When they arrived, rows of tombstones greeted them from the car. In each of those graves lay people who had once lived, who left a photograph on the tombstones after their death. This enabled those still living to remember their voices and smiles.
It was midday, and it was sweltering. Yan Qingsi could barely squint under the glare of the sun. The dandelion in her hand had scattered into individual tufts after it was plucked from the soil.
Yan Qingsi gazed out into the overgrown graveyard. She glanced behind at You Yi, but she did not beckon him to come over.
You Yi did not get down from the car. His hand trembled uncontrollably; a thorn lodged in his throat. He had looked for Yan Qingsi in hopes that she would give him some sliver of light in the dark, b–but…
There was no kindness for this world to give.
