Chapter 1653: Chapter 1653: The Past is Already Past
The eting just ended, and Jasmine Yale called first.
“Are you coming ho for dinner tonight?” she asked, filled with anticipation.
Sylvan Cheney glanced at the pitch-black window; the night had fallen and the street lights were coming on one by one: “No, don’t wait for .”
“Got it.” Jasmine Yale knew he was busy these days and didn’t ask much.
Sylvan Cheney and Charles Mcintosh dined in a restaurant, and Sylvan Cheney drank a bit.
“I’ll head to the cetery later, Qingming Festival is coming soon, I’ll see if there’s anything that needs purchasing.” Sylvan Cheney said lightly, yet his voice carried a hint of unrest.
Charles Mcintosh’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded: “Mm.”
In the cetery, there are not only the graves of Sylvan Cheney’s mother, Qiana Childe, but also his father’s grave.
Of course, there’s also the loss of dozens of lives from the Cheney Family over twenty years ago.
All were vibrant people, yet died overnight.
“Mr. Cheney, I won’t go tonight, surely I’ll visit for the Qingming Festival in a few days.”
“Okay.”
“Mr. Cheney, what’s past is past, it’s been over twenty years.” Charles Mcintosh’s throat moved, his tone was indifferent.
To say he didn’t care would be false, but he hasn’t harbored much resentnt over the years, since Patronus Xinez and the hired killers had long been dead.
Revenge upon revenge leads to no end.
However, Sylvan Cheney bears much more than he does.
Sylvan Cheney picked up his wine glass, drained the red wine, his brow tightly knitted, jawline taut.
He didn’t speak, just silently drank, his eyes gathering a frost-like coldness, like snow drifting in winter.
For a mont, the restaurant felt particularly quiet, with no sound to be heard.
Charles Mcintosh also picked up his wine glass and took a few sips.
Without words, they simply drank glass after glass, finishing the wine.
Every year around this ti, even the air seems to harbor a layer of ice, ready to freeze the heart.
Especially this year’s spring isn’t warm, the spring chill adds a bit of coolness.
No one spoke again, just continued to drink their own wine.
The al didn’t last long, Charles Mcintosh escorted Sylvan Cheney downstairs.
“I’ll call the driver.” Charles Mcintosh said.
Sylvan Cheney nodded, sat in the passenger seat, his head throbbing slightly.
Uncertain if it’s a headache or heartache, in any case, the pain is shadowing him, unwavering.
Cheney Family cetery.
Surrounding it are planted willows, pines, and poplars, a sea of green.
It’s the season when trees burst bud, and the trees and grass in the cetery are sprouting tender green buds, grass color indistinct from afar.
The cetery is in a remote place, it took the driver over an hour to arrive.
The outskirts were pitch-black, couldn’t see a hand in front of your face.
The driver drove Sylvan Cheney here and didn’t turn off the headlights.
Tor stepped out of the house in surprise: “Mr. Cheney, why are you here, why didn’t you call , so I could prepare.”
“I happened to be free, ca by.”
The night wind blew onto the body, penetratingly chilly.
Sylvan Cheney wore only a suit jacket, with a white shirt underneath.
His black leather shoes stepped on the concrete road, his steps heavy, his face deep.”
“Mr. Cheney, you can co during the day, it’s too cold at night.” Tor followed Sylvan Cheney and could sll alcohol on him.
“No worries, just ca to have a look, need to co again for Qingming Festival in a few days.”
“The flower branches are cut, and the things for the rituals are all prepared, rest assured, Mr. Cheney.”
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