An elegant, gentle woman ought to be cherished tenderly.
As proud as her mother was, if not for finding a place to live, why would she yield to Kaine Zahir.
Jasmine Yale thought and thought, and tears involuntarily flowed down.
The past is unbearable to revisit.
She lay in bed for the entire morning, did not eat breakfast, nor lunch.
Around two or three in the afternoon, she touched her stomach, and crawled out of bed feeling uncomfortable.
After freshening up, she ward up the oatal porridge left by Butler Santana, sat alone on the empty balcony, sipping porridge and watching the rain, her heart stirred with waves.
The balcony was not warm, compared to sunny days, it was quite desolate.
She gazed at the distant birds and mountains, her eyes blurry.
After finishing the porridge, she stood up and quietly went to the bedroom to pack her luggage.
No matter how tough the days are, counting on fingers one can endure them, even though every second feels like a year.
She packed all the spring clothes bought with Sylvan Cheney last ti into the suitcase, without taking too many things, just so usual costics and personal clothing.
She took along Chale Cheney’s little tiger too, stuffing it into the suitcase.
She thought, soday she could give it to Chale.
Not long after packing, the sky beca dark, the wind howling relentlessly.
The rain continued to fall unceasingly, as if without limit.
Cetery.
Sylvan Cheney arrived very early, placing flowers in front of each tombstone.
Raindrops wetted the petals, these flowers beca the only bright color in the cetery, like a solitary sunset.
Charles Mcintosh arrived later than Sylvan Cheney.
Every year on Qingming Festival, they would generally co together, if one was busy, the other would co.
Gradually, over twenty years passed, forming a mutual understanding.
Paper ash flew, a desolate feeling perated the air.
As night approached, Sylvan Cheney and Charles Mcintosh stood under an eave, each lit a cigarette, watching the sky gradually darken.
Sylvan Cheney stood thin, the light stretched his shadow long, his cold, noble visage hidden in the dim light like the depths of the ocean.
The light in his eyes shifted little by little, many cigarette butts were already scattered on the ground.
Charles Mcintosh leaned against the doorfra, legs slightly crossed, gaze resting on this large expanse of tombstones.
Especially when he saw his father’s tombstone, his gaze lingered for several more minutes.
"Charles, after tonight’s vegetarian al, I probably won’t be staying here to keep vigil; I’ll co again tomorrow," Sylvan Cheney’s low voice mixed with the sound of rain, hoarse and weary.
"Alright, I understand." Charles Mcintosh almost didn’t hesitate, nodding, "Let the past go, scattered with the wind. Warm vigilance and companionship should be left for the living, best."
In past years, they would co on the day before Qingming Festival to take turns keeping vigil overnight until Qingming.
This year, Sylvan Cheney ca very early in the morning, already planning not to keep vigil overnight.
"The weather is very cold, you should rest early." Sylvan Cheney looked at Charles Mcintosh.
"I know, Mr. Cheney need not worry about ." Charles Mcintosh planned to stay here overnight, "The weather forecast says there’s still heavy rain tonight, keep warm."
Sylvan Cheney nodded.
"Mr. Cheney, when are you going to Cakago? The day after tomorrow?" Charles Mcintosh chatted simply with Sylvan Cheney.
In recent days, Sylvan Cheney hadn’t gone to the Cheney Family, Jesse Rowan seed very busy too and hadn’t gone once.
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