In front of others, she would suppress her grief.
But when she was alone, she would always cry out loud.
"Sylvan Cheney, you’re so heartless... how could you leave alone..." Jasmine Yale choked, "You’re always like this, never fulfilling the promises you made to . You said you’d take to see fireflies in the sumr, and now there’s still over three months until sumr arrives, but why are you ignoring ..."
He ignored her and would ignore her for the rest of his life.
No one openly told her what happened to Sylvan Cheney, but she knew in her heart that he would not return.
Jasmine Yale was engulfed in suffocating pain.
Ti wouldn’t wait, and neither would he.
The book on the table was dampened, and her pale face was streaked with glistening tears.
While crying, perhaps too exhausted, Jasmine Yale fell into a deep sleep.
The golden sunlight shone on her face, her tear-streaked face as fragile as thin white paper, as if it would tear with a gentle fold.
Outside the window, spring blossod, clearly not a season for parting, yet full of separation and bleakness.
That year, the flowers were beautiful, and he was there.
This year, the flowers are beautiful, but he is not here.
The peach blossoms still smile at the spring breeze.
...
Police station.
Charles Mcintosh hurried in, his suit jacket draped over his arm.
Lately, he had been visiting the police station frequently, each ti like facing a formidable enemy, inhaling deeply.
"Mr. Mcintosh, the female corpse has been confird as being Lana Fern without doubt. The male corpse, as identified by the forensic physician, is a man around 1.82 ters tall with no distinctive physical features, but initially determined not to be Mr. Cheney."
After Director Warner spoke, Charles Mcintosh exhaled deeply again.
His heart felt an indescribable sensation, as if a hand were squeezing it.
"I want to take a look." Charles Mcintosh suggested.
"Alright, co with ."
Charles Mcintosh followed Director Warner.
Ten minutes later, Charles Mcintosh ca out, rubbing his brow.
He looked up at the glaring sun, a faint headache setting in.
The male corpse was one of Spencer Childe’s n, indeed not Sylvan Cheney, but Charles Mcintosh was nonetheless shocked.
In twenty days, the body had decayed to this extent.
He dared not imagine Sylvan Cheney.
"Mr. Mcintosh, how will Lana Fern be handled?"
"I’ll find soone to bury her." Charles Mcintosh planned to have her buried in the public cetery.
"Alright, just get in touch with my subordinates when the ti cos. I’ll take full responsibility for following up on this matter."
"Thank you, Director Warner, sorry to trouble you."
"It’s my duty. Mr. Mcintosh, I shouldn’t say this, but Mr. Cheney is likely in grave danger."
"I’m already ntally prepared."
"Hmm..." Director Warner nodded heavily, unable to do anything else.
These accidents are unpredictable events.
Charles Mcintosh stood under the sun, able to withstand it, but he feared that Jasmine Yale could not.
Even as a man, he hardly dared to look at the decaying corpse; would Jasmine dare to?
His headache started again.
"Director Warner, I need to leave now; there’s other business I have to attend to."
"Alright, alright, take care."
Charles Mcintosh almost left the police station at a fast pace, unwilling to remain in the heavy atmosphere he slled there.
Lana Fern brought it upon herself, ending most tragically, but he no longer felt anything about her fate; he only thought the cost was too high.
Charles Mcintosh sat in the car, his heart unable to calm.
His heart hung, refusing to settle.
Despite being usually competent, he found himself without a clue as to what to do at this mont, as if there was no longer any point in doing anything.
Everything he saw was enveloped in a dim landscape, rendering even the most beautiful lights re adornnts.
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