After a long while, Qiao Anhao lifted her head from between her knees. The tears on her face had dried up, and the rims of her eyes were red. As she had crouched for quite some time, when she stood up, her legs were numb. She fell back down to the floorboards.
Qiao Anhao bit the corner of her lip and got up from the ground. She glanced at the time on the wall. It was already quarter past twelve; his birthday had passed.
She stood dazed on the spot for a while, then lowered her eyes and walked out of the room.
The mansion was empty. The only sound was her footsteps. As she listened, there was an unspeakable loneliness at the bottom of her heart.
She went to the storage room, took out a cardboard box, and went back to the room. Then she kneeled on the floorboards, picked up the candles one-by-one, and put them into the box. With the box of candles in her arms, she went downstairs and put it in the storage room.
