Book Synopsis
A gentle breeze brushed by, causing the emerald bamboo to sway and rustle. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the bamboo leaves, casting mottled patterns on Zhou Yanqing's face. He silently leaned against Yang Yuruo's tombstone, his expression ashen, as if all life had drained from him. The bottle in his hand slowly slipped, a drop of liquor spilling from the mouth, while empty bottles surrounded Yang Yuruo's grave. The scene around the tombstone resembled a serene yet mournful ink painting, permeated with sadness and silence in the air.
0 Comments