Lin Xilin was holding his father's ashes and placed them into the tomb, watching the yellow soil cover it and a stone slab placed on top. The characters on the curtains were clear, yet the tombstone felt ice cold.
Lu Zuo placed a bunch of yellow roses in front of the monument, bowed three times and stepped aside.
Zhao Xinyan, supported by Lin Xilin, cried breathlessly, but eventually she rose from in front of the tomb. She pulled out a powder compact from beside her coat and gently pressed around her eyes with the mirror.
"Lingling, look at my eyes, is there anything wrong?"
Lin Xilin shook his head, "They look fine."
