He had never felt inclined to look at them, after all, those things, he had never taken to heart.
Places that had been uninhabited for years indeed exuded desolation and emptiness inside and out.
Zhao Hanchen walked in alone, his footsteps echoing in the vacant space.
The things sent to him by Wen Lingyue were piled up at the entrance; he kicked aside the trivial ones and indeed, at the very bottom, he saw that red lacquered wooden box.
This box had been consecrated in front of Buddha, indestructible and incorruptible, preserving whatever was placed inside for a long time.
Zhao Hanchen squatted down and brushed the dust off the box with his hands, bit by bit.
As he did these actions, his demeanor was serious, as if he were conducting a solemn ceremony.
With a 'click', the box was opened.
Zhao Hanchen saw the letters.
The envelope's mouths were sealed with wax; he tore them open, took out the letters inside.
