The winter cemetery was exceptionally desolate, even more so than usual. Stripped of the greenery brought by plants, the view consisted only of black, white, and gray. The few people walking through the graveyard wore clothes of monotonous colors; though not mourning garb, it was enough to convey their heartfelt sympathies. Placed in such an environment, it felt like stepping into an old, uncolored photograph.
Yet, in this very cemetery, there was one tombstone that differed slightly from the others.
Made of the same gray-black rock and featuring the same simple decorations, it somehow stood out immediately from the sea of markers. From appearance alone, the tombstone was not eye-catching, and the offerings placed before it were sparse, showing that the master of the grave had not possessed a wide circle of acquaintances during life. The scale of the offerings could not be called luxurious either; from this perspective, there were no elements to draw the eye.
As for where exactly its uniqueness lay, if one threw this question to a passerby in the cemetery, the answer might well be "atmosphere."
Many people held a similar sentiment in life: a house lived in for a long time and a house left unattended for a long time possessed different "atmospheres." Often, merely by relying on this "atmosphere," people could vaguely sense whether a place was inhabited.
Among the older generation in the Eastern Hua Prefecture, this "atmosphere" was also called "human presence."
The sensation this tombstone gave off was a difference in atmosphere; merely noticing it left an unusual impression.
Lin Yun looked at this tombstone.
His hands hung at his sides, expressionless, gaze lowered, just watching in silence.
The gray tombstone in the cold wind appeared harder and colder than usual, draped with a layer of whitish rime. An attached