Chapter 304 - To M

"There's no reason to get upset about this, Wuming," Qing Chen said. "Feng Xuan's memories cheated on her too. Who knows what else happened that day, or even before that day?"

Qing Lok said, "I think, we're all just upset because we didn't think our mom could do this to us. It was as if everything was making us doubt what we know about our mother—the person who was supposed to love us but now we are trying to know if she was still alive." He tapped Qing Chen's back. "I'm done with the pictures."

They moved back to the living room and had the pictures printed out in papers and flashed them on the screen.

"Should we get started on the rose?" Feng Xuan asked, looking at the picture of the tattoo in the middle of Qing Chen's back, lining his spine.

"The rose could mean a lot of things," Qing Chen said. "There's love at the top of the list. There's lady too—"

"Beauty and the Beast," butted Wuming with a grin.

Qing Chen did not let his brother's teasing get to him. "That, too." He tapped on his chin. "It's just too broad to get into."

"Or it could just be a flower," Wuming added.

Qing Chen circled something with his fingers on the bottom right of the picture. He was pointing on what looked like an open letter with scribbles on it. "What about this one? Can someone clear this one?"

One of the people on the team connected and the picture was enlarged—you know, the type of thing that people do in the movies wherein such a blurry thing suddenly turned crystal clear.

"Are you sure it was written like that?" Wuming asked, stepping closer to the screen.

"It just looks like scribbles," said Feng Xuan.

The image cleared once more and they were staring at a bleak handwriting.

"It looks like," Qing Lok zoomed in more. "It says: To M."

Qing Chen gave it a thought. "None of us had an M in our name."

Feng Xuan saw the sudden tension on Qing Chen's back. His mother just put a letter to someone on a painting. What the hell did that mean? Was the rest of the painting for that M person?

Qing Lok ran a hand through his hair. Here they were thinking that the painting could be something that would serve as a momentum from their mother. But then it was actually meant for another person. He sat down and got back on his computer.

"There was no way she just put a random letter in that," said Wuming.

"Agreed," seconded Qing Chen. "Get me something," he ordered the people and for two whole minutes there was a soft buzz in the room as they try to find something that would actually make sense.

"Nothing?" Qing Chen followed.

"Hold a moment, Chen. One of them sent me this," said Qing Lok and the screen turned into a white paper and written on it was a poem.

"What are we supposed to do with that?" Wuming asked.

"This poem was titled, To M," explained Qing Lok. "It was written by Edgar Allan Poe. It might be a stretch but listen to these last two paragraphs:

'Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs

Which have wither'd as they rose

Lie dead on my heart-strings

With the weight of an age of snows.

Not that the grass- O! may it thrive!

On my grave is growing or grown-

But that, while I am dead yet alive

I cannot be, lady, alone."

"But that, while I am dead yet alive," Qing Chen repeated and Feng Xuan's shivered. Was that the message? "I cannot be, lady, alone." He sighed. "Is someone taking the minutes of everything?"

"Yes," answered two people from a corner.

Qing Chen rubbed on his face and got close to Feng Xuan. She held his hand. "Are you okay?"

Qing Chen shook his head. "This is nuts."

Feng Xuan offered him a light laugh. "Is it creeping you out?"

Qing Chen turned to a helper and said, "Get me a bottle of whiskey here and four glasses."

Feng Xuan pursed her lips. If she were the one in their position, she would also need a drink. 

Wuming just could not help the flood of negative things in his brain. "So you mean to tell me that our first clue is a dead poet who needs about a hundred interpretations on his gazillion poems? This is pointless."

"Maybe we're looking at it the wrong way," said Qing Lok. "What's the first thing that the tattooist did?"

"The background," Qing Chen answered. "It looked like mountains. Or a pyramid of some sort."

Qing Lok snapped his fingers and pointed to a group of people. "Can you chop the tattoo in layers?"

The person with the drink comes back and Wuming was first to pour their glasses. "What did you do with the painting?" he asked Qing Chen as he handed the glasses.

"I did what she asked me to," Qing Chen trained his eyes on the golden liquid. He did not know what to think. "After I had it tattooed, I burned it."

His mother's face flashed in his mind again. On that moment of silence. He was not a kid who did not know what that look meant. Her eyes told him that he should take care of the painting—to keep it, to hide it—but it would come with a cost so on the last second she changed her mind and told him to burn it instead.

He might not know what it meant but clearly it was important to his mother. Why else would she want it destroyed if it did not include some deep dark secret?

"What did you do with the tattooist?" Wuming asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Clown took care of him." Wuming answered. Feeling the regret.

"Good thinking. One less person who knows what we're up to."