"A lonely grave a thousand miles away... nowhere to speak of desolation!"
The withered old man lamented with sorrow, his murky eyes streaming with tears.
He struggled to prop himself up, clutching He Kongyue's forearm and shaking it incessantly.
Although still emotionally stirred, he no longer seemed as despairing, but rather somewhat invigorated.
He Kongyue put down the rice paper left by You Su and took out a handkerchief to wipe the old man's tears.
"Father, you should rest well..."
He Mingpei finally lay down slowly, but his hand clutching He Kongyue's forearm was reluctant to let go.
"Yue'Er, are you sure this poem was left by Miss You?"
"Yes... he wrote it in front of me, but according to him, it was something he heard elsewhere."
"Heard elsewhere?" He Mingpei's old eyes flickered, "But given her age and experience, it's indeed beyond her to write such profound and heartfelt elegiac words…"
