Li Ming could only nod, a lump in his throat too big to swallow. --- Days bled into weeks. Weeks stretched into months. The initial shock gave way to a dull, aching emptiness. Li Ming tried to maintain their routine for Li Feng's sake. He still worked the fields, but the joy was gone. The golden sunlight felt cold. The laughter of his son felt like a distant echo. Every morning, he woke with a pang, expecting Li Peng's arm around him. Every evening, he ate dinner alone with Li Feng, the empty chair a gaping hole at their small table. --- Li Feng, too, felt the absence. He stopped asking when Baba would return. Instead, he grew quieter, clinging to Li Ming’s side, his small face often solemn. Li Ming worried about him, about the shadow that had fallen over his bright, young life. "Papa, can we go to the market?" Li Feng asked one afternoon, his voice small. Li Ming froze. The market. The place where everything had ended. "Not today, Feng. Maybe another time." --- He saw the disappointment in his son's eyes. Li Ming hated himself for it. He was failing Li Feng. Li Peng would have taken him. Li Peng would have found a way to make him smile. Fan Zhe, a neighboring farmer, often passed their land, sometimes with a sneer, sometimes with a pitying glance. Fan Zhe had always been arrogant, jealous of Li Peng's success and Li Ming's happiness. Now, his expression seemed to hold a perverse satisfaction, as if Li Ming's misfortune somehow elevated him. --- "Still struggling, Li Ming?" Fan Zhe called out one day, leaning against his fence, a toothpick dangling from his mouth. "Fields look a bit ragged. Need a man's touch, perhaps?" Li Ming gripped his hoe tighter. His jaw clenched. He refused to give Fan Zhe the satisfaction of a reaction. Li Peng had taught him to ignore such petty provocations. But without Li Peng, the words stung deeper. --- His parents visited often, bringing food, offering to help with Li Feng. Their love was a comfort, but it couldn't fill the void. Li Ming felt the immense pressure of being both father and mother, both providers and nurturers. He felt the weight of the farm, of the bills, of Li Feng’s future, all resting solely on his shoulders. One evening, after Li Feng was asleep, Li Ming sat on their small porch, gazing at the stars. They seemed to mock him with their distant, glittering indifference. He thought of Li Peng, of their dreams, of the life they had planned. --- It was all gone. Shattered. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a faded photograph. It was a picture of him, Li Peng, and Li Feng, laughing, their faces pressed close together. Li Peng’s arm was slung around Li Ming’s shoulders, his smile wide and genuine. A tear traced a path down Li Ming’s cheek. "What am I going to do, Peng?" he whispered into the silent night. "How do I do this alone?" --- The farm, once a haven, now felt like a cage. Every corner held a memory, a ghost. The swing Li Peng built for Li Feng. The small patch of flowers they planted together. The warmth of their bed, now cold and empty beside him. He needed to be strong for Li Feng. He *had* to be. But the strength felt brittle, ready to crack at any moment. He looked at the photograph again, his fingers tracing Li Peng's face. --- A new burden pressed down on him, heavier than any crop harvest. The farm was struggling. Li Peng had handled most of the bigger transactions, the trips to the city to sell their surplus. Now, Li Ming had to navigate it all, and the prices for their produce were dropping. Money was becoming a serious concern. He thought of selling some land, but it was their heritage, Li Peng’s heritage, too. He couldn't. Not yet. Not unless there was no other choice. --- Li Ming stood, walking to the edge of their property. The village lights twinkled softly in the distance. He was alone. Truly alone. The silence of the night was deafening. He had to find a way. For Li Feng. He just didn't know how. A sudden, sharp voice from the darkness startled him. "Li Ming? Is that you?" He spun around, heart hammering. Standing at the edge of his property, barely visible in the faint moonlight, was a figure he didn't recognize. A tall, impeccably dressed man, his presence utterly out of place in their quiet, rural setting. Li Ming's breath hitched. He had never seen this man before. And the way he looked at Li Ming, a strange intensity in his gaze, sent a shiver down his spine. The man took a step forward, his shadow looming large. Li Ming instinctively took a step back, his hand tightening into a fist.

Chapter 1: The Silence After the Song