Following the old man's instructions, Pei Ye buried him beneath this willow tree.
The old man had lived in solitude for eighteen years, with no family or friends. His death only concerned their farewell, and Pei Ye had already agreed to this.
After standing in front of the grave for awhile, the boy, carrying the cat on his shoulder, went down the mountain. The falling willow branches gently brushed over the mound of the grave.
Upon returning to town, contrary to the usual stillness at sunset, almost every home was lit tonight, and the clamour of voices had yet to subside.
Pei Ye lowered his head and walked back to the county office along the noisy streets, which were much quieter here.
Xing Zhi was already standing at the door. When she saw him come back alone, she sighed quietly—to her, their departure from their room was an indication of what was to come.
