When Gu Yanshen returned from the regiment's meeting, the sky had already darkened.
The wind in Beijiang cut against his face like a knife. He walked quickly, harboring a trace of worry even he hadn't noticed.
That delicate city girl, staying alone in that dilapidated house, could she be curled up in a corner crying?
He pushed open the creaky wooden door, ready to be greeted by desolation and a tear-streaked face.
However, the scene behind the door left him rooted to the spot.
Inside the house, there was no dimness or mustiness. Instead, a bright kerosene lamp cast a warm glow. The floor was swept clean, the uneven parts cleverly covered with flat stones. The broken table with a missing corner was now draped with a white cloth embroidered with elegant orchids, and in a coarse pottery jar at the table's corner, a few yellow wildflowers bloomed in defiance of the wind.
Even the cobwebbed windows had been wiped clean, reflecting the faint starlight from outside.
