Many people who had faked their deaths appeared in this great battle, only to die for real.
The most renowned among them was Bao Fengjiang, a professor from Beirong.
But to most people, someone who had pretended to be dead for years was little different from someone who truly was dead.
Apart from Yang Guanglie, who had appeared alongside him, few people mourned his passing.
After buying some funeral supplies from a woman's stall in the Underground City, Yang Guanglie returned to the mountaintop residence where he and Bao Fengjiang had lived all these years, to mourn his closest friend alone.
Just as Yang Guanglie placed Bao Fengjiang's body in the coffin, someone suddenly knocked on the front door.
"Knock, knock, knock-"
Yang Guanglie grew wary at first, then his gaze returned to normal.
When he opened the door, he saw Olof standing outside.
Without a word, Yang Guanglie went straight back to the coffin and scattered fresh petals beside Bao Fengjiang's body.
Olof gently closed the door, looked at Bao Fengjiang in the coffin, and bowed.
Then he took a deep breath and turned to Yang Guanglie. "I know nothing I say will mean anything, but I still want to apologize to you and Bao Fengjiang."
Yang Guanglie did not look up. "If you could come straight to our home, you must have known long ago that neither of us was dead."
"Yes."
Yang Guanglie's voice was calm, betraying no emotion. "Everyone has their own path to follow. I can understand that. If you didn't come here today to talk about what happened at Beirong back then, please leave."
After some thought, Olof hung his wide-brimmed hat on the coat rack by the door and sat beside the chair bearing Bao Fengjiang's memorial tablet.
He was just about to