The echo of the words "...Be perfect" did not fade. It lingered in the stagnant air, vibrating against the wooden beams of the mourning hall like a dying frequency.
Silence returned, but it was no longer the heavy, expectant silence of a funeral. It was a fractured silence.
Nobody moved.
The mourner's arm remained bent in the wrong direction, elbow snapped outward at ninety degrees, hand dangling against its own spine like a broken pendulum. The rest of its body was completely still. Its blurred, featureless face remained pointed at Li Qiang with a patience that had no bottom to it.
Li Qiang's mouth was open. No sound came out.
Chen Hao pressed closer to Lin Yue, his arm trembling where it touched Lin Yue's sleeve. "Did it just—" His voice broke. He swallowed. "Did it just talk?"
"It echoed," Xu Ning said softly. She hadn't looked away from the mourner. "There's a difference."
"There is absolutely no difference—"
"Quiet." Lin Yue said it without heat.
Chen Hao went quiet.
