The moon had climbed to the middle of the sky.
The voices of the funeral procession had long since faded. The mountain path lay empty and still, with only the pale white paper ashes slowly cooling in the night.
Scattered village lights shone in the distance, like a few flames of the human heart that had yet to fall asleep. Here, however, was the quietest corner between heaven and earth.
Meng Sheng stood alone before the graves.
The night wind gently lifted his robes, then let them fall, like the faintest ripple passing over water. His expression was level, without sorrow or anguish, as though his emotions had already traveled a long road, leaving only a quiet clarity at its end.
A long time passed.
A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye.
Without sound, without a breath.
It was neither a collapse nor a loss of control. Rather, it was like a cloud that had gathered for a long time finally letting fall a little rain.
The night wind came from deep within the pine forest, passing through branches and leaves with a faint whisper. Beneath the moon, the trees spread their shadows, slender and spacious, neither entangling nor holding anything back. They simply stood apart, each entrusting its shadow to the earth.
When the wind passed, the pine needles trembled faintly.
When the wind stilled, heaven and earth seemed vaster.
The wind was not cold. It carried the scent of mountain stone and the fresh fragrance of grass and trees, as though someone far away had softly sighed for this mortal world.
Meng Sheng did not wipe away the tear.
He merely gazed at the two new graves side by side, his eyes distant, as though he had already looked beyond this mountain and this night