"Someone... told him... stories, every day."
At that, she suddenly smiled, the smile faint and soft, like a tiny candle flame swaying gently in the wind—
"Grandpa... really, really liked listening to stories."
She paused, and that smile slowly faded. Lowering her head, she began picking through the pile of rubble again, her voice so soft it was nearly carried away by the wind—
"Later... there was nothing left."
"Nothing... nothing was left."
She said it lightly, as though she were speaking of something unrelated to herself. Like a child who had never seen any of it, merely recounting an old tale that had long ceased to have anything to do with her.
Chen Xun sat upon that broken stone without moving, his gaze quietly resting on the small figure bent over and rummaging through stones. It was deep and distant, like a pool of stagnant water that held too much and had grown so still that no ripple could ever rise upon it.
After a while, the little girl unearthed another fragment. It was a small piece of shattered blue porcelain base.
Fine, faint patterns had been fired into it—a spiritual herb outlined in simple yet vivid strokes. There was a lively spirit in the curve of its leaves; presumably, the person who had painted it back then had been in quite a good mood.
The little girl turned the porcelain shard over and over in her hands for a long time, unable to put it down. At last, she pressed it against her chest, looked up at Chen Xun with bright eyes, and smiled. "...Pretty!"
Only two words, yet she spoke them with absolute certainty and complete satisfaction, as though she had found some extraordinary treasure.
Chen Xun looked at her, then suddenly smiled gently and nodded. "Mm."