The night moon was bright and clear, yet veiled by a thin layer of dark clouds, giving it an eerie cast. Silver light spilled down, bathing the old cemetery west of the city in a deathly pallor.
Deep within the graveyard, all was silent. Even the insects had fallen quiet; only the wind rustling through the tops of the pines and cypresses could be heard. Countless tombstones cast grim, elongated shadows beneath the moonlight. The air stood still, devoid of even a trace of life----
A dark figure moved soundlessly between rows of gravestones. He carried an iron shovel, its blade occasionally striking pebbles on the ground with a faint yet unsettling click. He walked slowly, his gaze passing over the inscriptions on each stone as he carefully read them by the cold moonlight.
Second by second, time passed. A gust of wind swept through, making the air even colder.
At last, midway along a row of tombstones in the eastern section, he stopped. His gaze fixed on a somewhat isolated granite headstone. He crouched down, brushing away the thin layer of night dew and dust with his fingertips, then made out the lines carved into it beneath the moonlight.
The grave of beloved daughter He Xiaoyu. She had died exactly four years ago, matching Wang Jianguo's account.
Raymond crouched silently before the headstone, its icy touch seeping through his gloves. The night wind stirred the loose strands of hair over his forehead and the shadows of several withered blades of grass beside the grave.
Dig or not?
He lit a cigarette and began to smoke----the blue smoke drifted upward and vanished into the night.
His hesitation lasted only a brief moment before he cast aside his misgivings----bringing a shovel meant he had made up his mind long ago.
He