A tremor rose from deep within Ji Yanzhi's heart. His throat tightened painfully, as though stuffed with rain-soaked cotton.
Holding his breath, he crouched down. Just as he reached for that little hand, everything before him suddenly vanished.
Ji Yanzhi's fingers twitched convulsively. Overwhelming panic forced him to his feet, but the instant his heels touched the ground, rows of gravestones appeared before him.
Moonlight flowed through the cemetery like congealed mercury. The young Ji Ting's shadow stretched long, like a slate-gray blade.
After an unknown stretch of time, a hoarse voice broke the silence. "I'm sorry. Could you leave?"
As the footsteps of the State Security Bureau personnel faded beyond the last steps, the mechanical rigidity finally left Ji Ting's shoulders. Yet it looked more as though his last support had been pulled away.
Dew crept down the inscription, soaking the final vertical stroke of the character Hua in "Ji Minghua." Ji Ting's gaze followed that trail of water, crystals clearer than moonlight forming in his eyes.
Ji Yanzhi stood a short distance away, the wind of the snowy night whipping up his clothes. He should not have been able to feel anything, yet he felt that bitter night wind pierce Ji Ting's bones.
But Ji Ting remained motionless, his jaw clenched until he tasted the rusty tang of blood seeping from his gums.
Ji Yanzhi's heart twisted in agony. Countless times, he tried to approach Ji Ting, even if only to stand beside him. But when the morning mist rose, he was still rooted to the same spot.
After who knew how long, Ji Yanzhi heard a whimper like a young animal's escape Ji Ting's throat. That final note, on the verge of losing control, was forcibly cut short in the morning wind, dissolving into white mist over