When the father-son pair returned home, the older boy was already asleep. The woman was in the garden now, trimming the flowers and branches with a pair of scissors.
The sky was gradually turning dark!
She knelt by the flower bed in the dark, her hand holding the stems as she fiddled with them, cutting the branches from time to time.
The wounds on her body had yet to heal.
Her facial features were marred a little by the placement of her lip flaps, but as they watched her gently nibble on her thin lip flap, her beautiful face radiated like a piece of jade.
It was as if everything had been quiet and still.
Most of the time, this woman was as beautiful as a flower but not unobtrusive. She was breathing and living quietly, as silent as an arrogant cat, nesting in a corner with withdrawn claws. It was as if she were standing aloof from all these worldly affairs, quiet and contented.
Mu Yazhe leaned against the door and looked at her silently.
