Tor accompanied Sylvan Cheney as they walked.
"Miss loved lilies. I’ve already ordered them from the florist; they’ll definitely be there," Tor said. "I also had all the uneven trees trimd a couple of days ago. Rest assured, Mr. Cheney, I will care for her as if she were still alive."
Sylvan Cheney walked into the cetery, looking at each spot.
Rows of cold tombstones stood upright, and the wind caused the treetops to make a "rustle" sound, adding a somber chill to the air.
Tor, being old, couldn’t help but recall the past. ntioning Qiana Childe made her eyes moist.
"Mr. Cheney, talking about her brings back mories again. Miss treated well, and I couldn’t take care of her properly while she was alive. It’s my fault..." Tor’s tears flowed freely.
"It’s not your fault. You didn’t marry your whole life for the Cheneys; it’s the Cheney Family that owes you."
"No, Mr. Cheney, please don’t say that. This was my duty," Tor wiped her eyes and gritted her teeth. "Speaking of which, Patronus Xinez truly deserves a harsh punishnt, a death where he can’t be buried!"
Sylvan Cheney said nothing and approached each tombstone to bow.
Every Qingming, he would pay to have the tombs repaired.
Even so, he always felt it wasn’t enough.
There was a deep look in Sylvan Cheney’s eyes, his pupils contracted, and his gaze was covered with a profound coldness.
"If I had kept a better watch on Miss back then, she wouldn’t have secretly gone to jump in the river alone..." Tor was still engulfed in self-bla. "Or if I had thought of ways to make her happy, her depression wouldn’t have worsened."
"It has nothing to do with you," Sylvan Cheney said flatly.
A gust of wind blew, but Sylvan Cheney didn’t feel cold; instead, a layer of restless heat settled within him.
Perhaps he’d had too much to drink; he tugged at his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt.
As he walked among dozens of tombstones, a heavy oppression weighed on his heart.
Tor walked beside Sylvan Cheney, sighing with each step: "This is Elder Usama, the old gatekeeper. He often brought hotown specialty duck sauce during holidays."
"This is Donnel, the youngest servant back at the Cheney Residence. His family was very poor, and he always said he could never repay Miss for her great kindness. Ah, such a kind-hearted person, why did she have to suffer so..."
"This is Mary from the kitchen. She was an excellent cook, especially her bamboo shoot soup. Since she passed, I haven’t had bamboo shoot soup that good again."
Sylvan Cheney listened to Tor’s ramblings, and his mood grew heavier.
These people were his elders, and many of them he rembered vividly.
In the darkness, he closed his eyes slightly, showing a deep exhaustion in his eyes.
With fists tightly clenched, a mix of fire and ice filled his body, blood rushing through his veins.
The intoxication intensified, his head growing more dizzy.
The cetery was kept very clean by Tor, especially Qiana Childe’s grave, where Tor invested a lot of effort, with many floral designs reminiscent of Qiana Childe’s preferences when she was alive.
"Mr. Cheney, rest assured, everything is prepared. You can co directly on Qingming."
"Alright, let know if anything is missing," Sylvan Cheney said.
"Actually, for Miss, nothing is lacking. She just wishes Mr. Cheney could visit her."
"I know."
How could he not know?
After circling around, Sylvan Cheney finally stood before Qiana Childe’s tombstone, his gaze fixed on the photograph of his mother.
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