"Sheng Hao is dead."
The sun disappeared behind the horizon, only the lanterns strung along the pier illuminated their path.
The wind whipped inland from the sea, and in the faint light, Mang HuaZhen smiled sorrowfully.
In just a blink of an eye, he appeared to have aged, a hollowness to his features. Deep-set lines told of years of worry.
Another year, another one buried six feet under. His friends and acquaintances were all disappearing one by one as time rolled on, unforgiving.
Time that Mang HuaZhen had wasted not being by his family's side.
"So, Sheng Hai lives." Mang HuaZhen said quietly.
"You knew. As long as the person who carved the incantation died, Hai wouldn't suffer."
Mang HuaZhen watched the face that was so similar to his light up with deep-rooted anger.
