I was born in a rural village and raised by my grandfather from a young age. Our home had only two rooms: one for my parents and one for my grandfather and me. This living arrangement continued until I went to college.
In my senior year of college, my grandfather passed away suddenly, without any warning, during his sleep. By the time I rushed back from school, it was already the next day. My grandfather's funeral was set up in the main hall, and everything was organized in an orderly manner.
Upon arriving home, the first thing I wanted to do was to see my grandfather one last time. My elders opened the coffin, and my grandfather lay there quietly. His face was pale, but his mouth was open, as if he had something to say.
I asked my uncle, "Is my grandfather's mouth open because he still has some last words left unsaid?
When my uncle heard what I said, he glared at me and scolded me, telling me not to speak nonsense.
I didn't understand why my uncle suddenly got angry, but I didn't want to ask more in front of so many people, so I just kept quiet.
My second uncle returned even later than I did; he arrived around nine in the evening. He works as a police officer in another city, making it difficult for him to take leave. Upon arriving, he followed the customary practice of viewing the body. I went with him, and I noticed that my grandfather's mouth was still open. I'm not sure if it was just my imagination, but it seemed to be open even wider than before.